“You’re the worst mom ever. I hate you.”
Awe. That statement. It would be comforting if it weren’t an admonishment, as I’ve heard it so much lately. Most often it’s made claim in the mornings.
I used to love mornings. There was a period in my life when I awoke… and the house was silent. I’d prepare MYSELF for the day. It was… peaceful.
Then I had children.
The current season of childrearing finds me with one teen, one tween, and a Kindergartner who puts them both to shame in the shaming department.
That kid has the Jekyll and Hyde of tongues. Yes, sometimes, it’s … “You’re the best. I love you so much.” Ah, but it would be irresponsible of my young lad to allow such notions to bolster my mom-ego. Thus, he is sure to counteract praises with a hefty dose of, “You’re the worst. I hate you.” And my personal favorite, as my son is actually adopted, “You’re not even my real mom.”
I can’t complain (though, I’m going to). I was the same. I distinctly remember saying, verbatim, “You’re the worst mom ever. I hate you.” Usually accompanied with a violent slamming of my bedroom door for added emphasis. Oh and, “I wish I was adopted, so I could live with my real family.” Can you taste the tang of that irony?
I’ve got this coming in spades, friends.
Thank God I had a mom who didn’t ruffle easily. I’d scream, “I hate you.” She would reply, “I’m sorry to hear you feel that way. I love you. You’re still not going to/playing with/having XYZ.”
This is mostly how I reply to my own child(ren). I say mostly because… well, sometimes I don’t reply that way. Or… I do reply that way, but as soon as I have a moment alone, likely in the bathroom (it’s the only door that locks), under my breath and with boiling anger— not sounding unlike Gollum from Lord of the Rings—I reply the way I really wanted to. There may or may not be a lot of four letter words involved. I plea the fifth. You’ll have to ask the toilet for the dirty details.
Maybe there are moms out there who don’t lose their sh*t as often as I do. Maybe there are moms who aren’t ever told they’re the worst ever. Maybe there are moms somewhere who would have no idea what the fork I’m talking about in this post. Good for them… all ten of them.
This post is for the moms who are THE WORST MOM EVER from time to time.
I’m raising my cup of (now cold) joe to YOU.
You are my people.
We are going to get through this phase. It might be long, and hard, and exhausting… but we are here… doing it. And we are not alone. There are many of us—an army of worst moms ever, slugging through the long mornings, stumbling to our own beds after arduous bedtimes. And damnit, I’m PROUD to throw my hat in your ring.
Say it loud, say it proud, we are THE WORST MOMS EVER!