I'm a desperate housewife. Every day. Consistently. It doesn't take much for one to become a desperate housewife. It's not as glamorous as it sounds. There are no hot lawn boys. There are no nannies. There are no personal chefs. No my friends, in my neighborhood, the desperate housewives are desperate for other things...
I'm desperate for a minute. To myself, by myself, in other words alone. Did I mention I want to spend time alone? Lately I can't even pee alone. You know what I'm talking about. There is not one spare minute where I'm not up to my eyeballs in parenting. So please pretty please a moment to pee, breathe, eat, sigh, read one stinking line of a book???
I'm desperate for my own housewife. Yes, that's right. I want a housewife at my own disposal. I hate housework. I loathe housework. My house is constantly messy. Dr. Seuss in the pantry. My Little Ponies on the kitchen table. As we speak a doll stroller next to me at the computer. Oh yes, I did pick all of these items today and put them in their places. Somehow, the oozed back into the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and computer desk. Where is my housewife when I need her?
I'm desperate for one good night's sleep. Just one. Where I can sleep uninterrupted and wake up on my own. I don't want to hear crying babies. I don't want my 4 year old alarm clock to start whining on why we can't have chocolate cake for breakfast. I want to go to sleep, IN MY BED, and wake up when I want.
I'm desperate for a day off. A mental health day if you will. A day to read a book, watch a TrueBlood marathon, sleep the day away, and blog. A day to save my sanity. I want a day to do what I want to do, and not have to think about anyone else but me. Sound selfish? Sure it does. So what, I'm desperate.
I'm desperate for a makeover. I want to be on "What not To Wear". I want someone to tell me what a SAHM of two, looks like. It's sure doesn't look like the ladies of Wisteria Lane. I'm desperate for a chance to look glamorous again. To look human again. Last time I checked pop-tarts, spit-up, and cheerios were not all the rage at Fashion Week.
I'm desperate for more time to spend on this blog. More hours in the day. A laptop perhaps. I'm desperate to be good at being a mom. Desperate to be semi-good at being a house wife. Desperate to be my best self.
I'm a desperate housewife, who is grateful to have things to be desperate about. Thankful that one day I'll get those moments alone. Those days to myself. The good night's sleep. One day I'll miss being a desperate housewife. Especially since I'll have to find new things to complain about...