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Cyber-space is a world of abbreviations and acronyms- as anyone who has blundered into the Internet without benefit of a cheat sheet knows. But after you learn the language, things are pretty consistent. The initials S.M stand for Single Mom when used in most parenting web sites. I know this because it’s where I spend much of my limited alone time, a world where I am simply Legan45, S.M. In this label I have revealed my name, parental status, marital status, and my 40+ age. If only things in the real world were that simple. In the course of just a single week, S.M. has many meanings, reflecting the chaos and joy that are the reality of motherhood. Sunday, I am Saint Mom. Before becoming a mother, I attended church only on Christmas or other special occasions. Now, as a parent, I dress my daughter and myself in “anything except jeans or shorts” (a rule originated by my own saintly mother) and head off to church to fulfill our weekly spiritual duties. Paramount to this process is getting our offering into the collection basket before we have to bail out, so the priest knows we were there. After Sunday, inevitably dawns Monday, and today I wear the tag Sleepy Mom. This is related to some difficulty my daughter had in falling asleep the night before, and the fact that despite this, she awoke for the day at 4:30 am. I get a second wind, but become Stressed Mom after drinking several cups of strong coffee at work. This makes it very hard for me to perform my job duties as Supervisor Mom. We both fall asleep over our dinner plates that evening- but this is bath night and Shampoo Mom has the routine down pat. I fill the tub to the precise level where she can lay on her back with only her eyes, nose and mouth above the water-her long, dark hair floating around her like a mermaid. She lays like this, totally relaxed, while I soap up her hair and then swirl it around to rinse it. Then I carry her to bed, wrapped in warm, fluffy towels fresh from the dryer. Tonight, sleep comes easily, Tuesday, I become Stoic Mom. After work and prior to daycare pick-up time, I have an appointment for a breast biopsy and aspiration of multiple cysts- a problem associated with being Legan45 rather than Legan25. This involves about an hour and a half of being poked in both breasts with long needles. While this is going on, I have absolutely nothing to do but lay there and stare at the ceiling. I am so relaxed that I almost doze off. The tech assisting in the procedure is amazed "You're falling asleep!" I reply, "This is nothing, compared to dealing with my five year old!" Yes, it's true, I would rather have needles poked into my breasts than be with my child in one of her moods. They could even throw in a Pap smear and some dental work and that would be fine too. Super Mom takes over on Wednesday. We oversleep because the alarm did not go off and in 30 minutes I: shower, dress, realize clothes are a wrinkled mess, undress, iron, redress, wake up my daughter, let the dog out, feed the cat, bag up the garbage, make breakfast, help daughter get dressed, fight over clothes, make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for school lunch, help daughter pick out different clothes, put the garbage out, help daughter pick out different clothes again, let the dog in. When we finally arrive at school, I discover that my child is barefoot. This is not a problem, because it’s happened many times before. I become Scavenger Mom and quickly rummage through all the leftover stuff in the car- things I don’t want to bring in the house because I will actually have to put them away. Under piles of books, swim fins, half-empty juice boxes, and about twenty stuffed animals, I find two mismatched socks and some sandals. I decide that with socks, sandals are OK for winter. While I am looking, I realize I left lunch at home. Again, this is not a problem-I easily find enough loose, somewhat sticky change on the floor of the car to buy her a hot lunch. As we make our entrance into the building, all eyes turn to Sad -excuse- for- a- Mom. Thursday, my daughter is in one of her inquisitive moods, inspired by recent Circle Time topics presented in Kindergarten. She poses several questions. I start out as Scientist Mom, giving a satisfactory answer to, “What is photosynthesis?” but quickly regress to Stumped Mom and finally to Stupid Mom when attempting more in-depth responses to “Why is the heart all slimy?” and “What keeps your feet and hands on your body?” After this interrogation I must look depressed, because she gives me a hug and calls me Smart Mom. T.G.I.F- even non-web surfers know that one. Not that long ago, in my childfree days, I would have gone to a happy hour with co-workers to usher in the weekend. This Friday, I am simply Sober Mom. Later I wish I’d had a few drinks, especially during the excruciatingly slow process of getting a young child to sleep. At bedtime, my champion procrastinator decides she wants six books read by Story Mom. She then wants six songs sung by Singer Mom, six hugs, six kisses, and six trips to the bathroom. Since I am not sure what is prompting this fascination with the number 6, I play along, even though it prolongs our already lengthy bedtime routine. I am hopelessly unaware that Stupid Mom has made another appearance! When she finally goes to sleep, I start an evening of Friday night TV viewing and I am quickly hypnotized into zombie-like Somnolent Mom. When I finally retire for the evening at 9:30 PM, I realize I’ve become So-dull-Mom. Saturday is so frantic, I feel like Stretched-every-which-way-Mom. I start out the day as Swim Mom, at morning swim class. When she began these classes over a year ago, it took my daughter eight weeks to learn to put her mouth in the water for exactly one millisecond. Now she has progressed to actually diving headfirst in the deep end. Silently comparing her accomplishment to other children her age that still wouldn’t even go in the water, I confess I am Smug Mom. This feeling quickly evaporates when the instructor informs me that my star swimmer may have to repeat the entire eight-week session. After swim class we proceed to the grocery store, where I evolve into Shopper Mom. This is a role best performed solo, for obvious reasons. After taking a little too long in the candy aisle, a meltdown occurs in the checkout lane. I attempt to calm her while waiting to pay, but finally ditch our groceries and take a long time-out in the restroom. Here, I am finally forced to act as Straightjacket Mom, which proves to be quite effective. We then continue on to our local discount store. Although it is way past Christmas, I am mistaken for Santa Mom. After the umpteenth “Not today, Honey, maybe for next Christmas” she dubs me So-mean- Mom. Marching her back out to the car, I am sure I sound like Sergeant Mom. Returning home, we have lunch. After eating my low calorie convenience food, Scavenger Mom re-emerges, and like a hungry vulture, I eagerly await leftover macaroni and cheese. As a result of this behavior I’ve become Slightly-overweight-Mom. During her quiet time, while I would really like to rest myself, I crank out 20 minutes on my treadmill as Sweaty Mom. Schizophrenic Mom appears soon after quiet time. I have developed a dual personality in my attempt to be both the mother and the father in our little family, and in my Dad role, I attempt to finish some home improvement projects I have been working on for the last five years. While I have not quite developed into Skill-Saw Mom, I can swing a hammer, patch the drywall, and dismantle the plumbing under the sink. Tackling household projects, shoveling snow, and doing the yard work have all turned me into Strong Mom. This strength comes in handy when, later that day we stage a pretend gymnastics meet in the living room, with my arms substituting for parallel bars. After I am Spotter Mom for countless flips and cartwheels and serve as Springboard Mom for vaults, I finally gasp "I give up-I'm Sore Mom!" By the time she falls asleep that night, I have also been Silly Mom, Singing Mom, and my most favorite of all, Snuggle Mom. Do I regret that I will probably never again be Sexy Mom? Or that the majority of Saturday nights, I am Stay-at-home-Mom? As I look around at my messy house, overflowing laundry hamper, dirty dishes, and finally, at the shining hair of my daughter as she sleeps- I reflect on my week in a life much altered by motherhood. A peaceful feeling comes over me as I realize that what I have in my real world is all I will ever need. I am, above all else... Satisfied Mom. |