Yes, you read that right, Jason Bourne is my alter ego. Before I get into the details of how I am exactly like the cool, ninja-like assassin, allow me to elaborate on my day…
Alarm went off at 6am. Which was totally unnecessary, since my 6 year old woke me up several times during the night because he was having nightmares, then proceeded to pee on my foot. Fun times! Who needs sleep anyways? As they (mothers everywhere) say, I’ll get rest when I’m dead. I was already awake at 5:30 dreading the fact that I had to adult today, so the alarm was an extra slap on the face.
Got up, made myself semi-presentable, and proceeded to get 4 kids dressed and fed, packed lunch boxes, all before 7. Made myself liquid gold (read coffee), and right before leaving the house, dear husband wakes up to kiss and hug kiddies before I load up my bus and head to their schools. Now you see, 2 months ago I would have given him my best resting bitch face for not helping out in the mornings, but he started law school last week on a full-time basis, while also working full-time. Technically he can set the house on fire and get away with it, since he is so overwhelmed. But it leaves me, Patty Bourne, practically as a single mother of 4, who now can’t depend on anyone for anything (except wine. We’re forever homies.)
After doing my morning double drop off (3 year old at one preschool, older 3 at their elementary school), a normal person would possibly need a nap or a massage or a mimosa. But I am brave! I am fearless! And I am stupid. Instead of heading to the gym for a nice workout, or to the salon to do my nails (a must at this point), I head to a local grocery store to tackle the first adventure of the day. A million dollars later, I am headed home. Already exhausted (at 10:30 am), sweaty, and defeated, I tackle my domestic duties.
Fast forward 4 hours and a hundred of tasks later, I sit down to eat lunch. But as any mother would know, it is impossible to eat peacefully, and I am pretty sure my oldest got a tingle at the precise moment the deli hit the bread on my sandwich and I got a call from her school explaining that her eye was itchy and it could be nothing or it could be a deadly contagious plague, so I had to pick her up immediately. Fearing I would be judged if I waited an extra hour until her dismissal time, I ran to school, picked her up (along with her 2 siblings so she would have someone to fight with) and headed to urgent care.
As to not bore anyone, I will spare you of the hundreds of threats made (if you touch your sister one more time I will never give you candy ever again!) in order to keep some sanity at the doctor’s. We finally left, picked up baby sister, and headed to the pharmacy. To keep the day’s theme going, the pharmacy didn’t have their crap together, so of course a simple task turned into 3 loops around their drive-thru while they verified the ointment my daughter needed was indeed for her eyeballs. During the never-ending wait I was texting a couple of my cousins, who just so happen to be cool mommas like myself that can laugh at the hardships of motherhood, and it came to me….. What was life like before kids? Did I pee alone? How amazing was it to get ONE person dressed in the mornings? I CANNOT REMEMBER. I repeat, I cannot remember life before kids. I am Jason Bourne, mother who cannot imagine or recall what life was like before these tiny humans took over. I just woke up one day, dazed and confused, and these little terrorists were dictating every aspect of my life. I mean, people usually have to pay to get peed on, amiright? But here I am, at the first “break” of the day, wondering how many things I took for granted BC (before children) and how overwhelming the small intricacies of parenting can be. However, a big part of me wonders if the reason I can’t remember those small details of life before kids is the fact that having children is a rebirth. We are born again. Born as warriors, healers, a safe haven for our babies….Born again as amazing, sleepless, resilient women!
Luckily my cousins (aka my tribe of fellow Stockholm syndrome victims) can keep it real and remind me that we all can have some pretty crazy days and still survive to tell about it…Our group text just informed me that one of them spilled wine on her son’s school supplies and the other fell on her baby gate and was crying in pain/laughing in horror. The third hasn’t responded in a couple of hours so I am sure her kidnappers are keeping her busy and I may have to send some help (CJ, send pizza hut your cry for help, mmmkay???)
Maybe it’s a good thing we don’t remember the BC days…
Jason Bourne out!