So this post will probably lose me a lot of respect and friends and possibly even a few phone calls to the Health and Welfare department. But I just feel like posting it, it's kind of like saying it outloud, but without having to watch someone's face react to the horror. And today, I really feel the need to say it outloud. So if you read this and don't feel like being friends anymore, I get it.
With everyone's kids going back to school (and our school district being the last to start in the entire world, so I'm still sitting here dealing with summer child overload) I keep reading the posts about how mothers are sad to see their kids go, and how much they're going to miss them, and how much they absolutely love motherhood.
Want me to tell you what I think about motherhood?
I hate it.
There are times when I hate it more than any other thing on the planet.
And there goes most of my friends. But I'm sorry. I do. I hate being a mother.
I don't hate my children. And I don't hate the idea of motherhood in general. I just hate being a mother.
Not that there aren't moments when I feel all happy inside because the kids have done something cute, or wrapped their tiny arms around my neck for a hug. Those moments are good. It's just the rest of it I can't handle or stand.
Mostly I think I blame this on one of my particularly challenging children. I don't want to point fingers, but if you have been a long time blog reader, you'll know that I had nicknamed one of my brood "Screamer" so it probably wouldn't be hard to figure out who the challenging one is. Not that I'm pointing fingers. Because I'm not. But HOLY COW is that child hard.
He's an "almost" special needs child. Where nothing is really wrong with him (that we can label), but he's not entirely your average child.
And you know how it is when one of the kids is a complete uncontrollable mess of emotionally charged tantrums? The other kids have eyes and brains and bodies. They mimic. They push buttons. They see if they can get as far as....you know....the one kid, who seems to have no end to his tirades.
So all day I'm dealing with four (because even the baby is old enough now to throw her own impressive tantrums) out of control children who contend with me at every request.
I say, "It's time to get dressed."
And I get wailing and gnashing of teeth in return. Only two of my kids can dress themselves anyway, and one of them isn't very good at it. So after dressing myself, it's quite a pain to get 3 other wiggly human beings in clothes. And heaven forbid if they don't like the shirts I've picked. Or if they want to wear the pants that got covered in jam which I haven't washed yet. (Because the loads and loads and loads and loads of laundry that go along with motherhood is definitely on the list of what I hate.)
So then I say, "It's time for breakfast."
More wailing, teeth gnashing, and also pushing away of bowls if they're not the right color, or we don't have the right kind of cereal or if their spoon doesn't happen to be the kind with roses on it. And Monkey, being two years old and frustrated easily, has decided that even if the cereal is acceptable, it's still absolutely necessary to yell at it and throw it EVERY SINGLE MORNING.
That's just the beginning....of my mornings.
Heaven forbid if I have any expectations of my children, other than sitting in one place while I wait on their every need.
I say, "It's time to clean up."
And not only is there wailing and the teeth thing, but there is full on torturous screaming and tears and kicking of feet and throwing things, and Captain Hard Child has to physically be escorted to the toy room to clean, which involves much kicking, punching and head butting directed at me. And then things still don't get clean. The tantrums last hours.
I've tried methods.
I've tried reward and/or punishment systems.
I've tried screaming at them until I have a headache.
I've even tried what I thought I never would - - the spanking of bare butts.
Nothing phases these kids.
So this morning I took every single toy we have and put them in the already destroyed toyroom, then stuck the older two kids in their toyless rooms (I have to have a child safety door knob lock thingy to keep Captain in his room) told them they are completely grounded from toys, tv, games, computer, friends, bikes, EVERYTHING until they decide that they want to clean up their own mess. But guess who gets punished for that?
Now that the day has gone on they're just hanging on me, whining and demanding to do all of the things they're grounded from.
And amidst all of this, Captain Hard Child has decided that although it took over 2 years to potty train, he still would like to totally and completely refuse to poop. Not in a toilet, not in a diaper, not in the middle of a train station (although we haven't yet tried this one.) He just won't poop. So he holds it. He clenches his butt cheeks and holds it in.
He's been doing it for years, but it's gotten so much grosser, because now he's in underwear. And despite his best efforts, a little poop always squeezes through those cheeks. Multiple times a day. Until we give him an enema and he has no choice but to let out the much too huge turd (grown from all the holding.)
Very frustrating, I tell you.
Being a parent is hard. There's all those diapers to change. All the teaching. The countless meals to prepare and watch your kids NOT eat. Having absolutely no freedom to do anything without dragging an entire clan of little screaming things into public. The never ending cleaning. Not getting a full nights sleep for YEARS. A completely destroyed body from pregnancies.
MONEY. I haven't bought myself new clothes in like 5 years - unless you count the maternity clothes I bought when pregnant with Number Four because I wore the rest of mine out- because ALL of our money goes to the kids and their medical bills, and their ever changing shoe sizes, and their ability to drink enough milk that if we owned a cow one wouldn't be enough. And I still have to work from home making as much money as humanly possible in this crap economy, taking even more of my energy and time than I had to give in the first place.
And you roll all of this up into a tight little mommyhood ball, and guess what? I would like to toss it. Most days I feel like running away as far and fast as I can. Clearly I'm doing a horrible job at this. CLEARLY I can't handle these children. Especially that one. I don't like motherhood one little bit at all.
But I do love my kids. And I promised to do my best with them. So I don't toss it, or run. I just stay here, getting farther and farther away from sane.....
Are we still friends?