I feel like a prisoner.
Maybe its because I’ve been binge watching Prison Break on Netflix but my 14 month old son is that asshole guard Bellick. Really, my 14 month old is not an asshole. He is sweet and adorable and smiles and laughs at me all day and I wouldn’t smile nearly as much if I didn’t have all of his joy to reflect. (I just had to take him away from digging in the trash – seriously his favorite thing to do.) But the mofo is stuck on me like glue…maybe Bellick is the wrong comparison but it is because of this guy that I cannot do a damn thing in peace or privacy, so it kind of feels like prison.
The other 3 kids could be inmates, guards, wardens, corrupt members of the legal system….it doesn’t really matter who you analogize them to be, it feels like they are all ruining my life. No. I don’t mean that. The guilt I feel for thinking, saying or typing that is immeasurable – only I truly can’t even shit alone, so it kind of feels like I’m in prison (without all the impending doom I imagine).
- I don’t get to set my own schedule. Wake up time is when the youngest wakes up. His demands of, “Up! I wanna walk!” (which sounds like “ehhh!!!! onna awlk!!!!”) incite me into action before he’ll alert the other inmates (children) or warden (husband) with his insubordination.
- The food sucks! Some might say that at least I get to pick what I eat, but the reality is: I can spend time making something I like (whilst tripping over a toddler and fending off a hundred other unwanted advances), only for the kids to refuse to eat it and demand 87 other things. By the time I get any leftovers, they are cold, unappealing and I’m too damn tired to eat anyway. Or they actually like the food and clear their plates, requesting seconds before I have a chance to sit down, and when I finally find the time to make myself a plate, the pan is empty. My calories mostly come from the leftovers I scrape from the high chair tray and wine (where there is no doubt, my life is full of a beautiful freedom of choice between dry reds, fruity whites, bubbly mixes, and everything in between!).
- Yard time is mandatory. Like it or not, we are going outside. Just listen to the toddler yell “Ow-ide!!!” (“outside”) as he deftly flips the deadbolt and sprints across the yard (barefoot and wearing nothing but a diaper nonetheless!). Unfortunately, these outings don’t follow a routine schedule (see #1) and frequently occur when I am on the phone, the toilet, or otherwise indisposed.
- I’m subject to unannounced searches. The things I ‘hide’ in my nightstand drawer do not remain hidden. If i take the time to brush my teeth, a minor will take the time to rifle through my drawers and that is an awkward conversation! Likewise, that candy bar I stealthily purchased at the grocery store and swiftly stowed away inside my purse was promptly discovered when I was desperately trying to distract my screaming child in the doctor’s waiting room.
- Don’t drop the soap! This might not be as painful in my life as it is in prison, but it is probably equally unpleasant. While bending over to retrieve dropped soap in prison can lead to a violation, dropping the soap with a toddler in tow will lead to said toddler man-handling said soap. Anyone who has ever Googled home remedies for constipation knows soap = defecation. This is a lose-lose situation either way!
I’m only 10 years into a life sentence, and I gotta say, solitary confinement doesn’t sound so bad!