By Kristen C.
My husband informed me the other day that I am not nice.
And then told him I save all my "nice" for my daughter. And if I, per chance, have anything left to spare, I'm happy to send it his way.
But lately, "nice" has been a little hard to come by. I'm stretched thin living sans husband with my in-laws, nearly 8 months pregnant, and chasing after a 2-year-old. And after being asked "What's that?" about 2,409 times a day, and fending off multiple requests for candy that are usually made in a heinously whiny tone, I use up about all the nice that I have left.
I'd usually laugh and internally roll my eyes at my father-in-law waving my wet bra around on a hanger, my mother-in-law asking me if I know how to put a plastic bag in the small bathroom trashcan, or my husband complaining about his extra long workout at the gym.
Alone. Quietly running. With no diapers anywhere in sight.
Yeah. Must be really hard man.
But now, I feel pulled in way too many different directions. And I literally ration all my nice out to my daughter. She doesn't deserve tense responses or a frustrated tone, particularly when her grandparents are not the most patient, kind, and attentive folks who rely on television and large amounts of candy when called upon to babysit.
And so, I save all the nice patient loving understanding mom that I have in me for her.
I figure until I start getting some darn "nice" sent my way (or at least where I can wash and dry my own bras and not get instructed on skills I learned in 1st grade), it's drought season over here. Let's just hope it doesn't last too long.
Kristen is a former college music professor turned stay-at-home-mother/rock star to her 20-month-old daughter, Quinlan.