AN APOLOGY TO MY SISTER
My sister is in Cabo right now. I’m assuming she’s drinking an ice cold margarita with her husband while her 3 boys splash around a ginormous elegant pool. She deserves it. She works harder than most. Really she does. She’s probably getting that Cabo glow on her long legs right now as we speak. And I’m fucking jealous.
About 8 or 10 years ago I was back in Cali, headed to my sister’s house, I was between fiance’s, (long story, more on that later) and I rolled up to her driveway, parked my shiny silver BMW, walked through her little white picket fence and her boys came running for me: hugs, love and then some. Pretty sure one of them had peanut butter on his face or strawberry chewy’s in their hands and it was smeared somewhere between my eyebrows and new leather jacket. I love kids. Back then I wanted kids so fiercely. But I kept getting the love part wrong. Just wrong. That door kept slamming in my face, as if it were saying “nope, sorry Maile, love isn’t for you, not this time, see ya next year.” Ok, don’t play me a violin, it wasn’t world war 2, but sort of. All I ever wanted, was love. Just real, beautiful, complicated love. And Kids. But it wasn’t my time.
When my sister said “let’s go, we have to pick up something at Zach’s pre-school”, I was hoping instead, the nanny was there and we could get our nails done and drink some wine or at least get a coffee. But we didn’t, we piled the two boys in the SUV and backed out the drive. I distinctly remember looking in the back seat and I was disgusted at the extraordinarily large quantity of cheerios covering her floor board. Old sippy cups filled with juice or God knows what else, diapers, wipes, toys, you name it, it was there. I rolled my eyes hard, like a stuffy, single, twenty-something bitch, and under my own breath I whispered to my twenty something self, “I will NEVER have a car this dirty when I’m a mom. NEVER. My BMW will shine and those carpets will be impeccable.”
Such bullshit. Seriously, sissy, I owe you an apology.
It’s not wrong to be twenty and sleep in till 11, shop for designer things (if you have a job and can afford to), hop on a plane to anywhere, drive a trendy BMW and roll your eyes at motherhood like “I will never be that woman.” It’s not wrong. It’s just, you don’t know shit. The wisdom is not there yet, imprinted on your tired eyes from countless years of no shut eye because you’re breastfeeding babies and nursing sick toddlers who came home with a stomach bug from preschool. You have no idea because you have no children. I had NO idea.
Nathan Chapman
Nathan Chapman
My sister was there the day I became a mother. She’s a Doctor. She’s also a mother of 3. But more importantly, she’s my sister. She’s been there forever. And she always will be. The day I gave birth, I was scared as shit. She could tell. But being an Obstetrician/gynecologist like the brilliant woman she is, she was calm and collected. And she also knew I was about to enter the hardest part of my life thus far, motherhood. She also knew I was about to enter the greatest part of my life, because I was finally becoming, a mother.
I’m now a mother of 4, (including my teenage stepson).
My SUV is not a BMW and it has shit everywhere. Every fuckin’ where.
When we are visiting my sister in Cali, every friday, her husband comes from work, shakes us a martini and we sit and drink and laugh about everything. And when it’s 9 pm., I’m dead. I’m tired, ready for bed and drunk (thanks to my one very strong martini.) Her husband and her dance in the kitchen and giggle and I roll my eyes once again at her because I’m tired. I’m the one with the babies now, and she’s drinking margaritas in Cabo and the kids are alright.
We laugh about this now because it is quite funny. But seriously, I’m sorry sis.
For being a bitch when I should’ve known better.
For rolling my eyes and throwing a fit when you tried to give my toddler a wheat thin. A wheat thin. Because I was afraid she would choke. I’m currently feeding my twin babies french fries.
For walking around aimlessly panting, freaking out when I was pregnant with twins and panicked at the thought of Mom and Dad taking KB to disneyland with Kai and Casey, afraid they would lose her and I would die a miserable death. I’m currently eager to send all 3 kids to six flags with a babysitter.
For asking you to bleach your floors when your oldest threw up in the hallway and I had my first newborn baby and was scared of germs. My kids are now eating off the floor that my 5 year old walks on with shoes she wears to kindergarten.
For always pulling those clips out of your hair telling you to let your hair down because it looks sexier. My hair is up in those things 24 hours a day because I’m so fucking hot. I’m always fucking hot. Carrying around toddlers is like a private session at Equinox.
Now, I get it sissy.
Now I fully understand. Now, I dump cheerios on the floor in an effort to shut up the twins while trying to make dinner for my family. Because if I don’t it’s a scream fest and I would be drunk at 4pm.
I know you’ll say, whatever, I’ve been there too. But really, I’m sorry. I had no idea how hard this Mom gig thing was until I became a mom. And it’s not so funny anymore. I’m tired as shit. And I appreciate my blessings, and I am so grateful. But I swear, one day, when the kids are grown, please take me to Cabo and drown me in margaritas and sun and let’s laugh and be stupid and look back on how far we’ve come. That day will be everything. And I will be drunk. And I love you. K bye.
