I’ve struggled this week being a parent.
The kids argue.
The kids won’t sleep.
The kids won’t eat.
It’s 3am and I’ve dealt with a screaming baby all night.
I regret being a mother sometimes.
I hate being a mum sometimes.
That’s the reality of being a single mum, for me.
I see parents on the school run happy, chirpy and enthusiastic to see their children – I’m not that mum and I don’t think I’m maternal enough to be.
I’m not chirpy. Or happy. Or enthusiastic.
My children deserve better and they deserve a mother who is excited and interested in their projects and school life.
But I’m tired. I’m tired of trying every day. Of work. Of house cleaning. Of pretending I know what I’m doing as I don’t.
I’m too tired. I’m too sick… Sick of having to always do things. To keep a house tidy. To try and cook meals every day that they won’t fucking eat. To deal with the arguments. The temper tantrums. The ‘I don’t like you.’
I can’t cope. I can’t deal with the exhaustion of every day being fucking shit.
Because it is, parenting is fucking shit. Yes, I should appreciate them being small – they aren’t small for long. Blah fucking blah.
Do I have regrets? Perhaps I do. At 3am when I have a screaming baby and I can do fuck all to make her stop screaming. Or when I’m in town and my son runs off with no concept of the danger of getting lost, or getting stolen or traffic.
Did I chose to be a single parent? I didn’t expect this life. I was a cunt once and believed I could have the typical family. What a cunt.
I’m tired of trying.
I’m tired of having to look in a mirror to see a face I don’t recognise.
My size is classed as obese. I’m losing my hair to alopecia.
I don’t see people anymore as I’m embarrassed as they have an image of how I look and I don’t look that way anymore. I’m fat and balding. I’m embarrassed for people to see me like this. With a puffy face. With no eyelashes but plenty of eye bags..
I try my best… But I feel like I’m failing.
I wish I was better at this.