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 cell 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 mom (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 of 103, 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.
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