The bittersweet birthday of a SAHM

No one talks about it: the birthday of a stay-at-home mom. Desperately needing to be seen, to feel important, and to have someone do the unnoticed things you do for them. There’s no going out, no drinks or brunches. You start your morning before everyone else, doing the dishes and making the coffee.

At 6:30, a blonde-haired, green-eyed little boy makes his way to the kitchen, hungry and needing love. You make him breakfast and ask about his night, then continue on with the list of chores. A couple of minutes later, the same little boy calls from the bathroom, saying he’s done and needs his bum wiped. A birthday dream.

Your husband wakes up for the day and hops in a warm, peaceful shower—alone. You hear the baby cry in the next room, so off you go to start breakfast for the second time. Your husband gives you a peck, casually wishes you a happy birthday and leaves for work. You weep. This isn’t what you were hoping for, but you pull yourself together because your kids need you. Your toddler comes up to ask why you’re crying and if playing cars will help, so you lay on the floor playing Hot Wheels for a while.

You turn on the TV in hopes of getting a shower and head off to the bathroom. Soon the pitter-patter of little toes gets louder and louder, and now you have company. You listen to the babble and the snack requests while you wash your hair. You cut your shower short and grab your clothes while you break up a fight. You slowly start to lose your sanity, but you pull it together because this family needs you.

You call your mom. She saves you because she’s been here too, and she sees you. She comes to your house and loves you, tending to you just the way you need. She makes you feel important and special. Even if just for a minute, your heavy heart is lightened.

You finish your night at the soccer fields, watching your favorite little guy play his game. You try to eat out but spend most of the time walking around and trying to keep the peace. You break down on the drive home and wonder what has happened and why you don’t feel very special. But then, as you’re laying the kids down in their beds, your perfect three-year-old wraps his chubby, little arms around your neck and whispers, “Happy birthday, Mama.” Right there, in that moment, you realize how special you really are.