My husband is really great about giving me time to do things on my own on the weekend, recognizing that I recharge best when I am by myself. (Hello my name is Kelly and I am an introvert.)
Usually when the weekend rolls around and my husband asks what I would like some time for, I respond with one of two answers:
- I have a bunch of returns to make, so I’d love time to run around and take care of that chore without toting the kids along.
- A pedicure/manicure/massage. I’m always in desperate need of at least one of these, it seems.
Last weekend, however, I used my time to attend a brunch in celebration of my cousin’s birthday. This meant wearing make-up. This meant driving into Toronto AND being able to blast my music en route. This meant being away from the brood for over 4 hours – a considerably longer chunk of time than I usually seek. This meant not having to inhale my lunch (I still did).
Back to my drive into the city. My playlist is rather eclectic – Oasis, Alicia Keyes, JLo, Bon Jovi, Nickelback (KIDDING!), Pink, Tim McGraw, U2, The Beatles, Walk Off the Earth. You get the idea – it’s a mishmash. And no matter what song played during my drive, I belted – and I mean BELTED, y’all – out the lyrics. I’m pretty sure I looked certifiably insane to other drivers.
‘Help’ by the Beatles came on, and as I was singing along like it was my job, I realized something about the lyrics: I don’t think they were written by John Lennon after all.
I think they were actually written by a mother of little children.
Let’s analyze, shall we?
Help, I need somebody, (How can one person be expected to do this job alone???)
Help, not just anybody, (No one from the criminal underworld, please)
Help, you know I need someone, help. (Send in the reinforcements, stat!)
When I was younger, so much younger than today, (How did I get so old? Ah yes…kids.)
I never needed anybody’s help in any way. (You tell it Destiny’s Child – Independent Woman!)
But now these days are gone, I’m not so self assured, (Nope.)
Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors. (Come on in and help!)
Help me if you can, I’m feeling down (I’m covered in spit up and my hair is falling out)
And I do appreciate you being round. (Can I go take a shower? Or have a nap?)
Help me, get my feet back on the ground, (When will all this feel normal???)
Won’t you please, please help me. (PLEASE!)
And now my life has changed in oh so many ways, (Oh. So. Many.)
My independence seems to vanish in the haze. (Yep. It’s gone-zo.)
But every now and then I feel so insecure, (Am I doing this mama gig right???)
I know that I just need you like I’ve never done before. (Hard to admit but…)
Help me if you can, I’m feeling down (I haven’t slept through the night in months)
And I do appreciate you being round. (Adult conversation is a soothing balm on my frayed nerves)
Help me, get my feet back on the ground, (It will feel normal someday…right???)
Won’t you please, please help me. (For reals! I’m not kidding!)
When I was younger, so much younger than today, (Back when I had time for a beauty regime that included more than ‘brush teeth and go’)
I never needed anybody’s help in any way. (I got this!)
But now these days are gone, I’m not so self assured, (Can I get a HELL NO)
Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors. (Not too proud to accept help in any shape or form!)
Help me if you can, I’m feeling down (I eat my toddler’s leftovers for dinner)
And I do appreciate you being round. (Reassure me that I’m not alone in feeling like the wheels have come off my bus!)
Help me, get my feet back on the ground, (I’m so tired)
Won’t you please, please help me, help me, help me, oh (Oh God, the baby is awake…again)
There can’t be any denying it; it must have been written by a mama.
I reckon she must have been sitting on a bench at the park, frantically writing these words in her journal. Then her baby had a poop explosion and started purple-faced-screaming at the exact same time her pre-schooler fell off the slide’s ladder and face planted in the sand. In the ensuing mayhem, Mama didn’t notice that her journal had fallen on the ground under the bench.
Only to be found a little while later by John Lennon.
It’s so obvious now, isn’t it?
I hope John found a way to compensate her for inadvertently writing what would become a smash hit on the music charts.
At the very least, I hope she got some help.