Last week my not quite 2 year old decided to give up her afternoon naps. By 8pm I was EXHAUSTED in the way that only mothers can be. I had finally gotten the kids to bed and made it back downstairs for a little me time. I checked my email and there was a message from my husband. The subject line: LINK.
Hmmm, I was intrigued. I opened it up and saw that the link was to an article in the Italian newspaper. Even more intriguing. La Repubblica publishes everything from breaking news to soft-core porn on its site so there was no telling what the article was going to be. Having nothing better to do, I clicked through.
Was I met with a pair of perfectly shaped boobs and an advertisement for bottled water? Nope. He had sent me an article about some new health discovery that recommended people do a sweat-inducing work out for at least 2-3 hours per week. I can read between the lines here, people. The message here wasn’t “Oh what an interesting discovery!”. It was “Get yo lazy ass to the gym”. I wish he had sent the boobs instead.
Apparently my husband thinks that I lead a sedentary life. (I’ll pause here so that all of you moms can catch your breath after laughing yourselves silly.)
In his world, if it doesn’t happen in the gym or while out running, it doesn’t count. Let me just give you a few examples of our she said / he heard battles over the bulge.
Example 1: The Mommy Triathlon
I SAY: I took Addy to dance class today.
HE HEARS: Blah blah dance blah.
I MEAN: I rushed out the door, biked across town to the daycare, ran up and down the stairs to her classroom, threw her on the bike, biked across town again to dance class, rushed her inside and somehow shoved her tutu and tights on before hussling her into the classroom 2 minutes late. Then I sat down with the other dance moms and passed around the communal paper bag as we all tried to catch our breath again.
HE SAYS: Hey, did you go to dance class today? You should really go to the gym.
Example 2: The Mommy Marathon
I SAY: Giorgie didn’t nap today.
HE HEARS: (Who the hell knows…he claims he has gone deaf from listening to the kids cry…I have my doubts.)
I MEAN: I chased her around the house 27 times trying to get clothing and/or a diaper back on her. I pulled out and then cleaned up the same set of toys 15 times. I tossed her into the air, slung her around, carted her butt up and down the stairs, cooked lunch while holding her, ate lunch with her in my lap, peed with her in my lap, broke up 6 arguments, danced to the aurora song 5 times in a row, and made countless trips back and forth between the couch and the snack cabinet. And that was just between 12-1pm.
HE SAYS: Hey, are you going to ever go to the gym? You promised me that you would get a membership.
Clearly he is not going to take my word for it that motherhood is a workout routine all on its own. That is why so many of us wear yoga pants on a daily basis. It isn’t laziness or the elastic waistband (wait, yes it is…whatever…overlook that for a minute) it is because we are working our butts off trying to keep up with the kids.
I need help here, Internet world. There must be some study out there that says “Wow! Moms burn through a shitload of calories each day and should absolutely be allowed to eat whatever the hell they want anytime they want.” So can one of you internet peeps find this and send me the link? I will share it with everyone, for the good of all motherkind.
Thank you.
AN ODE TO MY HOUSE CLEANER
YOU KNOW YOU ARE A MOM IF…
PAYBACK IS A BITCH