Read Online Ketchup Is a Vegetable: And Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves by Robin O'Bryant - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin O'Bryant
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always a hug and an apology. His only fault is that he is a man and doesn’t do things the way I would.
Ah, well. I guess nobody is perfect.
9 The Shirt off My Back
O ne thing I know for sure is that you can never appreciate the sacrifices that your own mother made for you until you are a mother yourself and realize what an ungrateful little jerk you were. Even as a young adult, when you start to realize that your own mother isn’t the complete idiot you thought she was during your teen years, you still don’t really get it.
True understanding comes when you are sitting on the toilet at two o’clock in the morning, four days after having a baby, experiencing diarrhea and attempting to still breastfeed your child because your husband is asleep and there is no one else to take up the slack. You are now the Momma. You are now in charge. You start to think about all those years you were able to go to sleep whenever you wanted to, without a thought as to who would clean up the mess in the kitchen or if everybody in the house had clean clothes to wear the next day. You begin to see that while you were lying in bed reading the latest Babysitter’s Club book, your mother was working her butt off for your ungrateful, smart-mouthed self. And now, it’s your turn.
Once you are somebody’s Momma, you begin to learn the meaning of the word “sacrifice.” Some sacrifices are made simply to shut your children up. These sacrifices have few negative results for the mother and produce a quick and convenient stop to a tantrum in progress.
When I was a little girl and my mother would go out of town or even out for the night, and I was really missing her, I would go in her closet and steal a nightgown to snuggle with. Being able to hold on to something of hers, something that smelled like her was so comforting. The only thing I can think of to this day that smells better than my mother is my babies after bath time. And if my mom has been holding one of my babies and they get the Shuggie/baby combo going, I’m likely to sniff them until I get light headed or my husband tells me to stop because people are staring.
When Emma was two-years-old, she didn’t feel well and had trouble sleeping through the night. One night she came in our bedroom and wanted to crawl in the bed with us. She thrashes violently in her sleep, so in order for Zeb and I to get any rest, she had to go back to her bed. She was crying for me as Zeb was picking her up to carry her to her room.
“Emma, you want to sleep with Mommy’s shirt?” I asked her.
“Yeah, I do Mommy. I do!”
I snatched my shirt off, threw it to Zeb and went back to sleep in my sports bra.
A few nights later, Emma was still running a fever and wanted to sleep in our bed again.
“Pweeeeeze Mommy! Can I sweep in you bed? I be weally weally still and a good gull. I will Momma!”
“Emma, I already said no. But I’ll lay down in your bed with you for a little while, okay?” Zeb told her as he scooped her up and carried her to bed.
After nursing the baby, I went in to the big girls’ room to let Zeb know I was getting in the shower.
“MOMMY! Daddy laid in Emma’s bed and snuggled wif her and not wif me! It’s NOT FAIR!” Aubrey cried.
I sighed as I laid down with Aubrey for a few minutes to console her.
“Alright, give me a kiss Aubrey.” She puckered up and gave me a kiss as I tried to escape from their bedroom to hit the showers.
As I leaned over to kiss Emma she started whining, “MOMMY! You laid down wis Aub-a-rey and not wis me! It not fair!”
Instead of banging my head against the wall until I lost consciousness, I asked Emma if she wanted to sleep with my shirt.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah... cober me up wit it Momma,” she said. I did and my shirt covered her from head to toe.
“Why you give that to her Momma?” Aubrey asked.
“I don't know, baby. She just likes it,” I
Ah, well. I guess nobody is perfect.
9 The Shirt off My Back
O ne thing I know for sure is that you can never appreciate the sacrifices that your own mother made for you until you are a mother yourself and realize what an ungrateful little jerk you were. Even as a young adult, when you start to realize that your own mother isn’t the complete idiot you thought she was during your teen years, you still don’t really get it.
True understanding comes when you are sitting on the toilet at two o’clock in the morning, four days after having a baby, experiencing diarrhea and attempting to still breastfeed your child because your husband is asleep and there is no one else to take up the slack. You are now the Momma. You are now in charge. You start to think about all those years you were able to go to sleep whenever you wanted to, without a thought as to who would clean up the mess in the kitchen or if everybody in the house had clean clothes to wear the next day. You begin to see that while you were lying in bed reading the latest Babysitter’s Club book, your mother was working her butt off for your ungrateful, smart-mouthed self. And now, it’s your turn.
Once you are somebody’s Momma, you begin to learn the meaning of the word “sacrifice.” Some sacrifices are made simply to shut your children up. These sacrifices have few negative results for the mother and produce a quick and convenient stop to a tantrum in progress.
When I was a little girl and my mother would go out of town or even out for the night, and I was really missing her, I would go in her closet and steal a nightgown to snuggle with. Being able to hold on to something of hers, something that smelled like her was so comforting. The only thing I can think of to this day that smells better than my mother is my babies after bath time. And if my mom has been holding one of my babies and they get the Shuggie/baby combo going, I’m likely to sniff them until I get light headed or my husband tells me to stop because people are staring.
When Emma was two-years-old, she didn’t feel well and had trouble sleeping through the night. One night she came in our bedroom and wanted to crawl in the bed with us. She thrashes violently in her sleep, so in order for Zeb and I to get any rest, she had to go back to her bed. She was crying for me as Zeb was picking her up to carry her to her room.
“Emma, you want to sleep with Mommy’s shirt?” I asked her.
“Yeah, I do Mommy. I do!”
I snatched my shirt off, threw it to Zeb and went back to sleep in my sports bra.
A few nights later, Emma was still running a fever and wanted to sleep in our bed again.
“Pweeeeeze Mommy! Can I sweep in you bed? I be weally weally still and a good gull. I will Momma!”
“Emma, I already said no. But I’ll lay down in your bed with you for a little while, okay?” Zeb told her as he scooped her up and carried her to bed.
After nursing the baby, I went in to the big girls’ room to let Zeb know I was getting in the shower.
“MOMMY! Daddy laid in Emma’s bed and snuggled wif her and not wif me! It’s NOT FAIR!” Aubrey cried.
I sighed as I laid down with Aubrey for a few minutes to console her.
“Alright, give me a kiss Aubrey.” She puckered up and gave me a kiss as I tried to escape from their bedroom to hit the showers.
As I leaned over to kiss Emma she started whining, “MOMMY! You laid down wis Aub-a-rey and not wis me! It not fair!”
Instead of banging my head against the wall until I lost consciousness, I asked Emma if she wanted to sleep with my shirt.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah... cober me up wit it Momma,” she said. I did and my shirt covered her from head to toe.
“Why you give that to her Momma?” Aubrey asked.
“I don't know, baby. She just likes it,” I
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