It hurts me more than it hurts them

Day six:  The pain of parenting

Parenting tests my limits as a human.

I love my children more than In 'n Out Burgers and Cadbury Eggs...combined.  I know.  That's pretty intense, right?  There are many things I do for them that I would never even CONSIDER doing for another living soul.  

Cleaning up vomit: no way.

Stopping every ten miles for potty breaks on a road trip:  I don't think so.

School science projects:  no way in ****.

Watching every last Harry Potter and Batman and Barbie movie:   Fuhgettabout it.

But for my kids, I endure, because I love them.

What I do not love about being a parent is parenting.  I'm not talking about hugs and kisses and story time.  I'm talking about threatening and ordering and arguing and negotiating and disciplining and whining (uh, my whining, not theirs).

When my parents would use the old "this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you" line on me, little did I know that the pain to which they were referring had more to do with the rising of their blood pressure (they don't call it the silent killer for nothin') than with the stinging of their palms brought on by a swift smack to my bare tushie.

Now, thirty something years and four childbirths later, I get it.  I really do.  Loving my children is a piece of cake.  Parenting them is overwhelming and exhausting on the best of days.  Being a single parent adds a whole new set of challenges to the mix.

From the time I get home in the afternoons until they go to bed at night, it's them against me.  Their four against my one.  And before I know it--like next week--those four will all be taller than I am.  Smarter, too.  A couple of them already are.

I don't like those odds.  Please pass me my blood pressure medication...and a Cadbury egg.

Sorry I'm not sorry.