Whenever it comes up that I’m a stay at home, people always ask if I like it. Depending on the day or even the exact minute, I could answer that question in a number of ways. In general, I give my standard, succinct answer that I like it with a smile on my face.
Let’s be honest, when people ask me that, do they really want to hear my answer if it’s negative? I often feel pressured to act like staying at home is all sunshine and roses. It’s as if I’m not allowed to complain or to have a bad day because I choose to stay home. Men have referred to me as a babysitter. Working moms either think I’m a loon or are “happy” for me, but actually resent me. Sometimes I feel like the only people who understand me are other stay at home moms. And even then, some of them can’t let down their guard long enough to admit that sometimes, just sometimes, they want a sick day sans baby.
Have you ever noticed how anytime stay at home moms are going to complain they start the sentence with “I love my son/daughter, but…”? I had never noticed this until I joined the club and caught myself doing it. As a stay at home mom, it’s easy to grow frustrated, but rarely do others understand its complexity. It’s the very same things that drive me crazy about Jeremiah that make him unique as an individual and actually make me smile.
I’m still learning that it’s okay to vent, so here goes nothing.
I love my son, but he is into everything.
I love my son, but I hate how he climbs into the freezer when I open it.
I love my son, but he’s got to learn that the oven drawer is not for climbing.
I love my son, but jumping from the grocery cart seat to the basket is not safe.
I love my son, but he totally disregards the word no.
I love my son, but I hope he’ll stop eating the mail soon.
I love my son, but I look forward to the day when he stops throwing his food on the ground.
I love my son, but he can’t even wait two minutes for me to fix his breakfast.
I love my son, but it’d be nice if he’d sleep in later in the mornings.
I love my son, but I cannot possibly build one more block tower for him to knock over.
I love my son, but I just can’t change another poopy diaper.
I love my son, but diaper changes are like wrestle mania events.
I love my son, but it’s unfortunate that he’s not tall enough to run the vacuum cleaner.
I love my son, but he is a madman in the bathtub.
I love my son, but I can’t manage to get anything done.
Let me stop there. You get the point.
- From pay checks and pearls to dirty diapers (reneedebell.wordpress.com)
- To parents of small children: Let me be the one to says it out loud (stevewiens.com)