By SUSANNAH B. LEWIS for YourTango.com
Dear Stay-At-Home Mums, Shut The Eff Up.
Just be content or quit your whining.
Oh, the poor, exhausted stay-at-home mother: her yoga pants constantly covered in little people’s various body fluids and her dreams of backpacking across Europe flushed down the toilet with her mobile phone (courtesy of her toddler). The sad, resentful woman with a sink full of dirty dishes, a hamper full of grass-stained clothes, unhelpful husband, ornery children and burned chicken.
Before you rip the electric sliding doors from your minivans and charge at me with sharp kitchen utensils because of that first controversial paragraph, please know that I, too, am a stay-at-home mum (SAHM), raised by a SAHM, and constantly surrounded by friends and family who are also SAHMs, so I have some authority on this subject.
I know what it’s like to have a horrible day. I know what it’s like to run a fever, with the intense desire to sleep, and still have to burp people and try to block out the shrieking sound of screaming toddlers. I completely, utterly, wholly and thoroughly understand that being a SAHM is a stressful, selfless and never-ending job. I believe it is easier to solve calculus problems whilst under the influence of mind-altering drugs than it is to devote all of your time and energy to short people who rely on you for everything.
I am beyond sick and tired of hearing SAHMs complain about their long resume of “chef, maid, chauffeur and bookkeeper all rolled into one!” I, too, command all of those roles, and yet, I manage not to constantly sigh in disgust at my choice to care for my children or vent to anyone who will listen in the grocery store line about my unfulfilled life.
I think it’s time for the indignant SAHMs of the world to take a heaping helping of Shut Your Friggin’ Piehole.
Instead of complaining about how weary, exasperated and annoyed you are with caring for your children and your spouse, reconsider for a moment that you are one of the most privileged species on the planet.
I have friends who choose to work and I have friends who must work. My friends who are required to clock in every day leave their children in the care of others while they solve the business world’s problems. They duck out of meetings to take a call from Mrs. Jones and discover that the baby just said her first word or took his first step. They hang their heads at cluttered desks because they’ve missed so many precious milestones.