So A.T.’s comment on my post, Buns in the Oven Scare the S*** Out of Me, got me thinking. How does Mommy get back her personal time so she can shower at least every 24 hours, and hit the gym to chase away the ass dimples?
The answer is obvious: Mommy acquires a nanny.
Seems somewhat straightforward, right? Eventually one who will not shake your baby’s brain loose can be obtained, but here’s the catch: while Junior is down for a nap and you’re at the gym, will Nanny and Daddy be getting down-and-dirty on the 52-year-old, hand-me-down Persian rug Granny bequeathed you?
That’s not to say every man is a cheater and every nanny is a hooker, but you dangle a carrot long enough and most people just cannot resist. Even Jude Law couldn’t help himself and he had Sienna Miller waiting in the wings, for crying out loud! Do not kid yourself into thinking that your man would never cheat on you with a silly little strumpet. You might be so tired and so in love with your kids that you could forego sex til they hit grade school. But if you’re at home and he’s at work, his life hasn’t changed that much. Oh, except for now you’re haggard, trying to lose baby weight, and not really in the mood for relations. That’s you, and he is human, remember?
So how does one handle this? It’s simple in theory, slightly more difficult in execution: you hire an old bat of a nanny. A Mrs. Doubtfire nanny. An ancient, wizened old woman whom Daddy would never want to shag and your kids will actually listen to. You know how you have defensive driving? Well, think of this as defensive wifeing. Spot the trouble far enough in advance so you can put the brakes on and avoid a catastrophe.
No one said it would be easy, and from I’ve witnessed, this balancing act women have to do is utter insanity. But that’s just the way it is. It’s hard enough just to stay married and faithful without kids, so did you really think it would get easier with them? From my perspective, you can either work a little harder to ensure that your husband stays engaged, or bury your head in your kid’s sandbox and convince yourself that it could never happen to you.
Yes, yes, who the hell am I to get on my soap box and speak about the two things I’ve not done (or done right)? Yes, I have a failed marriage almost behind me, and I’ve never given birth. So, no, I do not speak from personal experience. But as you know, any writer is very observant, and I have been witness to the infidelity and struggles of those around me. And what I’ve begun to understand better than anything in the last year are the dimensions and proclivities of the male mind.