I love my kids but I don’t love being a mum

Have you ever sat there in conversation with other mums, listening to them talking about how they’ve planned out their kid’s costumes for book week, or school books for the new year, or maybe they’ve gotten into meal prepping for school lunch boxes, and thought to yourself…

“I’m not the same as these people.”

I mean, you obviously share similarities, due to having children at similar ages. But at your core, have you ever felt deep down, like you’re so different to other mums? They all seem to make it look easy, and what’s worse, some seem to genuinely enjoy it! I think, good for them. One of my mantras in life is ‘each to their own’. If that works for them, that’s great.

I love my kids, but I don’t love being a mum.

I just know that I’m going to cop some backlash for saying these words aloud, but it’s true. I just don’t think I fit the stereotype of a ‘good mum’. I don’t enjoy the mundane day-to-day shit that comes with the territory. I hate housework. I only occasionally like cooking. I loathe laundry. I couldn’t give two shits about any of it. Honestly, it’s not only that I don’t enjoy it. I genuinely struggle with it. It overwhelms me regularly. I can’t remember all of the things that need remembering. I can’t organise all the things that need organising. It’s all just too much and I’m not able to just avoid it, or delegate it. Instead, it’s a constant daily struggle that mounts up and gets on top of me.

It’s hard not to compare myself to other mums by thinking,

“How come everyone else can do this so easily!? There must be something wrong with me”.

I’ve been in this place more times than I can count. Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be judgemental of mums who have their shit together. I admire it, and them. It just seems like such an unattainable goal for me. It takes a hell of a lot of effort and energy for me to just scrape through. I might look like I have it sorted, but I most certainly do not. I am blessed to have a husband who could organise an overseas holiday itinerary in his sleep. He’s often the one reminding me of essential things, like school excursions, music instruments or swimming lessons. I’m aware that many other mums may not have this support, making a really demanding job even more difficult.

I do the bare fucking minimum. The kids can choose one afterschool activity. Preferably something they can all do together. Nothing that involves travel, night-time or weekend games. I know my limits and I do not have the energy to sustain anything additional to the usual school routine. I can’t stand having stuff in the calendar constantly. I love school holidays for the precise reason that I get a break from the day-to-day run around fast-pace of the school routine.

Then there’s the being in the car with kids. I swear to God, I am NOT the type of person who can ‘tune out’ the relentless talking, whinging and bickering of children on the school run home.

“Mum, he’s touching me!”

“Meow, meow, meow. Meow, meow, meow!” (*to the tune of Jingle Bells*) 

“Mum, did you know that there’s this new mod in Minecraft where you can fill a house with llamas? It’s really cool because…”

Being in the car with kids sends me into sensory overload in 10 seconds flat!

I feel grateful that we live out of town and they can go on the bus 3/5 days. How the fuck does everyone do it!? Either they’re really good at hiding their struggle. They’re actually enjoying themselves. Or they’re also just scraping by enough to get the job done.

So, I don’t think I fit the stereotype of a ‘good mum’, and I don’t think society allows space for some mums to actually admit that they don’t enjoy it, without being demonised as a ‘bad mum’. That doesn’t mean that I’m saying that I’m a bad mum. At the end of the day, children just want to know that they are safe, and that they are loved and accepted for who they are. I’d like to hope that my children know and feel this from me and their Dad. I think we’re doing an OK job of it… so far.

When children grow up into adults, they cherish the memories of the quality time parents spent together with them. Playing card games, making cupcakes, going to see a movie, swimming in the pool, or having hot chocolates together. They might remember the odd time that their mum burnt the roast chicken, or that their childhood home was messy and that they spent most mornings digging through washing baskets for a clean uniform, but it’s not these things, these mundane day-to-day things that matter in the long run. It was often the simplest of meals that I enjoyed most as a kid. Bacon and eggs for dinner. My go-to nostalgic meal from childhood was ‘corned beef fritter’ (from the can), mashed potatoes and baked beans. I still to this day crave this meal that Mum would regularly make for us.

I’m really not sure that I’m cut out for all of this mothering business. I’m 9 years in and I’m still adjusting. Still trying to make it fit. How am I supposed to do all this for another 9 to 12 years? I want to be there for my boys, I want to be there for the cuddles and kisses.

Some days though, I’m simmering on rage.

I’m just one slime ball in the carpet, Lego under foot, rice bubbles over the counter or fight over the tv remote, away from a nervous breakdown! I want to run away…

Or maybe, I’d just like to be at home, in solitude. In my own space. Feeling grounded, pottering in the garden and drinking cups of tea. Care free. Sometimes my thoughts get dramatic.

Maybe I need to just rent or buy my own house. The kids and husband can come and visit. Then I’d be fine.I’d be a better mum. I’d be a calm mum. One who doesn’t yell so often. I’d have uninterrupted time to write, paint and garden. It would be bliss.

My heart swims at the idea of this, then splits in two.

Because, then I wouldn’t be there for the morning cuddles in bed. The tears of stubbed toes where a kiss and band-aid fixes the job. For the heartfelt night time conversations about kids picking on them on the bus, or in the playground. They need me. I need them too, to ground me into reality. To stop me flying off into Fantasyland forever… as tempting as it may be. As much as I resent that fact at times, I need them to remind me that the little things in life are what matter most.

I’m trying to let all of that other household stuff slide for a while, all of the day-to-day routine tasks so I focus on the little things. The in-the-moment things. They’re growing up so quickly, before my very eyes. I’d better make the most of them needing me while they still do.

Tucking Middle Man in bed the other night, he turned to me.

“Mum, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah sweetie, what is it?” I responded.

“Can you get a reward?”, he asked.

“What for?” I was puzzled at this.

“For being a great mum”, he said ever so sweetly, and my heart melted like an ice cube on hot summer stair treads.

“No. But thank you.” I told him. “You’re an amazing kid”.

Take care Mummas, and don’t feel guilty if you don’t enjoy all parts of being a mum. Try to savour the little moments, and know that…

You’re still doing a great job at it!

Much love,

MumOf3WRs

P.S. I do actually love dress ups, but only if I get to join in too!