Friday, October 16, 2009
My dear friend Elaine and her husband Eric traveled to China in August to meet, for the first time, their gorgeous, two and a half year-old son, Nicholas. They've all been back home in California a few months months now, settling in. I received the following email from Elaine yesterday. My responses to her are italicized.
I just have a few questions...
When will I be able to use the restroom alone?
I have no idea. I don’t even bother to close the bathroom door in public places anymore.
Are these my only options for showering?
1. Get up at 6:00 before Nick wakes up and Eric has to bathe before work.
2. Have a toddler screaming outside the shower while I try to quickly wash myself.
3. Shower with my child and have him try to squeegee my legs when we are finished.
You are so cute! "Showering." There is a reason God invented Febreze.
My hair is “done” when it is firmly pulled out of my face with one of the 3-pack of headbands I bought at Dollar Tree. When did I become that mom?
A few months back, my darling son informed me, “Mama, you’re not a woman, you’re a mama.” I'm pretty sure he was talking about my hair.
How long will I need to listen to “Shake Your Sillies Out” before I stab myself in the eye with a Gerber Graduates® fork?
I’ve heard that some moms make it through The Wiggles experience by developing a crush on Anthony Field the “Sexy Wiggle.” I’ve had the Olivia theme song stuck in my heard for three days. No matter how hard I squint at the TV, Olivia’s dad just doesn’t do it for me.
Is it true that if you don’t look under the couch, there aren’t any toys there?
“Under the couch” is the Bermuda Triangle of the home.
Will I ever have the time for a manicure and a pedicure again? I’m not talking about at the salon. I mean just the “do-it-yourself” kind at home. Just wondering.
Should I even bother to buy “mom” clothes or are the yoga pants and Old Navy tank top going to be “it” for the next 16 years?
Sister, the yoga pants and tank ARE your “mom” clothes.
Why do (so-called?) friends and family give you toys that are either really, really loud & annoying, or have one million tiny pieces? (That is just plain mean.)
Obviously, they love your son and they hate you.
Miss you guys!