Homebody

Putting effort into activities and my appearance can be fun, but nothing beats the exercise pants that I don’t exercise in, an oversized hoodie, and lazy hair. I’m probably the most extroverted introvert you’ll ever meet. I love being around people until I’ve had enough. Most of the time it’s not even personal, it’s this switch inside of me that can go from mingling to, I’m-ready-to-leave-right-now, and it can flip pretty fast.

Why do I always regret making plans? Even fun plans, I can’t resist the comforts of my home. There will always be a piece of me that’s thinking about pajamas.

I hate going to the grocery store. It’s my least favorite place to be… but I still find myself there like every day.  The husband usually does the big grocery shopping, because I get super irritated by other people, I constantly feel in the way, and long story short, I need to get the fuck outta there if we’re in there more than fifteen minutes.

He sometimes feels the need to give me “the talk” beforehand that goes something like this:

Okay, we have plenty of time, we are not in a rush… don’t start getting pissy in aisle three. 

Taylor Swift, playing the role of Me. 

It just comes down to comfort… I love being comfy. Give me a rainy day or shit, even a snow storm in April and there will be a small large part of me that is super stoked to be stuck in the house. I’m a monster who gets annoyed by sunshine because it’s making me feel guilty for wanting to chill inside the house. Ugh, can a girl get some clouds!?

When you become a parent the guilt of being a homebody will result in doing things that you, and occasionally even your child, don’t even want to do. Easter egg hunts? Birthday parties? The meeting of iconic childhood make-believe folks like Mr. & Mrs. Clause?

My kid never wanted to sit any anyone’s lap and never once even got close to a person in an Easter bunny costume. One year I took him to see Santa. We waited in line, him being all wishy-washy about going through with it the entire time.

Funny-Crying-Santa-Image
via/askideas

Now, I don’t think less of the parents who make their child pose for a picture while crying with a stranger who’s getting paid to put up with that bullshit… I just don’t subject myself or my offspring to it.

We were almost up when he made a solid two-year-old stance of I do not want to do this. We exit the line, get about 10 feet away and Bennett whips around and yells out, as loud as he can, I WANT A FIRETRUCK! A TRUCK! It was adorable, but then I felt like all the other parents were looking at me thinking, what a bitch of a mother, won’t even allow her son to sit on Santa’s lap…he clearly wants to. We should have just stayed home and written the fake man a letter instead.

Staying home is just always a better option.


H is for Homebody: A to Z Challenge

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