Today, the wonderful woman who takes care of my smart ass diva toddler took all 3 kids – toddler + twins.  It was a rehearsal for her taking all 3 of the stinkers when I FINALLY go back to work (more on this later – maternity leave sucks!!!). We agreed that she would “practice” taking them for 4 hours.  I tried not to skip out of the house when she gave me the “okay” to go.  Ok – I did run the fuck out of the house but I tried not to trip over the toddler on the way out.

Before she could change her mind, I jumped into the mini van.  Now, let me digress a moment.  Before the birth of my twin sons, I was hoping like hell that I could get 3 car seats into my nearly-paid-for Honda CRV.  I liked the CRV just fine and I did NOT want a mini van.  Not only is it absolutely not cool (though my husband said – what part of 3 kids did you think was cool – TRUE) but it was nearly paid for and I did NOT want another car!  My brother broke the news to be (pre-twins) that the CRV would not fit 3 car seats no matter how hard he tried to put the fuckers in there.  DAMN!!!!!  So, I bought a fuckin’ mini van.  I AM now officially another STEREOTYPE (as I Black chick I am an unwilling stereotype anyway – but I bought and paid for the latest one).  I AM a suburban mom driving a fucking mini van – I cannot just say “mini van” I have to say “fuckin’ mini van” because….REALLY? I actually had an attitude problem at the dealership.  They congratulated me on my purchase and I growled at them.  Maybe it’s because I was about to have no car payment and I just inherited a new one.  Maybe it’s because there is no part of this car that is for me. Maybe it’s because the mini van is the station wagon of my childhood and I hated that shitty car too.  So NOT cool!  The things we do for our children.

Anyway, when that sainted woman who takes care of my child – soon to be 3 children after maternity leave (aka jail) took all 3 of them, I left skid marks on the floor trying to get out of the damn house to the fuckin’ mini van.  I got in the car/van, screeched out of the driveway, and played Aretha Franklin’s song “Think” – especially the chorus talking about “Freedom” because that is how I felt.  Free.  I actually had a dance party in the fuckin’ mini van.  I was dancing like I was still in college at a frat party trying to look cute – except you can’t look cute in a fuckin’ mini van because there is nothing cute about that shit.

I love my kids.  Each of them is an amazing miracle.  We worked hard to get each of them here but going from 1 to 3 has been culture shock.  It’s like parental boot camp.  Also, I am a workaholic.  I enjoy working – lots, so maternity leave was sexist jail to me.  I sneered at my husband as he walked out the door to go to work because I was pissed that I couldn’t go too.  My world immediately shrunk to laundry, bottles (naw I didn’t breast feed heffers – get over it and I don’t feel guilty either!), sleepless night, screaming infants, and the diva toddler I have already told you about.  Add on top of that  the 3 weeks of active labor and a 2 week hospital stay prior to the birth of one colicky, fussy, screaming infant and one silent, well-behaved one and you get a recipe for post-partum crazy.  I have experienced plenty of post-partum crazy.

To be fair, my husband would have stayed home with the kids if he could have but our sexist-ass society doesn’t support this because we glorify the role of mother and diminish the role of father.  My husband is a European Negro (yes, they exist) so he does not understand why he can’t have paternity leave.  Some women have a difficult time leaving their newborns to go back to work.  I really empathize here but that ain’t me.  Work somehow balances me and allows me to think critically and connect to a whole other type of bullshit.  I need multiple types of bullshit in my life so I can have more to complain about.

Remember here that I bitch and complain about everything so when I FINALLY get to go back to work I will complain about that shit too (“Gosh, I am so overwhelmed”) but it sure will be nice to be the fuck out of the house away from all little people under the age of 3 so that when I return, I am excited (or at least happy) to see them.

Society is unkind to women truth-tellers – especially truths about motherhood.  We are supposed to exault motherhood and never talk about how difficult it is.  I know that I am a lucky bitch.  We have resources that enable us to get help – both emotionally and physically but it’s still hard.  HUGE fist bumps to single moms.  May you get a EXPENSIVE ass mom’s day present every year as well as problem-free kids (ok – the 2nd part doesn’t exist)

Anyway that dance party in the mini van allowed me to reconnect with the silly side of myself.  As I danced away and sang loudly to Aretha I felt free to be fun.  Something so simple. And after my 6 hours away from the diva toddler + twins (because the sainted woman gave me 2 more hours of away time at her request so she could “practice” more with the 3 of them) I came home happy to see each little person and enjoyed them upon my return.  Absence – or just time away and a dance party in a fuckin’ mini van – really does make the heart grow fonder.

K