I love MY kids. But I don’t love kids. There is a difference.

Now before you get all judgmental, let me go into more detail as to why I’m a terrible person…

I like babies. The useless ones that are so brand new they can’t move or talk yet. They just squeak a little. But toddlers and up are a little more of a handful. I had the odd babysitting job growing up, but more often than not I found myself looking for excuses to not be available. I would come up with lies to tell these moms, when really my weekend plans consisted of stealing booze from my parents and passing out in a random field somewhere.

Even though I may not care for children, I always wanted children of my own. Before I even had them, I pictured every day to be sunny. I would absolutely love pushing my sweet little angels on the swing. We would eat neatly packed snacks of celery and carrot sticks from our reusable bags. I would apply organic sunscreen to their delicate skin.

Turns out I was wrong. I always forget the sunscreen. Snacks first ingredient is sugar and usually found squished into the bottom of my purse, and I specifically take my kids to parks that don’t have swings because I want to sit down instead of pushing them the entire time.

This vision I had every time I closed my eyes is referred to as “the cult of motherhood.” It exists, but definitely not for me. I couldn’t be part of this cult if I tried.

When you have kids, you are expected to dote on them at all times. I thought it was a fucking rule to wear yoga pants and bake cookies the second you give birth. So when I refused to do that, I figured I was doing this whole “mom” thing wrong.

There are a lot of supermoms out there. I wish just a little bit of their eagerness to volunteer on field trips and dedication to cutting fruits into shapes would rub off on me. Meanwhile, I think it’s pretty super of me that I don’t make my kids eat the crust on their sandwiches if they don’t want to. They are allowed to just eat around it because I didn’t bother to cut it off.

Society is obsessed with this idea of motherhood where it’s all sunshine and rainbows and it can make us feel guilty if we aren’t constantly enjoying it. When we become mothers we almost expect ourselves to transform into a different person. I expected myself to suddenly be a saint and think all children are pleasant. Fun fact: not all kids are.

Let me be clear.. I don’t hate kids. My own kids have friends that I think are so sweet and adorable and I have no problem having them over to play. But to my children’s dismay, I am not the mom that is going to invite every single child from their class to a birthday party. Why is this a thing?!

I am not the mom that doesn’t swear. I use them A LOT and my kids have heard them all, but they are taught that they are grown up words and should only be said by grown ups.

I am not the mom who drinks when the kids are in bed. Well, I am… but it starts way before the kids are in bed.

We have a strict grocery budget in our household and I’m not spending the extra money on “organic.” I will throw a piece of fruit in a lunchbox every once in a while to prove that we eat it. I am that mom.

And most of the time, my kids have had multiple hours of screen time to distract them so I can sit here and write this.

I’m over trying to fit in to the cult of motherhood. Sometimes I just like to complain because parenting is a shit ton of work.

In a state of overwhelm not long ago, I cried thinking I’m not cut out for motherhood. But not once have I ever wished I wasn’t a mom.

I am a supermom.

At least my kids think so and that’s pretty super.