Where does one pour all those frustrations that keep welling up inside every passing day?
If I write it all here, am I done with it completely?
Or am I just recycling one frustration for another nagging worry?

What if someone I know and love reads this and judges me?
Why should I be judged at all on the basis of what I am feeling when I am penning a blogpost?
Why the *hooting funk* should I care if someone judges me or not?


Just because I am a mother, why am I denied swear words?
Why the funk(not a spelling mistake) can I not scream without making sure it is PG-3 rated?

Is what I am saying too personal for a blog?
Am I airing private dirty laundry for all to see?
Am I being a bad spouse? Or worse a bad mother?

Why is it so important to be a good mom? Who made that distinction- good vs bad?

Maybe, we all are just differently-abled mothers.
Some can do cartwheels on thin wire while balancing two kids, a career and a big family circus.
Why is it wrong to NOT be that someone?
Why do I beat myself up even when others don't?

Every morning it is a task just to look at the mirror and say,"You're a good mom", especially when there is a toddler outside the door screaming "Amma I want playdoh. I won't drink milk. You're not my best friend. Give the baby to the doctor. I don't want it. You are my best friend not the baby's"

It's not just hard. It is frickin' impossible.
And on such days, all you want is someone, just anyone to say, "You're doing a good job. The louder she screams, stronger is the proof that you're doing an excellent job"
When such comments are not forthcoming, when you have to bait and wait for someone to notice that the babies are well-fed and not just with leftovers, that there is cake to be had for dessert, that someone's perfect Strawberry Shortcake birthday present was found and that too on Sale, it kinda feels like a chore.

The baby can't say it cause he can barely gurgle. But even he is vociferous when I am late to nurse him.
The Toddler cannot stop saying how much I am making life difficult for her when I refuse to read the 15th story of the night.
The Mr assumes I know that I am a good mom.
The parents feel I am doing a great job but if only I would scream less at the kids, if only I would do this...

Raising kids is a lot like sleeping on rose petals...not all that romantic as it is portrayed out to be. After a few minutes, you realise you don't want those petals sticking to your bare skin, you don't want that smell, however intoxicating it might be. you just want to get up and lie on a bare floor.

I want to get out of this Motherhood bubble and lie down somewhere else.

I love my two brats...love them to bits.
But I want a break once a while.
Most importantly I don't want to be judged for wanting that time out.