Tweet Mother's Day is Sunday. I'm a mother. I guess I should be looking forward to this, but the truth is, I'm not.
I don't want to be home this weekend. I don't want to have to fight with the Bean about how yes, she does actually need to clean her room, whether it "works" for her or not. I don't want to listen to her ranting and going on and on about how bored she is, or how ridiculous I am, or how dumb her sister is. I don't want to have to sit through her insulting every member of the family until one of her friends calls her and asks her to hang out and then suddenly she switches personalities mid-thought into happy, cheerful, and I have to pretend to not be confused and stressed about her mood swings.
I don't want to be home and stand in front of mountains of dirty laundry, and unswept floors, and dirty dishes and the fact that no matter how many times I ask people to take off their shoes on the rug, they still feel the need to leave them in the doorframe of the kitchen, where they stood supported while they kicked them off.
I don't want to watch hours upon hours of the Disney Channel. I want to trade Hannah Montana in for any Law & Order actor, regardless of how scary and inappropriate that show might be for an 8-year old.
I don't want to change diapers, or spoon fruit, or fix bottles, or give baths, or wipe up baby vomit.
I don't want to pay bills, or worry about paying bills, or pretend not to think about the bills when clearly, I'm thinking about them.
I want to get my hair done. And my nails. And get a pedicure while sipping wine and laughing with my friends. I want to go out to dinner with girls only because guys just don't get why I'll be so unbelievably proud that I managed to shave my entire leg and not just around the ankles so I could throw on a pair of heels.
I want to go dancing and drink fruity drinks and laugh so hard my ribs hurt.
I want to be at least twenty pounds lighter than I am and look like I did before I had the baby. I want to wear the clothes I wore before I had the baby.
I want to stay up late and fall into bed utterly exhausted with a smile on my face, with the only explanation being, "That DJ rocked!" I want to sleep until noon and pull on sweats and watch Sweet Home Alabama for the 678th time uninterrupted. I want to pull on a hat and meet a friend for a late lunch before I go home, shower, and get all dolled up again.
As much as I appreciate the Hallmark cards and the tissue paper covered vase, I really just want a Mother's Day that gives me a break from being a mother. I suppose that makes me about the worst mother in the world.