I’ve made no secret of the fact that lately I have felt a little lost just being a stay-at-home mom. This afternoon, Man threw up on me…and I was struck with a realization. Yes, it took an Exorcist-like scene of projectile vomiting for me to come to the conclusion that I am not just a mom.
When the kiddies scrape their knees, bump their heads and puke all over me, I am a doctor.
I answer their important questions about cheese and dirt; I read to them; we do lots of puzzles and play games. I am a teacher.
They ask me to make French toast for breakfast and chicken nuggets for lunch. I am a chef.
“Shoulders, shoulders!” they beg for a ride. They climb all over me, clamoring for leverage. I am a jungle gym.
They draw on the walls, spill their juice and splatter yogurt on the floor. I am a maid.
They snuggle up to me and fall asleep on my chest, breathing delicious little breaths. I am a pillow.
Grabbing and pushing leads to tears and fights. I am a referee.
Man is upset; someone doesn’t want to play with him. I am a best friend.
I push for meetings; I advocate and sometimes fight for the therapeutic services he needs. I am a lawyer.
Of course – I schlep them to school, play dates, doctor’s appointments, classes…I am a bus driver.
Running around trying to put Lady’s wild hair into a more manageable ponytail, I am a hairdresser to the stars!
New toys need to be built and old toys need to be fixed. I am a carpenter. (Who am I kidding, my husband fills that role.)
I pick out their clothes and make them look cute, or at least make sure their bodies are covered before we leave the house. I am a stylist.
Man wants to throw a ball; put me in coach, I’m ready to play. I’m Derek Jeter.
He dives under the bedcovers so we can “search for bears”—I am a park ranger.
When I assist in his “experiments” and we end up laughing while the floor gets soaked and your clothes get filthy, I am a mad scientist.
Man steadfastly refuses to carry his dinner dishes from the table – apparently I am a busboy.
They step out of line – I’m a prison guard on Oz.
At the end of the day, I am their mom.