I Hate It Here


Okay, not literally but it felt good to type that. I love Bean and I love being her mom, but listen… somebody gone have to come get her for a night or SOMETHING!

It’s cool and all being a single mom and having my mom and grandma in the house helping… until it’s not. They are GREAT help, don’t get me wrong, but I just don’t think it would hit the same if a father was here. My mom and grandma can “check out” whenever they want and I can’t say anything; if a dad was here, it’d be different. Parents can’t check out. Wait… MOMS can’t check out. Fathers get to pop in and out at their leisure and it is TIRESOME okay? I won’t even say it’s unfair because…duh but man… if I could be anything, I’d be a dad. No lie. Whatever. I still think having an involved (that is the keyword here) dad in the house would make a world of difference.

I often imagine just taking my boobs off and leaving them home and just dipping out for a while; forget that I’m a mom or something. But, that’s unrealistic and me talking cash money ’cause I can’t even sleep when Bean is sleeping in the room with my mom or grandma. Imagine though. Imagine being a mom and just getting to “mom” whenever you feel like it. I would be LIVING if all I had to do was call Bean and play like we were talking for 10 minutes, whenever I felt like it; to visit her. Oh my GOSH! To visit her, whew, just imagine that. I’d love to just “hang out” with her a couple days a week or once a month or whenever and that is the part of motherhood nobody ever mentions until it’s too late. Nobody ever tells you how much guilt (and frustration) you’re going to carry just because you want a shower or a silent night’s sleep. It’s a really weird place to be in when you wanna run as far away from your family as possible while also carrying a lifetime’s worth of guilt for feeling like that.

Most days are a constant roller-coaster: How could I want her to “leave me alone”? How dare I be “touched out”? How dare I not accept and appreciate her for the amazing gift she is? Surely, I must be a bad mom and doing something wrong here. I have to be…right? NO “good” mom thinks about ditching her kid; running as far east as possible, changing her hair and number. How can I have postpartum depression? She’s quite literally the perfect baby. I chose her, literally, so how can I be tired of her? I should be grateful for her. I am grateful for her. I can do this, I’m just overwhelmed right now. Deep breaths! Okay, let’s do this.

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