Well it’s official, my son hates me. Today marks the first moment he’s ever said it to me, out loud and to my face. “I hate you”.
I knew this day would come eventually. Seems to be one of those moments in time that most, or would it be every Mom, faces as their children grow into adolescence. But I didn’t expect it to hurt me as much as it did.
We weren’t even having a fight. Nope. We were in the water playing. He discovered a snail shell that appeared to be filled with some concrete or something similar. A decoration. His Dad told him the snail was still in there and I asked to see it.
I looked at it, touched it and said it was filled with something and handed it back to my son. Who looked it himself. I told him to touch it. He said no. And then when he got the courage up to touch it, I screamed and he jumped. I cracked up. I’m still laughing as I write this. It was funny! But to him it was the worst thing in the world and he responded by getting very angry and yelling “I hate you!”
Now his Dad scares him all the time and at any chance he gets. Morning, Noon, Night, it doesn’t matter. If he can scare the kid he’ll do it. And he does. Does the child tell his Dad he hates him? Nope. On rare occasions he does get angry, but it doesn’t last and he ends up laughing. He tries to scare his Dad and me when he can. It doesn’t always work, but we don’t get angry about it.
So why is it when Mom tries to play and be “friends” is it not allowed. Don’t they realize how much it hurts? Don’t they get how many times we end up crying inside because we’re the adult and we’re supposed to suck it up? Sometimes all we want is to have fun too. To have a snuggle and play around, to act silly and childish. But we’re Mom. We’re not allowed.
It’s hard being a Mom. Dad’s get to be the best buddy, the friend that plays and has fun with the kids. Mom’s are left out and not allowed to have fun. We’re the disciplinarian, the one that holds others accountable and responsible. the one that makes sure cloths are washed, kitchens are cleaned, food is available and prepared when everyone else is hungry. We’re the ones who are supposed to know where everything is when it’s lost. And we’re the ones who get yelled at when it’s not where it’s supposed to be or can’t be found.
We rarely get thanks for it. Once a year we’re acknowledge and that one day is supposed to carry us through the other 364 days of the year. Especially on the days when we’re reminded “I hate you”.
~ Victoria Lynn