Not THAT Kind of Mommy

I’ve become a snob. Being Mommy has made me a snob. I hear parents of non-multiples complain about how hard it is and I want to thrash them about their heads and bodies until all they do is twitch. Parents of Singletons (Parents with one kid) are the most vile. Despicable life forms barely deserving of my contempt. Oh, how hard their life is! One child, two parents--you are not outnumbered, Shut Up!

These parents whine about how their kid is sick. They rush the kid to the doctor for every sniffle. “Antibiotics Now,” they shout! My theory that smothering kids makes them sickly: has never been disproved.

Oh how superior they are! They have attended every parenting class, subscribed to every parenting magazine and own every book. They have a parenting manifesto that they feel is their obligation to share with you, in hopes of showing you the error of your ways! Because they are the first parent who has done it all right. They have made no mistakes. Granted their kid is medicated: for allergies (Little Luke is allergic to grass, dust, pollen, wheat, peanuts, eggs, and the air in general.), several vitamin deficiencies and a couple of social disorders; that his therapist says he will outgrow with several years of intensive therapy, but he is perfect.

Ya know, thinking back, our lives didn’t change that much with one child, at least not like I thought it would. We could still pick up and go at a moments notice. All I had to do was pack an extra bag for the kid. We still did everything we always did. Sitters are cheap and easy to come by when you have just one beautiful child. Now, my life with three kids is unrecognizable. A faded carbon of what it was supposed to be. It takes a moving van to go out of town for a weekend. And the sitters screen our calls.

Now please don’t start thinking I’m this horrible person. I love my children, especially when I’m away from them or they’re sleeping. That was a joke; kind of. Any normal parent will tell you how challenging it is being a parent. An honest parent will tell you how gut-wrenching and ugly it can be. Bumper stickers that say, “I know why animals eat their young” are out there for a reason. Both my weakest and most heroic moments were brought about by being a parent.

I am Mommy, but I refuse to wear mom jeans! I refuse to drive a mini-van! I refuse to have a cell phone surgically attached to my head! I’m not that kind of Mommy.

I am the kind of Mommy that has a hard time changing out of her nightgown if I’m not going anywhere. I’m the kind of Mommy that sometimes doesn’t get a shower everyday. That sometimes only brushes her teeth in the morning. That sometimes shaves her legs once every two weeks and that has worn the same pair of yoga pants every day for nine days. But who’s counting, right?