What I Hate About Being A Mom

I love my girls, really I do. If you asked them they’d say yes they know that I love them, and then they’d roll their eyes at you. As much as I love my girls I don’t always love being a mom.

Now don’t get me wrong, I do love being a mom. It’s something I always wanted to be. When I was little I would tell my Mom that I was going to have kids, but I wasn’t going to have a husband to boss me around. Obviously Shawn changed the last part for the better.

So just for you, and in all honesty me too, here is a list of what I hate about being a mom.

Not having any privacy. With my girls being almost 11 and almost 6 1/2 you’d think they’d realize that I don’t need help getting dressed, going to the bathroom, or taking a shower.

An hour before dinner time hearing, “I’m starving and I can’t wait.” Translated that means, feed me in the next five minutes or you’re going to wish you had blinders and noise canceling headphones. At this point I grab a bs chicken breast throw it on the foreman and whip up chicken quesadillas, no sauce. That last part is important. When served with about 1/4 cup of sour cream it makes a semi-healthy meal. The problem with this is that SuperChic picks out the meat and leaves the rest behind while Rapunzel cleans her plate, sour cream included.

Laundry. I know, I know, I have to do laundry whether I have kids or not. My problem is that I can’t keep up. A few weeks ago I washed and folded (getting it all folded at the same time is huge) ALL the laundry. Shawn and the girls even put it all away for me. Fast forward to five days later and SuperChic has no clean clothes. You know those shows where the kid goes through their clothes item by item looking for “just the right thing” and everything that isn’t “right” gets chucked? Well that’s what SuperChic does. EVERY DAY. I can’t keep up.

Cold feet and hands. I hate it when the girls climb in bed with me and put their cold hands and feet on me, because they don’t just put their hands on my arm. Oh no, they lift my shirt and put their hands on my belly or back or in my armpit. Talk about waking up quickly and unhappily.

Homework. I hate fighting with the girls over doing their homework. Even if I stay calm, they end up in tears. Let’s just say I get lied to on a regular basis about the amount of homework. What’s worse is when I’m asked for help. I don’t mind helping, that’s part of being a mom, but I am not going to do your homework for you. Oh, and if you ask for my help and I tell you what you need to do, don’t tell me I’m wrong.

Finding food, everywhere. I’m not a huge fan of letting my girls starve so I don’t get why I find half eaten pieces of fruit/sandwiches/crackers/etc. all over the house. I hate cleaning their rooms because I’m always afraid of what nasty thing I will find. Oh, and the hidden stashes of candy wrappers. Those are almost as bad, because I never know where I will find them. DVD cases, between pages of a book, inside rarely used bowls high up in the cabinets, inside pillow cases, inside backpacks/folders, and thrown inside the covered cat box. At least they’re not sticky.

Whining. Oh how I hate whining. SuperChic has it down to an art. She even knows when she’s doing it, because if you tell her to stop using her “Whiny Voice” she does.

Tattling. This has been what precedes most of SuperChic’s conversations lately, “I’m not trying to get Rapunzel in trouble, but….” Ugh, it’s annoying.

Lying. When I ask them who did something and they both say “not me.” When I ask them, I know it wasn’t me, and Shawn isn’t home to have done it, that really narrows down the list. Once I asked if Tito did it and they both said yes. And they wonder why I don’t always trust them.

Puke. I can handle dirty diapers without complaint. Puke on the other hand, I hate. I clean it up after everyone. Me, Shawn, the girls, the cats, the dogs. The only pet we had that didn’t puke was fish. When the girls are sick I cover their pillow with towels and give them an empty trash can. It’s easier to rinse out the can than scrub four feet of carpet.

Repeat. If I could remove that function from Rapunzel’s cd player I would. I hate listening to this over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. I get that you miss KK, but listening to “your song” over and over will not magically bring her back to California.

Lack of personal space. Just because you’re standing next to me doesn’t mean you have to be touching me all the time. You don’t like it when I do it to you, don’t do it to me.

Fighting. With two firstborns I deal with this a lot, and I don’t always deal with it well. Especially when in public. I get that you both want to sit by me, but I am going to pick whichever kid that will cause the crying to stop the fastest. Which usually means SuperChic sits by me, even when Shawn is home. Lame, I know.

Arguing. Everything I say merits argument. EV-VER-RY-THING. It’s time to eat dinner = what are we having? = chicken = I’m not eating that = Yes you are. Go to bed = it’s not my bedtime yet. No you can’t have/do _______ = but you (insert Whiny Voice) promised.

And Finally, the zinger. Realizing that my girls are just like me.

So what do you hate about being a mom?