Boogers on the Wall

I made a major confession to my husband last week at the end of another long summer day.

“I think I hate being a mom,” I said.

Then I followed up with, “What is wrong with me?”

One of my kids is going through some serious stress and anxiety problems, another keeps peeing on the floor and a third one won’t eat any food. The summer days keep getting longer and my breaks keep getting shorter.

I have officially been a mom for nine years now. While there are countless reasons why I love it, the weight of the things I hate about motherhood is crushing my spirit.

I hate that my oldest two can’t go a day without beating up on each other.

I hate that my three-year-old won’t listen when I call his name.

I hate when my kids complain or argue every time I ask them to do something.

I hate when I find piles of stuff shoved in the bottom of their closet – stuff that I asked them to put away.

I hate clipping fingernails and toenails. Do they ever stop growing? And how can I get my kids to clean dirt from under them? Impossible!

I hate that I always have to have a mental catalog of the exact location of every single item we own so that when someone asks me where it is I’ll know the answer.

I hate always having to think about what we’re going to eat for dinner.

I hate that there is always a sink full of dishes waiting for me.

I hate trying to remember the list of things we have run out of that I need to add to the grocery list.

Aside from vacuuming (which I actually find therapeutic), I hate nearly every major cleaning ritual – dusting, mopping, scrubbing, wiping, you name it!

I hate that my kids keep stepping on my toes. Ouch!

I hate not EVER being alone.

I hate feeling stressed, anxious and worried most of the time.

But above of all, I hate that I hate these things. And that there are many more things I didn’t even mention.

I look at this list and my mom guilt takes over. Why do I hate these things? What is wrong with me? Other moms seem to relish each and every aspect of motherhood. Why can’t I?

I should be grateful for my role. Grateful for the joy I have in being a mother. And deep down I really am.

But right now I’m wallowing in my hates. I’m giving myself a chance to vent – get them all out – then I’ll force myself to get over them.

Because like I mentioned earlier, there are countless things that I love about being a mom. The “loves” list is far longer than the “hates” one. Otherwise my spirit would have been crushed long ago.