Wednesday, December 07, 2005

two days til' twenty-seven

Dec ninth will be my twenty-seventh birthday. Hubby is twenty-eight. I am pregnant with our third, and last, biological child. A friend of mine will be thirty-five in January, she and her husband, who is also a year older, like mine, are expecting their first child four or five months after Baby#3 is due. I am a young parent, just like my mom, my mother-in-law, and many other people I know. I am finding, though, that the other stay-at-home moms are older than me, and don't understand where I am coming from, but other people my age who are working are not moms, and they no longer understand me, either.

People keep asking me what I really, truly, want for my birthday. Just last night, I relized it would be nice to have some new spices for my kitchen, and maybe a free standing rack or lazy-susan for them to be displayed at. I felt odd after saying this, like somehow the wild girl from my youth and the 55 year old future me suddenly merged, and thus I am the almost 27 year old HW2K. I really want useful things, especially kitchen things. The kitchen is my haven. I keep it clean and unclutterred, and my life feels the same. It is one of the few spots in my life where I know I can teach Bigguy something, something good, and he isn't just humouring me, he is actually learning, and doesn't already know.
I love getting clothing, but being pregnant makes that slightly impractical, I can get maternity clothing, and never wear it again, or get clothing that might not fit me for who-knows-how-long after the baby arrives.

I will tell all of you, here and now, what I really, truly, want. I feel guilty for admitting it, though. I want my sons' room to be clean, without my having to do most of it, I want to sit down for a meal at a restaraunt, and get to eat all my food, while hot, without having to cut up peices for a child, I want to go anywhere, and not have to keep an eye on a very active four year old, and a very loud one year old, no matter how well behaved they are in public, I want to go some where, come back home, and find my house, completely clean, without having to lift a finger or telling other that I need help. In short, I want a fantasy world, and I feel guilty for it. Somehow I feel that not being able to be super woman, all the time, even while pregnant, diminishes my stay-at-home mom cred, and other housewives the world over are being notified of my shortcomings in their super secret mop bucket communication devices. I also know, however, that my family appreciates what I do, that I am a good mom, and as long as it is clean for Christmas, I am all good.

Oh, and since it is almost my birthday, it is almost time to get a tree and decorate. We all know that it is a crime to have a real tree up BEFORE my birthday, but after is OK.

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