It’s March. The first day of March. And I’m going to try it one more time. I’m going to write as much as I can.
But it’s not going to happen if every single time I start typing a sentence I have to be a “Mommy.” Yup. I just told my kid that I wanted to be a “Not Mommy” for just a few minutes. This is after a series of events tonight where I got to be interrupted from any personal quiet down time to tend to little things that she could do for herself. And I’m tired of it. I’m tired. I’m just pretty much mentally worn out, emotionally insufficient, and borderline depressed. And that’s all fixable, but not easily so when I need to be the “Mommy” on call. I just want to sit in front of the television and veg out and do nothing that requires thought or movement, and yet I feel compelled to be available. And I feel angry when I get pulled to do something with my kids when I’m freakin’ tired and either just want to sleep or magically have enough energy to be the one.
And I’m going to hate myself later for saying all this. But dammit, some days Mommy just isn’t. And today is one of them.