As I was cleaning the kitchen this morning, I put a knife in the utility drawer. I didn't even think about it. I just plopped that sharp baby right in the drawer and went about my business scrubbing the yick and the yuck from the weekend.
And like a smack across my heart, it dawned on me. Oh, it's been dawnin' on me all year long, but there are these simple, random times where the dawnin' is brighter than other times, and this one stopped me in my tracks, and nearly blinded me.
I ain't got no babies any more.
I have five children, gave birth to them all, and my oldest will be 20 years old this summer. Leapin' lizards! All those annoying old people were right! It truly does fly by, and before you know it, your little baby will be all grown up. Savor each moment (gag me with a spoon). But really, they were right.
My other babes are 17, 12, 9 and 7. So, yeah, ploppin' a sharp knife in a drawer isn't a big deal around here any more. It's not a big deal to have hazardous cleaners and detergents within reach either. When did this all change? I don't know. All I know is that I was once a hyper-vigilant-extremely protective mother, and now things are much more relaxed around here.
It's also weird not to haul big boxes of diapers in the grocery store buggie any more. Great Lord, I changed diapers forever. My little guy wasn't potty trained until he was in first grade last year. He has special needs, but truth be told, I did not care one bit. You know what a freakin' hassle it is to potty train a kid? I had already done it four times. The thought of doing it that fifth time made me feel a little bit suicidal. I think I was like, "Forget it. He can potty train himself." And he did. Eventually.
Although, I still, and will forever more buy Bootie Wipes, you know those moist toilettes that cleanup stinky little fannies. Well, it turns out they are excellent at cleaning the faucets, the sink, and the back of the potty too. If you have sons, you need Bootie Wipes because they miss. Plus Bootie Wipes are good to take along on picnics, and I'll admit that from time to time, especially during exam week, using five of those puppies constitutes a full shower. If I ever smell baby fresh, you'll know why.
I'll tell you what else is weird: my lingerie drawer. Having twenty pairs of maternity panties does something to one's psyche. They are big and comfy. They make granny panties look like thongs. So, like yeah, I wore them even when I wasn't pregnant. Wearing them felt like I was getting a big ole hug all day long. They really make ya feel secure. But wearing them doesn't make you exactly wanna keep the lights on when you're getting undressed. Those things are the size of draperies. I could have hung them over the windows for shade. Perhaps this is why my butt is still so big. I mean, hey, if your panties fit, why work at changing the size of your bahonkus?
And the nursing bras! Those are the best things ever. They were good to my "girls," which for several years looked like something outta National Geographic. In all total, I nursed for 9 entire years of my life. But I got rid of all those boob slings. And you know what I think it means? I think it means I got my body back. My body still has the shape of a mother, my hips are wide and my boobs are still kind of Amazonish, and my tummy looks permanently four months pregnant, but it's mine. Nobody wipes boogers on me any more. My hair does not have sticky food in it. I haven't worn a vomit crusted shirt in years. Now my drawer is filled with pretty, relatively little things to remind me that I am a woman, not just a mother. Yeah, baby. This is my body. Give me five baby wipes and I am good to go.
I am so happy that I decided to go back to college when my little one started kindergarten. He's in second grade now, and I am a junior. I discovered how much I love to learn. I am a huge nerd. I have big ideas about graduate school, and I am truly happy to neglect my family once in a while, like during exam week. It turns out they do great without me. They pitch in and things get done.
For so many years of wearing big ole maternity panties, I had completely forgotten who the heck I was. I was just Mama. And now I feel like every time I plop a sharp knife in the drawer, or every time I walk right past the diaper aisle, that I am getting to know Abigail.
It turns out that I am actually a pretty cool person. I am kind of surprised who I am. I know I am not much like the Abigail I was before I became a mother. She was kinda dumb. She lacked self confidence. She had no idea how capable she was. She was a bit of a flake. And she was selfish. This new Abigail is a go getter, and she has a huge heart. She is self-motivated. She's not afraid. She's self confident. She's a multi-tasker. She is super efficient. You'd want this chick to balance your budget, mediate your conflicts, or negotiate your business deals. Motherhood gives you phenomenal skills that no school could ever teach you.
I truly sympathize for all the mommies out there who are still wrestling with car seats and late night feedings. It is the hardest thing you will ever do. And really, no one helps you. Even if you have a good husband and good parents, it's still more difficult than you'll admit. But you'll continue doing an excellent job, even when being a half assed mom is tempting. These are your children. You'll keep going above and beyond the call simply because you love those stinky little trouble makers more than you ever thought humanly possible.
And I know you go to bed feeling like a loser sometimes. I know I sure did. You'll second guess yourself and beat yourself up because you might have yelled this morning, when you really wish you could have exemplified patience. You'll beat yourself up because you got Happy Meals three times this week, and you are afraid all of your babies will have heart disease and diabetes by the time they are seven. And you'll beat yourself up because you haven't had a real shower in four days, and your husband is starting to notice. But you know what? It's OK. You're still doing a wonderful job. You're not a robot. At least, that's what I wish someone had told me. I am not a robot.
And guess what? It really will fly by too quickly, and one day you'll be putting sharp knives in a drawer that everyone can reach, and you won't worry about a two year old gauging his eyes out. You'll have empty seats in your derpy, old minivan, and you'll only have to vacuum it once a month. And you'll hold on to the precious memories of when your little ones were so helpless, and you'll regard those days as deeply spiritual, holy experiences. And then you'll realize that you are stronger and braver than you ever thought possible. You are a survivor. You've conquered some nasty stuff if you've raised a family. If you've handled lice, parasites, thrush, and hand-foot-mouth disease with one iota of grace and dignity, you can seriously do anything. You can even go back to school and be whatever the heck you want to be when you grow up. And you'll know one thing for sure... that you already get to be the best thing in the world. You get to be a Mom!
