I’m reading a work contract, trying to get it completed and submitted, annoyed at the new scanner I downloaded on the Internet, when I hear it: “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom.”
My jaw clenches and I try to keep my eyes from crossing. I feel the anxiety and anger making its way up my chest and out of my mouth, “Leave me alone for a minute, would ya!”
My youngest has this habit of standing next to me when he wants my attention. For some reason, he thinks calling me mom over and over without pause in this annoying chant will get me to take care of his needs quicker.
WRONG. It only infuriates me to no end.
These days, I simply cannot concentrate on two things at once. The last time I did that, I accidentally sent a sext to the wrong person (oopsie), then there was the time I accidentally threw my glasses in the garbage (oopsie again). My kids are old enough to know I cannot concentrate on two things at once. They also know when I’m ignoring them they should probably give me a second and save us both a lot of pain and suffering.
Oh, and when I lift up my pointer finger, signaling them to hold onto their shorts and shut up for a damn sec so I can make a smooth transition from one thing to the next without fucking something up, they take that as an opportunity to turn up the whining. We have no food. They’re booooored. They absolutely need some ridiculously expensive shoes and a ride to their friend’s house ASAP.
I remember sitting on the paper-covered table talking to my midwife about how hard it was to go from two kids to three a few weeks after my youngest was born — all my kids were three and under and not talking much at this time.
She looked at me and started in about her 4- and 6-year-old, saying, “Sometimes they start talking to me and all I can think is, ‘Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up right now and stop talking to me for the rest of the day.'”
Fast forward about a few months and I was so in the middle of there, I didn’t know what hit me. All I wanted was for everyone to shut the fuck up.
Until that time in my life, when my kids starting talking non-stop, or crying, or pulling on me, or wanting to be fed, my love languages were physical touch and words of affirmation.
Those day are long gone because words and touching don’t do it for me any longer. Leaving me the hell alone is all I need. You’d think it’s be simpler, but it’s not.
Moms are the ones who get asked the most questions.
Moms are the ones who always look the least busy (even if they are juggling 10 things and their partner is lounging on a floaty in a pool).
Moms are the ones who remember all the things.
Moms are the ones who take the wrath when the family is late, or the permission slip isn’t signed, or their child forgets their library book.
Moms are the ones who make it all better.
Moms are the ones who get up in the middle of the night to check on their kid who was home sick all day.
Moms are the ones who get woken up when someone doesn’t feel good.
Moms are the ones who get blamed when there isn’t enough food in the house.
No wonder we are touched out, stressed out, and long for nothing more than to run away from it all (even if it’s up to our bedroom to catch our breath). It’s been so long since we’ve been left alone, we now have fantasies about it.
It doesn’t matter how much we ask for it. No one seems to hear us, or care for that matter which is a shame.
I can only imagine how much better I’d be of my family learned the way to my heart is through leaving me the fuck alone every once in a while.
They very least they could do is pay attention that finger when it comes out.
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