Furthering my campaign for “Worst Mom of the Year”, I had a meltdown yesterday which included the shocking request of “please-get-this-baby-away-from-me-before-I-lose-it”. Surprisingly, my husband had more difficulty handing over the reins than I did. Last night, we had our first real “outing” that wasn’t baby centered. By outing, I mean shopping trip. And by not “baby centered” I mean the only thing we bought for Clark was diapers.
Going shopping without our munchkin was incredibly liberating. I missed being that totally obnoxious, lovey-dovey couple. Yes, we hold hands, grab ass, and kiss in public. No, we don’t make-out. But I’m sure some insecure women would judge me. And, notice, I did not say “us”. These women would judge me, and think nothing of my husband’s “behavior”. But, that is a rant for a different post.
Who am I kidding? That’s a rant for right now. I love the way some women constantly bash men and universally agree that the fault is always on the husband/SO/BF, whoever. It’s my biggest pet peeve, because as a woman who is educated and firmly believes in equal rights, I strongly disagree with blanket gender arguments. As women, we deserve and desire equal treatment, but some women are confused about the responsibility that comes with egalitarianism. We’re just as responsible for our behavior as men are. And, while some fearlessly hold men accountable to impossible, imaginary standards, they simply can’t take it when the same rules apply to their behavior. And this is a huge problem.
I don’t want to raise my son in a way that teaches him that, someday, the person he falls in love with should always be right. I don’t want to teach him that his thoughts and feelings do not matter. I don’t want him to learn that he needs to suck it up and “be a man” about things. I want him to learn to treat others with respect; but I also want him to learn that he shouldn’t put up with someone who doesn’t respect him equally. We all make mistakes. We all say things we don’t mean. We all have words we wish we could take back. If we don’t, then we aren’t being honest. I want my son to be honest. To live honestly. To love honestly. Honestly.
Anyway, let’s get back to the good stuff. You know, before I mommy-jacked my own post. My husband and I were looking for a scale for our apartment while shopping in Target. Afterwords, we drove through Wendy’s. Because, although we’d both like to get in better shape, neither of us are overweight, and we decided to adopt the less-stress-is-best policy when it comes to late night meals and having a newborn. And, if you’re reading this right now, denying yourself a second jelly donut, I give you permission to dive in. Eat the bad stuff. Cheat on your weight loss plan. You’ll never get this time back. But you will get your body back. Just not by Christmas. And, really, who wants to starve themselves on Thanksgiving? Not I, my friends. Not I.
Today, I’m going to let my in-laws watch our baby again. Because, you know what? I miss my husband. And I’m not afraid to admit it. I’m not afraid to admit it even if it makes me a “bad mom”. I don’t want to spend the next 18 years growing apart because we had a baby together. We had a baby because we love each other. We’re crazy about each other. And that’s something I never want to forget. It’s important. It’s just as important as our baby.
And, adding to my awful mommy moments, Clark is getting babysat once again tomorrow. My parents are going to watch him while we go into the city for a night out with friends. No, not a “night out on the town”. We’re going to a bookstore. For a lecture. By a professor. Because we’re nerds like that. And, if you want to get down and dirty, maybe this makes me a better mom. Because idiots raise idiots. I’ve gotta keep up with my intellectual game. I’ve got to practice for the toddler years, fraught with “What’s this?” “Why’s that?” “Mommy-can-you-tell-me-why”. I’ve got to prepare. This way, I can maintain the parenting charade of mommy-knows-best for at least a couple months longer. No?
So, here’s to days with my husband, date nights, and falling in love all over again. Every day. With the man who made my dreams come true, and the baby who will one day thank me for not being a helicopter parent. Here’s to maintaining my integrity and identity in marriage and motherhood. And here’s to hoping that you can, too.
In case you were wondering, it’s been a weekend of bliss. Much more than a sleepy afternoon.
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