The term "trophy wife" is misleading. Yes, we are the wives that have given up careers to stay at home, raise families and have the perfect household. We do clean up nicely and tend to turn a few heads when we walk through the door at events. Therefore, becoming our spouses' "trophies". However, many of you non-stay-at-homers do not realize just what this entails. So, I thought I'd enlighten you a bit.
You see, in reality, it isn't that we are our husband's trophies. It's that we deserve a trophy for all that we do. I mean, really. Who else is going to simultaniously get peed, pooped and puked on and not complain? I love how people say we always have a free calendar, because we don't really do anything. Really? I don't do anything? Let's take a stroll through my day:
6 a.m. baby begins to cry. Give baby paci and groggily go downstairs. Trip on some random toy, nearly break neck on stairs. Make bottle. Go back upstairs, this time avoiding toy. See oldest child off to bus stop - after having lost several arguments about clothing, hairstyles, and most importantly shoes (she wants to wear nonwater proof shoes on a snowy day).
7 a.m. wake up middle child - this is where the fun begins. Feed middle child. Explain to middle child that toast with syrup on it is not a good choice for breakfast. Lose the argument with child, end up giving him a frozen waffle. Yes, it's still frozen when I hand it to him. He's old enough to toast it himself. Dress middle child. Explain to middle child that no, a short sleeved Transformer's shirt is not appropriate in -5 windchill weather. Lose that battle, too. Tell child to put whatever on, you don't care, but "don't come complaining to me when you freeze to death at recess."
8 a.m. take middle child to school. Return home. Attempt to do some housework. Find self talking to dog about politics. Dog doesn't care. Dog won't go outside because it's cold. Dog insists the backporch be shoveled snow free. Shovel back porch for dog, only to realize that dog will not go to the bathroom OFF the porch unless a path is shoveled for her. More shoveling all the while telling Dog that she's like one of those welfare people - they are entitled to have me do the work for them. What am I entitled to?
12 p.m. Lunch? What's that? Do I get to eat? Did I have breakfast? Oh, I have to feed baby. Where did this mess in the kitchen come from? Who's brilliant idea was it to make a peanut butter, nutella, banana and jelly sandwitch and why didn't they eat it? Ew. Why did I taste that concoction. How long has it been left out?
Oh, I might want to get dressed today. Go upstairs. Damn! Stupid toy is still on the stairs. Gross. Looked in the mirror. When's the last time I brushed my hair? When's the last time I waxed my eyebrows? Who the hell am I becoming?
3 p.m. pick up middle child from school. Yes, you can have an afternoon snack. No, you cannot make it out of hot dogs and chocolate syrup. Who ate your sandwitch? That thing? I threw it in the trash. That was gross! Calm child down from the tantrum of loosing his culinary creation. Oldest child bursts in. "People are Retarded" is yelled as she flies up the stairs. How does she miss the stupid toy I always step on it? Oldest child returns a few minutes later and explains that her "curriculum" at school consists of taking notes and writing a report on "This is It". Wow. So, saying the Pledge of Allegiance is optional - but watching MJ's last dance is required. WTF? What is this world coming to?
5 p.m. start dinner. Kids argue over what they are going to do. Oldest child doesn't want to play with middle child. Middle child wants to carry baby around by the leg. Dog needs to go out. Everyone's yelling and the dog is running in circles. Crap!! Dinner on fire!
6 p.m. the spousal unit arrives home. Spousal unit looks around the house. Asks what's for dinner. Isn't thrilled with the menu. Asks why we're having vegetable X instead of vegetable Y. Asks why ingredient X was added to recipe. Spousal unit stars in disbelief as I storm up the stairs - STEPPING ON STUPID TOY AGAIN!! Stupid toy is now in trash. Middle child is upset about toy being thrown away, and fishes it out of trashcan.
8 p.m. middle child is in room watching tv, oldest child is hiding out somewhere in teenage angst, spousal unit is in basement working out. Baby is cursing me in baby language because he wants to suffocate self with blanket and I won't allow it. Dog is needing to go out, but now it's even colder so she refuses.
10 p.m. youngest children have been asleep for a while. Oldest child suddenly remembers she needs a gazillion dollars the next day to pay for a school activity. Pleading ensues at the thought that I might not provide gazillion dollars to child. Check is written, child skulks off to room.
This cycle continues off and on every day - just with different variations depending on what season of the year it is.
Trophy wives everywhere put up with this situation.We find ourselves rooting for sports that have absolutely no appeal to us what-so-ever, all in support of our little ones. We go from being idolized by our daughters to becoming the wickedest witches ever to live when they hit the teen years. Our babies will look us in the eye, give us the biggest brightest smile imaginable... and then... puke on you and giggle.
Would I give it up? Not willingly. I had a good career outside of the home before Baby came along. I'm not anxious to return to it soon. But, the myth vs. the reality of my day is something too many people take for granted. So, let me ask you - the next time you think your friend down the street "isn't doing anything" consider that she may actually be the ringmaster to one of the craziest circuses on Earth. She just isn't selling tickets to the show.
Sometimes people say "Why don't you have kids yet?" I say "Um, it doesn't look fun..." They look at me all judge-y. I'm just going to print off a few copies of this blog and hand them out the next time someone asks. :-)
ReplyDelete