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I got married when I was a bit older. I had a career, bought a house and got married (in that order) to a man that had lived on his own for more than 10 years. He had lived in several apartments since moving out of his parents’ house in his early 20s. He had to cook, clean, do his own laundry and all that goes with living as an adult in this world. We got married and then quickly had two children (twins) before our first anniversary. But as time went on, and we added another child to the mix, I began to realize that I had not three but four children.
“Mama, I can’t find my shoes. Mama, I want breakfast. Mama, where is my Justin Bieber shirt?”
Yes, I understand that they are just little and can’t always remember where they put it, where it is kept or how to open the cabinet and pour a bowl of cereal. I get that, they are learning.
“Betty, where are my keys? My socks? My underwear? Can you mail this? Make me a lunch? Do anything that I should be able to do for myself?”
Seriously? You are an adult. Find it. I am “Nacho” Mama.
Betty
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