I think I wear stress like some people wear their favorite outfit. I’m just used to it. Like when you wear sweats a lot and you lay them at the end of your bed when you go to sleep and then it just seems easier to put them back on then go find something else to wear. And since we’re still using this analogy, I’ll let you in on a little secret – this goes for shirts as well. I know. Kind of gross but who’s smelling me – grandmothers at the park? I hear your sense of smell tends to diminish with age anyway.
So everyday I just become stressed again because it seems easier than actually making any drastic changes to my life. I could put the kid in daycare a few days a week or really get serious about getting a job or…or…start doing activities that other SAHM’s do like museums or picnics, indoor playgrounds, music groups the list is endless. But instead I do the same old stuff, well, I should cut myself a little slack. I did buy an inflatable pool the other day at Target for 9.99 and it has really enriched my baby’s exhibit (this is a term used for zoo animals that get bored. I learned it from watching my husband work on a documentary about alligators).
The thing I’m starting to come to terms with is that maybe I’m not cut out to be home trying to create activities. It’s not my strong suit. In fact, at many menial jobs way back in the day the biggest critique I got was that I “didn’t show enough initiative” – granted it’s tough to show initiative when you work in the deli dept. of a grocery store – unless you consider adding a pickle “taking initiative.”
Some people love to do all types of kid related stuff. I do too just in smaller doses – I need to lay down in between play-doh and the blow up pool. I have to read US Weekly between dinner and bathtime and not being able to do that makes me stressed. So, I’m stressed a lot. I know we all can relate which is why blogging is such a great time cause you all get it. But I can’t help but wonder what this all says about my maternal instinct. I love my daughter (can I ever write a fucking post without defending that fact?) Obviously I love her or I’d have gotten her into baby modeling or some other money making venture. Here’s the thing though. I love her but she’s not a good conversationalist yet. And you know when you’re sitting in the car with your husband and you aren’t talking but it’s totally comfortable? Well, when I’m pushing my 18-month-old to the park, sometimes I just don’t feel like making conversation with myself to which the only response I’ll get is “doggy.” It’s not that fulfulling. And then I feel an uncomfortable silence because I should be talking to her. There is no answer right now because all the advice in the world about fun stuff to do with her is just not going to sound boring to me. I’m weird that way. Of course if I become gainfully employed then I will miss my daughter like crazy and long to hear her say doggy the way a Kate Moss longs for a nice pile of white powder.
So, I guess, like black, stress is just never going out of style with me.