There are moments when I forget that hot-burning desire to become a mommy. I forget the agony of annoyingly happy families abounding like fat flies on a fresh cow patty. I block out the trauma of multiple miscarriages and the yearning for tiny baby garments drying on the clothesline in the summer breeze. I just plain don’t remember those times. Why? Because now, I am a mommy. I’ve arrived to the party a bit late but I got here. My two little girls are smart, outgoing and full of joy. They also NEVER STOP TALKING.
Don’t think I can’t hear you snort, “Don’t be so dramatic. Of course they’re quiet sometimes. They DO sleep.”
Oh yeah? Well they TALK in their sleep! I’m not kidding. These kids are so full of chatter and commentary, a little thing like unconsciousness can’t stop them. I can’t even poop in quiet. I started to lock them out of the bathroom fairly young, but they just sit out there and yack at me through the locked door.
I love them. God, how I love them, with my whole heart I love them. I would jump off mountains for them (and I don’t go in for that crazy adventuring crap as a rule). I’d swim a river of burning hot lava for them. I’d even give up French fries for them (not that I could imagine the strange apocalypse that would require me to do so), but sometimes I just want to love them in quiet.
Before all the relentless talking started, I used to think I’d homeschool them. Not because I’m a great teacher (I’m pretty sure I’d be hard-pressed to get them through the third grade) or because I have anything against our local school system. No, I was going to homeschool them because I couldn’t imagine being apart from them for that many hours in the day.
Then the persistent jabbering started. Their sheer inability to do or think anything without letting me know, “Mommy, Mommy, MommyMommyMommy!!!”
The day I screamed back, “I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER!” was the day I knew the score. They were going to school, and as soon as humanly possible. My older daughter went to preschool for two years and my youngest for two-and-a-half years. They are now both in full day school and it’s like I’m a real live human again. I can even soak in a hot tub without the inquisition in attendance. It’s pure bliss.
Here’s the rub though. When they’re away from me, learning, socializing, and talking their little heads off, I miss them. I’ll see an old picture or remember something cute they said and I want to bring them home immediately. What kind of crazy nonsense is that?
The thought of them growing up and leaving home sends a chill down my spine a forest fire couldn’t warm. I’m pretty sure I’m going to go to college with them and force them to move home afterwards. We’ll have to build an addition onto the house so there’s enough room for their eventual spouses and children, but that’s not a problem.
I’m so absolutely delighted by my progeny. I love their humor, their kindness, their sense of adventure. I love when they learn something new and can’t wait to share it with me. I even love their quest for knowledge, which yes, involves them asking questions, a lot of questions. But why-oh-why-oh-why can’t they just be quiet once in a while?