Dear Child, This Is Why Mom Is About To Lose It

Dear Child,

I was in the bathroom trying to pee and get a moment of peace when I heard you whisper those words. You didn’t think I heard you — or maybe you did and didn’t care — but, believe me, I heard you. Loud and freaking clear. And do you know what else? When I heard you say to your brother, “Mom is about to lose it,” I didn’t feel sad or remorseful or apologetic. Instead, my only thought was, damn right, I’m about to lose it.

Yes, child, I am totally about to lose my shit. And even though you didn’t ask, let me tell you why.

I am about to lose my shit because, despite the fact that I have asked you approximately 78 times to pick up your dirty socks from the kitchen counter, those brown and crusty rags are still sitting there — in the middle of the freaking kitchen, where we cook and eat and do other things that are preferably done in the absence of dirty stinking fungus rags.

I am about to lose my shit because when I went to the bathroom, I sat in a puddle of pee — because not only can’t you remember to put the seat up before you pee, you also can’t be bothered to wipe the fucking seat down after you pee on it. I know you see the pee sitting there. Don’t tell me you don’t, because I have actually seen you watch your pee before. Yep, that’s right. I have seen you stare at your own pee.

Remember that time I walked into the bathroom to find your chin resting on the freaking toilet seat and I asked you what you were doing? You said, all nonchalantly, “Oh, I’m just watching the bubbles in my pee.” And I simply said “Oh” and walked out of the bathroom — without losing my shit, mind you — because I have long since realized that kids are weird and gross and this no longer surprises me.

Remember that? Yeah, me too. So don’t tell me you don’t see that giant puddle of piss and its little urine babies on the seat.

Grab a freaking piece of toilet paper and clean up after yourself.

I am about to lose my shit because I have asked you no less than 1,267 times to shut the freaking door, yet there it is, wide open. I can practically hear the swarms of flies and mosquitos rushing inside to check out their new digs, and I can virtually hear the electric company laughing at us.

I am about to lose my shit because when I say “no,” you seem incapable of responding with anything other than a long series of “but why not?” and your whining is nearing a decibel level that can only be heard by dogs.

I am about to lose my shit because you and your brother have made an Olympic competition out of tattling, and you seem to think it’s fun to wrestle until someone is crying.

I am about to lose my shit because I have asked you no less than 26 times to brush your teeth and comb your hair and make your bed and — for the love of God! — put on clean underwear, and still, at 2 in the afternoon, none of these things have been done.

I am about to lose my shit because there is dog poop in the family room and a vague stench of urine coming from…somewhere. Is it the couch? The carpet? Is it me? I don’t even know anymore.

I am about to lose my shit because everybody is up in everybody’s business and I haven’t been able to think, pee, or eat in peace for nearly a decade now.

Look, child, you might think that I go batshit crazy on the regular, but let me remind you of all the times I did not lose my shit.

Like that time you gave yourself head-to-toe permanent marker tattoos right before we were supposed to go out to dinner. I did not lose my shit. And that time you took a crap in the backyard using it as your own private bathroom even though the actual bathroom — the one with a toilet that flushes — was a mere fifty feet away.

Nope, not even then.

And when you started a water balloon fight inside the house, I didn’t lose it — even though every fiber of my being was screaming, Have you lost your freaking minds?!

You see, there are plenty of times when I do not lose my shit, even though it would be totally understandable for a mother to go on a little screaming bender. But a person can only listen to themselves say “stop hitting your brother” and “why is there a Shopkin in the dog bowl” so many times without her brainwaves going a little wonky.

There are only so many bedtime pop-outs to request a glass of water in a different cup, announce that your foot itches, and ask whether dogs understand English or Spanish. There are only so many times a person can hear “Mo-om, he won’t stop licking me!” without screaming “Enough!”

So, yes, I am about to lose it, and that, dear child, is why.

Got it? Good. Now could you please pick up those crusty socks, shut the freaking door, and brush your teeth?

Pretty please?

‘Cause Mama needs to binge eat some candy bars while hiding in the closet so that she doesn’t actually lose her shit.