I have a kind of confession to make. If you’re a judgemental douche or otherwise raging twatwaffle, please to be leaving now. You’ve been warned- if you keep reading I will piss you off. And then you will want to rant. In my comments section. And I will delete your ass. Hokay…
After 9:00pm, I prefer not to see my children or hear from them until morning. I do not find it endearing and lovely when they sneak downstairs and ask me sweet questions. I am not secretly pleased to feel them slide into bed with me. At night? When we have all called it a day? I will let my child cry for a spell until she falls asleep. Because I.am.done. And sometimes she cries hard. Sometimes she is really pissed off at me. And I know all she wants is to be picked up and hugged and brought back down to make silly faces and dance around in front of me. I know this. But I just can’t do it.
I love my children, I crave getting home to them every night. I love the weekends full of lazy days with them. I commit my hours to them 150% and don’t give a second thought to anything else. But it reaches a point in most every day where I have just had enough, where I have no more to give them. No more patience, no more understanding, no more time…no more of me. I need time alone- to build up the me again so they can have more of it the next day.
My brain is highly susceptible to depression. There are dark reasons I know this to be true. I have learned where my tolerance point is and how quickly I can get there. I know I am doing ALL of us a favour by setting aside specific time at night without the demands of motherhood. I would be scared and ashamed of the mother they would get when I’ve reached the end of my rope.
So why am I afraid to write this? To publish it out?
The judgement. Oh…the trifling judgement.
The labels, they make me itchy. Attachment-parents this, free-range-parenting that…all these specifics about how you MUST and SHOULD NOT do things. I don’t know about you (and I’m being honest, I DON’T know about you) but out of three little ladies to have been birthed from my nether regions? Ain’t a one of them the same.
Let’s all parent the way that’s best for that kid.
I have seen quite a few posts about how mommy bloggers should just support each other in our individual choices and agree, “to each their own”. Trust me, it’s not just mommy bloggers. There are people in my own life that pass down a thinly veiled tsk-tsk + an I-would-never-do-that with a side helping of I’m-doing-this-better-than-you. It’s low down and dirty and it serves to tear down someone else’s house while you build your fake one. It’s a dirtball move. And I hope to hell I’ve never done it to you. People.
I am a very good mother. I am just vain and proud enough to say that out loud. My daughters are well-raised and while I worry about my falters and mistakes, I am entirely certain we are doing right by each of them, all in different ways. We all think we know best, it’s human nature. The drive to succeed is strong, and to succeed= being the best. But you can be the best at your job and still let someone else be the best at theirs. It’s not a competition. I need to be reminded of this myself sometimes.
So these are my confessions: I let my children cry themselves to sleep occasionally, I prefer to sleep comfortably in my own bed with JUST my husband 100% of the time, I don’t understand the point of parenting labels, and I hate judgemental bitches and hoes. And I hate grape-flavoured anything. Just for fun.
Do you hate me now?
I’m still trying to decide if I care…