When did Mommy Blogger become a bad word? The other day, I was accused by one of my readers at another site I write for ( not you ladies, you rock), who apparently doesn’t know me like you all do, of sitting around in my robe all day and thinking up these “ridiculous” articles. I wish! I believe the article was one in which I compared “real” (meaning those of us who are not celebrities. Not meaning to imply that Beyoncé is not a “real” mom because obviously if she has a baby and is taking care of it, she is “real” not imaginary.) Well, apparently Beyoncé reads that website because someone certainly attacked me for that remark and the only person who I can think of that should get that defensive about Beyoncé would be Beyoncé herself or her mama.
Then it hit me, this is what people think of mommy bloggers. They think we sit around in our pajamas all day, eating bon bons and pecking away at the keyboard while we ignore our kids and live in perpetual squalor. It is no wonder, women writers are so afraid of that title. I assure you that I do not fit any of the stereotypes that people think of when they think of “mommy blogger”. In fact, I’m pretty sure most mommy bloggers don’t.
This illusion of a mommy blogger is not feasible if you think about it because by the very definition of “mommy blogger” we have children, have given birth and/or are pregnant. This does not allow much time for sitting on our asses and eating bon bons though I wish it did. I have never eaten or seen a bon bon in my life because I have kids. Bon bons would never last in my house. As soon as I would try to put one in my mouth some little person would be in my ear asking for a bite and just as suddenly in my mouth snatching it away.
If anything, a Mommy blogger should be defined as a wonder woman like creature who has given birth, is raising children, has the balls and presumably some talent to write about it openly. I also happen to live like a functioning yet severely affected ADHD patient.
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I sit down to write during naps.Five minutes in someone usually yells out for me. I walk past a toy in the hallway and pick it up. Then I walk into the bedroom to be told that little Suzy needs a drink of water. I grab her hamper and carry the clothes to the laundry room and start the washer. While the washer is filling, I walk to the cupboard to grab a cup. I fill the cup and then I wash the few dishes that are in the sink. I load the washer, walk back to the child’s bedroom and hand her the water. She asks for a tissue. I walk into the bathroom to grab a tissue. Clean the sink and make it free of toothpaste. I pick up the wet towels from this morning. I walk back across the hall, hand Suzy a tissue, give her a kiss and walk towards the laundry room. Out the corner of my eye, I see that the living room coffee table is covered in puzzles and coloring books and the cushions need to be fluffed. I take the laundry to the laundry room. As I walk through the kitchen towards the living room, I see that there are crumbs from breakfast on the table. I grab the sponge and begin to wipe the table. My phone dings. I have a text message from my husband. I call the insurance company to ask about a statement. While I listen to musak, I fluff pillows and put away puzzles. The living room is tidy. I take the pillow the girls drug from my bedroom back to my bed. Musak continues. I notice I still need to fix my bed. I fluff the comforter and realize there are loveys in my bed. More musak. I finish fluffing my pillows and straightening my bed then I walk across the hall to put the lovey on my youngest daughters shelf. Musak is still playing. She stirs and I have to stop what I am doing and soothe her back to sleep. Tip toeing out of the room, the musak suddenly stops and a very loud insurance agent yells, “Mary Jane Magilicutty, How may I help you?” Startled, I run out of the room. 20 minutes later, I am done being transferred, pressing one and explaining to this agent the extent of my stress incontinence. I am about to lose my mind. I walk to my desk to continue writing my article that I started an hour ago when the kids first went down for their nap. Shit! I forgot I need a cup of coffee. I walk to the coffee maker and begin the process of making a cup. I can’t find the creamer. I go in search of the creamer. It’s at the very back of the refrigerator behind the apple juice, organic milk and leftovers. I finally get to it and the apple juice, whose lid was apparently not closed, falls out of the refrigerator and spills on the ground. 20 minutes and a lot of cussing later I am headed back to my desk with tepid coffee after mopping up the juice. I walk over to my desk, sit down and type one sentence and a little one walks up to me and tells me they are awake. Breathe. Wait. Repeat. That, my friends, is the day in the life of a Mommy blogger.
This is my day, every day. I work in 5-minute increments and then I stay up until the wee hours of the night to make up the difference. Bon bons? I can barely sneak in a minute to eat a piece of stale cold toast. So don’t tell me that Beyoncé does more than me before 8 am because I am still asleep and then I sit in my robe all day. Hey fuck you! I run circles around Beyoncé. She has a team of people to do what she does. I am a team of one for most of the day. It’s just short people, who I can barely understand, and me. Being a Mommy blogger means I not only do all the Mommy duties of my day, I throw in researching, writing and thinking up interesting things to say.Well, things to say. Do you have any idea how hard that is when I have a raging case of Mommy brain, 2 little ones in my ear talking about everything that has ever happened to them and anyone they know and trying to remember birthdays, anniversaries, appointments, meetings and deadlines?
It’s hard but I do it because I LOVE it. I love my girls, I love my husband, I love my job and I want it all. Am I exhausted? Yes. Do I say some things that are irreverent? Yes, I am too tired to over think it. Do I make mistakes? Hell, yeah. Do I feel mental? Yes. So throat punch to anyone who thinks mommy bloggers sit around in their robes all day. Now, pass the fucking bon bons, I’m hungry, exhausted and I have a deadline and I’ve only got 5 minutes before the kids wake up again.