why motherhood is like an underage house party

…because it always starts out with that one person. You know, the person who likes kids, but has no intention of having one themselves, but comes over to you and is all, “You should TOTALLY have a baby. You would be an awesome parent. And then I could come over and play with it and you guys could go out and stuff.”

And even though your instincts are usually pretty good, especially when this person makes any kind of suggestion, that day it just sounds like a good idea. Your better judgment is out of town for the weekend and you start to think. “Maybe I could have a baby. Maybe I really could. Our house would be the perfect place to host it. It will be great. I’m so excited!”

So you plan the whole Event. Everyone is excited. They can’t wait. They tell their friends. People who don’t know you but think it’s a great idea because they’ve heard about you. They wonder why you waited so long. Everyone contributes. You clean the house. You set up the rooms. You assemble new pieces of furniture so everyone will fit. You decorate.

So the day of the Event arrives and in no time the party is in full swing. You thought you were going to dress up, but didn’t like how you looked in any of your clothes. Everyone looks better than you. You start to get nervous. “Music” is loud. You can’t get anyone to speak at a normal register. They all want to yell.

There are cups, plates and food everywhere. People standing on the furniture instead of sitting. You can’t believe how much you sound like your mother when you tell them to get down. You wind up being the designated “hair-holder” while people vomit in trashcans, on the floor, and occasionally in the toilet.

You wander around your house, unable to join the fun everyone else seems to be having. There are unrecognizable stains on the carpet that you know you’ll never get out. There are infections everywhere, you can feel them, but no one seems interested in coming clean and admitting it.

Neighbors start knocking on the door. It’s too loud. They don’t want to call the cops, but they hear what sounds like murderous screaming. Is everything okay? Then they come in and join the party even though they weren’t invited. Around that time you notice all of the other strangers in your house. Wait? Who is that person with their fingers in the dip? And why is that other person pulling your Tupperware out of the cabinets? Who let these people in?

You cower into a back bedroom and start wishing the night away. You just want it to end so you can go home. You go to call your mother to come and pick you up. Which is when you realize that you’re home. This is your party. You want to strangle that person who thought this “party” would be a great idea. The same person, you realize, who didn’t even show up for the event.

Then you get mad. You rush out of the room and tell everyone to leave, sounding just your mother. And just like you, no one listens. You start to appreciate what it was like for her. You empathize. You get overwhelmed. You look around the remains of your house. It’s an utter mess, so you decide that if they won’t go, you’ll just ask them to help clean. Which is when the music screeches to a halt and everyone heads for the door.

So you turn the music back on, but at a lower volume. Grab a phone. Call your mom and chat her up while you start putting everything away. You think she’s amazing. You tell her again and again that you’re sorry for throwing like 20 years of destruction parties in her house. You promise to celebrate HER on your birthday from now on. You can’t imagine what it was like for her, or why she still likes you.

You can hear her smiling on the phone as she reassures you that not all of the parties were bad. Some were actually fun.

Really? you say.

Yes, she says.

You know she’s lying, but you decide to believe her anyway. You swear you’ll never have another party again. She laughs at you. Reminds you that your partying days are over. And from now on, you’ll just be on clean-up duty. But that it will all be worth it when your child calls you one day, finally able to appreciate who you are and how much you did for them.

So this is what it takes to appreciate, really appreciate, your  mother. 

You’ve got at least 20+ years before that’s gonna happen for you. Thank GOD you have your mother to talk you through it.

(Love you, Mom!)

©2009 CEK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

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