I hate being a mother.
I hate babies.
Toddlers are cool.
I’m so sick of being stuck at home with these shits 24/7. I never go out. I am not in school, not that I could focus anyway. I have a 4 month old that still doesn’t know how to nurse properly. I have a nearly 20 month old that just screams and cries all day when he doesn’t get his way. I have a spouse that is completely oblivious to my suffering, no matter how many times I tell him I want to give up.
I want to give up on nursing. Some days I want to give up being a mother completely. Other days, like today so far? I want to give up on life.
It is the first time in a very long time that I have been without a child to chase, or a screaming child, or a disgruntled partner.
I’m sitting in the corner of the beautiful Hemphill library in Greensboro, with the blinds drawn, except for one sheet of them, just basking in the sunlight and quietude of being away from my kids.
Does this make me a bad mother? Probably. But you have to understand that since January 2011 I have been pregnant a total of 18 months, with only 6 months of time where I wasn’t pregnant. I have two children so close in age, both still in diapers, both barely able to communicate their nees to me that every ay is simply filled with the riotous cacophony of shrieking, screeching, off-pitched shrilling and warbling singing …
I’m just glad that I finally was given 3 hours off. Well, more like 2 hours and 20 minutes, but I will soak in this relative silence and peace.
As guilty as I feel admitting it, sometimes I really do hate being a mom.