Believe me I know how bad that sounds.
I’m not a bitter, childless person that doesn’t understand kids. I’m not angry because I just sat next to a screaming child on a plane or restaurant. I didn’t just get slimed in public with various bodily fluids by an anonymous child.
I’m a mom to two beautiful children. And I’m a human being. And the thought flashed into my mind at the height of a very stressful and frustrating week of parenting.
I hate children I thought. There has to be more for me in this life.
In the midst of two kids that run around the kitchen island screaming and happily chasing each other. On a day where I was tired of not being able to hear myself think. On a day where I was simply dog-tired of telling my near 2-year-old to push the kitchen chairs back to the table and get out of the fridge.
After several consecutive days without a break and the bathroom mirror offered no comfort.
I don’t hate children. I wholeheartedly love children. I full-on dearly love my own and other people’s children. I just hate me sometimes.
I get tired of the same thing over and over again. I get tired of being a human kleenex. I get tired of keeping my toddler from jumping from couch to couch and standing on end tables. And climbing bookshelves. And eating apples and leaving a trail of sticky apple bits everywhere.
I get tired of looking at the smeared hand prints all over the tv screen. And the front door. And the back door. And the refrigerator.
I get tired of picking up stuffing out of couch cushions. I’m tired of not having anything nice. And endless toys. And sinks of endless dishes. And baskets of endless laundry. I get tired of cleaning up one mess only to be replaced by another.
When will this stage be over?
Can’t they just leave me alone? Can’t I just get two minutes to myself? Am I going to be locked down forever? When do I get to have fun? When do I get to be somebody?
I’m not proud of these thoughts but they creep back in from time to time. It’s usually when I’m PMS’d to the gills. But not always.
It’s so hard to be a saint. I have had a lot of wonderful times with my kids. But I have to think that even Mother Theresa needed a break once in a while.
So how did I get here and what do I do about it? I get to choose, you know. We always get to choose.
I’m here because I’m not taking very many breaks. I’m a bit of a tight wad and we are very close to paying off our last debt and I really want to get that knocked out. I choose social functions very carefully because of sitter and food costs so I could probably relax a little bit on that. Once a week maybe.
I’m a lifetime subscriber to mom guilt. I can’t seem to find much of a way around it. I feel guilty for taking time to myself and I should just stop that. Because I know how good it feels to get a little separation (for both the kids and me)
I have a gym membership with childcare and I haven’t been using it. I could never seem to find the right combo around nap times and fitness classes and it fell off the priority list. I need to go back now that the baby is more predictable. Or nix the membership and go do something with the extra cash.
You want to know what I’ve been doing all summer to bring myself out of the kid blues? It’s been probably the greatest discovery of my parenthood.
I have asked God to please show me my family the way He sees them.
And more importantly, I have asked God to please show ME the way He sees me.
That is the magic pill where almost instantly my kids look a lot cuter and a little older. And it helps me feel like less of a loser. And it makes me appreciate the extra income my husband is bringing in instead of groaning that I’ll have the kids alone for several more days again. The groans are a little quieter at least. Probably not gone. But simmered down.
I know I will miss this and there are days when I absolutely love watching the boys screaming and chasing each other around. It is a beautiful chaos, but mom needs the house to be quiet sometimes too.
And as a general rule, I don’t write when I’m freaking out. But on a blog titled RealHonestMom, I would be remiss if I didn’t share the ugly places in parenting too. That was my week.
If you’re looking for imperfection and honesty, I’m your girl.
And just to recap: I do not hate children. Repeat: do NOT hate children.
How do you get through the hard stages?