I lost my motherloving shit at them this week and I don’t even feel guilty about it.
I was driving between work errands while mentally composing a work email I needed to send ASAP and Thud was rapid-firing questions at me about a fucking building I have no idea about and Pop had been whining one long, continuous whine for about 7 minutes because I’d “forgotten” her dummy.
At the lights I handed her a bottle of water to distract her and she kicked it back at me with such force the water went everywhere, Thud, who hadn’t drawn breath just spoke louder to be heard over the brewing shitstorm, my phone rang with a client who needed their work yesterday and then the car behind me honked because the light was green.
I. Lost. My. Shit.
I’m not even sure what I said but it was something along the lines of ‘I AM TRYING TO DRIVE AND I CANNOT HEAR MYSELF THINK WILL EVERYONE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST LEAVE ME ALONE SO I DON’T CRASH AND KILL US ALL.’
Of course Pop started cry and Thud whimpered, “I love you, Mummy,” and that’s the moment I should’ve felt all the guilt because they weren’t being naughty, they just needed me. But the guilt didn’t arrive.
I was 100% on Lauren’s side.
Yeah, I know I have nothing to complain about, we’re all safe and I’m lucky enough to work from home and earn a wage BLAH BLAH BLAH SHUT UP.
I’m not fucking superwoman.
In any other industry I’d be unionising and making demands to renegotiate my contract. The UN would be involved in a campaign against slave labour because IT’S JUST NOT RIGHT to make women work 24 hours a day, cleaning, cooking, washing, feeding, emailing, organising, driving every-fucking-where.
It’s not even being a mum that’s hard. It’s everything else. I’d be a brilliant mum if being a mum was my only task. I could sit and play and treasure every fucking moment if some other poor bitch could pick up the slack and wipe the wee off the floor, make 85 meals a day, organise the toy room, fold 8 loads of laundry, answer all my work emails and just generally be an adult for me.
But whoops! There’s just me.
So yeah, I lost my shit. Because the pressure that was building up inside had to escape somehow or it would’ve been trapped inside my skull and started to cook my brain and I’d end up in the corner picking my eyelashes out, muttering about plain pasta and piss stains on the toilet floor.
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