As a mother, I have dutifully looked to the uninspired memes floating around Facebook in the guise of unfunny ecards to help me parent more effectively. Since more and more of my friends have become parents, they have helpfully given me the tools to correct my horrible parenting habits. Since only shitty moms have friendships, wear pants, or leave the house on Friday to go be a Sluts McGee all around town, I have tried my best to not do any of those things. But this week, someone took it a bridge too far by pointing out that if you’re cleaning your house, you are missing a vital opportunity to cherish the rapidly waning moments of your child’s childhood filled with their childlike laughter or something.
I’ll say this once: If you attempt to take my CFC-infused Sprayway glass cleaner from me, you’d better make sure I’m good and dead first because I will knife you right in your lululemon yoga pants before I give up the goods. You’ve been warned.
I like to clean. I’m sure you could trace it back to some kind of childhood trauma if you had the time and a few pads of graph paper to waste, but the fact remains that I am not comfortable in my home unless my carpet has shark’s teeth and all of the little toothpaste dribbles have been wiped out of the sinks. I take a lot of pride in my gleaming doorknobs, and yes, I make people take off their shoes before they come in to my house. Being able to sit down on the couch without shoving a pile of laundry to the floor so that I can have a glass of wine with my husband and feel like a human adult is one thing that I refuse to give up just because I reproduced.
To be honest, I never understood the concept that children are little tyrants that rob you of your desire/ability to do big girl things. Because my pregnancy was a surprise, we made the inevitable pros and cons list of why we should go through with it and “being the boss of someone littler than me” made it into the pros list no less than 4 times. Of course, I’m a youngest child, so that probably has a lot to do with it.