Chicken Motherfucking Salad

 

You know how some mothers who are older seem to remember everything as being "tough but wonderful" and "it was hard, but so worth it" and my personal favorite, "Oh, cherish these moments, believe me, they'll be gone before you know it."  

Shut the fuck up. That comment is just asking for a twat swat.

Here is a little story that I'll never forget.  That when I'm old and gray (okay, gray-er...fuck off) I'll think of it whenever I see a young mother and I promise you I won't harken back and wish it were me.  

Also, I feel as though I should mention that my husband is handsome, funny and loving.  But once you have children, you forget to notice any of that.  

Your partner is boiled down to this one question... "What did you do?" 

You can change your inflection in order to denote your feelings about whatever they may or may not have done, but the question remains the same.  "What did you do?"

There is way too much to do, and this grinning asshat on the other side of the bed had better be getting some shit done.

When my son was a newborn there wasn't time for anything.  My kids are only a year apart and my daughter wasn't even walking when we got home from the hospital, so it was really tough to get anything done.

So, one day when my son was 2 weeks old, I was desperately juggling the two and I remember my husband saying that he'd be able to help me right after he had lunch.

I should also mention that I had gained 70 pounds with each baby, but the sheer stress of having a newborn made that weight melt off.  That and not having the ability to sit down for a meal.  So, in my mind, he was going to choke down a bowl of cereal, or grab a banana, at the very most he was going to make a pb&j and inhale it while throwing a load of laundry in the washer.

Not quite.

In any case, I headed out the backyard.  Newborn strapped to my chest, and toddler toddling in front of us,holding both my hands, trying not to fall.  We were outside for about 7 minutes.  My son, naturally, poops, and my daughter, exhausted from being forced to walk when in fact, she can't, sits on the ground and begins screaming.

Over all this, I hear...

tink.  tink.  tink...

And in the back of my mind, I'm thinking, what is that noise?  But I'm trying to change my son on the ground and keep my daughters hands from strangling him.  

And still I hear..

tink. tink. tink.

Important to note.  I'm in a full body sweat.  With a bjorn. And two babies.  One of whom smells like a Haitian gas station bathroom.

So, I get most of the poop wiped off.  (Don't judge me) And attempt to get him back in the bjorn while simultaneously carrying my daughter.  Limp back in the house, peek into the kitchen and....

There he is.  Humming.  

That mother fucker was humming.

And that tink,tink, tink?

That's what it sounds like when the person you sleep with is chopping a goddamn Granny Smith apple for their chicken salad sandwich.  Chicken. Motherfucking. Salad. Sandwich.  

So, I say, "What are you doing?"

He says, "Making lunch.  Chicken salad.  What?"

And I say, "Oh, you're making lunch? You're MAKING LUNCH?"

Then he says "Don't say it like that.  I told you I was going to have lunch, what did you think I was going to do?"

"What did I think you were going to do?" 

(And through teeth clenched so tight, I cracked a crown, I continued) "I thought you were going to take a protein bar, unwrap it and jam in your fucking face like I've been doing 24 hours a day for the past 2 weeks. If you don't get in the game in the next 20 seconds I'm going to cut you from neck to scrotum and I'll never go to jail because there will be at least one woman on that jury that will fucking rejoice in your death after she hears about you making a goddamn chicken salad sandwich. "

I think he said something after that.  But my legal game-plan is to maintain that I more or less blacked out. 

But what I do remember is him scraping that apple in the sink and mumbling some nonsense about "sole custody."

"Sole custody."  Is that a threat or a promise, you son of a bitch?

Someday, someday... I'll take a drag on my long, brown, skinny cigarette take a swig of my filthy dirty martini, and thank my lucky stars that those days are gone. 

Cherish this?  You must be out of your fucking mind.