Had to share

TELL ME ABOUT IT ®
By Carolyn HaxWednesday, May 23, 2007;
C10
Carolyn:
Best friend has child. Her: exhausted, busy, no time for
self, no time for me, etc. Me (no kids): What'd you do today? Her:
Park, play group . . .
Okay. I've done Internet searches, I've talked to
parents. I don't get it. What do stay-at-home moms do all day? Please no lists
of library, grocery store, dry cleaners . . . I do all those things, too, and I
don't do them EVERY DAY. I guess what I'm asking is: What is a typical day and
why don't moms have time for a call or e-mail? I work and am away from home nine
hours a day (plus a few late work events) and I manage to get it all done. I'm
feeling like the kid is an excuse to relax and enjoy -- not a bad thing at all
-- but if so, why won't my friend tell me the truth? Is this a contest
("My life is so much harder than yours")? What's the deal? I've got friends with
and without kids and all us child-free folks get the same story and have the
same questions.
Tacoma, Wash.

Relax and enjoy. You're funny.
Or you're
lying about having friends with kids.
Or you're taking them at their word
that they actually have kids, because you haven't personally been in the same
room with them.
I keep wavering between giving you a
straight answer and giving my forehead some keyboard. To claim you want to
understand, while in the same breath implying that the only logical conclusions
are that your mom-friends are either lying or competing with you, is
disingenuous indeed.
So, since it's validation you seem to want, the real
answer is what you get. In list form. When you have young kids, your typical day
is: constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean, dressed; to
keeping them out of harm's way; to answering their coos, cries, questions; to
having two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys, and supplies for even
the quickest trips, including the latest-to-be-declared-essential piece of
molded plastic gear; to keeping them from unshelving books at the library; to
enforcing rest times; to staying one step ahead of them lest they get too
hungry, tired or bored, any one of which produces the kind of checkout-line
screaming that gets the checkout line shaking its head.
It's needing 45
minutes to do what takes others 15.
It's constant vigilance, constant touch,
constant use of your voice, constant relegation of your needs to the second
tier.
It's constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family and friends,
well-meaning and otherwise. It's resisting constant temptation to seek
short-term relief at everyone's long-term expense.
It's doing all this while
concurrently teaching virtually everything -- language, manners, safety,
resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity. Empathy. Everything.
It's
also a choice, yes. And a joy. But if you spent all day, every day, with this
brand of joy, and then, when you got your first 10 minutes to yourself, wanted
to be alone with your thoughts instead of calling a good friend, a good friend
wouldn't judge you, complain about you to mutual friends, or marvel how much
more productively she uses her time. Either make a sincere effort to understand
or keep your snit to yourself.
Write to Tell Me About It, Style, 1150 15th
St. NW, Washington, D.C. 20071, ortellme@washpost.com.