When my uterus signed me up to be a mom, I knew that this commitment came with a hell of a lot of stipulations. Late nights, heavy workload, manual labor, unpaid overtime, rampant germs and hazardous waste clean up- seriously, the list just goes on and on.
When I signed myself up to be a full-time stay-at-home mom, I knew that all of the things I just listed above were going to become what my life revolved around.
I’m not saying that I don’t have anything else to do but helicopter over my discharges, but whatever the hell else it is I have to do comes in second place to dealing with the messes created by the messes I created and all of their little needs (wants can fucking wait). What i’m also not going to say is that I have much else to do. After over 5 years of staying at home and tending to the house and the mini-monsters, I don’t really have much of a life or anything interesting going on that doesn’t concern bowel movements or the lack thereof, or what in the holy hell to make for dinner.
This is ALL OK. Trust me, i’m not going over the deep-end. I know why women go fucking nuts staying at home with the brats and run screaming back to work. It makes sense to me. I think due to the fact that I am already this ‘fucking nuts’ I speak of, that I don’t get that fight-or-flight urge. I kind of like being at home. I also really really hate working.
I’ve accepted that pooping has become a spectator sport and if i’m the only adult in the house, there is absolutely no point in closing the door for privacy. I’ve accepted that privacy doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve even accepted the fact that I have not had a shower by myself in 5 years, that I am the last person to eat, and my sleep comes secondary to theirs.
The children know all of these things and take complete advantage. I don’t blame them! Shit, if I had someone to wipe my poopy ass, make all of my meals, scrub the funk off of me after a long hot day, even cut my meat and feed me, and all I had to do in return was just be there? And I didn’t even have to be NICE?
HELL YEAH! I’d take full advantage too. Especially if I were a turdy little turd who didn’t know the true meaning of gratitude and indentured servitude. I get it, really I do. And like everything else- i’ve accepted it.
BUT. And this is bigger than J-Lo sized but- SOMETIMES mama has shit to do. Sometimes this shit to do CANNOT wait. Sometimes it must be done as soon as possible- yes children, even during your precious waking hours where you’re begging for a cookie or whining that you have a crusty booger stuck in your nose and you picked it too hard and now you’ve cut the inside of your nose open because you never let me cut your nails- YES. More important than that.
Are they ever interested when mommy is sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing (yes, this happens. Not often, but it does)? Of course not!
Do they NEED mommy when she’s in the bathroom peering at her own reflection wondering what in the holy hell happened? Nope, entertaining themselves just fine.
And then comes the ONE time in a blue moon that you have something that you absolutely HAVE to do, and you need maybe even just a few quiet moments to concentrate in order to do it- and this little alarm starts sounding in the wee ones’ heads.
ALERT!!! ALERT!! MOMMY IS DOING SOMETHING THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH US! ANNOY THE FUCK OUT OF HER! PRONTO! ALERT!! ALERT!! DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT LET HER HAVE A LIFE!
It’s like there’s a meter in their brain of how annoying they are being each day, and if it dips below the danger level and into the ‘sweet innocent angel from heaven’ zone, the second you are paying attention to anything that isn’t directly beneficial to them, they must destroy it.
They don’t even WANT anything- well, except to destroy peace and crap all over your sanity while making sure you get diddly-squat done.
Why??? Well, ain’t that the million dollar question. The world may never know, for it cannot register the endless source of evil that lurks in the bowels of our children. Literally and figuratively.
I need a vacation.
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.
Parenthood is when you start counting the minutes to bed time before 11am.
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