weekends with kids are the worst
weekends with kids are the worst
long days // sweet moments
This past weekend I was solo parent for a big chunk of both days. Man-Piece is studying to become a pilot (like, learning to fly airplanes) which is really cool for him and potentially really fun for some vague time in the future but in the meantime, it’s really time consuming for him, which means additional “primary parent” burdens on me.
WHICH Y’ALL KNOW I LOVE, A TON.
Side note and shout out for supporting supportive partners. I am not bitter about him pursuing this in the slightest, as he deserves a hobby and to pursue his passions like I do, and is very accommodating and supportive of me in equal and potentially even greater measure.
status: it’s complicated
Being "primary parent" is a thing moms everywhere love to hate, hate to love, both, neither. It’s complicated. We’re the ones who birth, who feed, who get the most leave (lol yeah that’s loaded, let’s not examine), and our male partners just can’t - early on - compare or compete with how much the kid needs the mom. [hetero phrasing because that’s my lense] [making me think about having a female partner + how it would probably be divine for many reasons, but alas, I love the D]
I think this can and does easily lead to mom being primary parent forever, I guess depending on what kind of partnership you have, what kind of dude you procreated with, what expectations you set - if any - in your relationship, what your life looks like, and truly a shit ton of other factors.
For arguments sake let’s just agree that so many moms [in hetero partnerships] are the primary parent, relied upon in a disproportionate way, and it’s a burden.
So now that we established that, we can agree that I’m an absolute saint and removed the toddler from our house on Saturday so MP can have a quiet house to study + keep an eye on the baby monitor during naptime.
C has a new big boy bike with training wheels and I had the genius idea to take him to a park with wide open paths to practice. We drove 25 minutes through the ‘burbs - another thing I absolutely hate and avoid whenever possible - I got Starbucks so I could be just the most basic bitch possible, and we arrived with still an hour to play before heading home to get the baby. I’m about to lift the bike out of the trunk. C is bouncing on the sidewalk, he’s so excited.
And I realize, I’ve forgotten his GD helmet.
Not a huge deal for everyone, I know, but in our house, kids wear helmets when using any device with wheels and speed potential. I suggest going on a walk instead, LOL, he declines. “We can just run back home and get it, it’s ok Mama!” He was gracious but he doesn’t understand the passage of time yet, because no, we cannot “just run back home” and get it. Ugh. I’m really pissed and trying to model good behavior when confronted with disappointment, and avoided saying “WELL FUCK” really loudly, so I deserve an award for that.
Eventually, 43 seconds later, I’m calm enough to pivot to picking up the helmet and going somewhere closer to our house instead. We could have used the sidewalk that goes all around our neighborhood obviously but REASONS. [Really, he needs to practice on it and I wanted him to have less bumpy and more-safe-from-cars situation to ride.]
the friends joke that never dies?
This kind of thing - a changing of plans, a bump in the road, pivoting - I used to be good at saying OH WELL, getting creative, and moving on! But now it’s such an effort to a) model how to not lose your shit over very small things like this, b) recover in time to do something else, and then c) not let it make me grumpy for the remainder of the day. It was only 11am, I needed to keep going for hours more, alone, and didn’t want to be pissy all day.
We came home from my pivoted plan when MP texted me that the baby was up, and I fixed lunch for J, and C played while J consumed everything in sight. I gripe to a friend via text that I don’t know what to do with these damn kids, and for some reason staying home to let them just play feels like the wrong answer. She invited me to join her at a park, so while J was still eating I whip up a couple peanut-butter sandwiches for me and C and get us all ready to go there - ironically, back in the direction of the park I had tried to go to earlier that morning. I was calmer at this point and motivated to see my friend so I guess that made it more palatable. Still wasting tons of gas and time, but FRIENDS!
It was one of those days that like every tiny movement was an accomplishment. Like, victory, we’re all in the car and buckled and I have the diaper bag and the food and my water bottle and a water bottle for each boy and even remembered my keys and wallet! Go! Victory, we found the park, parked in a shaded space, no one is crying yet! Victory, we’re out of the car, found my friend, dropped my shit on a bench, kids are playing! Whew.
Only at this point I realized I forgot the baby sunscreen for my extremely pale baby who is wearing overalls with no shirt (because, adorable) (also because pants are his friend right now to protect his little knees when he falls 64 thousand times a day but it’s hot, thus, overalls with no shirt).
So now I’m back to being pissed at myself, worried about the number of minutes in the sun until he’s burnt to a crisp, feeling like a terrible mother - what kind of mother forgets her precious baby’s porcelain skin! - but at least thankful that my friend can keep eyes on C while he chases her daughter around the big kid playground. A 2:3 ratio of adults to kids is better than 1:2 I think, especially if 2 of the kids can somewhat entertain themselves and only one of them has to be followed around to keep him from eating sand and leaves.
kids are so fun.
These constant mini victories and mini defeats, over and over, a thousand small ups and downs before 3pm is, in a word, exhausting. It’s a lot of other things too, but exhausting is the main one, probably.
I think my friend and I exchanged a couple meaningful sentences while I was there, but we mostly coparented in that way that you’re technically with someone else, you’re together, physically, but you don’t actually connect meaningfully. Or if you do, it’s fleeting. We did manage this finally, because one of the baby swings opened up and I got to stand in one place for longer than 6 seconds.
I think my friend wasn’t feeling great, and I would have loved to discuss it more, but it’s like, sure bare your soul, promise it’s a safe space, I AM paying attention and I DO care about you but hold that thought while I dash to snatch that stranger’s water bottle out of my baby’s mouth brb!
Oy.
Later I took a 4 minute shower before we went to the safest out-to-dinner option for me right now (counter service, 2 exits, high chair on wheels), and watched soggy pieces of bread fall out of my sports bra as I undressed. At first I was horrified and disgusted, because it WAS super gross, but then I was like yeah makes sense, based on how feeding myself and also the baby in my lap my peanut butter sandwich went at the park. I just AM gross now.
At least I showered. Gotta look on the bright side ladies!!!! COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS and such.
Sunday, I had a second mostly-solo day but it rained all day and instead of braving the weather to take them somewhere indoors, I stayed home, never put on a bra so as to catch less food in my chest, and took up the time with games and feeding baby an almost-hour-long lunch. So nice when they can be contained in a seat and not antagonize or harass each other! For me, at least. Did it mean that baby got 3 packs of nom-nom crackers at he end of his lunch? Sure did. Did he eat way too many blackberries, probably? Yep. Slices of plain bread to make it last longer? Absolutely.
We do what we can, and when we just can’t, we do what we must.
That feels like a good note to end on. I won’t even mention how baby J paid me back for his epic lunch by pooping in my shower when I had the audacity to think baby shower play was a great idea on a rainy day.
Do your best, do what you can, and when you simply can’t, do what you must. Is that the new tagline for snarky memoirs?
Maybe I’m a broken record but thank you from the bottom of my soggy bread heart for being here and reading this snarky shit. I love you the most, and I want to hear from you. Should we share the grossest thing you’ve ever found in your bra at the end of a kid-packed day? Is that too much? What about just a hard kid thing you did recently? Want to shout out to your awesome partner who doesn’t force you to be primary parent? Want to gripe about a clueless man-child who doesn’t know where the diapers are kept? Everything is welcome here.
kbye!
