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Thursday, June 28, 2012

Mother or Martyr?

At what point do we mothers decide that everyone else's needs are more important than ours?  It probably starts somewhere around conception, after the nausea sets in.  "It's ok little fetus, take all that you need from me.  I'll just live out my days with my head hanging over a toilet.  Surely at some point my stomach will just eat my intestines.  I should be fine."  Yes, I think conception is the beginning of martyrdom.

My sister and I make fun of our own mother for this all the time.  That woman would eat crumbs off the floor before one of her kids/grandkids even had the chance to hint at being hungry.  She was always the one that claimed to just love the crappy parts of fried chicken.  The legs and thighs would all be gone and she'd eat whatever was left.  She also recently offered to go on a Disney vacation with my family.  We've been wanting to go, but unsure how Easton would tolerate the trip.  So, of course my mom says, "Oh, I would love to go and just sit in the hotel room with him while the rest of you went to the parks."  Really, Mom?  I mean, who wouldn't want to travel 19 hours in a vehicle with 4 children just to sit and watch hotel room cable for 10 hours a day?  It's everyone's dream vacation.

Unfortunately, I've noticed that this trait doesn't stop with my mom.  I do it, too!  I don't even pee by myself. Why in the hell do I convince myself that my daughter's plea for her lost sandal is more important than my ability to urinate on my own?    However, I have realized that as much as I give up for my children there are some things that just don't fly.  For example, if you were to happen upon my stash of chocolate during a certain time of the month and decide that it was for you, I don't care how cute you are or how much DNA we share.  I will cut you.  Also, my husband recently decided that he was going to "take over" my blog to air some of his frustrations.  He says this with a little smile on his face.  Here's the thing, dude...dimples or not, you touch my keyboard and you'll be pulling back a nub.  This is my sacred ground, my holy place, my sanctuary.  It's MINE dammit!!!  Am I not allowed to have ONE thing for myself?  I gave up my breasts, my ass, and my elimination privacy.  I haven't had a good piece of fried chicken in 9 years.  But, I'm putting my foot down on this one...probably right on top of Morgan's lost sandal.

1 comment:

  1. The fried chicken totally reminds me of a story my mom always told me. She is one of eight kids and they grew up on a farm with little money. My grandfather was a very stern and serious man but would do or give up anything for his children and grandchildren. When they were kids they would have one chicken (that they butchered) to feed a family of ten and after everyone was served only the icky parts were left so my grandfather was left eating the neck and gizzards. Those parts that most people pull out of the cavity of the chicken and throw away and wouldn't even think of eating.