4 Things Moms Should Never Have To Share

by Jill Ginsberg
Originally Published: 

Moms are the biggest sharers around. It’s a well known fact. We share everything with our kids, including tears, meals, our beds and our boobs. But I tend to take sharing to a whole new level. Even for a mom.

In fact, anyone who knows me well, knows that I have a penchant for oversharing with pretty much everyone I meet. I’ll readily relinquish intimate details about my personal life to total strangers. It’s what makes me so much fun to be around. Or … frightening. Depending on how you see it.

For instance, my toddler and I will be grocery shopping when a nice old lady will comment “Wow aren’t you tall! Your Daddy must be really tall, too!” Instead of just smiling and agreeing with what seems to be such an obvious statement – given that I’m not tall myself, I’ll say: “Actually we’re not sure. He’s an anonymous sperm donor. From California Cryobank. Ever heard of it?”

Boom! Just like that I defy the boundary of proper social conduct.

Well intentioned store clerks will greet us with the traditional “Merry Christmas” during the holiday season and instead of just saying Merry Christmas back, like a normal person, I’ll respond: “Oh, we don’t celebrate Christmas. We’re Jews. But God help me if I have to do one more night of Hanukkah, I’m thinking of converting.”

It’s not just personal details, either, that I’m so forthcoming with. I’m usually one of the first to offer help and support when a friend needs it. I’ll cook for you, line up a bunch of other people to cook for you, give you my secret recipe, and bring you fresh veggies from my garden. I’ll even give you my babysitter’s name. And number! That’s how much I like sharing.

But even I have my limits. Here’s a rundown of the Top 4 things no mom should ever have to share:

1. Sick Days: As a kid, when I was sick, my mom used to bring me buttered toast, applesauce, tea with honey, and a Dixie cup with medicine on a big wooden tray. I’d lie in my bed all day, reading the MAD magazines she’d buy to help me pass the time.

Now, when my own children are sick, I want to bundle them up in cozy blankets, turn on their favorite TV show marathon, pour them a tall glass of fizzy Ginger Ale on ice, and cook up a pot of soothing homemade chicken soup.

BUT DAMMIT KIDS … If you keep deciding to get sick on the same day that I’m delirious with fever and nauseous enough to have first trimester flashbacks, so help me God…

You. Are. On. Your. Own.


And I call the upstairs bathroom.

2. Bath Time: If a mom actually has the mental wherewithal to run herself a warm bath at the end of the day, instead of just flopping into bed, then clearly the woman has earned herself the right to relax.

When I take a bath it’s like New Year’s Eve – it only comes once a year and it’s pretty freaking anticlimactic.

On that singular night, I’ll even remember to make myself a warm cup of tea first and light some candles. My relaxation shit is totally together. Nothing can derail my plans. Until … like clockwork … I hear the door hinge squeak open the moment I sink into the tub.

Like my last bath, for example.

“Hi Mama”

“Hi Honey. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I have to go poop.”

Or the time before that.

“Hi Mama”

“Hi Sweetie. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I’m scared.”

Or the time before that.

“Hi Mama”

“Hi Sweetie. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“My penis has a question?”

3. Toilet Time: Moms become human science projects once we have kids. Everything that can be pointed at or probed is fair game for our inquisitive little ones. And nothing seems to peak a toddler’s curiosity more than the nether regions. My daughter’s obsession with my vajayjay makes an annual exam with the Gynecologist seem like a welcome reprieve.

The other day, I was going to the bathroom and she actually offered to wipe my ass for me. I didn’t know whether to feel touched or tortured by her unconditional gesture.

While I might take her up on this offer when I’m 89, for now I’d simply like to pee and poop without a small midget on a step-stool sitting two inches away from my business.

4. Ooey Gooey Home Baked {Fill in the blank}: Nothing’s better than finally tucking the kids into bed, plopping yourself down on the couch, and digging into that last piece of ooey gooey home baked {insert your favorite treat} . And nothing’s worse than someone else getting to it first.

It’s especially hellish if you’re anything like me. Horrible things happen to my intestines when I eat gluten. Everything immediately starts to putrefy and fester and my insides explode out of my anus in record speed. Which is why I don’t eat gluten. Ever.

My family members don’t seem to have the same problem. This means their ooey gooey eating options are much more varied than mine. I don’t resent them for that. What I do resent, however, is when people who don’t need it eat my very expensive stash of gluten free, delicious, home baked treats.

Next time I bake a batch of gluten free, delicious, home baked {fill in the blank}, I’m thinking of including a heaping serving of Ex Lax. If folks insist on wanting to try my gluten free, delicious, home baked treat because they want to know what it’s like to have a gluten intolerance … well then, that ought to do it.

No matter how generous the maternal spirit is, sometimes it’s just nice for a mom to have something all to herself. Especially if it’s ooey and gooey.

So please, if you happen to sit beside me on a future airplane ride, cut me some slack and try to keep your parts to yourself. Because that damn armrest is all I’ve got left.

Though I’d be delighted to share the story of my 24 hour labor with you. Uncensored.

Related post: The Universal Truth of Motherhood

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