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Fit to burst

September 7, 2012

The day-to-day efforts of parenting, marriage of 20 years, stressful nursing career and raising children sometimes feel like I am trying to poop after eating only dry sand for 9 days.

Nothing moving forward, little relief, panic of all the shit that has to be done, the monotony of the same fucking questions, complaints and requests is exhausting. Am I getting anything done? Is anything ever happening or am I just yelling at people all the time?

Its funny but I feel like I am the one who always yelling, always says no and lectures endlessly on how they could be better/smarter/less messy-generally less or more of what ever is annoying or good. Never enough-I sound like I am never satisfied with anything when it comes to my children. But when I ask them who is nicer they always say me.

I think they are just sucking up.

So many things that annoy the shit out of me when it comes to the children are some of the things that I love best. You know you love someone when the same things that make you want to commit a felony and spend time in jail being a bitch to some fat-assed fellow felon are also the same things that make you love them.

Our daughter Chica is a nucking futs. Seriously. She is a ball of sound effects like “HEYOOOH”  or Woowoowoobaby, hand claps, eye rolls, farting, dancing, booty shaking singing obnoxious pop music at the top of her lungs in tune and can stretch her leg over her head and do a cart-wheel. Like all in one breath she can do that. Sometimes its adorable and makes me cry and miss my mother wondering if she would shake her head and call her Sarah Bernhardt (which was my nickname as a wee small girl). AND THEN SOMETIMES I can envision myself smacking her upside the head and locking her in the closet and I can imagine my felony prison sentence and how awful I will look on TV leaving the courthouse. Like now when she is hassling me for a treat that brother had two of and she only had one and why can’t I have one now, he had two and I only had one, do your remember? MOM! MOM!MOM!

She sounds like a seagull. MOMMOMMOM sounds like minemineminemine.

So I try to remember how she looks when she sleeps still sucking her tongue, bottom lip all pouched out, soft warm cheek with her blond hair across it and pantsless. You gotta air out the couchie.

I can already feel that horrid push-pull tug and upwelling of emotion that will  inevitably arise as her hormones start raging and mine start dropping off. I fear I will be going through menopause she hits puberty full force. I pity the men in our house sometimes.

The magic my children is amazing mostly. Those milky clingy days are clouded by the volcano of books, clothes and art projects, bikes and lip gloss. Well, the boy doesn’t wear lip gloss.

My children reside so steadfastly within that place in your heart where your darkest fears, greatest loves, hopes and dreams dwell that on the days when its good, I am blinded by the constant beat of devotion I must helplessly submit to.

Other days, I dream of jail and sleeping.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. September 9, 2012 4:59 am

    Yep – sounds like motherhood – the word sounds a bit like a medical condition, perhaps a psychiatric one. Yes, the coincidence of puberty and menopause was really bad planning on God’s part. But then the men in our lives must also pay their dues of pain. Almost tolerable when you think about it like that, hmm? But think of the memories trove you are building, one with which you can wax nostalgic when you become a crone like me. I miss some of those days… G

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