The whole idea of going on a holiday – for relaxation, enjoyment, whatsoever rosy plans – seems to utterly defeat the purpose when I’ll still be doing the same shit (literally ok) while on holiday. So… what is the fucking point again??
For a change of scenery, you say? Does it even make a difference when I’ll still be staring at the final state of the food that the boys ate yesterday?
No, seriously. All this is not funny.
What I need and want is to be away from the children; to not have to do any of these mundane “mommy duties”. To not have to entertain the umpteenth time of “Mommy mommy” that doesn’t follow up with anything else; purely to get my attention for the fucking sake of it.
And what is the fucking point of having new shoes and pretty clothes that can fit me? I only spend about 6 hours out of this tiny apartment in a whole week – most of it split into 10-30 sessions just downstairs.
Oh God. I am so burnt out from all this.
To all working moms who wish they could stay at home with the kids: Come take a walk in these shoes. You’ll soon lose all sense of identity except for being Mommy.