Sometimes being a Mum fucking sucks. Like actually sucks. From the refusing to wash battles to the “I can’t get comfortable” ones. The “she looked at me” and the “I hate my dinner even though it was my favourite last week”.
I cried today.
Not because of the cancer. Not because of anything other than because being a Mum is hard. So bloody hard.
It’s the hardest job I’ve ever had (and I get moaned at for a living!)
The little one is waiting an assessment for ASD and whether she gets a diagnosis or not, life’s pretty hard for her. I have to be patient at all times, understanding, consistent and almost sub human. The slightest little thing forgotten and her day is on a downwards spiral, leading to stressful dinner and bedtime.
Then there is the pre-teen who refuses to wash. She is currently in the shower for the 4th time today because her hair still isn’t washed. I genuinely wish I was joking. She has just come out and gone back in for the 5th time since this morning because she has gone the complete opposite way and left shampoo in it.
I have no words.
Blazers thrown all over the place, dirty knickers and pants literally everywhere I look and cans and bottles covering the floor.
I have a meeting with Ellis’ school, the LA and some other lady tomorrow about his draft EHCP which he has apparently been awarded for for being sad. Legit. It states he doesn’t have any health concerns or needs. The boy with the bionic leg, apparently is at no risk of falling behind at school. Hmm.
But I have my notebook ready, full of legal jargon from the numerous support helplines I have rung, just to try to get some sense onto those forms and for justice.
It’ll be 2 years next month since he found the lump and actually I don’t think I’m coping very well with it after all.
Or maybe I am and I’m just having a down day. Week. Month. Whatever the hell it is.
All I know is I just don’t want to Mum today.
I just want a day off. Fuck that, I want a week off. I want sun, cocktails and a pool. I want to read a book in peace, I want to have a bath without being interrupted or having to use kids shower gel as it’s all that’s left.
I love my kids. They are my whole world and I would (and do) fight for them every single day.
But there is nothing wrong in saying I’m struggling.
All I do know, is that I know I cant stay in my pity party for one.
My heads pounding and I feel emotional. Nothing that a cuddle in bed with the most perfect man in the world won’t fix.
Until tomorrow, when it starts all over again