Through all those parenting moments, there is one person by your side.
Normally I work as a lawyer. That is, when I’m not on maternity leave and facilitating 24-7 backstage boobie access.
It’s an an occupation that has equipped me with a formidable skill-set, the most important of which is an almost religious adherence to the first commandment of the profession: READ BEFORE SIGNING.
Read Memorandums of Understanding.
Read credit card receipts for snazzy shoes sneakily snapped up whilst shopping…and dispose of the evidence in a forensically untraceable manner.
But the last big contract I signed was a doozy. A contract of marriage. I’ve got to admit I was a little distracted before I signed. Maybe my optimistically tight corset was starving my brain of its vital oxygen supply. Maybe the ‘up-do’ I’d reluctantly succumbed to, with its accompanying battalion of bobby pins and radical relocation of my eyebrows two centimetres to the north meant that I didn’t have my game face on that day. I’m not entirely certain of just whose game face I did have on but it looked so startled that it might have just witnessed either an alien invasion or the arrival of a massive tax refund cheque.
Perhaps I was so completely distracted with the task of saying my vows loudly enough to be heard above the torrential rain drumming on the gazebo roof that I slipped up and broke that first commandment...I didn't exactly read all of the fine print. So now I find myself asking, "where did I sign up for this?'
Where did I sign up for the indentured servitude that is picking up everyone else's undies, wee-sodden pull ups and a shipwrecked flotilla of toenail clippings off the bathroom floor?
Where did I sign up for collecting, sorting, washing, drying, ironing, folding and distributing everyone else's stinky laundry? And then doing it over and over and over again?
Where did I sign up to be the Pet Monitor, the only person in the whole house who notices when the water bowl is almost empty and that the poor dog is on the verge of ravenously gnawing off her own leg?
Where did I ever sign up for planning all of the meals, making the dinner, dishing it up to a chorus of 'you know I hate beans / brown bread /(insert today's offending food item here) and then having to do all the washing up as well? Usually all as an entree before I sit down to eat my own dinner cold?