There are days when I question who I am, when I stop whatever it is I am doing and wonder what in the heck possessed me to choose the things I have chosen, I seriously consider the possibilities of aliens at this point. Mind control. Conspiracies. Paranoid delusion fits me well on these occasions.
I am a mother to six children, a small number to some, “just put me in a loony bin” large to others. I see it on their faces when I go into public with my offspring, rarely, very rarely I see respect, sometimes I’ll pass another mother with a similar amount of children and we will exchange that look of pride and bewilderment, mostly I see looks of fear and hear chuckles of wow, lady you are freaking nuts. These comments don’t bother me.
But occasionally I wonder at myself.
Is it betraying my family to say that every now and again I wake up to my life, the daily in and out, the routine and I pound hard against the bars of my chosen life and scream at the top of my lungs. I want OUT!
Today is one of those days.
Or maybe it is one of those moments.
At any moment one of my children could come up to me smeared in butter and the flour they dumped all over the flour and proclaim themselves to be “Yucky” and demand a bath for what the 127th time today? They might wail as they writhe all over the floor that they are starving and if they don’t eat now they will pass out from starvation and DIE! This said two seconds after lunch.
Write this, staple that, where, how, why, when, oops I pee’d my pants again!
I need therapy.
Or at any moment one of my children who sometimes masquerade as demons from hell will come up to me and say “hug mommy” or “I found you flowers!” Or just tell me that they love me. These moments patch together my sanity. At least till next time.
The things I do daily as a parent horrify and disgust me. I would love to host Fear Factor: Parenthood.
World population would no longer be a problem. People would be lining up to be sterilized.
Yes, some day’s it is that bad.
It has taken me 20 minutes to type those last sentences as I am dealing with kids who are trying to erase everything I type, a little girl who gave something to her sister and now wants it back (at the top of her lungs), I have a cat humping my bear rug, I have a kid with snot down to his knees and dog food all over the house, leaving a beautiful trail to all the little pockets of disaster my toddlers created on the way. A pocket of disaster, just to give you an example, is a bottle of barbecue sauce down the heater vent.
And today is a good dayJ
P.S. I love my kids. No, I really do. I swear on Abe Lincoln’s grave.