A few years ago, when I had my last office job, I was always wanting to miss work. I used to think it was because I couldn’t stand the other assistant I worked with (trust me, she was an enormous asshole). But now that I have this position (which pays waaaayyy better and the work is far more interesting), I actually don’t mind being here. The only time I’ve missed was when I was sick and my boss sent me home and one other time when my mom picked my son up from school and he shit his pants as he was throwing up on the side of the road (He’s was eleven at the time, poor guy).
But today, this last day of work before we get a small break for Christmas, I realize that I have absolutely nothing to occupy me (I’ve already cleaned my office from top to bottom – everyone probably thinks I’m on drugs) and I would still rather be here than home.
That’s sad, right?
Both my boys have turned into pain in the butt men. Or nearly. My oldest son caught my youngest son masturbating the other day and finding a lot of hilarity in the situation, gave me way too many details.
When I left this morning, there were several teenage boys trying to get ready for their day while discussing the attributes of the girls they went out with last night. And all I could think as I went out the door was “Thank God I’ve got a job.”
So then I started wondering….Am I a bad mother?
I know I love my kids. Truly I do. But I don’t really want to be around them a whole lot of the time now. Between the bad attitudes, gross body functions and raunchy conversations that are constantly flowing around me, I would rather sit at my desk at work, staring at a blank screen with my inbox completely empty rather than sit in my house, locked in my bedroom.
This is one of the pitfalls of having kids really young. I was okay with all of the different phases that drove everyone else crazy. The sleepless nights (those really did suck – but were short lived), the terrible twos, the talking threes, the sticking things in body orifices when they were in kindergarten, even the onset of puberty didn’t terrify me. But when your son walks up to you and says he’s in need of condoms, and you’re thirty one years old??? That one kind of throws you.
I have come to the conclusion lately that I’m going through an early mid-life. I know my age is still small, but the fact that my kids are only a few years away from adulthood has propelled me where I never thought I would go. The land of “I’m turning into my mom.” And it is a very dark, scary landscape that I’m currently looking at.
My mom is weird as hell. Love her. But man, she is one crazy ass female.
And as I write this, I pray that in sixteen years, when my boys are in their late twenties, early thirties, they are not able to say that sentence ( ^ that one right up there^) about me. Even if I am a little bat shit crazy.