The maid breaks into the home, it feels like, but really she just opens the sliding glass door, piercing the silence of the home, breaking the seal. She is the only other human adult I have seen all week, beside my husband, whom to me, represents a face glued to a computer, because he's always working. The cleaner lady is from the insurance company. She's more of a nursing assistant. She comes once a month.
Of course there's always my toddler daughter and her cartoon sharks, incessantly singing. My daughter is a face glued to the TV.
There's no knock or cry of, "Um, housekeeping here..." She's just solid, slightly chubby Desiree. Desiree with the strong legs. And she laughs at the loud pet chihuahua blocking the doorway and makes her way to the kitchen to prepare her Mexican treats. "Tamales and posole," in her large pots and pans. Solid, stodgy Desiree with her hair pulled back in an ever-present bun. Her solid butt makes it way around the kitchen. In the morning, I play with my daughter despite some odd pain in my eye.
Remember me? I'm the sicko. Downer mom. I recently had surgery to remove a cyst. Echocardiograms reveal scarring on my heart despite getting the proper COVID vaccines. I work out at home now to avoid, getting pink-eye, and we got a new housekeeper from California, who is just as squat and just as hardworking.
I still wear ugly thrift store clothes that hang wrong. We have more toys now and my daughter is two now, so she's easier to take care of than when she was a newborn.
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Diary of a Downer Mom
Mystery / ThrillerThis is the diary of a depressed housewife type variety. I was hoping someone would stumble upon my diary, read my words and save me. That dress on the cover of this story? I actually wore that. You see, as a mom of a young baby, I have literally n...
