- Waking up to a hungry, bad-breathed creature two-inches from my face.
I cannot count the number of times I have woken up simply because my sub-conscious knew someone was a couple of inches from my face and that that someone was hungry. Once I woke just from the morning breath eeking from my son’s zombie-esc open gape only to have him snarl out a, “fooood.” It’s absolutely horrific but it happens once every couple of weeks when I let my guard down and forget to secure my sleeping space with booby-traps or weapons.
- Finding a safe secret spot only to have fingers come through the door cracks.
Being a mom is the single most rewarding role on the face of the Earth but it sometimes is also exhausting. There is not one mother I know who hasn’t used the space of the bathroom to escape her children for a moment. (My children think I pee thirty times a day.) On more than one occasion I have heard them lingering in the hall, waiting to pounce with their demands, their questions or their tackles and I have held my breath, lifted my feet up from the floor to the edge of the toilet and watched in horror as they noticed the closed door, stooped down in front of it, their little fingers sliding under the crack and curling up the wood like they are capable of ripping it right off of the hinges. And once they know you’re in there, you are trapped, you are a goner, and your time is up! And no matter how stealthily you sneak into your hidden space, they will find you!
- The endless gurgling for food.
I am not entirely sure if this applies to mothers of girls but I know for a fact that it applies to mothers of boys (of all ages). From dusk to dawn, a home filled with boys is akin to the constant snarling and gurgling that we hear on the zombie-infested lands of The Walking Dead. There is drooling and sloshing, gnawing, flying food from open mouths and a never-ending burbling for more sustenance. I am not sure if I am the only mom who felt sympathy for Shane when he tossed the sweet farmer Otis to the zombies to escape their jaws of doom but I have also tossed food at my children to get them off of my back.
- Random bites, random fights.
Moms need to keep on their toes. Sometimes children appear out of nowhere and often times there is hostile intent. I once walked out of the bathroom (probably after hiding) only to be charged by a growling six-year old charging me on all fours. My fight or flight failed me and I ended up screaming and falling backward into the bathroom, a goner for sure. On various occasions that same kiddo has charged me from around the kitchen corner. Some of these encounters result in me being bitten and other times they turn into full-blown wrestling matches. Sometimes I live to fight another day and sometimes a kidney punch to my back or a deep bite from a teething toddler leaves me weak and helpless and even more vulnerable.
- Drool, mud and general decay. Plus the random bloody scene.
One of the joys of children is their lack of falderal and their general distaste for cleanliness or anything that can interfere with their fun. However, this results in drool, mud, dirty nails, snotty faces, and an overall stench of decay. And as blood and gore are used in the show as a means to peak excitement and anxiety, the random bloody scene springs up on the mother as well for a kid’s bent toward fun and a lack of regard for their physical safety often results in broken bones, bloody noses, bruises and cuts.
- The realization that you’re never really alone.
I completely forget what it feels like to be bored. I don’t remember what it is like to wake up naturally without distant screams or something foreign climbing up my leg begging for food. I don’t remember what it is like to pee without pounding and scratching at the door. I don’t remember what it is like to mosey about on a date or around the house; our dates are like marathon sprints and maintaining the home is just dodging flying boys, plastic swords, punches and bites. I know one day I won’t remember what it is like to constantly be on my toes and I will lament the loss of excitement but that is at least a couple of decades off, when we finally settle in a scene like Hershel’s cozy farm or the super-secure prison. Oh, wait…there will be grandkids…
- Destruction of property.
Currently we have broken handles in sinks, chipped bathtubs, scuffed walls, broken shelving, stained furniture, piles of laundry, and random stickers on random objects. The temporary messes that come and go each day change our beautiful home to the prison walls after The Mayor drives in with his semi-automatic weapons and truckloads of zombies. At least it’s easier to fight when there is random debris to fling at an advancing predator.
- The necessity for weapons training.
I have gotten pretty darn good at wielding my son’s plastic broad-sword. I have also fashioned make-shift grenades from Legos and I can hit a kiddo in the head with a Nerf-bullet from fifty paces. I am no longer impressed with Daryl’s bow skills.
- The battle to secure a child’s innocence.
One of the attempted shock factors of The Walking Dead is the use of children and their struggle to understand their horrific world. Some of them are victims and others turn completely evil. In the real world I have to protect my little boys from seductive pictures, the violence of TV and video games, including their bent towards fighting and all things death and destruction. Last Christmas we had to explain to our kiddo why we were not going to buy him a rifle, a grenade launcher or a sword for Christmas, and there aren’t any zombies around; can you imagine if there were????
- Being overrun
Moms help other moms. Much of the time our home is filled to the brim with these creatures and in those situations the previous nine zombie/kid scenarios still exist (multiply by the number of children in the home.) And in those situations, there is nowhere to hide!
The show has nothing on parenthood! The producers, however, pegged the most accurate aspect of a stress-filled life; the physical wear and tear one endures:
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