You know those blog posts, that say “hey mama, I see you” with some sad face and a letterboard (I’ve written them before)

Well, NOT TODAY. Not today. today, mama. I don’t see you.

You know why? Because like most days, like you, I’m confined to the fucking house. I am bound like a prisoner by this little angry grumpy fkn kinder surprise cabbage patch doll that’s allergic to sleep.

Oh sure, he’s cute… but you know what’s not cute? Cutting off your poop because surprise surprise, the baby is crying again.

And we can’t let him cry, EVER, because then in 15 years he will be sitting in his psychiatrists chair telling her how you fucked him up (or at least that’s what we worry about, right?)

I don’t see you mama, because it takes 45 YEARS to get out of the house and I’m ready for retirement by the time I get to the front door.

I don’t see you because, I’m too busy running after a stowaway child in aisle 4 who has kicked over a display of cornflakes because the supermarket doesn’t sell paw patrol cups and I refuse to buy prune covered chocolates because despite what the turds think, they won’t like them.

I don’t even have a conversation with you, really, it’s always interrupted and my mind is so full of shit I’ve got to do, I’m only half assed listening because I wonder what meal I am going to cook that will be looked at in disgust tonight.

I don’t see you when you come over for coffee, because I’m in and out of the nursery 50 times and by the time I’m ready to give up, you’ve gotta go home.

Fuck, I haven’t seen my own vagina in a long time thanks to the c section croissant hanging over it. So you gotta cut me some slack.

So you know what mama? I don’t see you! I don’t. But that’s okay. I know you’re there… and you know I’m here…

I know I love you, I know you’re doing your thang and you’re doing it well, and I know you doubt yourself even though you give up everything to make a little persons life bliss, and I know you do it out of love. So mama, I don’t see you, but together, we can brave this shit storm. (Just not any time this year or the next 5 years, catch me online, how bout dat?)

P.s who the eff doesn’t like sleep? Seriously.

P.p.s love my children and wouldn’t trade it in the world… I mean goes without saying… but if you offered me a holiday to the Bahamas with a chef, a butler etc, it would be really really hard to say no.

This post originally appeared on Laura Mazza, Mum on the Run Facebook

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