I know a lot of people think that married-mom-life has robbed me of my freedom. Hell, I spend a lot of time thinking exactly that. Grabbing a coffee and reading a book for two hours would be luxurious. Unfortunately, my children don’t agree and I like to see my husband once in awhile. But I do daydream about the times I was free to do whatever pleased me…
Free to work a shitty job that I hated 65% of the time just to make money to waste on junk to break and lose and drink and snort. Free to flirt with guys who’d make terrible fathers, to party with girls I mock in different company, to wake up every morning with a headache and a craving for McDonalds. Free to live in dirty apartments with irritating room mates and never own a real piece of furniture.
Before you go getting all indignant: I’m not saying this is the only life for a single, childless adult but that was my life as one. Depression, substance abuse and a pathetic acceptance of defeat had me acting like that was enough for me, like there was nothing else to work towards. But the changes I made gave me a new kind of freedom. It’s a freedom from trying to impress people who couldn’t care less, from embarrassing public arguments with deadbeat boyfriends, from daily hangovers, from wondering how long I’d last at my current job, from scraping together cash and eating pizza pockets for every meal.
Now I’ve got two kids, a husband, some pets, a (rented) home, and I even own a real bed. I’m still trying to decide what the hell I want to be when I grow up, but in the meantime I’m raising some pretty wicked mini-humans for the next generation. So shut up. I’m helping.