You can thank me later…

Hi.  My name is Melody and I don’t like my kid.  There.  I said it.  And, it’s the truth.  Now, to be clear about another thing…  I love my kid.  I could never stop loving him.  I love him from the top of his horrible bed head, to the tips of his disgusting, unwashed big toe.  A big toe that, by the way, could stand to be clipped once in awhile.  But, no.  I do not like him.

Today, I walked into a new therapist’s office ready to sugar coat my disdain for the fruit of mine and my husband’s loins.  But, for once I didn’t feel the need to.  What I had finally found was a place where I could not only say that out loud but, MEAN IT.  For once, I didn’t have to laugh it off as a bad joke at an inopportune time.  And, after reading the two page synopsis of his behaviors, my behaviors, actions taken and so forth, I got the look of, “Oh, you poor girl”.

On April 19, 2013, I became a full time, stay at home mom.  I was ready to tackle it all.  The PTA, the annual school Bingo night, the inevitable fundraiser.  Oh, yes.  I AM that mom.  Wait… No.  No I am not.  I don’t even like kids.  In fact, if the truth be completely told, my first two kids were birth control babies.  Two DIFFERENT kinds of birth control.  I never intended to give birth.  Fuck, my mother can even tell you that as a little girl I said “NO BABIES”.  But, a higher power had other plans and so here I am.  Three boys in.

Oh, yeah.  I almost forgot.  The part about not liking my kid.  My kid is also ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, for those of you living under a rock.) diagnosed and what I suspect to be a highly functioning Aspergers case as well as the grand possibility of ODD. (Oppositional Defiance Disorder)  He’s severely fucked.  And, I blame myself.  I come from a long line of craziness.

It is a mental and physical struggle to deal with him at any and every given moment in the day.  The only time of peace that I get is when he goes to school and after his aggravating ass is in the bed.  (Which is a battle that I will save for another post.)  Get up Evans.  Get up Evans.  Evans, I am going to pour ice water on your head.  Evans, please get up.  Imagine repeating this at least twenty times.  Now, imagine those twenty+ times getting progressively louder until you are at a point that you fear the neighbor’s may call the authorities.

I don’t like my kid.  I REALLY  don’t like my kid.  As I am typing this, my kid just hit his brother in the face with a shirt.  My kid, is now in the corner.  Seems to be an outdated practice, right?  But, it’s the best alternative I have.

I am tired.  I am mentally exhausted.  My brain tries on a daily basis to remind my heart that I love this child.  I adore this kid’s face and his personality.  I love his terrible jokes and his really bad singing voice.  I even love the way that he loves that annoying, “What Does the Fox Say” song.  My kid is a good kid.  He was just dealt a shitty hand of DNA.  My kid is a smart kid.  I just don’t get him.

Now, I am going to try and reach him.  Again.  I’m going to try and nail into his head WHY stealing and lying is not acceptable.  I am going reiterate WHY bullying his brother is no different than bullying a kid in his class.  And, I am AGAIN, going to try and deal with him calmly and make sure that no matter how much I dis-like him, that he remembers that I love him.  Every perfect piece of him that, as I remind myself again of, outnumber the imperfect pieces that I would never change.


Now is later and you can thank me.  Just as I thank those that reminded me this morning that there are so many other things that could be wrong.  I woke up.  My kids woke up.  I didn’t get a phone call from the school and I was finally able to admit that, well…

I REALLY love my kid.