You Desperately Need an Ambien and 8 Hours Alone in a Dark Room…and Other Signs You’re a Mom of Little Kids

Sunday …
You make it to church, even though the service begins at the precise moment your baby needs a nap and your 2-year-old needs lunch. Your toddler figures that hymn time is more of a jam session than organized worship, so he proceeds to riff about dump trucks and tractors at the top of his lungs. The congregation hears his firetruck solo during a musical interlude between verses. After the preacher prays, your toddler offers a congratulatory “Yay!” followed by hearty clapping to show his support. He must be a pentecostal.

Monday …
A new friend meets you for coffee. You are sure to bring lots of toys and snacks to keep your children occupied. The barista is a 25-year-old hipster with a beard. Your son thinks he is Jesus. Maybe church is doing him some good, you think, until he pushes another patron’s child for trying to steal his precious Lightning McQueen figurine. Nah. He worships Pixar. The other patron looks at you as if your son should know better since he is as big as a kindergartner and has hair that would make John Stamos jealous, but you don’t have time to explain that he only just turned 2 because your 9-month-old has scooped dirt into her mouth from the potted plant next to your table. You rush to get the dirt out of her mouth and she smears it all over your t-shirt, while angrily cussing at you in baby language, “Da da da DAAAAAA!” (Translation: “How dare you, mother! Soil is a delicacy in my culture!”)
Your new friend’s ovaries shrivel up.
Your toddler stuffs all of his snacks down the top of his overalls because he is confused about the nature of a pocket, and as he trots around the restaurant, his pant legs drop grapes and crackers in his wake like a human piñata. Hipster Jesus sweeps up the mess and mutters under his breath. You hear a crash. Hipster Jesus’ biological clock just broke.
You think: Next time I have a coffee dateit ought to be in a high school cafeteria. That way I could get my caffeine fix and solve the teen pregnancy crisis all at once.

Tuesday …
You go to a playgroup in the hopes that at least there, surrounded by moms, you won’t have to worry about how barbaric your kids are. You are wrong. You leave playgroup comparing yourself to the other moms.

Wednesday …
You attend an evening function, but merely for an-hour-and-a-half, since your only spare moments are between the-kids-are-sleeping-o’clock and I-have-to-go-to-work-tomorrow-thirty. You talk to a childless woman about circumcision and as the blood rushes out of her face, you realize that you’ve been in mommy world too long and that certain conversation topics should never be broached outside of mommy world.

Thursday …
You have RSVPed to a mom’s night out, and decide to be the flaky last-minute no-show you hated in your 20s. You apologize profusely, but deep down you know that you don’t need a night out. What you really need is an Ambien and eight hours alone in a dark room. Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen any time soon.

Friday …
You and your husband entertain some couples in your home so that you don’t have to find childcare. They arrive just in time to put the kids down for bed. You all have a wonderful time. They leave at midnight and you think, “We should do this again sometime.”

Saturday …
Your children wake you up at 5 a.m. While you are in the kitchen making coffee (because, Hello, 5 A.M.!!!), your son is sneaking leftover beer from a glass in the living room. “Nooooo!” you cry, startling him. He drops the cup and it shatters all over the floor. You pick up 95,000 shards of glass and decide that you are never entertaining again. Or at least not until your children are in college.


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Crystal Lowery
Crystal Lowery is an American mom living in Scotland. By day she does medical research in cardiac imaging, by night she wrangles a one-year-old girl and a 2-year-old boy. She has been featured on Scary Mommy for her irreverent sense of humor and general willingness to joke about poop. You can find her over at her blog, Creepy Ginger Kid writing about her misadventures in medicine, motherhood, and her awkward childhood. If you like to laugh, follow her on her Facebook page.