Is this what it means to be a mother? Because — and I’m going to be completely honest here — this part sucks ass.
I fold the living room throws. There are two large crocheted throws, one smaller crocheted throw, and a woven wool blanket. Unless someone — from the kids to my husband — drags another one in there.
These are the things every mama does. These are the things no one notices. And after a while, that not-noticing becomes a drag on the soul. You feel futile. You feel like you don’t matter. You feel like no one cares about your time or ability. And it hurts.. I wash it, dry it, sort it, and fold it and put it away. I clean the bathrooms — with frightening irregularity, but I do it. That doesn’t bother me. I sweep the floors. I dust. I clean up barf and dog poop.
, this is what you get when you signed up to be a stay-at-home-mom with small kids. And maybe it is. And maybe a good dose of Mary Poppins would help me out. But I just cannot summon it when I’m digging a Lego shard out of my German Shepherd’s paw. It’s not that these tasks particularly suck. It’s that my own family is either oblivious that I do them, or takes for granted that I will. Neither option is particularly palatable.I put up the hand towels in the bathroom.
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