Sunday, November 18, 2007

Just Call Me Sisyphus.

Motherhood is boring and overrated.

That's right. I said it.

Motherhood is like watching paint dry. Or watching a documentary on How Paint Dries. Or siting in on a 5-hour seminar at The New School on The Drying of Paint.

I tell you this because usually, I will have some sort of something to tell you on Monday about my weekends. This time I got nothing.

What is there to say except N. has a serious case of talking-itis and like a gazillion ants in her pants? Or that K. is at that age where the mere sight of that bored look on her face, as if I'm such a chore to be around, makes me want to shake her until her teeth fly out? Or that every time they argue with each other I just want to pack a bag and move to the Castro District of San Fran and change my name to Moonbeam?

For me, motherhood is like that rock that has to be pushed to the top of the mountain, everyday, only to have it slip back down to the bottom all over again at the end of the day. There is no sense of accomplishment; only a sense of "Sweet Jesus, I'll do anything if you just make it stop!!"

These "things" that live in my house drain my enthusiasm, motivation and quite frankly my will to get out of bed every morning.

I swear- I'm just NOT cut out for this mothering bullsh*t. All I can do is 11 years I'll be done with them both.
One thing I pray for every night? That this pain in my lower abdomen- which is now not just on the right side but also on the left and has increased in frequency and intensity- means I will never ever again be able to have more children. Amen.

*smooches...looking for the escape clause in the fine print*
to any readers who are even fantasizing about having kids- heed my warning: they WILL kill you...slowly but surely...