Is it wrong to be sick of my kids? I mean, like, really sick of my kids. Like I need a break from them and they’ve only been home from school for like, 5 minutes. But as soon as they get off the bus, it starts. “I want ice cream.” “I wanna go for a bike ride.” “I wanna hang with my friends.” It’s like a never ending playlist of complaints, concerns, and comments. And it’s always streaming. 24×7.
I know. It’s terrible, right? I mean, what kind of mother is sick of her kids? But as I write this, I know I can’t be alone. I know a bunch of other moms and they can’t possibly be as in love with their kids as they were back when they were born, and didn’t speak or complain or answer back.
Okay, here comes a very bad analogy. I know it’s a bad analogy, but it’s all I got right now.
It’s like getting a gorgeous new pair of shoes. Ooooh they’re nice. They’re shiny and unmarked by scuffs. You absolutely LOVE these shoes! And then after you wear them around for a while, you see that they maybe aren’t as spectacular as you first thought. They’re flawed. They aren’t as comfortable as you thought they’d be. The novelty has worn off. And now, while you still love the shoes, you have a few other shoes that you wear…you can’t possibly wear those shoes every day, all the time – you need a break from wearing those shoes.
My kids – God, do I love them – but man oh man…the little one never, and I mean, never stops talking. Or singing. Or dancing. Which wouldn’t be bad, except for the endless, “mom, watch this!” over and over and over again – and during Big Brother or one of my favorite Food Network cooking shows. C’mon, give a girl a break. It’s not like I ever get to sit down and actually watch a full episode of anything – I know that’s completely unrealistic, but when I do sit down, for the 5 minutes I might need after a long day, I cannot hear another JoJo Siwa song…I cannot watch one more YouTube video of a family opening surprise bags or doing something so mundane, it actually infuriates me that she’s watching this. I say, “Why are you watching another family! You have a family!”
The boys will spend hours watching Minecraft videos on YouTube…um, hello…we have Minecraft. “Just play your own video game!” What is with kids watching other kids do stuff?
And the fighting, my God, the fighting. “Stop looking at me!” “You stop looking at ME!” or “Mom, he’s hitting me with a piece of paper!” OMG, really? or “Mom, she called me an idiot!” To which I reply, “Are you an idiot?” and of course the answer is always, “no” so I’m like, “Well, alrighty then!”
Moms, you feel me, right? You get it, right?
I sometimes try to hide in the bathroom, but they’ve got some kind of crazy bathroom radar because the minute I head in, they knock on the door. And it’s not like a polite 1-knock kind of knock. It’s a knock knock knock knock, “Mom-Mama-Mum” kind of thing. And even if I say, “Give me a minute, please.” They keep talking. Or complaining. Or asking a question. What part of “give me a minute” don’t ya get?
I’ve even gone outside to sit on the deck. In Winter. In New England Winter. I try to tuck myself in, against the house, sitting in the far corner…but after checking the bathroom, that’s the 2nd place they look. Note to self: I need a new hiding space.
I’ve gone to bed…like really early…hoping to get a little reading in, or catching up on my social media gossip. But as soon as I prop up my pillows and slide into my comfy bed, they arrive. Sometimes just one…but more often than not, all three, asking me for dessert, to watch a new video, or to listen to a new song. Seriously people? Seriously?
Don’t get me wrong, I do everything for my kids. I bake cookies and cakes, I do nightly dinners, I help with homework (well, I Google). I run to the school with forgotten lunches, folders and projects. I am all-in as a mom. And I do love it. But it is exhausting.
So many of my mom friends seem to have it all together. They balance work with PTA meetings, bake sales, volunteering, raising a family, and keeping it all on track.
And while I’m super happy for them, there’s a part of me that’s hoping, perhaps, maybe, they’re a little like me…loving their little angels, but sometimes
…a little sick of them too.