Being a parent is NOTHING like I expected it to be. Although, I’m not EXACTLY sure what I was expecting to begin with.
Yes, I love my children more than life itself. These people are the most important and precious humans on the planet to me.
So why is it that sometimes I feel like running away and leaving them all behind?
Sometimes, I just want THEM to just shut up and disappear and leave me alone to do my own thing.
Looking at those words makes me shudder because really, the thought of them not being there is horrifying.
I find myself getting jealous, sometimes, of the non-custodial parents in our families equation. They can come and go as they please and our house is the child depository. They go on vacation or just don’t feel like being a parent that day, no big deal, we are here. The constant.
We can’t do that. EVER.
But what if?
When the kids come home from school and each, with individual needs and immediate wants, get in my face at the same exact time. The only thing I can do is sit there and listen, trying to focus on whose need and want is most immediate. While wishing them away. Because otherwise, I get lost. My voice, my entire being. I disappear as a mom and become the life complaint center with very dissatisfied customers.
I get overwhelmed in them and their issues. I’m their mom, they expect me to, IMMEDIATELY if NOT SOONER, make things happen for them that they want to happen. Taking no for an answer doesn’t always seem to be in their realm of reality.
I can’t afford something. They want to know when it is that I’ll be able to afford.
I can’t do something immediately. They want to know when, as close to immediately, I can do it.
And all I do during this bombardment is wish them away. I wish them to be somewhere else. Demanding, needing, wanting from someone else. Because, at that particular moment, the only thing I wish for is to be gone. I picture myself in a little cottage overlooking the Mediterranean, perhaps the South of France. Or a villa in Tuscany looking at the rows and rows of grapevines bending and twisting toward the sun. I sigh, content in these fantasies.
But what if?
The trouble is, I’d never leave. That is never even close to being an option.
They take turns, my kids, being havoc wreakers. If it’s not one, it’s another. Or another. And the other.
I. Just. Want. QUIET.
I want them to UNDERSTAND.
I want the to give back, in some way, the way they expect us to give. Even 50% to our 100% would be nice.
I wish they would understand that life doesn’t alway revolve around their needs and wants, other things factor in. Perhaps it’s my fault, I let them think the moon rose and fell around them when they were little.
They were easier then.
The problems were as little as they were.
Their needs were more manageable.
I never, ever thought they wouldn’t be easy still.
I never thought their needs would become so BIG.
So overbearing. So emotionally toiling.
I don’t remember being like that as a teenager. Perhaps I was. And if I was, I owe my parents so much more gratitude than I ever thought I did. Because I don’t know how they lived through being parents. Being Mommy and Daddy 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Without losing themselves or their sanity.
I wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn’t. Because I love my children with every single beat of my heart and every single breath I take.
But sometimes I wonder…
What if it were just me.
Just for a moment.