I’m not typically a jealous person. If a luxury car pulls up next to my Honda, I’m happy knowing that my tires are cheaper than theirs. And, at least I’m not driving that Hyundai anymore. If someone has a nice big house that actually has enough room for all of their stuff, fine. Maybe I should start buying reasonably priced hair and skin care products instead of Aveda, and put the difference in the bank. I fully recognize that while many have more than I do, many more have less. I am grateful of my blessings, and I also recognize that my choices and actions play a large part in what stuff I have and don’t have.
That said, I’m jealous. Not seething, angry jealousy. Just that low level envy that creeps up on me every so often. I wasn’t even going to say anything about it, because honestly, I’m a little ashamed to admit it. But, after I read Desi’s Dear Santa post, I realized that maybe I’m not the only one with feelings like this.
So, what is making me jealous? Andy has the week off. Not only does he have the week off, we are still sending Michael to my mom’s each day. All week long, Andy get’s to sleep as late as he wants. Once he gets up, he can do whatever he wants. When I say whatever, I mean whatever. You know, like go to the bathroom without someone barging their way in so they can “help” you with the toilet paper. Or, sit down and watch the news without someone climbing on your head and grabbing your hair all while yelling, “I ride you like a horsey.”* Hell, he can even leave a sharp knife out on the counter if he wants to. Can you imagine!
I don’t begrudge Andy the time off. He works hard all day, he is so involved with Michael, he does so much of the house work that he deserves the break. But, I wish I could have one too. Whine, pout, sigh. But, it doesn’t work that way. When I’m off, my mom get’s to take off too. That means that Michael stays home with me.
Don’t get me wrong. I love being home with Michael. I know that these days are limited. I know Michael will grow up and demand independence. I know that when it happens, I’m going to be sad. I’m going to miss these early years. But, that doesn’t mean I don’t still want to sleep late, or do a puzzle without the pieces being thrown all over the house. At this point, I’d even settle for being able to clean the house without worrying about what the little beast may do while I’m out of the room.
However, that is not the fate of a mom with a two and a half year old. So, I guess I should just suck it up and deal. But, if I dream of soaking in a hot tub for an hour, reading and drinking wine, would you really blame me?
*Yes, this did happen to me. What I failed to mention was that Michael also farted on my head while he was doing it.