Sometimes I find this whole parenting shit show too intense. You know? It’s like a million questions all the time. You have to give your kids all the love and attention you have and frankly it leaves so little in the tank for you. I’m exhausted man. I’m not going to lie. Parenting is fracking tiring. And if I can be completely honest with you, I suck at it. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love my kids. I listen to them day and night. They are well fed and well cared for. All their needs are met. I think they’re happy and well adjusted. And this should be an achievement in and of itself. Right? Because there are sadly so many kids in the world who just don’t have stability and love. And trigger warning here, but there are kids who are so badly abused and neglected that it’s heartbreaking. But every now and then I’m left questioning why I became a parent. Now I know it’s all voodoo and hippie, but I believe that kids choose their parents. So my kids chose me. Why? I’m a shit parent. I hate doing laundry, I find parenting a drag. I just look at other mothers out there who are so good at it and it comes effortlessly to them and then I think, holy shit I suck at this. I’m also somebody who believes very strongly in good enough parenting. I don’t have to be a perfect parent to be a good parent, but sometimes the pressure is so intense you know? For example, I hate arts and crafts. Like with a passion. I don’t like mess. So when Girl asks me to paint with her or do something artsy, it really sends me into a spin. But other mums just sit there and do papier mache as though the world depended on it. I love reading. Ask me to read a book to you and I’m there. I also love watching tv with my kids. It’s relaxing. But TV is so stigmatized. Once Boy, when he was 3.5 years old blurted out to all the other parents at his nursery, that we watch a lot of tv together and I swear, the looks of disdain we got from all the other parents was horrific. I was mortified. But I do love watching tv and I love watching tv with the kids. We cuddle on the sofa, we eat snacks. It’s a beautiful thing. But even Chump judges me for the tv watching. Can’t you find another way of entertaining the kids he asks. No, I can’t. Not one that doesn’t involve huge amounts of fighting and arguing. I saw something on some media platform, but because I’m old, I can’t remember where I saw it, but it basically said that kids’ fondest memories of their parents are when they just sat on the sofa, had a makeshift dinner and watched tv. But to any parent, that feels like a fail. Why didn’t I make you a home cooked meal. Why didn’t we eat at the table like civilized people? Parenting is all so loaded. It’s so emotionally and morally loaded. It’s too much for my teeny tiny overwhelmed brain to handle. There are days when I wait for the real parents to turn up. You know the ones who can magic up dinner from whatever is left in the fridge, have the laundry done and folded and put away. Play games with the kids and entertain them without a screen and without screaming and have a house that is spotless. They are the real parents. I am the pretend parent. The one the kids got a raw deal with. Basically, I want my parents to take over. They are obviously the real parents here. The pros. There’s been some studies that show that grandmothers are more in love with their grandkids than their own children. This is definitely true in my case. And my kids love their grandmothers. I look at my mum and I think how on earth did she do it? I must have sucked as a kid. I suck as an adult, so there’s no doubt in my mind that I was a pain in the ass kid. Just ask my sister. She’ll tell you. But yet I always remember my mum and dad having infinite patience with me. Hot, fresh food on the table. And just being loved. So deeply loved. I’m not writing this post for sympathy or for you to tell me oh don’t worry you’re a great mum. I’m just writing today because parenting is bloody hard. And I just felt like saying it. Ok bye.
