I don’t watch a huge amount of television.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those ‘TV rots your brain’ or ‘I am FAR Too Busy to watch television’ people.
Between the hours of 8pm and 11pm the TV is usually on. Hubby and I are usually propped up on the couch with our wine and some other form of technology; ipad, iphone or laptop. He is reading the news and learning about the latest in politics and the world’s economy while I am more than likely conducting important research on eBay or Pinterest.
The TV is more for the dull blue light that it emanates than anything else. It serves as background noise that gives us a reason to occasionally look up and chuckle as we pass judgement on Hoarders or Doomsday Preppers.
Having said that, I am aware of the portrayal of women on TV Soap Operas. There are an abundance of beautiful, glamorous women with high powered careers and no children. Of course the women with children are also beautiful, glamorous and rich. I have yet to meet any Mother that lives the way these Soap Operas would have you believe.
If you do not yet have children but plan to, you should know that there are vast differences between the reality of Motherhood, and our Soap Opera counterparts.
Soap Opera Mothers wake up in cream satin sheets with their makeup already perfectly applied. I wake up in bally cotton sheets that are covered in cat hair. The only make up on my face is yesterdays smudged mascara because I couldn’t be bothered taking it off. I long ago realised that black sheets were the best colour choice to hide things such as texta and said mascara.
Soap Opera Mothers, already polished and looking like a Kardashian, set the breakfast table with silver cutlery and crystal glasses. They cook eggs and pancakes while the kids sit perfectly nicely in their pristine pressed designer clothing. Their hair already brushed, their faces sparkling clean, they whisper to each other and sip orange juice from their crystal glasses. I, on the other hand, wearing my fluffy pink dressing gown and bed socks, sit at the table with my head in my hands waiting for my coffee to do its job. The kids pour their own cereal into plastic bowls and leave a trail of Rice Bubbles from the pantry to the kitchen bench to the fridge and back again. Someone spills a litre of milk on the floor and I let the dog in to clean it up. We race out the door with Deflector eating toast in the car on the way to school. It is not until we pull into the school car park that I notice CC has vegemite in his hair, on his face and all over his clean shirt. Actor is wearing odd socks and Princess has teamed fairy wings and blue eye shadow with her uniform.
Soap Opera Mothers say things like ‘Geeves, please fetch the car, I think I’ll take the Porsche today’ I say things like “Who the hell moved my iphone?” and “Where are my bloody keys?”
Soap Opera Mothers have 5 minute-fat free-glowing pregnancies. No matter my starting weight, by the end of the first trimester I was hideously fat. My skin took on a lovely shade of green/grey and, like an elephant I was pregnant for 22 months*, times 4.
Soap Opera Mothers have servants who wear crisply pressed uniforms. I used to have a cleaning lady that I would tidy for before she arrived. Even so she quit because it was ‘just too much’
Soap Opera Mothers travel in private jets. I travel on budget airlines and have more than once been seen sprinting through an airport with 4 crying children running behind me screaming “Mummy don’t leave us!”
Soap Opera Mothers have deep dark secrets. I feel compelled to share everything about my life. Case in point – this very blog.
Soap Opera Mothers have or will experience a coma at some stage in their lives. Although I cannot foresee this in my future I would probably welcome the undisrupted sleep.
Soap Opera Mothers always have one nemesis that has followed through generations. My nemesis changes daily and is either the guy that cuts me off at the roundabout or the old biddy that feels compelled to tell me what a bad mother I am because I leave my kids in the car while I stop to buy bread (and by bread I mean wine.)
If I were writing a soap opera the women would have bodies and faces that age. They would struggle with economic hardship and fighting children, they would be occasionally lonely and tired. They would swear at their husbands and argue with their best friend. In short, they would live.
I’d probably put the ipad down to see that.
*I reserve the right for poetic licence