I have heard it said before that having a baby changes everything. I knew this was true when I found myself incredibly grateful to be able to sleep in until 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Pre-parent me would have died a little inside if someone had told her that there would come a day when she would view a 7 a.m. wake-up call or an unaccompanied trip to Target as major things to look forward to, but three years of parenthood does strange, awful things to our psyches.
Much like war.
We even start to miss some of the household chores we did before we spawned, surely a sign that we’re more foregone than we thought. Right now, if given the choice between mopping my kitchen floor without my three-year-old’s “help” and going to the spa, I’d choose the mop. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Join me as I lust after the altogether sexy chores only people without children enjoy.
I have not ironed anything since my three-year-old was born because the act of ironing implies you care about how you look, and since I’m a parent I obviously don’t. I have earned my mom jeans, my mustard stains, and the bags under my eyes, dagnabbit, and I won’t have unwrinkled clothes belying my look. Sloppy Mom Chic is a look and I must #WerkIt.
I always want to punch my friends in the face when they share photos on Facebook of the culinary creations they claim to have baked with the assistance of their children. This is because it is absolutely, totally impossible to bake anything other than processed tubes of cookie dough when you are in the presence of a child. Whether they know it or not, all children (especially babies) have a death wish and want to crawl inside the oven. So that’s out.
3. Folding Laundry
In my freewheeling childless days, I used to fold all my laundry, including my underwear and socks. I even created little dividers in my closet to keep things organized, doubtlessly while sipping cosmos in kneehigh boots. Now, if the clothes make it to the room they (theoretically) belong in without my daughter kamikaze jumping into the hamper and/or ripping out all the seams of our clothing, I call it a day.
4. Cleaning Upholstery
Before my daughter was born, I fancied myself Mrs. Adulty Adulterson and I washed our sofa slipcover every week, whether it needed it or not. (It never actually did since I know how to eat a Goldfish cracker, unlike some people I know.) Now that my sofa is covered in years-old spittup, juice, crumbs, possible dead rodents, and a variety of other bodily fluids, I lack any energy to toss it in with the laundry. Instead, I have simply placed a ban on all blacklights in my home. What you can’t see won’t hurt you.
5. Polishing Silver
Instead of caring for my belongings that have actual value like my grandmother’s silverware, I now spend my time duct taping our $3 copy of The Pokey Little Puppy back together for the 37th time. Mimi’s heirloom chafing dish is just going to have to tarnish ad finitum because my child has not yet mastered the concept that if she loves something, she shouldn’t, y’know, destroy it.
6. Going to the Dry Cleaners
Once upon a time, I had money to spend on cleaning my niceish, dry-clean-only clothing. Then, on a day that will go down in infamy, my daughter developed a taste for Babybel. Congrats, Laughing Cow, for being the proud recipient of 90% of our yearly household earnings.
7. Yard Work
My husband and I have tried to include our daughter in the care of our yard. We’ve shown her how to pull weeds, pick up sticks, and water the begonias. But the instant we break out the 18″ pruning sheers that could slice her in half, she wants nothing but to be in on that action. And thus, our backyard jungle flourishes.
8. Cleaning Out Closets
I would love nothing more than to perform a colon cleanse on all the closets in our house. We are knee-deep in Boppy pillows, baby carseats, and the roughly 72,000 items of clothing Cee has outgrown, and all I want is to get that crap out so we can make room for more crap. Unfortunately, three-year-old’s have this real neat habit of screaming like their toenails are being pulled out the moment you threaten to throw out their old stuff. That’s a battle I’m just not choosing. Go ahead, judge me.
So, what do I do now? Here is a list of the chores that now occupy my time: