I'm A Stay-At-Home Mom, Not A Stay-At-Home Maid
One more time for everyone out there who deems me as a shitty housewife because I can’t keep up on a clean home: I AM A STAY AT HOME MOM. Nowhere in my title have I been labeled a stay-at-home maid.
Now, I know you like to think that I sit on my ass all day in between the moments my family acts like the Trapp family, and we partake in a playful sing-song of A Few Of My Favorite Things.
But this is the real world. And being a stay-at-home mom is not for the faint of heart. Because I am one of many titles already:
I am the professional ass-wiper.
I am the juice go-getter.
I am the fruit snack dealer.
And I am the never-paid taxi driver.
I am the calm in the midst of the storm. (And sometimes, after I’ve repeated myself 50 times, I am the ENTIRE storm.)
I am the boo-boo kisser, and I am the snuggle stealer.
I am the birthday planner.
I am the Netflix show changer.
And sometimes, I am the puke catcher.
I am the referee.
I am the mediocre cook.
I am the hands of every folded garment and every clean sheet.
I am every scheduled doctor’s appointment.
I am the wiper of tears.
I am the tiny human snot-rag.
I am the good guy.
I am the bad guy.
And I am the family member who continues to give while puttering along on empty.
I am mom, and mom is enough.
But guess what mom is not? Mom is not everyone’s maid.
I am not the nightstand clean-up crew. I am not the human dishwasher. I am not my family’s personal Roomba, and I refuse to continue brushing my teeth while eating Oreos. Sorry, but then again, not sorry.
We need to break the stigma that stay-at-home moms (or working moms, for that matter) should be held responsible for cleaning the entire house. That’s a 1950’s mindset, and it’s bullshit.
I’m hanging up the Swiffer (or maybe I’ll just throw it in the closet like everything else in there), and my foot is stomping to my sticky-ass kitchen floor.
This stay-at-home mom is depleted, and this stay-at-home mom is fed the heck up, because I’m not the only family member in this household capable of picking up a damn broom. Yes, I stay home. But even when I’m staying home, I’m still working.
And no, it might not look like much when the entirety of my day consists of chasing four toddlers around while they tear into, break apart and demolish the very structures of our home, but cut me some slack.
I am the one who brought them into this world and totally wrecked my body while doing so. Those middle of the night feedings? Yep, I take care of those. I never have a day off. There is no overtime, and my pay comes in the form of smiles and gremlin-like tantrums. On the rare occasion I pencil in some “me-time” for myself, I am the only family member who has to make plans for doing so. (AND I usually end up having to bring the “easy” one along for the ride.)
Mom is every single, minute detail that nobody else puts any thought into until it isn’t done.
I do enough, and I am enough. I will not be conformed into something I did not sign up for and then slack in another area all because of an old-fart type of mindset. Not. Happening.
If you need me to hang up my mop to prove that point too, I’m all for it. But I’d rather just hand it off to someone claiming they would or could be better. And if anyone dares to volunteer as tribute, well then… there’s several spots that were missed in the kitchen and four screaming toddlers who need tended to.
Let the games begin.
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