When I read that quote by Rick Santorum saying that single mothers were the reason for the welfare system failing, or something equally absurd and bigoted, it really upset me. I hate when people feel the need to alienate an entire group of people and blame them for something that is completely out of their hands and isn't remotely true. But I was especially upset because this week I've been getting a glimpse of what it's like to be a single mom, and it is really fucking hard. (I would like to take this opportunity to say that I usually try to tone down the swearing in this blog because my grandma usually reads it, and although she is the queen of creative swear words, I'm sure she doesn't like to know that her youngest granddaughter has a potty mouth. But on this matter, I simply can't help myself. Sorry Grandma!)
Being a mom is really, really hard. I'm sure that anyone reading this who doesn't have children is probably sick of me posting about my kid, but you will have to get over it and bear with me. Talking incessantly about their children is just what happens when one becomes a mother. Sucks to be you. Being a mom is really hard. A mom of one, two, five, seven, it only gets more difficult the more there are, I imagine. Michelle Duggar is either a saint or a masochist...although I suppose when the age gap between kids is 20 years, the older ones can eventually help the younger... anyway. HARD. REALLY HARD. And I'm married and am fortunate enough to be able to stay home full-time with my baby. Being a single mom who has to work? Oy. I couldn't handle it.
Eric has been out of town this entire week. He is on the coast for work and the commute is too far to be practical, so he's staying in a hotel while I go it alone. I typically take care of Clara for the majority of the day, but I have to say, when Eric comes home in the evening it a huge relief to be able to have him hold Clara for a few minutes at least while I pee, cook, shower, SOMETHING that doesn't involve a chubby bunny ripping out handfuls of my swiftly-graying hair or barfing down my shirt. So far it's been going okay, until today.
I knew something was amiss when Clara didn't wake up until 10am. She usually wakes me up between 6 and 7am, so I really enjoyed my morning, but didn't expect it to last. The rest of the day was rather uneventful. There were no naps, because there are never any naps, but we had some quality play time crawling around the house together and both grandmas stopped by for a visit, so that was a rare treat. Sometime around 9 everything fell apart. Clara started screaming for no apparent reason and was uncontrollably crabby and slightly hysterical for at least two hours after that. I was trying to get her to bed for her 9:30 bedtime and she was having none of it. I tried every trick in the book; rocking, singing, bouncing, swinging, everything the damn Baby Whisperer guy suggested except swaddling, because she's too tall for that. NOTHING. By 11pm I was getting pretty crabby myself. And then the problem presented itself. A toxic poop diaper.
Let me just say that no poopy diapers are fun, but lately Clara's have been especially foul. Almost every single one manages to leak out of the diaper and drip down her legs, up her back and it causes a really arduous and disgusting clean-up process for me. Add that to the fact that she usually only has 2 a day and today she had 6, well, this one sucked. Her pajamas were ruined. The carpet has a puddle of poop juice where she had been sitting. The changing pad cover was toast. My shirt was covered. Her legs and back and tummy and hands were coated. And when I tried to undress her she was trashing around and almost fell off the changing table, and the stupid cats were attacking each other and clawing my legs and feet... I lost it. I took the tube of diaper cream and chucked it at the wall, I flung the cats off me, I hastily threw away her dirty jammies and the changing table cover, and started sobbing. I was begging Clara to cooperate, to hold still while I got her cleaned up, praying to God to give me patience to deal with all the crap. No pun intended. Ok, pun intended. It wasn't a pretty sight.
And an hour later, she still wasn't asleep.
So, aside from getting you to all feel sorry for me, the point is that I don't know how women do this alone. I am by myself for a week and basically had a nervous breakdown. So for anyone, especially some closed-minded politician, to accuse single mothers of being the ruination of any facet of our country's economic system.... well, I'd like to send them one of Clara's toxic diapers.
No comments:
Post a Comment