They say if you don’t have anything nice to say, say nothing – or some such hogwash, as a result of which I’ve tucked my rants under the rugs, alongwith other stray litter I can’t be bothered to clean. But I’m rather nutella-starved today, so I’m bringin’ it.
Being a stay-at-home-mom ain’t no picnic…but it is a non-stop circus with fresh acts everyday courtesy Nibbles. Nibbles is an awesome housemate, and we spend hours giggling and rolling on the floor, destroying anything that dares to stop our momentum. While he moves from one milestone to the next, I delight in undoing my adulthood.
Then we break for lunch – I belt out archaic numbers from those long-lost convent school days to my biggest (and only) fan, Nibbles, who plays maestro with colorful spoons loaded with prunes, carrots and other goo du jour.
Come afternoon, and I decide to be social for a change and join the stroller mommies by the boardwalk, instead of tossing envious glances their way. Of course, by the time I’m done with my annoyingly long pre-outing ritual, a tired Nibbles rubs his eyes and decides to chill in bed, getting drunk on artificial air and breast milk.
Soon enough, my caffeine levels are dangerously low, and I decide to lose myself in a piping hot cup of ginger tea while surfin’ the net. I then see the cyclone of a mess that I helped create, piling sink+laundry and maggi noodle dinner on the horizon – and that blasted guilt sets in.
Now that I’ve traded my full-time job as a software engineer for a full-time gig as a domestic engineer, I suddenly feel like I’ve lost the right to vegetate. At work-work, one could stare endlessly at the dual computer screens, pretending to be immersed in sloppy code, occasionaly scratching one’s forehead, kicking the CPU and sighing audibly on the way to the vending machine for a candy fix.
At work-work, I could leave the bugs, e-mails and unfinished reports till the next day in order to keep expectations at comfy levels while I got acquainted with a bottle of wine. At home, there really is no EOD (end of day). If I’m in bed, it’s because I’m defeated by the random chores that come at me like one of those automatic tennis ball machines gone berserk. If I’m in bed, it means I really should be glued to my laptop trying to squeeze in my daily 4 hours of part-time work, churning out magnificent code to impress those folks that have my soul. And here I am, blogging my responsibilities away. Bah!
As a domestic engineer, I know I can’t get fired, but my sheer ineptitude at it simply sucks; especially when I read how other mommy bloggers seem to keep at it, even if it means running on an empty tank. For sure, Supermomdom is a necessity not an option.
Big Byte has been perfect though, with well planted words of praise every once in a while, even if my rotis are shaped like the map of Timbucktoo and taste like cardboard. I for one have stopped getting all riled up about the fact that I’m performing traditional duties outlined for a “wife” and a “mom”.
I used to think feminism was about abandoning gender roles dictated by society. I thought that being diametrically opposite to those roles would support “the cause” further. Being a mother – and being sober – has certainly cleared up the fog. (Can I have my margarita now?)