What every new mother needs
I’m not a new mother. I’m not really an old mother, either. I’m kind of an in between, been there – done that mother. However, today, while in the shower, I realized that when all my babies were born they were given all kinds of gifts. Clothes, blankets, booties, strollers, whatever. Mommy on the other hand…I’m sure I got something. I’m sure of it. But right now, my mind is blank. I KNOW I got something. Really. I did. But right now, I’m claiming P-brain and can’t remember.
Anywho, typically, it’s the baby that is showered with gifts and the Mom is showered with spit up. I know a gift for the baby is a gift for the Mommy, but still. So this time, being as it’s probably my last time, I’ve been subtle about the fact that I. Want. A. Gift. From Matt. A gift from my husband. I send him little e-mails, ideas, thoughts, hints, thesauruses. And if that’s not subtle enough, I send him e-mails saying, “This is what I want when I birth our baby. You know, when a baby comes out of my body and I’m sore, tired, cranky and a touch off base? This is what I want.” And I’ll send a link along side of it. I’ve given him plenty of variety to choose from. Many options. I just, more or less, want something that says, “Hey, wife of mine, mother of my children, you’re freaking amazing, so here’s a cute tee shirt.”
I’m not asking for diamonds.
I’m definitely not asking for sex.
I’m asking for a small gesture that says, “I care.”
So, while in the shower, I thought to myself, I HATE CLEANING THIS DAMN SHOWER. And what do I hate more than cleaning that shower? Cleaning that shower pregnant. And what’s even worse? After. When the baby’s napping and all you want to do is sleep or lay down or just stare at the wall but that dirty-ass shower is upstairs, taunting you. And bending still hurts, your joints are all lax and cleaning sucks…
My husband works a lot of hours. When he comes home, the last thing I want him to do is clean. Because I want him to entertain the young ones. I want to lay on the couch and I want him to entertain the heathens. So I don’t make him clean. I don’t ask him to clean. And I certainly don’t expect him to clean. (He does it anyways, except toilets and showers, which always irritates me, but there you go.)
So back to being in the shower, it dawned on me. A MAID! A MOTHER EFFING MAID! I need a maid. I don’t need a maid, but I’d like a maid. For just a month or two. Sure, I don’t like people in my house that I don’t know, especially since the dog barks and is annoying… and I kind of find it unfair to make someone else clean my grossness, but they signed up for it and get paid a pretty penny for their hard work. And they clean showers.
I can vacuum. I can dust. I can do all that fru-fru stuff. But bathrooms and kitchens? Yah, no. Not high on my priority list.
So here’s what I’m thinking. There should be a law passed that says all mothers of infants should go home with their new baby, an information packet and a maid. It only makes sense. Right?
I’ll just take that tee shirt, then.