When I was in high school, I used to watch Sex and the City and fantasize about how, some day, I would be just like Charlotte York. She was perfect in every way. Beautiful, successful, rich, but more than anything, she was the perfect housewife.
I used to imagine my life when I was married with kids. I would be JUST like that. Perfectly put together, pearls and all, keeping an immaculate house, dinner on the table when my husband got home, all while raising babies. Yes, for a woman my age, this is a very old fashioned way of thinking, but it's what I wanted.
Today, I'm a 22 year old stay-at-home mom, and if you came over to my house right now, right this very second, you would probably be appalled by what you would see. My coffee table has 3 glasses and 2 baby bottles on it, my foyer table has a screwdriver sitting on top (because we have to change the damn swing batteries every day), my giant sectional sofa is covered by 2, equally giant, comforters (because we have to sleep downstairs most nights because the babe doesn't sleep the whole night in her crib). What else? Oh, let's see, the kitchen is a mess. Dishwasher full, causing dishes to pile up in the sink, floors desperately need to be swept. And don't even get me started on the upstairs. Our bedroom is a disaster area. When I look at it, I want to cry.
And you know what the problem is? I blame Brian because I really do try to keep this place clean, but he does nothing to help me keep it clean. I cleaned the entire downstairs on Saturday. Complete with vacuuming, which doesn't happen as often as it should in this house, but it didn't matter. Come Monday, it's a complete and utter mess, like it is every Monday. But the real problem, the reason why this place is never clean for very long, is me.
It's my fault that Evie doesn't sleep in her crib, causing me to not be able to make a noise when she's napping, in the living room, in her swing. When she is awake, she has to constantly be held or paid attention to. She's not content with just playing by herself and watching me clean. When I do, FINALLY, get her to sleep, I can't so much as get a glass of water for fear that the ice clinking in my glass will wake her. As I sit here typing this, I'm trying not to tap the keys too loud, because when I do, she stirs.
So I sit here. I sit here, on the computer, just waiting for her to wake up so we can start the cycle all over again. And just thinking about it, makes me want to breakdown into tears. This is not the kind of housewife I pictured myself being. I want a clean house, I want to cook, I want a baby who sleeps in her own crib, giving Mommy and Daddy their, much needed, alone time in the evenings.
What can I do though? I can't make her become a more independent baby. I can't force her to sleep in her crib all night. And if I can't handle doing household chores with one baby, how the hell am I supposed to do it with 2? Or 3? Or 4? I shudder at the thought of it.
For now, all I can do is try my best. I try not to think about the characters I idolized on TV. Because the fact is, it IS just a tv show. The Charlotte Yorks and Bree Vandekamps are just fictional characters. At least that's what I tell myself, but a little piece of me knows...women like that are out there, being great housewives, and that's the little piece that makes me feel like a failure as a wife and mother.
A midwestern mama to a beautiful little girl, Evie Rose, born 11/10/2009.
This is our life. Enjoy!
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