I love my kids.
Adore.
Cherish, and worship them.
Yet there are still so many times in a day where I hear Mom or Mommy, or tears, or spats or questions about the most mundane things, I want to walk out my front door, stand in the middle of my street, and see what happens.
You see, being a parent is exhausting.
Being a parent with no relief walking in the door for days and days on end?
Terrifying.
Exhausting.
Mentally debilitating.
Constantly putting out fires.
Cooking meals that perhaps 1 out of 3 kids will eat.
The complaints.
About EVERYTHING.
Cleaning up CONSTANTLY.
That, along with trying to cope for not one, but two life losses, mind numbing.
Did I mention nearly all of my plumbing has recently decided to fail?
I spent 3 hours trying to loosen ONE BOLT on my toilet before I threw in the towel.
I also now sweat breathing.
So pair that with being in a bathroom with no ventilation, with a head wedged between a wall and the toilet, and two different kinds of wrenches, that repeatedly somehow got my skin included with the bolt I was desperate to loosen, you can imagine, I was less than ready to be the HR department for my children's many complaints.
It is now 7pm and I hear my youngest crying over something, and quite frankly I wish I could fit UNDER my couch and disappear.
No one tells you the insane amount of patience parenting requires.
Not one nurse at the hospital told me that I would need the fortitude of Fort Knox to be a parent.
I was never informed that on some days it would take every fiber of my being to not book a one way ticket to Mexico.
Not even my own parents ever let on that perhaps they too, had thought about putting their perfect adorable child up for adoption.
But with every moment where I want to change my name, or runaway, my kids pivot, and I see their charming dispositions and consider having them live here with me forever.
Until I hear someone yell, "you're so mean to me!" Follwed by someone crying.
BRB going to break up a UFC match and also put an AD in the paper.
Xoxo,
C.
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