I woke up the other day, and hated my kids.   Then I had a meltdown.   It was the best one I’ve had since Beckie told me about Alana.   For 18 months I have wrestled with the conundrum of my children, fighting to find balance between my love and enjoyment of them and the sheer hell of parenthood.

What to do, what to do?

Give up, leave, or throw money at the problem.

#1 is not going to happen, I can’t ever become that rotund suburban dipshit who does nothing but shlep his ass to his kids’ activities and his cube.   I would rather kill myself.     And then my kids would grow up without a father, who out of his selfishness acted wholly irresponsibly, and disappeared.   Can’t do it.   #2,   i could never do, maybe to Alana cause she’s still something of a foreign species, but never to G — see above for mostly the same reasoning.

So that leaves #3.

Earlier, keeping Alana home was to save money, but i’ll eat ramen and shoplift for a month in this economy rather than be miserable any longer.   Its more that I don’t think someone else should raise my kids.   Ironic, given that #1 and #2 were on the board.   But I can’t help think that the parents should be the ones paying the price, wiping the asses, dealing with the screaming, enjoying those magic moments.   I have a latent guilt over my latent talent for slipping out at the first available moment.   Capitulating to the school of Throw-Money-At-It validates all that is wrong about me, having a kid, when i didn’t really want another.   This parenting thing should be hard, and someone else suffering through all the grotty details that kill the romance but weld the bond will steal my salvation.

Some days I think salvation is all there is.   Most days I want someone to blame, someone to step up and apologize for ruining my life.   I can’t blame Alana cause she had no hand in this.   I try to blame Beckie, but she is such a happy loving mom, blame doesn’t stick.   I can’t blame Beckie’s work, cause they are the drug but she is the user.     So I’ve been blaming all those women who buy magazine and watch shows and patronize films with Jennifer Aniston, the sheep who feed that machine of You-CAN- Have-It-All.   Its run by liars and panderers and confidence women, filling the women of the world’s heads with bullshit, selling them on the fantasy of infinite availability and infinite capacity.   An economist should know better. But when reality shows its fangs and snaps at the fuzzy dreamy bubble, the women go to their children, and the men suffer alone.

I roll round with guilt, and frugality, and empathy, and vengeance.   i have so much crimson anger smoldering over this.   I want an acknowledgment, all those bitches in magazines to say “i got dreary and fat, estranged my husband, and my kids spent 11 hrs a day being raised by a stranger, I COULDNT HAVE IT ALL!!!”   I want all the empowered housewives of the world to say you guys were right 2 is SO MUCH harder than 1, now come here and fuck me doggie style and tell me i was a bad girl.   I want my marriage to crash and burn to prove me right.

Today I did 4 loads of laundry, hit 3 grocery stores, changed 3 diapers, fed 2 children at least 3x each which seems like at least 9 meals, especially after I cooked, cleaned the fridge, mopped the floor, and kept 1 human alive, took the dog out and did my day job.   I caught my breath about 11pm and passed out mostly drunk in the hot tub.

Its hard on me.   Its hard on Kila, she has recently attacked another dog and cat around the house, her schedule and role such a source of stress she has become more territorial, and crazy.   Its hard on G, who chafes under new instructions and jealousies and patterns of attention.   Sometimes I get upset with G for continuing to be a needy little girl when she is tired or sleepy or scared, I need her strength and lack enough of my own to let her stay a baby a little longer.

The only solution is to give in to my situation and let my predictions about my own disinterests come true.   At least I’ll be happy.   Friends tell me less is more, I’m just not sure I believe it – it seems too easy.   So easy it won’t seem real.   Fact is I can’t wait to not have Alana at home 1-2 days a week, be able to get in the car and not have my monsters around for hours and hours. And hire babysitters!   Yesterday Beckie and I went to the Cardinals and partied like a beer commercial!   Today with Alana was amazingly easy, maybe it was me and maybe it was her and maybe it was being tired and numb enough to just let it all roll off me, all those magic moments.   Maybe its not real.