I’m not cut out for this motherhood shit. My kids would be much better off with another mother. Just hear me out. I love my kids. I really do. I love seeing them achieve new things and reach new milestones. I love seeing them happy and hearing them laugh. But the day-to-day stuff doesn’t seem to fit with me. I’m a terrible teacher. I get priorities wrong. I actually opted to give my oldest one grapes for breakfast this morning instead of making eggs, just because I didn’t want to. How fucked up is that? Then, I begrudgingly made her 3 pieces of toast because she was still hungry and on my ass about it.
Moms aren’t supposed to talk or act like this. They’re supposed to be nurturing, caring, ready and willing. And then there’s me. What seems to be the “just there” mom, or whatever media-based term that someone would stick on me nowadays. Was I not born with that particular gene? It doesn’t seem like it. I suck at this. I don’t make 3 square meals every day – that should not imply that my kids are not fed, because they are. And thankfully, they like fruits and vegetables and such, instead of junk food and McDonald’s (not that they don’t like that from time to time). I make an actual dinner, like, once a week and it’s always pasta. (That’s exactly what I’m doing right now as I’m writing this.)
I’m hardly ever in the mood to play Candyland. Seriously. I’d rather work on a photo book or a blog post (another thing I’m actually doing at this time). I hate bath time, although the little one makes it easy for me. For now. (My husband, not so much. Poor guy.) And just how in the hell do you get a Mott’s fruit gummy stuck in your hair as if it were chewing gum? Looks like someone’s in need of a little haircut….
Children’s television is my go-to for entertainment but it is the stuff that nightmares are made of, at least to me anyway. Dora – you’re killing me. Yo Gabba Gabba, what the hell are you? Don’t even get me started on Caillou. Whiny, little bitch…
And the laundry. It’s like I blink and the hampers are full of chalk-covered pants and poop-stained onesies. So not fun. Oh, the laundry gets washed, but only on a really good day will it get folded and put away. (I even have a collection of one-off socks on my dresser. And I know the dryer isn’t eating them.) Otherwise, it’s take your pick from the baskets every morning.
Did I mention I’m not a good housewife in general? Because I’m not. I used to be real OCD about things, especially with cleaning. And then something happened, although I’m not exactly sure what that “something” was. Like I said, my priorities aren’t always straight.
At the end of the day though, the house is still standing. The kids are clothed, fed and clean. I hear nothing but good things about them from their teacher or babysitter. My husband always manages to find the good in me, no matter how hard it may be to do so. And the dogs, even the “Barking Buddha”, are asleep comfortably on their respective couches (which my dad hated for them to be on, by the by). I love all of my kids, furry or not so. Could they do better? Hell, yeah. But I guess we’re stuck with each other for the long haul. On to the next, I guess….
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