Marisa Siegel wrote the other day about scheduling her pregnancy around a destination wedding and a tattoo. Before I had kids, I may have thought something along the lines of This lady isn’t ready to be a mother. Now that I have kids – it makes so much sense.
Maybe there are some women who still have all the time in the world after they have kids. Maybe there are families who have the budget to pay for help so they don’t have to be with their kids all the live long day. I’m not that woman and I don’t have that family. As much as I love being a mom, I’m becoming increasingly aware of certain pangs of jealousy appearing at the oddest times.
We were sitting at dinner the other day when I overheard the couple next to us say, What should we do now? Wanna go to a movie? I immediately became wrapped in a fiery blanket of envy. I barely remember what it’s like to go to the movies on a whim. Heck – I barely remember what it’s like to do anything on a whim that doesn’t involve being “family friendly” or something I am able to rush through in time for my toddler to not completely wear my mother out.
Manicures, pedicures, movies, leisurely days drinking in the afternoon and strolling along the streets of New York – these are all things that are but a distant memory to me. Yes, I still squeeze these things in. But they are so few and far between now that I am noticing something about myself. I am becoming seriously high maintenance.
My years in the service industry prevent me from acting on the frustration that plays out in my head when one of these insignificant events doesn’t go perfectly. But now, each of these undertakings is an intricate juggling act – one that mostly plays out in my mind. How do I get the most out of every, single benign event that I get to experience that doesn’t involve motherhood? I have yet to master this.
I got a pedicure a couple weeks ago. The trivial ritual that I used to take part in at least twice a month has now become one of the only little things I do to pamper myself outside of the home. You can imagine the kind of pressure that puts on the occurrence. I used to just be content if the pedicurist got the polish right and I managed to make it home without totally fucking it up. Now, the actual pedicure better be the best damn pedicure around. Okay, maybe not the best. But good. Really good.