Thursday, 29 April 2010

Somedays I wonder why I became a mother.

This is one of them. I love them dearly I really honestly do but a lot of the time I question my ability to parent them effectively (or at all). Take today for example I had lost my rag with them before 9am, that means I was up for 1 paltry hour before I was cross. Phoebe wouldn't get dressed and was running around in her socks and Clara did an escapa-poo. Phoebe deigned to get dressed as I said it was time for school (and in record time to). Then I had to face the shops with Clara who on a good day could be described as "strong willed" and on a day like today perhaps Mini-Mao would be a better description. She ran, screamed and jumped her way around the shops and I gave in and embraced my inner (ha!) fish wife, in public too.

I find it all SO frustrating, the mindless destruction of things and the injuries to me. I feel like I am a thing to them. Something to climb on, yank around, pull hair of, elbow, jump on etc, slave to their every whim. Nothing I do is right, there is always something for them to moan about. I do something they love it, then they whine for more and more. I feel like I am never enough. I am so sick of having the same conversation over and over and over by them. I do the housework and they muck it up again, with interest meaning we spend far more time than I would like living in what resembles a pig sty.

I feel like I need a week off from them to recover but I know it will never be enough. Is it so wrong to want to live in a nice house, with nice things that STAY nice and don't get covered in sticky finger prints or broken within 30 seconds of entering?


JaneV said...

It will end. And when they are teenagers you will long for the toddler years - honestly!

Claude de Morgan said...

I could have written that myself. I despair sometimes and I only have the one!