Tired, Boss

Throw the whole kid away! These children of mine are going to be the death of me. I’z tired, boss. I don’t want to “mom” anymore.  I’m just going to change my name and not tell anyone, oh and disappear for good measure.  Y’all these little people grow up! Like, who knew? I mean really. Who knew? I mean don’t get me wrong.  It is known that your babies will grow into adulthood, if all goes well. But you don’t really think about the journey.  You don’t think of the shattered hopes and dreams, or the twists and turns waiting in each new chapter of their different phases of life.

This shit is mentally, emotionally, and spiritually exhausting.  I’z tired, boss.

You spit these babies out, and despite all the lessons you try to instill and the warnings you pray they heed, these bamas still actively choose to jump into some shit that’s so deep.  Wait, I’m wrong.  They can’t be actively choosing to make things harder.  Because it seems not to be any thought process at all from the things I’ve been witnessing.  They think they’re in control but clearly, they’re moving on auto-pilot.  No matter how you yell “Stop! No! Do not pass go!” Kids these days think they’re playing with a deck of get out of jail free cards.

I’z tired, boss.

When my aunt said to me one day, “I understand why mother drank. She had eight kids.” I felt that deep in my soul. I swear, I want to drown in a bottle right now. Oh yes, I likes my tequila! (Yes, I spelled it with an ‘s’, and you better have read that like I wrote it because I meant that shit). But instead I’m sitting here with a tall glass of ice-water.  Can you believe that? With all that’s going on in the world: pandemic, protests, major depression, isolation, agitation, resurgence of violent racist attacks, major deaths, war, famine. You name it. Well, it’s true, ice-water. I can’t even escape from my mind because somebody has to be an example of how to handle problems. Guess who.

Thus, many sleepless nights. I’z tired, boss.

Parents, you ever want to put your kids back? Just push them back up in the womb or not release them from your sack? Maybe they needed a little bit more time to cook. No, it doesn’t mean you wish you never had them. Not at all. Well mind you, I’m speaking for myself. I love my babies, and I birthed four of these jokers.  It’s just that I wish I could keep them close, but they’re not mine to have.  They’re out in this world and it’s eating them up.  Crisis times four is fucking me up. At least I can say that they take turns having major issues, and it’s not always back to back. But I don’t always have as much time needed to recover from the last set back. I got PTSD, Parenting Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I’ze tired, boss.

You do your best to prepare them as they grow, but these little phuckers ultimately have a mind of their own. It’s like when you got them all dressed and bundled up to pack them in the car and drop them off at daycare. You’re about to head out the door. Then suddenly, you hear that wet fart sound and they just pooped all up their back! You’re already late for work. You make the choice to wash them up really quick but not the clothes, and you’ll just deal with that part when you get back home. Knowing it’s going to leave one heck of a stain. As they grow, they don’t get that the crap they get into leaves a stain and it follows them throughout their life. Only to be reminded of the mistakes they made when their minds weren’t even fully developed, they had no real grasp of impact on others, or future consequences when they decide they want to join that national team or run for congress. These days people do not let you grow from your mistakes. Ya know, cancel culture and all.

I don’t want to mom no more. I’ze tired, boss.

Alas, this isn’t a job I can quit. Mothering is a major part of who I am. I am grateful for my babies. But I am a human being and I have frailties, moments of weakness, I get empty and I go numb. Yet, I manage to find some more to give and every day I try to be better and I understand how these little individuals are a big part of why I live. Yes, I want and maybe even need to allow myself to snap. Have a big ole grown ass woman tantrum. Say things that I can’t take back. Just plain old snap. That’s not who I am though. I might cry in the shower later. I don’t know. I’m going to keep laying these bricks on this safe, sound foundation that I’ve built. I’m going to keep stocking up and fortifying my safe house; their fallout shelter.

I will continue to put in this work. But I sho is tired, boss.