I was watching Ellen the other day (Shut up. I like her.). Her guests were Jon & Kate and their 8 biological children. The word “biological” matters this time because that added to the insanity of their story; you should have see how large this woman was at month 6 and how much bed rest she had. Anyway, I was sort of blown away by this couple. The wife had perfect hair, makeup. Her clothing was ironed. She looked awesome and totally awake, totally peppy, vibrant.
Emory is a great baby. He doesn’t cry. He barely fusses and whenever he does fuss it’s more funny than frustrating. Yet I still find ways to complain. I still feel a bit lost when it comes to this mothering thing. My hair is rarely washed. The house is in disarray. I barely have time to feed myself and the meals I do consume must be of the one-hand held variety. I juggle between the same three pair of pants and the same 5 shirts. The dishes pile up sometimes. The cat box overflows. The floors have tumbleweeds. I have just one baby. Just one, awesome, well-behaved baby and I still can’t keep up with the upkeep. And my hygiene was the first thing to go. It’s everything baby first. Then cats. Then house. Then Internet. Then me.
How the hell does this woman take care of 8 kids and keep things even remotely orderly at all? Jon heads to work and she takes care of 8 kids. Eight. She appears to have a 100-dollar haircut. Plus, her fingernails are clean. Plus, she probably doesn’t smell and I bet she still shaves. And if that wasn’t shocking enough. She makes dinner every night from scratch. What’s more? IT’S ALL ORGANIC. How does she find the time to cook from scratch for 8 kids? But the bigger question is how the hell can they afford it? TobyJoe and I have trouble paying for the three of us to eat all organic. But ten?
Having never seen the show, maybe they’re messier than they interview?
Either way, I want my own a reality TV show. The one where they reveal how hairy my armpits and legs must get before I decide it’s time to shave them. Or how much baby spit up has to acquire on each shoulder before I retire that shirt. I want a reality TV show to enter my home and record the fact that we continue to sleep on the bed sheets even after the baby pees on them. I want a reality TV show to capture moments like the time an entire bottle of (organic!) formula spilled on the bedspread and my leg at 5 AM and I wasn’t sure if it was pee or not and decided to get a slumbering Toby’s opinion and figured a simple yet direct, “SMELL THE PANT LEG. COME ON! SMELL THE PANT LEG.” would suffice. They’d be amazed at what I’ve ingested in 30 seconds. They’d be amazed at how quickly I can be in and out of the bathroom. They’d be amazed where pee pee diapers end up around house before they’re finally tossed. Because the reality for me is taking care of one child takes time and a whole lot of energy. Gimme 8 kids and the ACS would be at my door in no time.
It’s a good thing there are shows like Friday Night Lights. While it may be fiction, the inside of Tami Taylor’s house, is a whole hell of a lot closer to reality when it comes to how our apartment looks.
Perhaps if I spent less time in front of the TV I’d have more time to cook organic meals for my family. Point taken, Conscience.