Pajama Mom Rides Again

Once upon a time, I swore I’d never be a frumpy house frau who went out in pajamas looking lie a slob. Ha ha ha. How immature and deluded was I then. I have a kid now. Between her and the mental illness, the public should be thankful I remember to put on pants even if they are drawstring pj pants with a skull motif. (And the glow in the dark skull shirt matches, so at least I am coordinated, ya know, sort of.)
So fuck it, yeah, my kid’s chauffeur is wearing pajamas. Can’t be arsed to get dressed. I couldn’t get to sleep last night, in spite of being rather mellowed out. My brain was on slow cyclone speed and I just wasn’t getting sleepy. So when the alarm went off, I was like, ugh, fuck this shit.
But I got up. Getting her up involved the usual Monday “I’m too sleepy” screamfest. Mondays. Shit.
Here goes another week of mental hell.

I’ve been pondering lately the difference in gender/custodial parenting. Everyone claims to love their kids, blah blah blah. And I have met as many shit mothers as I have shit dads. But lately, it’s occurred to me that non custodial parents (usually men) are spoiled little bitches. “It’s 6 a.m., why are you waking me up?”
Um…You have a kid, you know they don’t come with snooze buttons even if you want to spend ten hours getting shit faced.
Oh, right. Non custodial parent. They get to sleep in and have a social life and not stress over every tiny thing. Hell, they get a solid night’s sleep because they’re not waking up every two hours to go poke the kid with a stick.
Pissy. Spoiled. Little. Bitches.
I know a guy with three girls, and I can say, he’s stuck by them through thick and thin. But he also moved in a chick he doesn’t even like beyond sex and she’s the primary caregiver. He earns the paycheck, but she’s home day in and day out with these kids. And he comes down to my sister’s to get stoned and play video games and this woman is left to watch kids that are not even her own.
I guess it just pisses me off that people can become parents and yet still act like irresponsible bratty teenagers. Grow the fuck up. Men, women, chihuahuas. If you have a kid, then your life and needs are in the backseat. Suck it the fuck up. Like I want to get up at the crack of ass every day. Like I want to be bothered with schedules and parent teacher conferences and homework and school programs. (Not to be rude, but I am not PTA soccer super mom.)
I do it, though. For the child I CHOSE to bring into this world. So if a world class mental case fuck up like me can do it, why am I surrounded by all these adult children who seem to think the world still revolves around them and the kids are just accessories to be dragged along?

Thinking such deep thoughts is giving me a stomach ache.
I have this quid pro quo mentality and when there’s no give/take, even if it doesn’t apply to me personally, I get deeply offended. It takes two to make a kid and yet it always seems like one parent gets all the responsibility even when it’s not a broken home situation.
There are exceptions to the rule, of course. Lots of dads are very into coparenting. Ya know, the ones who aren’t assholes who say “I’m babysitting the kids tonight.”
Um…You donated the sperm, you are not babysitting, they are YOUR kids to take care of.
Dumbasses.
Oddly, I felt this way before I ever had a kid. I watched too many people (including my own sister) pop out kids in their teens then leave someone else to raise the kid so they could continue their youth fun pursuing times. Bullshit. I wouldn’t even leave my cats to be cared for by someone else unless I was in the hospital.
Little kids masquerading as adults.

Feisty this morning, ain’t I?
I can feel the mania tugging at the edges. It’s there, thrumming at the surface, about to boil over. I am fighting it, though.
There comes a point where my unwinding takes a backseat to what is best for my kid and what is safe and wise.
Of course, if I could entirely rein it in, I would stop taking these stupid meds.
Yes, I said it. Much as the meds help, they are also a hindrance. And the guilt involved even when you don’t want to feel guilty and don’t think you should…There’s always some asshole who’s going to look down on you because they took up running marathons and it cured their two month long depression so it will work for you too.
Die in a fire.
Seriously, you want to liken a two month depression to what I’ve gone through since I was 12 years old?
Ass clowns.

I think I should do something.
I don’t know what. Housework blows.
I need a helper monkey to do that shit. Sad thing is, the monkey would probably do a better job at it than I do. Housekeeping is not my forte. My attitude is, if it’s so damned bad, get someone in here to help me do it better.
Frankly, I think dust bunnies bulk up the immune system.

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One Response to “Pajama Mom Rides Again”

  1. What kind of pyjamas?

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