There was a recent article in New York Mag by Jennifer Senior called All Joy And No Fun: Why Parents Hate Parenting. I read it. You should too! From the way I’ve been feeling since middle school started (ok, maybe a little earlier than that), I could completely relate to so many things the author wrote about.
I love being a parent…a MOMMY!
It’s what I always wanted to do, be a Mommy. Have my own living dolly babies to push around in a stroller, dress, feed and worship. Have little voices saying Mama, Mommy.
Being a Mom to small children was different. I dug it. Aside from some really trying parts like not sleeping through the night, teething and crying for hours on end, I was really happy.
This teen/tween thing is knocking me for a loop.
I adore my children. My heart beats a little faster, a little stronger, when I see them. They are the center of my world. Every single thing I do is for them. I worry big. I dote big. I love even bigger.
But I can’t always stand parenting.
It’s tedious, monotonous, frustrating, annoying.
I’m tired of the incessant fighting, of listening to the fighting amongst them and the fighting with me.
I am done saying “no” like a broken record to their unrealistic demands, so I have begun a little thing called “operation ignore”.
The tattle tale syndrome in my house is spreading like some sort of plague with no cure in sight. Maybe college?
I’m sick of hearing myself yell. I’m tired of telling my kids to watch their mouths, check their attitudes or leave the room. I love you now get out of my space, goodbye.
I adore them. I don’t want to be in the same room with them sometimes.
I didn’t go into parenthood thinking that it would fulfill me. It doesn’t, not totally, but it completes me. Sorry, I sound like Jerry McGuire. I get fulfillment from other things, too. Like writing, for example. But there is nothing…NOTHING…that makes me feel like a whole person than my kids.
I didn’t become a Mom thinking that it was going to make me a happier person. I was a happy person, more consistently, before having kids. But my happiness is deeper, more heartfelt and rewarding. Sometimes. When I’m not yelling or banging my head against a wall.
It’s always hard work.
It’s not always fun.
Freedom is limited, as are so many other things that were taken for granted once upon a time, in a pre-child life.
Would I change a single thing? Maybe I wouldn’t have spoiled them as much. Perhaps I would have be more consistent in the crying it out thing or I would have nursed longer.
Things I would have changed are merely just that…things. Sort of insignificant and inconsequential in the scheme of this thing I’m doing called being a Mom.
The whole parenting gig though? I went into it with no expectations of how it would make it’s mark on me. So, I’m not disappointed. I’m not unhappy. I’m not unfulfilled.
As a Mommy, my heart and soul are full.
As a parent, I’ve got some issues.