I've started this post about fifty times (mostly in my head) and then stopped. Mostly because I am still overwhelmed by guilt any time I feel the need to vent about parenting, because I think about all the men and women still stuck in the Infertility Zone of Hell and I remember how, when I was there, I swore I would never complain about parenting because don't those people know how lucky they are to have children?
Also, I've read a few blogs lately about people whose fertility treatments have failed and I feel very sad about that for them, and that also tends to make my complaining seem really petty and small.
And then I live in an area of the country where a man just took his life and the lives of his two small children in a very terrible, awful, horrific manner, and I am without words to express how sad this makes me.
So there is a piece of me that says I should shut up about the hard parenting days and just let it go.
But there is another piece of me that needs to get this out. And for right now, that piece is winning. Maybe I'll delete later.
Here it is.
Some days I think I do not have enough patience to be a parent. Really. I think I might be a truly, unchangably, basically selfish person because when my kid wakes up at 5:00am AGAIN even though there is no reason for her to do so (seriously; I've checked) I just want to put the pillow over my head and let her cry because I don't think it's asking too much for me to sleep until, you know, 5:45am or something.
I am not even a stay-at-home-parent - I go to work and she goes to a truly wonderful childcare three days a week - and still, by the end of some days, I just cannot take the clutching, pinching, crawling-all-over-me, whining, constantconstantconstantconstant need. All. the. time. I can't take it. I need to pee by myself. There. I said it.
I am sick and tired of making five things for dinner, none of which she will deign to eat. Meanwhile, she will eat whatever her dad puts on a plate.
I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY SHE NAPS FOR EVERYONE EXCEPT ME and this pisses me off. A lot. I mean, I don't actually yell at her, but there was a big part of me yesterday that wanted to. I had to stay downstairs and let her cry for about 15 minutes because I was too mad to go up there.
(Before you call CPS on me, let me assure you that I have never, ever, ever hit my child and I cannot imagine actually doing so, but some days I understand why people who never learned how to manage their anger do that. I think every parent in the world thinks that thought at some point but nobody says it out loud because it makes you feel like the worst person in the world. So there, I said it.)
I am really tired of people a.) commanding me to "enjoy every moment because it goes so fast" (not at 5:00bloodyAM, it doesn't); b.) teasing me about how good it is that my child is wearing me out (an old guy at church does this and it just makes me want to punch him in the nuts, except that is wisely against the rules for pastors to do to parishioners); c.) offering me endless parenting advice that I never asked for and don't want.
I am tired of being crabby.
I. Am. Tired.
So, there. There it all is, in all its ugly and selfish glory. Because I love my darling girl, who is a complete and utter miracle, and who makes me laugh and gives me joy beyond words and whose life I am privileged to witness...
...but she also drives me fucking nuts.
I guess that's parenting.
(Also, if you want to read a much better and infinitely more thoughtful reflection on this sort of stuff, go check out this amazing post on Momastery. It's what I mean but am too crabby to articulate.)