Do you remember the show MTV’s True Life? I feel like there is an underground movement with the purpose of shedding light on the notion that “social media is not real life.” In honor and support of this movement, I thought I’d share a “True Life” narrative of a typical day in the life of yours truly.
I’ve given myself a budget as to how much I should spend on food at the hospital. Last week, I decided to forego part of my breakfast and bought a box of Milk Duds instead. When I found one later, flattened in the bottom of my backpack, I ate it. I’m not saying it was right, but I won’t apologize for it either.
Robbie and I got home late from the hospital. I walked in to see a disheveled baby toddling around with sticky fingers. Why are you so sticky, baby? Who’s going to bath you?! As soon as I picked him up, he cried and demanded to be put down. As soon as he got down, he demanded to be picked back up. That’s it, I’m out. I kissed him on the head, patted his bum, and put him to bed. An hour early. God speed, baby. When I could still hear him crying, I moved further away where his cries couldn’t penetrate my icy heart. I waited 5 minutes, 6 to be safe, and then returned to the other small human I claim who was whining that he hadn’t gotten to play “Duck-Tales-woo-ooh” since we arrived home (5 minutes earlier).
I told Robbie he needed to pick which cartoon he wanted to watch for his nighttime snack (this is part of his mealtime protocol per medical professionals. I’m talking to you, Judgey Judgerson). He responded by telling me he didn’t want to eat anymore, he “just wanted to drink water.” Knowing that his bedtime was already fast approaching and I was long out of patience, I spun and looked at the tiny waif of a boy and said, “ROBBIE! We eat now! That’s just what we DO. And if you want to stay alive and have energy and play with friends and watch tv, YOU. WILL. EAT.” With that, he raised a finger to his chin as if solving equations in his head and calmly spoke, “Ummmm, I fink I wanna watch Jake the Pirate.” Good choice, tiny person, good choice.
I rewarded myself for doing the laundry with 3 hours of television and then abandoned said laundry, clean and wrinkled, in a heap on my bed. For a week. Removing select pieces and tossing them in the dryer every morning, lest I appear homeless and pitiable.
I ate a congratulatory feast consisting of Andrew’s leftover Star Wars Mac and Cheese and 10 Girl Scout cookies. What was the occasion, you ask? Not becoming physically violent, that’s what.
I don’t know what your sweet dreams are made of, but mine include Robbie peeing the bed at 3am. I could blame the late hour for my actions that followed but I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t sound of mind at the time. I threw a blanket over the wet sheets and switched him to the other end of the bed. Sweet dreams, honey. Stay dry.
And then I woke up the next morning, mumbled a few expletives, and did it all again.
You Think You Know But You Have No Idea.