My first job, nearly two decades ago, was at a popular fast-food restaurant. For many American teens, it’s a rite of passage, and honestly, I believe it shaped me for the better. However, I imagined that after 20 years, a few degrees, and various professional roles, that chapter would be behind me. I thought I had moved on to bigger and better things. But then reality hit: being a mom feels strikingly similar to that fast-food gig. Here are some undeniable parallels:
- It’s definitely not a “Have it your way” situation. In my home, the phrase “you get to choose” is practically nonexistent.
- Compensation is laughable. Unless my bank decides to accept macaroni art as a form of payment, I’m not exactly rolling in cash.
- The trash is a never-ending saga. How do these tiny humans generate so much waste? I feel like I take out the trash a thousand times a day, yet my home resembles a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie.
- Cheap plastic toys seem to multiply overnight. It’s as if they have a secret breeding program while we sleep.
- The bathrooms? Constantly smelling like pee. This is just one of the “joys” of having boys, I suppose.
- Someone is always requesting something off the menu. Whether it’s a watermelon in winter or Crab Rangoon for breakfast, there’s always an outlandish demand that I simply can’t meet.
- At any moment, I’m fielding orders from multiple sources. I might as well be a circus performer juggling flaming torches with the level of multitasking required.
- “We’re open late!” It’s true; there’s always someone awake, and that someone is usually me.
- There’s always that one person “on a break” while a million tasks pile up. My partner might take issue with this, but how can one just scroll through their phone when there’s so much to do? As my former supervisor used to say, “If you’ve got time to lean, you’ve got time to clean.”
- I can’t express my true feelings. Motherhood is a masterclass in customer service restraint. Instead of unleashing the frustrations swirling in my mind, I bend down, smile, and calmly explain why it’s never appropriate to pee in someone’s mouth.
- The attire is less than flattering. If you’re into no makeup, unkempt hair, dark circles under your eyes, oversized sweats, and a t-shirt that might be stained with someone else’s lunch, then I’m your gal.
- There’s always an awkward comment. Sure, it’s just my 4-year-old son, but his fixation on body parts is becoming a bit too much. Can we go just one day without a conversation about private areas?
- We’re perpetually out of essentials. My spouse has a little game he plays where he waits until I return from grocery shopping to reveal what we’re missing. This has led to a constant state of scarcity.
- There are random dirty fries everywhere. In the car, under the bed, between couch cushions—french fries seem to appear out of nowhere, despite the fact that they’re not a regular feature on our menu.
- Everything is inexplicably sticky. It feels as though someone has swapped out my cleaning supplies with syrup. No matter how often I wipe down surfaces, they remain oddly tacky.
- I’m truly loving it! Despite the chaos, the odors, the messes, and the fatigue, I wouldn’t trade a single moment. Most days, I’m (kind of) loving it.
So there you have it, the circle of life continues. Two decades later, and I’m still in the trenches, feeling like I’m serving burgers once again.
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Summary:
Motherhood shares numerous similarities with working in a fast food environment, from the lack of personal time and persistent messes to the unending demands and low pay. Despite the challenges, the joys of parenting make it all worthwhile.