You Get Used to It

I have an aunt who lives in NYC. Whenever we’d go visit her growing up, I could never sleep in her apartment. All night long, you’d hear sirens blaring, taxis honking, cars backfiring (or were those gunshots?). I couldn’t imagine how anyone could get used to all that noise. Conversely, when my aunt came to visit us in the “country” (relatively speaking), she complained it was too quiet.

The point is, you get used to your surroundings. I am reminded of this every time I’m around people who don’t have small children at home.

When my parents come to visit, for example, I have all these visions of getting out to the gym, going shopping, going out to dinner with my husband – basically taking full advantage of the free babysitting.

But then after the first day or 2, I begin to realize: most people aren’t used to our “lifestyle.” (I put that in quotes because the word lifestyle always makes me think of retirement communities or the Kardashians and that’s not what I mean at all.)

I’ve become so used to the noise and energy level around here that it’s not until someone else points out how crazy it is that I even notice. I’m so used to going 100 mph from the minute my eyes open (whenever the first kid wakes up) that I forget other people aren’t used to that pace.

I’m so used to eating standing up, grabbing something on the fly, and pulling together separate meals from whatever’s on hand that I forget other people actually plan meals, prepare them, and sit down together and eat them. Off non-plastic dishes, even!!

There was a moment during their last visit when my mom, out of breath and not having finished her first cup of coffee yet at 10 a.m., said to me, “Do you think I could go use the bathroom?” LOL! I almost said, “Well, you can try, but I can’t guarantee you’ll have it to yourself.” But I thought better of it and said, “Of course, I’ve got an eye on the boys.” I guess some people aren’t used to going with the door open so they can make sure the kids aren’t riding on the dog while they’re in there.

My parents always have the same reaction when they leave after spending a few days with us: relief, mixed with disbelief, sprinkled with equal parts sadness about leaving their grandkids and admiration and pity for me. “Good luck!” they say, clutching my hands. “I wish you strength. You’re doing a great job. Hang in there,” they reassure me as the taxi pulls away.

Then I imagine they heave a huge sigh of relief, close their eyes, and thank God they’re just visiting. Until a few months later when they decide their life is a little TOO quiet...

READ O' THE WEEK: I came across a "Baby Blues" comic book in a bookstore once & have been hooked ever since.