It’s not for ANY of the reasons you might think.
There are many facets to parenthood that are less than pleasant. In fact, they’re downright fucking AWFUL. Destroyers of sanity. They can make you question your goodwill toward man. Question your beliefs… and what day of the week it is. That being said, they’re all doable. Survivable. You might even find that making it through them will mold you into a stronger, more resilient human being. More productive, even.
You might think lack of sleep is going to be the thing that pushes you over the edge, but over time, even though you will forever miss it as though it’s a missing limb, you learn to carry on. Changing disgusting explode-y diapers becomes less barfy and more like training to be a ninja as time goes by. Just HOW fast can you do it while still being efficient and not getting shit under your nails? Teething? …Well, teething sucks, but you’re certainly not going to die from it.
As often as I feel like I’ve lost every single last drop of my patience, I actually have a hell of a lot more than I did prior to popping out crotchfruit. I’ve become more aware of my health and what’s in the stuff that I’m eating thanks to wanting my kids to eat well. I learn things… or re-learn them… honestly, I’m not sure which anymore, since I have to help my kids with homework. I care a hell of a lot more about washing my hands and personal hygiene because I’m constantly trying to avoid catching their nasty elementary school plagues. My life has improved dramatically. I have more gray hairs to cover, but, hey, it gives me an excuse to get my hair done more often, so… win? Yeah. I’m gonna go with IMPROVED LIFE.
Still… today I find myself full of regret. Full of wondering WHY I ever procreated in the first place. WHY I would put myself in such a horrible situation.
It’s not the stomach flu and a house full of barf as far as the eye can see, although, that’s a close second. It’s not tantrums, or teacher’s conferences, or algebra. It’s not a feeling of inadequacy as a mother, or just no longer wanting the weight of responsibility that comes with raising tiny humans, no. It’s much, much worse. I don’t think I can do it anymore. I’M NOT CUT OUT FOR THE MOM LIFE!
I sat at breakfast this morning, groggily eating a bowl of cereal, as I usually do on weekday mornings before I have to get the kids ready for school. We may not all sit down at the same time, but I always end up eating at the same time as the kids, regardless of who sits or finishes first. This was a breakfast unlike any other, though. Beside me sat Parker, armed with a long string of dental floss by his father. WHY floss at the breakfast table? Good. fucking. question.
WHY FLOSS? There’s a perfectly logical explanation, if you ask Parker. His front tooth has been loose now for over a month. Actually, all four of his front teeth have been loose for over a month, but the top left tooth in particular has been dangling by a string this entire time. Loose teeth completely skeeve me out. Worse than snot rockets, worse than chunky vomit, worse than open wounds, pretty much worse than anything on this entire planet. One wiggle in my presence and my stomach flips over and I get that oh-so familiar barfy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’m so utterly disgusted by the wiggling teeth and the bulgy gums, and the protruding big teeth, that if I see them, I run. If the tooth comes out relatively quickly, all can be right with the world. My blood pressure returns to a healthy average, the vomit rising in my stomach lowers back down, and I can still live in my house and claim my children as my own.
THIS KID, THOUGH. THIS DAMN KID. His dangling chicklet of a tooth… he babies it like it’s his firstborn child. He pushes, and pokes, and shoves it forward with his bottom lip. He sits next to me and plays with it for hours on end. And this morning, at breakfast, with a fistful of floss, he made a noose for the last nerve holding onto that bitch and proceeded to pull. On my left? Holden, who just ripped off a molar cap yesterday and proceeded to place the bloody thing into my hand, was on my left, working on another loose tooth.
I tried to stare into the abyss of my bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats, tried to find my happy place (on a beach with 75 tacos and margaritas) but the creaaaaaaaaaak sound of the floss pulling against his tooth was too much for me to take. I CAN’T! I QUIT! I’M DONE!
I’m considering moving out until the kids have lost all of their baby teeth… but Parker will probably have this thing hanging from his head until he’s a crusty old man, so that might not be possible. We all have a line that cannot be crossed or we’ll break. Nasty hillbilly dangly baby teeth are mine. What’s yours?
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