 |
|
| |
 |
|||
|
|
|
Are You A Mother? |
|
|
|
|
|
"Right now two bedrooms and two bathrooms in my home look like garbage dumps. I do not use either one of them. Someone ate the rest of the chocolate cake and hotdogs for breakfast. I haven't seen my good blue tank top in four weeks and can't find my fingernail clippers, tweezers or that $15 bottle of hair conditioner I just bought. Someone has taken my last five dollars out of my wallet. The center of my den carpet was vacuumed -- but only the center. I found every light in the house turned on this morning when I climbed out of bed after working late last night and I haven't seen a movie that didn't star a cartoon character that sings in over a dozen years. All my towels are at a friend-who-owns-a-pool's house. My dining room table now holds more back-to-school supplies than Wal-Mart. I know all the words to "The Wheels on the Bus" and if someone gave me a baseball bat and ten minutes alone with Barney, I'd probably be in jail. I said good-bye to my waistline and sex where you can make noise about the same time. I cannot walk down the staircase at night without turning the lights on or I will trip on toys and sail into oblivion and the expression, "Because I said so," is being woven into my new family crest. If certain individuals in this household see me dancing they immediately start making gagging noises and I buy three cans of shaving cream a week because someone around here has to shave her legs every five minutes (not me) and someone else around here likes to pretend shaving cream is a "death ray" and kill Barbie dolls with it in the bathtub. My husband, by the way, wears a beard. Am I a mother? I suppose so. If I'm not, then I must be into some sort of bizarre role-playing game where you give up your sleep, money and sanity and in return you get custody of expensive balls of flesh that like you and don't like you in alternating random patterns over a 20-odd year period of time. Or else I'm on the X-Files."
|
