I stand in the shower. To be honest I’m hiding in there, letting the hot water run over my face as I stare at the wall. If I look down I will see the empty shampoo and body wash bottles that have collected in the corner. My eyes will drift over the bottom of the shower door, full of filmy soap scum and in need of a good cleaning. Knowing I don’t have the time to clean it or even stand in here any longer, I have I hurry to wash my hair.
It is time to get out but I am reluctant to start the day, to leave the warm, comforting water and small space that is my own right now. When I open the door I will see the collection of messes that have accumulated through my bedroom, then through the house. Knowing full well I am all that stands in the way of the messes and complete chaos.
Get some pant on
As I open the top dresser drawer I say a silent pray of hoping there will be a pair of clean underwear left since I only got to the kid’s laundry this week. Yes, thankfully it is shoved at the bottom between bras that no longer fit. Ok, maybe I can manage to get through today. Hey I have underwear so it might not be so bad. There is a knock at my bedroom door. Well, not really a polite non-intrusive knock more like a door swinging open and hitting the wall as my kids and the dogs barrel into the room.
No… this is supposed to be my sanctuary. Well at least where I can get dressed right? As I stand in a towel, my wet hair dripping dry into all sort of Medusa like snakes. I hope I can at least get a brush through it before I must be pulled away to find this or locate that. But first back to the underpants, as I gather them together I retreat (because really that is what it is I lost this battle) into the bathroom in the hopes of getting some clothing on before I am forced to locate any more items.
As I get my undergarments on I realize the toilet paper roll is empty, there is dust on the bathroom shelves and we won’t even get into the look of the toilet. More on my list of stuff to do. Feeling my anxiety rising, I hope I am left alone to get the rest of my clothing together. Then hopefully flee from all the mess and some of the responsibility I don’t have the time to address right now.
I have nothing to wear
Opening the door, I see for now I am alone. Ceasing the opportunity I move stealthily to the closet and look through my clothes…depression sets in as I realize I have nothing new, nice or well-fitting to wear. What did I expect when I buy all my clothes over the internet. Guessing on what might fit is not the same as what fits. I look longingly to my comfortable yoga pants. The only garment that seems to not judge me. How much I weight. How things in my body have shifted with age and children.
But I don’t get to linger on this long because I realize my hair is almost dry and it is a total mess. Dressing in whatever matching items I can stand to put on my body. Some feeling to lose, others to tight. Do I have time to run an iron over this? Emerging from the closet (yes where I was hiding again.) I search desperately for one of the 7 brushes somewhere in our home. We have 7 brushes because of the reason you can never find one when you need it. They are never in a logical place where they should be. They are in plastic bags, left in cars, brought to school…etc.. So, we continue to buy them only for them to grow legs and wader off. Like right now…I am left with only a promotional comb from a hair salon missing teeth.
It’s ok I’m the mom. I will make due. Don’t we always? Realizing it is to late to salvage a good hair day, I search for a clip. This as my children and husband begin Round 2 of the “where is my… have you seen my…?” Q and A. To find the clip I must rummage into the deep dark corners of the vanity and shift out of the way weeks of accumulated toiletry items, deodorants, colognes, and toothpaste tubes . Realizing this is yet another area I alone will be cleaning I feel more anxiety.
Going to be late for work
Mistakenly glancing at the clock to see I have 4 minutes left before I must be on the road or I will be late for work. Both my children are half clothed. The dog is crying to go out for the third time and I have not packed my lunch or had any breakfast. Oh, and shoes??? What about shoes? Since those are much more difficult to estimate sized of the internet I am down to the few pairs I have scavenged and procured in rushed side trips to the supermarket. They are old and ratty and well… embarrassing but right now they will have to do. The nice ones are from a different era in my life where beauty overruled comfort and practicality. Now I cannot imagine making it through a day at work, then the drive home, then baseball and bed in shoes that hurt.
I slide into my old reliable’s and glance at myself in the mirror. Feeling disgusted and disheveled I vow (again) I will tackle my ailing wardrobe situation, my abominably messy house and my unpolished toenails. (Side note: my husband asked why I never paint my toes anymore…Is he serious? I could totally if you would do one load of laundry ..maybe I could carve out five minutes to paint my nails dear??? -insert imagine of me fluttering my eyes at him.)
Am I a good mom… a good wife?
Realizing this is it. This is all I can reasonably do in the time I have I forgo breakfast, (and pretty much lunch.. Figure I will put some make-up on at stop lights on the way into work. Kissing my kids on the forehead I feel the gut wrenching feeling that I am not a good mom. I should be leaving notes in their lunch boxes telling them how much I love them, should have given them something better than just plain PB & J. Maybe I should have cut it into shapes or something like the “good” mommies do? I don’t have the time and must go to work. My heart hurts knowing I can’t be the mom I want to be or should be. Instead they are stuck with the impatient, always rushing, non-star shaped melon making, frequently yelling, mess that is their mom.
Giving my husband a quick peck on the cheek as I leave I feel the loss of meaningful conversation we rarely get to have without some interruption. I wonder as he eats his cold cereal, wishing I could make his something better, if I am the wife he through he would have? The way I look now, the person I am. No, I’m not the 20-year-old he fell in love with. In the back of my mind I fear he will get sick of waiting for that 20-year-old to come back from whatever beach vacation she has been on. He will decide to seek out a shiny new model to replace his old yoga pants wearing clunker.
But I’m the Mom
As I glance around my home, the home of two adults, two children and two dogs, I know I should see all of the life that lives here, the love and care. Lately, I only feel anxiety and inadequacies. Today I only see mess to come home too. The one’s that will still be there tomorrow as I lack the time to get to them. My anxiety grows as I recognize here is where I should be. Here is where I am needed. I sigh sadly and recognize there is no way I can do this all. There is no way that I can get these things done. Maid, cook, employee, desirable 20 something, Pinterest mommy, I can’t be all these people. Somehow, I know I will try to because I love my family and that is what Mom’s do.