There’s a Reason

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Okay, just real quick….

There is a reason.

Being a mother is hard.

You have this kid that you’re not only responsible for, but also would do almost anything for. You just want them to succeed and be happy.
BUT you also have all these people around you that tell you what a mother should be. You have your mom that thinks you should be like her, and the 1950s mom standard that would be nice, but then you have to work maybe, and you worry your kid isn’t getting enough attention, and you can’t keep the house clean like you used to, and you’re getting older, so you’re tired and your hormones spike like they did in high school, and you look at your life sometimes and think about how many things you didn’t do or just didn’t do right, and you feel bad about the fact you kind of wish you hadn’t had kids so you could have pursued something else you wanted to do, but you wouldn’t trade your kid for anything in the world, and if your kid has a learning disability or needs glasses or something you feel like that’s a direct reflection on you, like your uterus didn’t make him perfect and so it’s all your fault he has to go through life like this.
Then you get into everything else as they get older, like if they’re gay or trans or anything else that isn’t heterocisnormal, and you spend all this time worrying that they’re going to go through life being treated differently and people might be cruel to them, and you wish they weren’t different, but then you feel bad about feeling that way because you don’t care that they’re different, you just want them to be accepted and have a good life full of good things, and you want the world to see your kid for just how great they are not for whatever little difference they have that might lead to them being persecuted, even in minor ways.
You worry about paying for college, and what if they don’t want to go to college and they can’t get a good job, and if they do go what if they don’t pick a major that can get them a good job?
You worry about this little thing that you created every single minute of everyday and it consumes your entire mind and world, and you walk around with all this uncertainty of if you’re doing things right and if everything will be alright.
And what will happen to your baby when you die? Will they be prepared for life? Will they be okay? What if they don’t find a significant other before you die?! Then they’ll be alone!

So all this happens all day, and you keep your shit together, but then you come home and the one thing you asked your kid to do hasn’t been done, and that’s just the straw that breaks you, because if they can’t do this, how will they be a really real human later?
And so you start yelling, because all the feelings and guilt and love that feel just comes flooding out of your face and when you catch yourself you pretend that the yelling doesn’t happen because you’re so insecure, because the kid can’t know you’re like that, because you have to be strong for them….

There’s a god damn reason they start yelling.

(I’m not even a mother, I just saw this on Tumblr and I was just like… mad… Because all this is why I’m NOT a mother. It’s too much.)

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