Make no mistake about it, I love being a mother.
I get to go through one of the most torturous process known as giving birth. I get to be woken up every two hours to feed baby. I get to walk around smelling like puke. Hey, having carrot mush in your hair is the in-thing these days. And besides, who cares that your baby yanks up your shirt in the middle of busy shopping mall, showing your belly fats to the world at large, just because baby wants to suckle?
I mean, really, nothing beats having to worry about whether they are talking on time, walking on time, breathing on time, feeding on time, cooing on time, calling you mommy on time, going to school on time, doing their homework on time, playing piano on time, eating and drinking on time...you know...the joy of life?
You don't know what joy is until you know what it feels like to have other parents compare their kids to yours and yours kinda...don't match up and you have to make lame excuses like, 'who cares, anyway?' *fake smirk* *bitch*
And of course, it is always mom's fault when something is wrong....and SOMETHING, one thing or another, is bound to be WRONG with your kid. he/she is not artistic enough, not smart enough, not athletic enough, not tall enough, not confident enough, not healthy enough...something is wrong. And it is mommy's fault. Always.
Sometimes I wish I was a daddy.
You can tell that I had an overdose of holiday, huh? Saturday to Tuesday IS a long holiday and I am having holiday withdrawal symptoms.
If I am a mommy again in my next life, I want a friggin' refund.