A running joke with the notes is always my eagerness to get the children away from me. I joke about sending them back to school early, sending them out to sleepovers and away on play dates.
They’re just jokes.
The freedom feels intoxicating for about an hour and then I miss both kids and wonder if it’s too soon to go pick them up.
I usually want to ship them off to somewhere or pawn them off on someone else not when I’ve had enough of them. It’s when I think they’ve experienced enough of me.
Those moments when I think maybe everything was a huge mistake. Having kids wasn’t a mistake. Thinking I could care for them all day was the error in judgment. I send them away in those moments when I wonder if they’d be better off without me around.
When I can’t handle my own life, let alone meet their every need. When fear and doubt and depression show up again, and it’s written all over my face, even when I’m faking smiles or cracking jokes or dancing to the Trolls soundtrack.
I never want a break from my kids but I often feel like my kids need a break from me.
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