10 Reasons Why Being a Parent is the Worst

8:19 PM

I posted this blog post earlier & had about 20 mamas who wrote on my Facebook, Instagram & email that they felt the same, laughed until they peed, and appreciated finding the light & humor in life. A couple of people did not feel this way. People, I write in jest. I write about the funny things in life. I write because life is too short to be so serious. Do I write in here that children are little monsters? Yes. Do I call my child that? OF COURSE NOT. I was told that I, essentially, speak death & condescension to my child. I'm sorry - I didn't realize that you lived in my house & listened to my conversations with my daughter. In our house, we speak life & truth, we talk about Jesus & heaven & how smart we all are, how beautiful we all are, how perfectly God made us. We build each other up. 

Mom blogs are just that - a place for moms to come when they are tired & weary. Being a mom is the hardest job in the world, but it's what I was meant to do. I always wanted babies. And I am terribly offended that someone would call me out in a passive aggressive, vaguebooking manner that I am clearly ruining my child and I hate being a mom. Thank you for remembering that for the last 2 years I have struggled, cried, broken down & poured my heart out to you as I suffered through FIVE, count it, FIVE miscarriages, taken fertility drugs & questioned the very existence of God as I laid on my floor & wept because I wanted just one more baby. You're right. I clearly am a horrible mother who hates her life. 

Not to mention that if you are a reader of my blog, I have mentioned my struggle with feeling inferior, stupid & like God has it out for me. I'm sure that post offended people, as well. Throwing Bible verses at me while judging me for being such a terrible mother just adds to that hurt. Thanks so much. Thank you for making me cry. Thank you for making me question myself & for hurting my feelings. This is EXACTLY why girls don't like other girls. Why girls struggle to be friends. And I pray EVERY SINGLE DAY that my daughter never ever has to deal with mean girls. May she be blessed enough to only have good, positive, uplifting friends who don't judge her or make her cry. Yep, did you read that? I pray for my daughter. Maybe I'm not such a horrible person after all. 

Bottom line, don't read my blog if SARCASM offends you. I write about the funny things in life. I write to make you laugh 'til you pee. I write so that mean girls don't make you feel like you are the only one in the world who struggles to hold it together. I write so that you don't have to feel like you have to pretend to be perfect like the mean girls made me believe I did. I write so we can be friends & have a laugh. If you can't laugh about life, I feel sorry for you. It's just not that deep. Find a serious, no-nonsense blog to read that won't offend you. This is not the blog for you.

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Now, for all of you hyper-sensitive, holier-than-though, I-would-never-say-a-bad-thing-about-my-child readers out there...turn back now. I'm sure that the first sentence offended you, and got your $2.97 Walmart Granny panties in a twist. If that offended you, go read someone else's blog who is more holy than I am. This is not the blog for you.

For the rest of you normies, let's talk about the 10 Reasons Being a Parent is the ABSOLUTE Worst. we all set out on this journey to become parents to these angelic, polite, well-polished children who stepped out of the Pottery Barn Kids catalog. For every ONE stunning, catalog-ready photo I have my child, there are about 12 hideous, just-rolled-out-of-bed, cereal-stuck-to-her-face photos. Instagram is a lie, people. Get it through your head. We all thought that we'd be the one with the well-behaved, potty trained, eloquent, genius children. Wrong again. Universe: 1. Me: 0.

Without further ado...the list.



1. Poop. Also known as feces, dung, sh**, excrement, waste, manure. You're familiar with it. We spend most of our days wiping someone else's ass, waiting for our children to poop on the potty, cleaning poop out of brand new underwear or doing the happy dance when there is a small, brown mass at the bottom of the toilet. #glamour

2. Tantrums. I judged you all. I judged you & whispered under my breath, "My child will NEVER do that. Pull it together." Yes. I was that judgmental, non-mother. Until I met my daughter. The meltdowns only come out when we are surrounded by the general public. She has a specific tactic: to make me cry or look like I'm out of control in front of nice-looking, non-parent strangers. She's crafty. She acts cute & innocent until something she wants is on the line. She can go from peaceful to screaming bloody murder when a toy is at stake. Usually at the cash register. Now, when I see other moms with a toddler in the throes of a tantrum, I give them an understanding smile. I know how you feel. I'm sorry that your child has turned on you. I empathize. We are in this together.

3. Legos. Satan's war against peace & harmony in the home. It doesn't matter if you cleaned up all the toys, those little jerks will find your foot in the middle of the night, and ONLY AFTER you have put your child to bed, & have made every effort to hardly even breathe so they don't wake up.

4. Sex. It was crazy, loud, & wild. Then, it got you this 7 pound blob who wakes up if you sneeze. Outside. During a monsoon. You could do it anywhere before: the bed, the couch, the floor, the hallway, the closet. Wherever. Now, if your spouse makes any kind of noise, your eyes bug out of your head, as you both wait for the inevitable wail from down the hall. Now, this, is what I call sexy.

5. Vomit. It's supposed to be limited to these tiny spittles that the wee ones send out constantly. It's cute. It doesn't smell. Then they get a little older, and for some odd reason, the only places they are able to throw up is in their bed or on you. Then begins the gagging, and the husband running to the other side of the house "claiming" that he is "going to throw up." Yeah, well, me too, buddy.

6. Tiger stripes. If you are one of the lucky ones with the perfect balance of elasticity in your skin, then screw you. This blog isn't for you either. We all got them. Well, most of us did. We did everything we could to do every kind of sit-up, crunch, and plank to make them go away, but it's too late. The little children clearly tried to claw their way out of your belly while you lovingly fed, nurtured, and house these little boogers for 9 months. #ungrateful

7. Boobs. They used to point north. They don't anymore.
8. Coolness. You used to be cool. You used to roll into your friend's driveway, windows down in your cute, little 2-door coupe, bumping your favorite jam. Now, your minivan is littered with Cheerios, mystery stains on the seats, a funky old shoe smell, and you are singing the Wheels on the Bus at the top of your lungs just to keep the litter from screaming.

9. Sleep. Now, I have to say...I had a 4-day old who slept 8 hours a night. Now, she sleeps 11 hours. I am in the minority. I have heard horror stories from many of you whose children are still not sleeping through the night at 18 months old or are waking at 5am every morning. I'm.So.Sorry. Please, let me buy you a Starbucks.

10. Stupidity. Maybe you weren't always the sharpest bulb in the drawer. That's ok. I'm not either. For some odd reason, you create these little spawns, they mar your body, make you yell, make you cry, make you eat a tub of ice cream when you realize that you are, indeed, ruining them just like your parents ruined you, but you swore you'd never let that happen, and then you want more. The only reason I can come up with for this insanity is that children suck the brain out of your head through your lady garden when they emerge, and make you terribly stupid.

If you have any reason why being a part is the worst, drop me a line in the comments section.

Happy Thursday! A.

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