I am. A little. I’m big enough…and getting bigger…to admit it. I’m a teensy, weensy bit jealous of my husbands ex-wife.
Why, you ask? And stop staring. It’s not polite.
She only has to deal with one meal a week where there is whining. And I don’t even think they whine for her. Because they seem to appreciate her more. Which is normal, I guess. She is the mother of the two.
She never has to do mounds of laundry on a daily basis.
She can decide to go out of town whenever she wants without worrying about babysitters.
She doesn’t have to be heartbroken daily when the kids cry about their lives, friends, school, bad hair, placing the burden on my heart and shoulders, therefore allowing them to enjoy the rest of their day while I am stuck in panic mode figuring out a way to solve their life dilemmas before they decide to slit their wrists.
She can decide to go back to school without second thought regarding daily schedules and times of dependents. And also, paying for classes. She doesn’t have to decide on groceries to feed the family or Eng Comp 102. Because she can do both.
She doesn’t have to wake up at 6:45, every freaking morning until her eyeballs feel like they are going to fall out, just to make sure that kids are up, dressed, teeth and hair brushed, backpacks ready to go, lunches made and with the kid. She doesn’t even have to see 6:45…only pm. And even then.
She doesn’t have to have her afternoon silence shattered by fighting, screeching instruments, blaring music, loud chatter, video games, voices yelling for Mom. She can sit and enjoy the quiet murmur of the television. By herself. All. Day. Long.
She doesn’t have to worry about clothing the kids. Packing lunches. Homework. Instilling manners, respect, common decency, anything that makes a complete and fulfilled human being. Because it’s all being done for her. Not sure how well, but it’s something she doesn’t have to stress about.
So yeah. I’m jealous. Just a little. I’d like to only be responsible for me. I’d like to lay in bed when I’m sad and cry into my pillow without being interrupted by someone else crying about their life. I’d like to be able to go out for lunch without having to keep track of the time or else one of the kids will be left at school.
The problem is. That while I would love to have pieces of her life. The freedom of no obligations of any sort…
I’m not willing to compromise.
I won’t give up those that I’m obligated to. Because I’d be giving up my pulse, my oxygen…my life. And if I didn’t have any of those things then none of this really matters anyways.
So I guess I’ll just have to be jealous from afar as I’m cooking a gross dinner, emailing teachers, listening to teen angst and loud music…
All I need is a pair of earplugs, a glass of wine (or two) and a thought that someday, they’ll all be grown and gone and I’ll be wishing for these times back.