I have decided to be intentionally vague about certain aspects of my family. It will not deter from the candor with which I will approach my material. I often find something remarkable about Every Man stories. I want to be Every Momma. It is important to me that I protect the privacy of my children, so while I can be open and honest about my stories and my fears, I want to guard their true names.
However, I do want to share information about us and who we are, so that, if you stumble upon my blog, you can know our story.
I am Momma. I live in a somewhat unimportant medium-sized city located within Megalopolis. I have relatively easy access to public transportation. I feel like that says enough about where I might be located. For financial reasons, my family owns a single car. We make do. One day, I will share more about that car. It is reliable, but there is a story or two there. I come from a large family. I am the only person in my immediate family with post-secondary training of any sort. I have a master’s. I want a doctorate. I am somewhere around thirty. In my real life, I have no qualms about telling anyone my age, but like I said, intentionally vague, Every Momma. I do not dye my hair, much to my mother’s dismay, and I recently found a stylist who told me to never do it, “don’t even consider it, your gray distribution is perfect, there’s a lot, but it’s perfect, you’ll regret it, your mom is crazy to think you should.” I have decided that she is a real asset to her profession, and I hope to never have to find another stylist. Please never disappear, wonderful hair magician. I work outside of the home. I love what I do. I believe that I am good at it, and I know I have found an organization where I can spend the rest of my career happily doing my thing.
Saint Daddy works from home and performs the vast majority of the domestic duties. Other wives tell me how lucky I am. They want to know my secret. So lean in close because I am about to share The Secret. This is a big one. Are you ready? There is no secret. He is obsessed with the way he does dishes and folds towels, so he gets to do the dishes and fold the towels. It is win-win. He recently finished his second master’s degree to further his education in a profession that he also recently decided that he hates. But he is home with the children, money is tight, and he will stick with it for now.
We met in the seventh grade lunch line. I do not remember it. This disappoints him. He married me anyway. Not in seventh grade. That would be ludicrous! We began dating senior year and married about a year and a half after undergrad. We went to separate schools. People always ask that for some reason. People ask a lot of questions.
We married young. People have opinions about that. But we waited four years before having a baby. People had opinions about that too.
Our first was born in 2013. I call her Doc and Sunshine. She is brightness and joy and a little bit of “actually.” Everytime she corrects me with “actually,” I simultaneously want to giggle and roll my eyes at her little self. She is different from Saint Daddy and me in that she loves talking to people. She fills silence with conversation. She makes friends everywhere that she goes. That is not me.
Our second child, a boy who I sometimes refer to as Grumpy (have you caught a theme here yet?), came nearly four years after his sister in 2017. He loves Momma more than anything. He loves cuddles and feels jealous whenever Momma shares her snuggles with anyone else. His favorite toy is a Disney Princess ball that he stole from Doc one morning, claimed as his own, and refused to acknowledge as even joint property. He is a bully and a toy thief. He is curious, observant, and quick to pick up language.
Our third child, the youngest, the baby of the family, my Sleepy, arrived exactly one minute after his brother. Oh, did I not mention the twin thing? Weird. That is another thing people have a lot of opinions and questions regarding. Sleepy is all danger and adventure. He works hard to figure out how to escape baby jail. He crawled weeks before his brother. He walked weeks before his brother. He does not need me nearly as much as Grumpy, but he is still Sleepy. He needs longer naps and quiet time to refuel for whatever new mischief he can manage to get himself into. Sleepy is a music lover and has the best laugh.
Saint Daddy and I both carry some mental health demons. We have both been diagnosed and, at various times, we have both been medicated to fight those demons. We both exercise and eat well to help deal with it, but we both have regular bouts where we are just “unwell.” Neither of us would ever tell anyone that exercise and diet is enough. It is not. There is no shame in getting help. Please, if you are fighting hard, reach out somewhere, anywhere. You are not alone.
PSA aside: One of my biggest fears as a parent is that we will pass our messiness onto these beautiful souls that we have had entrusted to our care. I sit up at night thinking about my days and trying to decipher if I said or did anything that might turn the switch that I know our babies must carry in their brains to make them just like us.
In starting this blog, I am hoping to find an outlet for fighting my demons. I am also hoping to help other mommas find a place of solidarity. We are all going through tough battles every day. We are single moms, working moms, barely getting by moms, not sure how we will make it moms, if you do not sleep soon I am going to snap moms. We are Every Momma.
This is for you, momma!