Everyone broke into laughter and I sheepishly smiled, relieved. I mouthed “thank you” to Josie.
“Well then! That was exciting,” continued Emily, tersely. “This must be Aubrey! She’s darling! We’ve run out of time but I just wanted to thank all of you for your commitment to being the best moms you can be. Remember, great moms are made, not born. Good luck with the challenge!”
Before I knew it, everyone was saying goodbye and the screen went black.
Well, it could have been worse. I could have done a full frontal.
I decided not to let my peep show get me down. Yes, it was humiliating, but I had three huge things to be grateful for: I just had a meeting with Emily Walker, in six weeks I’d be going on a three-day vacation with her and I was on the path to becoming the mom Aubrey deserves. A mom who wears pants.
Now I just had to figure out how to do it.
This week’s task was to exercise. I wondered if stretching to reach the candy on top of the fridge counted as Pilates.
My first step in the Fitness Challenge was to make Emily’s mommy tonic. It only called for water, lemon, stevia and fresh ginger, but the only ingredient I had on hand was H2O. I was not 100 percent sure what stevia was. Hopefully it was some kind of Russian vodka I’d never heard of. With any luck this tonic would be more of a cocktail than something I’d have to choke down all day like cough medicine.
It was already 7 p.m. when I realized I was missing two ingredients for Emily’s magic elixir and David had just texted me, letting me know he was on his way home (he worked late AGAIN), so I asked him to pick them up. You would have thought I’d asked him for a pound of flesh from his passive aggressive, I’m exhausted, but sure, text. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve asked him to go to the grocery store since Aubrey was born. Was I supposed to put a freshly bathed and pajamaed Aubrey in the car and take her to the store? I don’t know if it’s work stress or what, but asking him for anything these days results in a huge man tantrum that is starting to get on my last nerve.
I never wanted to be the type of wife that nags, but if I need something done I have to say it a minimum of six times to make it happen. The kitchen faucet was spraying me in the face from the base for two weeks before he finally fixed it. Over those fourteen days I must have brought it up twenty-eight times. If that’s nagging, I guess I’m a nag. Excuse me for not wanting to look like I’m about to enter a wet T-shirt contest every time I wash my hands.
At 7:45 p.m. David walked through the door and angrily tossed me a small shopping bag. It turns out stevia is not a Russian vodka but an all-natural sweetener that he had to go to three stores to find. I would have felt worse for him if he hadn’t had such an attitude about it.
“You’re welcome,” he uttered sarcastically after kissing me on the cheek.
I pursed my lips and used the sing-song tone that means I’m trying not to snap.
“You’re welcome, too, for me taking care of the baby all day, cleaning, changing the worst diaper I’ve ever seen in a six-inch by six-inch public bathroom, doing the laundry, and...” I almost said “making dinner” but stopped myself. The frozen chicken tenders, mashed potatoes from a box and canned corn waiting for him on a plate in the microwave probably wasn’t a meal I wanted to brag about.
He set his briefcase on the kitchen table. “And you’re welcome for my working an entire day so that we can have a house to live in and food to eat.”
I took his lunch container out of his bag and placed it in the sink. “You’re also very welcome for my doing everything at home so that you’re free to work and interact with other adults while I sit at home all day like a hermit with only dirty dishes to talk to.”
He began to walk upstairs toward the bathroom. I followed him, my plastic grocery bag still in hand.
David sat on the bed and kicked off his shoes haphazardly, knowing full well how much that annoys me.
He sighed. “If you hate being at home with Aubrey so much, why don’t you get a job?”
I felt like I’d been stabbed in the chest with a jagged icicle. I walked slowly toward him. Suddenly he wasn’t my husband, he was the enemy.
“First of all, I do not hate being home with Aubrey. She’s my entire life. It’s hard. Every single day it’s hard. Why aren’t I allowed to say that? My life isn’t easy.”
David stood up and loosened his tie. He leaned into me. “Neither is mine.”
Without another word he walked into our bathroom and shut the door. I heard the shower start. I went downstairs to clean up.
I felt conflicted. I never thought his work was easy, but if I were to be honest, it did seem more interesting and less...tedious than being a stay-at-home mom. I love Aubrey with all of my heart and wouldn’t change a thing which in some ways makes it worse. How can my life be exactly how I want it to be but feel like such a daily struggle?
I turned on the microwave and set it to two minutes to warm David’s gourmet meal. Hopefully he’d see it as a peace offering. A slightly overcooked peace offering with a side of ketchup.
I walked over to the kitchen counter and opened the plastic bag. It contained a small bottle of stevia, lemonade, and ginger ale. Lemonade? Ginger ale? I asked for stevia, a lemon and fresh ginger. I slammed the bag down on the counter and tried to control my rising anger.
This would have to do for the night. I mixed three drops of stevia and a splash of lemonade into a glass of ginger ale and took a big swig. Not bad.
I walked upstairs to my bedroom with my not-so-healthy elixir and settled into bed with my computer in my lap. I could still hear David in the shower.
I clicked through to the Motherhood Better message boards. Rebecca, Emily’s assistant, had sent me login information for the portal late last night. Apparently, it was some sort of private online journal where all of the Motherhood Better Bootcamp members were supposed to update each other with their progress. Scanning the page I saw that there were already over a hundred posts.
Hello ladies! Today I jogged for six miles while pushing my three-month-old twins in their jogging stroller. I felt incredible. I’m training for a half-marathon to raise funds for a local charity.—Heather from New Jersey, mom of two