Since when did I become my mother? Or since when did it become expected of me to be my mother?
You know. The one who does the majority of the cooking and cleaning. The one who always gets the kids bathed, and fed. That sort of thing. I hate it. It may be hard to take in by some people, but there was a time when I lived with my parents that I literally told myself that ‘I will never be my mother.’ In other words, I vowed to never live like her. That’s a big reason why back then I also vowed to never get married. But I did. And I’m on the verge of it again.
I have to admit, not EVERYTHING is with me as it was with my mother. At least my husband doesn’t disappear in the middle of the night in a drunken rage. At least I’m not verbally and emotionally abused. Things COULD be a A LOT worse for me.
I’m just living a motherly life, that’s all. But sometimes…sometimes…that gets to me. And sometimes….just sometimes…I feel bad for complaining about it because I know millions of mothers out there do exactly what I do, and even more. They also are extremely active in their kids school activities, and take them to various sports practices and games. I have yet to do any of that. Not because I want to deprive my kids of that, but because I work. And I know there are working moms that still manage to do all that, but it’s just not in me to be like that. It also not in me to put my kids through such rigorous schedules either. I want my kids to be able to be kids, too. I don’t mind that my son watches lots of cartoons and plays video games a lot. It just doesn’t bother me. Now if this sort of thing affected his ability to do good school work, it’d be different. But it doesn’t. He does GREAT in school. On every level. And that’s not to say I’ll NEVER get them into sports. I mean, I do have solid plans to get Layne into taekwando. That’s a definite.
But I’ve gone in a different direction with this, as originally planned. Again. I guess I just have a million things running through my head to concentrate on any one thing.
I started out griping about how I’m living like my mother. I can’t say that dad NEVER helped mom clean. But he RARELY cooked. Only when family was coming over, or when mom was working late and he HAD to cook to be fed and to get us fed. But, I can promise that didn’t come without a lot of bitching and ranting and fit throwing. Just ’cause mom was working late and he had to do a little extra.
I have to admit it isn’t THAT bad around here. I mean Patrick DOES cook sometimes. I usually have to ask him to, but he usually does it with a minimum of complaining. So that’s good I suppose. I mean, it’s a lot more than a lot of other women get.
He’ll give our little girl baths, always just when I ask him to. And USUALLY it’s with a minimum of complaining.
He’ll help me clean the house. Again, as long as I point out what has to be done first.
Do you see the pattern here??
Asking, asking, asking. WHY???? Why does it have to be like that? For you married, engaged, or involved women out there, does that not get OLD??? Do you not get frustrated because you are fully aware that they have no broken bones, that their eyesight is keen enough, that they live here too???
But yet, you know in the deepest part of you, that you are somehow EXPECTED to do these things. And doesn’t that just piss you off?? Especially if you work, too??
I don’t believe for a second that I ASK too much. I really don’t. To be honest, I’m happy with doing the majority of the work as long as I get at least a LITTLE BIT of help with it. And it’d be even nicer if I didn’t have to ASK for it all the time
Don’t get me wrong. My Patrick is not a bad guy like that. I sometimes honestly just feel like that’s the way of the world for all females. But that realization/belief/acceptance doesn’t make it any easier. Everything STILL has to be done, somehow or another. Whether there’s a battle involved, or if you just do it all your damn self.
I’ll gladly point out here, too, that I’ve been slacking on taking my medication for anxiety. And let me tell ya, I fully believe I still need to use the stuff. Because every little tiff is starting to turn into damn near full blown anxiety attacks. I just get sooooo MAD.
I mean, I still have the kitchen to clean and food to put away. I still have laundry to do. And plenty of it. I have a kid that’s wanting me to play a game with him, but I feel awful for not doing so, while at the same I feel like it’s the right thing to do given the mood I’m in. It just wouldn’t be fun for him. I have to get back to work tomorrow and the rest of the week too. And I have a very busy week ahead at that, plus I have that much dreaded company picnic of his to attend ALL next weekend. I haven’t been feeling well. Nothing, no food, has been settling with me right. For almost two weeks. I’ve been stressing over the possibility of being pregnant, which would be an absolute disaster. I did take a pregnancy test a little while ago, and even though it came back negative, I’m still not convinced. It’s possible I’ve taken it too early for an accurate result, plus there are OTHER signs of it still being a possibility. That’s hanging over me VERY heavily.
UGH. Just EVERYTHING. And I feel soooo sick at my stomach right now. Sooooo dreading having all that other stuff in the house to deal with. Just not a good evening. Not good at all.
And even though I could probably go on and on, this is the jest of most of it. So I suppose I’ll spare any readers anymore of my pity-party. Thanks for reading, especially if you actually made it this far.
