I Don't Want a Husband, I Need a Wife
Yea...I know I am not supposed to say something like that. It's really not politically correct. And I know it implies a ton of stereotypes that women have tried to break away from since long before I was born. But I am going to let you in on a little secret. I hear women - modern day, successful women - say this all of the time. It’s usually said with a disclaimer, and sometimes in a hushed tone while stepping a little further into my personal space than I am comfortable with - “Listen, I love my husband…(look around to see if anyone else is listening)…but I really need a wife.” Or, “I know it’s hard doing this on your own…(pause, put her hand on my forearm, smile)…but a husband would just be one more person you have to take care of.”
Well that just isn’t going to work, because I am having a hard time taking care of myself. Ellie – no problem. Me? Not so much.
And I’ve heard it so many times since having Ellie, that I began to ponder this reoccurring concept. Why is it in 2012, women are harkening back to days gone by, nostalgic for one of those fictional June Cleaver wives that supposedly enjoys taking care of everyone in the home.
I have seriously given this a lot of thought, and I have developed a little theory that is based on nothing other than my own observations. When we go from “me” to “mom”, we fall off our list of things to take care of. Doesn’t matter how hard we try, something in our brain switches our focus, and it shifts from being squarely set on our own needs, to being geared toward the needs of our children. Perhaps we are programmed to do so. Maybe its biological. Or maybe our brains simply focus on the person in the house that are in need of the most assistance. Whatever the reason is, one thing is clear in my own life – I need June Cleaver much more than I need a husband.
And it’s not like I am ignoring my own needs – I can’t even remember my own needs. And I am talking about the basic ones – like eating. I LOVE to eat, but somehow in motherhood I became a scavenger in my own home – eating the scraps left on Ellie’s plate, finding a cracker on the floor and putting it in my mouth (don’t judge – you know you have done it too), or sometimes not eating at all. Yes, those are the three ways I consume food in my house.
Don’t believe me? Here’s a little breakdown of what I ate today:
Breakfast: I ate the remaining tidbits of Ellie’s egg and cheese omelet that I prepared for her before I went to work.
Lunch: At 11:30 am I devoured an overpriced salad from the company cafeteria before attending a 12:30 meeting.
Dinner: Well dinner just isn’t going to happen tonight. I am typing this at 9:12 pm and I am too tired to even begin to think about what I want for dinner, let alone prepare it.
That fictional wife we all fantasize about would definitely prepare dinner for me. While running my bath. June would definitely be running my bath while flawlessly preparing a 3-course meal for my enjoyment.
And she would also make sure the house is in order, particularly my Tupperware cabinet, which is always a tangled web of tops and containers that manages to make me so frustrated that I have seriously contemplated banning all Tupperware containers from my apartment. I hate that cabinet.
June’s housecleaning routine would be better than mine too - which wouldn’t be hard. You see, my routine consists of taking one of Ellie’s baby wipes and cleaning the surfaces that are within a one-foot radius of her highchair - after I used the same baby wipe to wipe off her hands and face. Call me crazy, but I am pretty sure June has a better system than that.
And I think she would make my bed too.
That never happens – ever. And honestly it really never happened in my pre-baby adult life either. Actually, the last time my bed was made on a regular basis was when I lived at home, with my parents. And more specifically my M-O-M.
And then it hit me, I don’t want a husband OR need a wife – I just need my mom to come live with me!