More Shameful Mom Confessions
It’s been a while since I’ve shared some shameful mom confessions. Things have changed a bit since my last post. We’ve had a change of scenery due to a brief stint in London and are currently staying in Florida visiting family. The kids are older, two and three, and things are easier in some ways and more challenging in others. One thing that remains constant is my secret shame. What kind of mom would I be without a healthy dose of ridiculous guilt?
I’ve got a few things to get off my chest. Here are my confessions.
I bribe my kids
I have to. Sometimes it’s the only way to buy five delicious minutes of silence. I need that silence. Scratch that. I crave it. Thirteen continuous hours of nonstop preschooler and toddler conversation is tough to handle. I love that my kids are able to express themselves verbally but I need an occasional break.
Questions like this are the reason:
why do the Rescue Bots kind of talk like robots but aren’t robots, they’re aliens, and what planet did they come from again? Is that a real planet? If it is then why didn’t mommy mention it with the others?
Can I live!
Here, have some ice cream with candy sprinkled on it while you watch an hour of Nick Jr.
I don’t like bedtime
Putting these kids down for the evening is a hot mess of the highest order. I swear you could teach monkeys how to Harlem shake faster than I get my kids to sleep. I allot at least a half hour to bedtime. That should be plenty of time to brush teeth, read 2-5 stories, tell an original Rescue Bot related story, tell another story about turtles and how they like to swim, change a diaper, and give many kisses.
The routine is always disrupted by tomfoolery, whining, and my daughter’s bizarre feats of strength. There’s climbing, whining, yelling, singing (sometimes dancing), and asking questions about the minutiae of life’s mysteries. You’ve been up since 7:00 a.m.. Good God go to sleep!
Sometimes I resort to skipping words in stories. My days are numbered. I think my son is on to me but knows better than to call me out. It won’t be long until they realize how much I hate reading Dr. Seuss. I tolerate it because I adore them but how long can I hide my disdain for the ridiculous nonsensical rhyming? Perhaps it’s because after 12+ hours alone with the kids I’m just done but Dr. Seuss riles me up like no other.
I can’t be alone.
I spy on caregivers
When I worked outside of the home full-time my son was enrolled in a daycare facility. I liked it and obviously trusted the caregivers but that didn’t mean I wasn’t about to do the sneaky pop in here and there (or all the time). I want to know what’s going on when I’m not expected.
Is my child in a dog crate? Participating in a toddler gladiator fight for the daycare staff’s amusement? Drinking Henny? I want to know. If that’s a problem I’ll take him elsewhere. They got used to my frequent excuses for checking in at random times. It’s my way of silently saying “if something happens to my child I’ll kill you, revive you, and then kill you again”.
Your turn. Let’s hear your shameful mom confessions.