Yes, I Get How Blessed I Am (But Please Let Me Vent About My Kids)

Is it completely selfish to complain about my happy, healthy (annoying) kids?

Do you ever have one of those nights, one that was supposed to be so magical, but ends up being so sh*t that you go to the bathroom at 1 am just so you can ugly cry alone? 

One of those nights where you've tried. Like really, truly tried, but nothing is good enough. One of those nights where you're just so exhausted from being ruled by an army of small dictators who micro manage and dissect every move you make that you feel all alone and fragile, that you just might break? And then, as you sit in the dark, finally on your own, in the bathroom with your legs going numb, you just break down? You break down because you know you're so incredibly blessed.

So blessed to have the four children who challenge yet fuel your every breath. You are grateful after the two-year struggle to have the first. Seven miscarriages and nine surgeries are your battle story, your triumph. The same story that now curses you and makes you feel like an ungrateful brat. It's just so hard in these moments to feel so resentful of the years of sleepless nights and the battle of the wits with tiny tyrants and the guilt that forces you to the confines of the bathroom to spare the feelings of the very people who drive you to your porcelain throne.

You moms who have your million dollar family and picture-perfect Facebook stories for all of us to see. Those moms who always know the right thing to say and do, all the time. In the words of Bridget Jones, wanton sex goddess, "Every time I see you, you seem to go out of your way to make me feel like a complete idiot. And you really needn't bother. I already feel like an idiot most of the time anyway". 

So, please, just for a selfish minute, my selfish minute, where my utterly exhausted, sleep deprived brain stops for a bathroom break, let me lament. I'm sure you don't need it, but I wish you peaceful sleep—not sleep interrupted by insomniac children who wake their siblings in the middle of the night for impromptu play dates. The same children who didn't sleep until 1 am, because in the words of Aerosmith "I don't want to close my eyes, I don't want to fall asleep, cause I'll miss you (mommy), and I don't want to miss a thing." Oh, the bittersweet karma of me belting it out at the top of my lungs 20 years ago, as it plays on repeat on my boombox, on a tape recorded illegally from the radio in between commercials and the DJs intro and extro (is that a word or did I just make it up in my sleep deprived stupor?)  

To the moms who wish they could have 'just one more', or those who are still struggling to have their first—I'm so sorry. I am so hurt and angry for you. I know. I hope you get to post a completely selfish bathroom rant one day.

No one told me that the sleepless nights didn't end in infancy. No one told me that your perfect, gorgeous, incredibly smart and charismatic three-year-old could end up being a gorgeous, incredibly smart, sarcastic and controlling seven-year-old. No one prepared me for his incredibly gorgeous, silly, sweet 3-year-old brother to follow in his footsteps, only more intense. I can assure you with utmost certainty that no one told me it would be like this. I thought they were born perfect and that's how they would stay. 

I hate that I'm so ungrateful. But I'm just SO tired. So emotionally drained. So done. 

I know. There will be the mob who will chastise me. Tell me I'm ungrateful (I know). Tell me they WISH they could experience my struggle. Those who wish they had a child, no matter what. Those who have children who will never be independent, and who wish they were only autistic. And those who have beautiful children who are fighting for their lives and who pray for these sleepless nights locked in the bathroom with numb feet. To those women, I'm so incredibly sorry for your struggle. I'm so sorry for bitching about my wonderful, blessed struggle. I know I'm blessed. Truly I do. I'm so grateful. I just can't tell my brain the same thing. I completely understand why lack of sleep is the most effective strategy of torture and will kill you faster than starvation. I'm seven years tired and it's catching up on me.

Thank goodness for good friends and grocery store wine. For now, I need to turn my brain off because my little army will be up in three hours with bum wiping demands and fights over socks. 

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