Pre-mama I LOVED everything about the Fourth of July. It is America’s Birthday aka the birthday of one of the greatest countries in the world. I am third-generation American. I feel so blessed to be American born and raised and I feel so proud to be an American. I am incredibly patriotic. I support the Constitution. I support the military. . I support the President regardless of party-affiliation. (For the curious readers, I am a registered republican and I identify as a moderately conservative neutral. No, I did not vote for President Obama either time he ran for election. Yes, I was disappointed both times he won, but still supported the country. Yes, I voted for and support the current president). I support the American Dream.
Now, this America-loving woman LOVED celebrating the fourth of July. My grandfather was a marine and recognizing and celebrating the sacrifices of military members and their families for the hard-earned freedoms we enjoy was always something I looked forward to doing with my family. Having the day off, the numerous delicious cook-outs, the iced-cold beer, and the fireworks WERE obviously added bonuses. But the fireworks; those beautiful, enormous, loud, fireworks of all shapes, sizes and colors WERE always my favorite “bonus.” I used to go to several fireworks shows throughout the holiday weekend/week to get my firework fix. There was nothing like sitting under a dark sky illuminated by pops of glorious colors. Of course, my family would occasionally purchase some of our own fireworks, including the infamous sparklers, to shot off or light in celebration around our family bonfire.
Now, Fast forward to Mama-me. I didn’t think about the upcoming festivities for fourth of July celebrations. I had previously requested some much needed time off around the holiday, so I knew it was approaching. I just honestly didn’t give it much thought. I am pregnant so it isn’t like I was going to a cook out to consume vast amounts of beer or stay out late since I have a toddler with an 8PM bead time. But on Friday night, June 30, around 9 o’clock, I heard a few loud booms. At first, I thought “holy crap, someone is shooting a gun in our neighborhood.” After a few seconds of panic, I heard the crackles of firecrackers. “Oh, sigh, just fireworks…” After a few more booms, I thought “Ok, this is going to wake my sleeping kid.” Three long hours of periodic booms and crackles passed; three long hours of anxiously waiting on pins and needles for the boom that would wake my peacefully sleeping child; three long hours of considering running out into the street in my robe and pajamas to attack the joyous patriots who were taunting me. After three hours, the booms stopped and my husband and I finally fell asleep, after coaxing our smallest fur-baby to get into bed and go to sleep as well.
That was June 30. These awful firework displays continued on July 1, July 2, July 3, and of course, on America’s Birthday, July 4. And July 4 was a Tuesday this year. A TUESDAY….meaning, the next day, Wednesday, was a work day. So needless to say, my husband and I were up half the night dealing with Booms and crackles loud enough to vibrate and shake our house, a tossing and turning toddler, and one of our dogs hiding from every noise. We woke up to pieces of fireworks in our lawn, in our driveway, in our trees. So, of course husband is cranky because he needs to pick up all the trash and remnants of the party we didn’t even get to enjoy. I am cranky because I didn’t sleep well between anxiously awaiting my child to wake up screaming and the dog who shook all night long insisting on snuggling so close to me and my pregnant belly I could hardly breathe.
So despite being one of the proudest Americans I know, I found myself hating this holiday that spanned over 5 days. I found myself considering writing to the township trustees or mayor in order to implement a rule on fireworks for next year…aka no shooting off fireworks after 10PM. I was that grumpy neighbor lady that considered hunting these firework shooters down as they continued to shoot fireworks off until 1 A.M. In my mama opinion, in a neighborhood, this is entirely unacceptable. One night fine, it is America’s birthday after all and I am about as patriotic as they come, but 5 nights in a row… oh hell no.
Here I am, on July 5, a Wednesday…a work day…and there is no amount of caffeine, pregnant or not, that could save this day, especially not after 5 sleep-deprived nights. In my sleep deprived state with little to no patience to be had, I pray no stupid soul has the urge to light a single fire cracker tonight.
Happy Birthday, USA.
Life of A Mama: Unfiltered 