I mean, I love my kids. Duh. I’m glad I had them and I’m glad they’re happy and healthy and I’m glad they exist in the world but I am equally as glad that they are adults and do not exist under my specific roof.
And I’m sure I’m not alone in this. Life becomes so much less stressful without worrying about homework, and carpooling and doctor’s appointments and “OH MY GAWD MOM MAKE HIM STOP HITTING ME WITH POTATOES”, ammirite?
But here is something I discovered a while ago and will share with those who are still yearning to be free.
See, I have come down with teh sickness. And I know we’re all familiar with the comedic gem of an idea that when a man gets sick, his entire world basically ends, but when a woman gets sick she must hold it all together and GET SHIT DONE, regardless.*
But when Mama is living childfree? Mama can get sick LIKE A MAN.
::grabs crotch and spits::
So yeah. Yesterday, Monday, was my long day at work. Twelve hours, plus. Day started with stomach pains, then back ache (which is actually the norm for me these days, hooray slipped disc), then cramps came to join the party, and finally, fashionably late but still most unwelcome, coughs, chills, aches, all that good cold stuff. A right ol’ hootenanny right there in my poor worn out body. I texted the husband to ask him to throw my warm cozy blanket into the washer because one of the cats had hocked up a hairball on it and I hadn’t washed it yet because I am a garbage person. (Oh don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t USING it, it was with other to be washed items, DUH).
But he was busy in the basement, killing things, and apparently did not see my text.
So I texted our roommate to ask him to tell the husband to check his messages but roommate wasn’t home. But roommate’s GIRLFRIEND was at the house so I asked HER to ask husband to check his text messages.
Five minutes later, I get a text from husband that he can not find the shirt he wore to the party we went to Friday night. I assume that, although he did not acknowledge my request, NOR DID HE EXPRESS EMPATHY FOR MY PAIN AND SUFFERING COUGH COUGH COUGH WHEEZE DYING, he must’ve seen the message, right? So my warm and cozy comfort blankie was CERTAINLY being washed, right? RIGHT?
So I’m finally heading home from work, feeling like a flattened cat, roommate’s girlfriend texts that she just saw my message and do I still need her to pass it on and I do not respond because texting and driving is bad, mm’kay? (Seriously, don’t do that shit around me, I will rain down upon you like a motherfucker, flattened cat or no). And well, also, because, presumably, the situation has been handled. (I am positive the preceding sentence had more commas than were strictly necessary, but I don’t KNOOOOOW, what do I look like, a forreal writer that spits Strunk and White from it’s eyes???)
I forgot what I was saying.
ANYWAY! I was cranky when I got home.
I had to bend over to pick up a package from the doorstep. Whine at package
I tried to put roommate’s mail in the designated mail spot on our refrigerator and everything fell off the refrigerator. Whine at refrigerator.
Husband stops killing things and comes upstairs to see how I am. Whine at husband about blanket.
(Turns out he did wash it because he is a good husband.)
Whine at husband to put blanket in dryer when it is done
Open fridge to start comfort dinner of beanie weenies. See bottle of wine
Whine at wine.
(because I want to drink wine, but I am also planning on hitting a bottle of NyQuil later and I do not want to die)
Cook dinner, eat dinner, clean up after dinner, whine the whole way through.
Take shower. Whine because the water hurts.
Go to medicine cabinet. Discover that SOMEONE used all the NyQuil. Whine A LOT. (Spoiler alert, it was probably past-me)
Go to bed. Reach for bottle of water. Water bottle is empty. Cat meows for attention.
Whine at water bottle and throw cat across the room.
Or maybe vice versa, things were pretty hazy by then, what with all the whine.
Bottom line, being sick without kids is GREAT because I can super indulge in ALL THE WHINE.
*(Generally speaking, I hate generalizations, especially along gender lines. But I’m going to roll with it this time. For comedic porpoises.)
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