I knew heading back to work after a week off was going to be difficult. I knew working such long hours through the holiday season was going to be difficult. But just because you know something is going to be a certain way, doesn't make it any easier to handle.
Today, a Saturday, after coming home from work this afternoon, I am greeted by my overly excited 3 year-old who ran up to me, gave me a hug and told me he missed me. I then heard my little baby crawling toward me making happy sounds with each step forward who I picked up and am immediately offered an open mouth ready for a kiss. I then found my freshly shaven, thank the lord, husband and am fondly received with a non-prickly kiss.
I am also greeted by a kitchen full of dishes, with a cob web above the sink that has been there for a week, driving me crazy. And a basket full of clean, unfolded childrens' clothes as well as an over-stuffed hamper full of unclean childrens' clothes. I am greeted by an insanely dirty kitty litter box that I don't feel comfortable changing myself due to my "condition", and a husband who would rather murder the cat by his own hand than simply empty and refill that toxic container. I am greeted by a house devoid of Christmas decor and no tree either.
I am greeted by a basement I don't even want to step foot into because the puppy somehow managed to break loose of her kennel for an entire work day and pissed all over the dogbed, chewed up at least 4 plastic balls plus a few other toys, pissed on 3 couch pillows and one couch cushion, destroyed and tore up her own kennel bedding, and the place just smells.
I am greeted by my oldest child, who still refuses to use the toilet to do #2 in any kind of regularity therefore forcing me to bend my fat, pregnant ass over to try and wipe the crusted poo off his behind, until I agitatedly give up and just tell him to get in the bath. I am then greeted by my youngest child who insists he needs a bath as well. I then take out said oldest when he is done, and by the time I dry him off and get him dressed, I am greeted by the younger holding a piece of his own poo in his hand. I am now greeted with the task of draining the tub, picking up the poop, re-washing the child and sterilizing the tub as well as any toy that was in the water with the contaminant.
I am now greeted by 3rd trimester exhaustion, along with a multitude of other pregnancy aches and ailments that I am tired of listing, mentioning or, really, even thinking about, which prohibits me from completing a single task on my to-do list for the day. I am then forced to begin nagging my husband to do more around the house, for which I am greeted by an intense feeling of guilt. Guilt that is intensified by the impatience I now have with my children with whom I only get limited time these days. A guilt which is then further intensified when Brock, out of the blue, says to me, "I am sorry for being a bad boy today, mom." Let the water works begin.
And now, it is nighttime. The littles are in bed. I am ready for bed, but sick of 10pm bedtimes being my Saturday night. As happy as I am. As much as I love life and all that is has to offer. Sometimes a good attitude is not possible. And now, I am greeted by self-pity. Gross.
All of this on a Saturday I had dreamt of spending with my family, obtaining a Christmas tree, listening to Christmas music, decorating my house, and drinking warm apple cider in a warm home.
Who is supermom, now?