I Don’t Want to Parent Anymore; The Children Are Trying to Kill Me

This isn’t a threat. No need to worry about me abandoning or harming my kids or myself. I’m way too responsible and get too much self-esteem from being needed, but I do think it’s important that I express how much I don’t want any of this anymore.

I love my kids deeply. This isn’t a reflection on them as people. They are at or above average when it comes to being humans. It’s not them specifically that I’m balking at right now, it’s just the very idea of any kids that I’m rethinking. Like, I am glad they are here on the planet, thankful they are who they are, that they are safe, and well, and that I get to know them…but I want to know them like they’re neighbor kids who live down the street and pop by my house once a day to show me the cool new trick they learned on their bikes, or to show me how they can now read an entire book all by themselves. I’ll ooh and ahh, and then when they get hungry or mean or have to pee, I’ll send them home.

But Sarah, you ungrateful monster, this is what you signed up for! You wanted to be a mom so badly!

Honestly? I don’t know that if I’d been told that this pandemic would happen and I would have to be responsible for their physical/emotional needs AND their education day in and out for a year and half, if I would have chosen to become a parent. It’s too much. AND it can’t go without saying that I’m one of the lucky ones- not also trying to work through this, having a spouse who can fund my dedicated time with the kids. I know it is infinite harder on parents trying to work inside/outside the home right now, or having to choose safety for their kids or being able to work and pay bills. It all just sucks so much. I hate it.

It’s like all the marriages that are falling apart right now because THIS IS JUST TOO MUCH TIME TOGETHER in a stressful situation, except there’s no opting out with parenting. You can shut yourself in your room for a while, but you’ll still hear all the crashes and screams, and eventually they’ll come and breathe on the door, begging to let them in so they can “quietly cuddle” which really means squirming and digging their thirteen elbows into your boob.

Even in this paradise of a place, where the sun actually remembers to show up every day, I feel heavy and tired and so, so, angry when I recall that I have to parent. Again.

My cousin kept the kids overnight so we could unpack productively, and the time away from them just made me grieve the loss of it more. I feel like all of my Sarah juice is just sucked out when the kids are around, and since they’re always around, I’m just this empty rubber shell of myself. I’m kind of fun and light and free when they’re gone, and I am a sad, angry, exhausted Sarah-shaped doll, going through the constant motions of cook-clean-nag-cook-clean-nag, when they’re here. Again, I don’t think it’s them, I think it’s the nature of the relationship.

So…that was uplifting. What’s the plan?

Well, I’m staying on my meds, getting back into therapy, and trying really hard, now that we’re sort of settled, to get back into good healthy routines. I *might* even dare to hope that once the fucknuggets in charge are gone, actual leaders will lead us through this pandemic and out the other side and MAYBE some day these children won’t have to be in the house where I am day and night forever and ever amen.

The only thing in this world that has brought me joy during this whole transition is eating, so excuse me while I go menu-stalk on DoorDash.

The kids will bitch about whatever I order. They’re trying to kill me.