I realized that parenting an infant would make me tired. Even though I have a part-time babysitter, she’s not the one who gets up 3-5 times per night with Boy Detective. Since he’s given up letting C-Man put him back to sleep, I don’t even feel like it’s worth going to bed because 45 minutes later I’m going to be awakened by screaming.
What I didn’t realize is how angry I would be all the time. I am so tired, and I am so angry.
It’s not helping me clean up my language any, I tell you what. I don’t swear AT Boy Detective, but I don’t imagine that matters. It’s not like he can’t hear me unless I’m directly addressing him.
I just know I am going to be the mommy with a two year old who yells “FUCK!” in the grocery store.
I hope you see this. Oh, boy, was I angry, too. Still am, really. Anger that could never have been tapped without all of the obligations that come with having a family. And I love them, OK? But the expectations that mothers do everything? That’s rage-worthy, right?