Is motherhood the most thankless job on the planet? Or is it just one of several that you can't understand until you've done it?

I've spent quite a bit of time feeling sorry for myself lately, to the point where even I'm sick of me. I walk around at home, making mental lists of how I'm neglected and unappreciated. I catalogue the number of times I go unthanked, stumbled over, clonked by accident, snapped at, argued with, and unblessed upon my sneeze. I count the parties made, errands run, appointments scheduled, notes written, clothes laid out, and meals assembled.

"How on earth," I fume silently, "would anything get done without me around?"

Foolish question that, since DH managed to run the household smoothly when I went to Arizona last year with my mom. But there wasn't any "oh, thank GAWD Mommy's back" upon my return. There was a brief moment of utter panic when DH called me to say he couldn't find the location of preschool's spring event and was an hour late, to boot. But he resolved it and the kids were fine.

My girlfriends get it. "I don't know how you do it," they exclaim -- especially those without kids. They remark at my photographic memory of all Target aisles, my enormous coupon collection, my ablity to shlep all three car-seated kids in the back of my '93 Corolla. My therapist tsk-tsked me after my bedrest, when I noted how DH bravely attempted to run weekend errands without me and once spent more than a half-hour just searching Target for the Pull-Ups. "This is your own fault," she said. "You should have been letting other people do this stuff years ago."

She's right, and now it's too late. It's become obvious that Mommy is the only one who will put together outfits, keep track of school functions, research summer camps, arrange a social life. There is no question that, when Saturday rolls around, Mommy is the one who shops without a list -- and who can get through Target, Costco, PetSmart and Jewel in three hours with at least one kid in tow. If a holiday or event is to be celebrated, no one other than Mommy plans it (party), invites them (guests), cooks it (food), shops for them (supplies), wraps them (gifts), and thanks them (guests). My kids are flabbergasted by instructions to hang up their clean clothes, put their books on the bookshelf every day instead of just once in a while, and wipe out the sink after coating it in blue Spider-Man toothpaste. My husband changes a diaper or Pull-Up at least every day, but I would bet a fiver that he doesn't know the exact type of wipes we get -- the only ones that don't give Danny a rash.

And this is not to say I'm perfect. My apartment is in a constant state of mess -- a fact I'm reminded of often not only by the stacks of uncategorized stuff in what should be a dining room, but my mother, father, and husband. I'm far too quick to lose my cool. I dress like a slob, at home if not outside. I'm ALWAYS tired. Oh, and I'm chunky.

But still, there should be a Mom award. I know a lot of us deserve it. It doesn't have to be anything fancy, though I can't think of any Moms who would turn down a piece of jewelry or a weekend getaway. Something little and thoughtful would do, too. Just something to keep us going while we stack the dishwasher for the nth time, wearing only our work pants and a bra, while the microwave heats up yesterday's coffee.