Yeah, so this is another one of those posts that other parents are like “oh man that’s so true” and parents-to-be are like “my kid isn’t going to be like that” and people without kids are like “oh I’m sure she’s exaggerating”.

(I could have sworn exaggerating had an “h” in it.)

I’m not exaggerating.

At the end of the day, the ambitions you had of being pleasant and patient and understanding and “earth mother” have been thrown out the door with the day’s compost. Which, I might add, consists of half-eaten fruit and veges that you have lovingly prepared for your children, expecting them to eat fruit and veges because that’s what they’re supposed to do, otherwise they’ll grow up to be dole bludgeing crazy people.

You try. Oh how you try. But by the 5th time one of them (okay, the same one) (I’m looking at you, Chanbe) calls you in for more pats/reassurance there’s not monsters under the bed (thanks Monsters Inc BTW) or is in need of cold water, it’s hard to keep your composure.

Go. The F*ck. To sleep.

I love my kids. I love them more than I thought was ever humanly possible. And I try. I really really do try. But at the end of the day, it’s just so hard. And it’s heartbreaking that sometimes we end our day with annoyance, impatience and frustration. I know, deep down, that if I respond to those early requests, then that will be the end of it, 80% of the time.

The other 20% of the time I’m muttering various things under my breath and just wanting to get on with my evening’s activities.

Tonight, for instance, Hubs and I wanted to go out and celebrate our 8th Wedding Anniversary. 8 years, 8 house moves, 3 kids…

I need to go to bed. I literally just fell asleep at the keyboard, but when inspiration strikes, you gotta go with it.

Happy 8th Anniversary Hubs. Love your guts   xxxxxx