Being a mom is exhausting. All of the appointments, sleepless nights, cooking and cleaning seem endless. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from being a mom so far, it’s that it may not get easier, but it also definitely gets worse.
When I first became a mom, nothing could prepare me for the fact that I would hardly sleep for the next six months. Then, when my son got a little older and was able to do more things on his own, I thought I could finally catch a break. What I realized instead was that it was still just as hard, and on top of that, he had become a goddamn pain in the ass.
With every passing day, I fall deeper and deeper into a hell of my own creation, and find myself evolving into a gargoyle of the self I once knew.
Talk to a mom a few years ahead of you, and you’ll find out that things are not simpler, but just different, and by different, they mean they spend every waking hour rueing the day they thought having kids would be a good idea.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that my son isn’t going to sleep through every night, because he’s a little asshole who calls me the second I leave the room saying he’s scared of “the goonies.” My house isn’t going to stay clean, it will only get dirtier, because the second I make it spotless, my son throws an avocado at the wall because he finds it hilarious.
The demands won’t lighten, so I’ll allow them to pile up because I want to enjoy my one life. I won’t stop missing alone time with my husband, but I’ll be so bleary eyed every time I speak to him he’ll liken me to possessed King Theoden in “Lord of the Rings.”
Motherhood is like a muscle that gets sore every time you use it, so you don’t use it for a while and then you’re back at square one and everything is equally as painful, forever. It doesn’t get easier, it doesn’t get better and I hate it more and more every single day.