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The Unfortunate Reality of Weekend Parenting
As I wrap up my shower on a Sunday—the rare luxurious 15 minutes I managed to snag—I playfully say goodbye to my bathtub. “See you next weekend,” I whisper, blowing a dramatic kiss. No, I’m not losing it—not entirely. I’m just a mom trying to find humor in the bizarre and often challenging world of full-time parenting.
On weekends, I experience a taste of normalcy. Thanks to my amazing husband, who is around to lend a hand, I get to enjoy those delightful little things like sleeping in past 8 a.m. (thank you, dear partner). I can savor meals without a child approaching me to share their latest misadventure involving marbles and buttocks. And, of course, I get to reconnect with my long-lost friend, the uninterrupted shower.
During these precious two days, I become a more patient mom. When my kids cry, nag, or attempt creative stunts that involve dangerous objects, I can calmly intervene, chuckle, and carry on. Or, my husband can step in and manage at least half of the chaos.
I’m loving, I’m fun, and I can actually engage in a game of hide-and-seek without checking my phone every five minutes out of boredom. With another adult around to share laughs over the silly things our kids do, the weekend feels like a well-edited sitcom—full of sweetness and humor. For those two days, I feel like I’m nailing this parenting gig.
Then Monday arrives like a freight train. My toddler wakes me at 6:30, prying my eyelids open with his tiny fingers. He protests loudly when I set him up with the iPad to buy myself a moment to prepare breakfast. I thought he loved that thing, but suddenly nothing seems to please him. Yeah, buddy, I feel you.
As the workweek kicks off, I’m reminded of my shortcomings as a parent. I struggle with early mornings and sleep deprivation, often feeling my patience evaporate when I can’t even do simple tasks without kids attached to me. The stark contrast between my weekend bliss and my full-time mom life is overwhelming. Monday wraps around me like a dark cloud, making me acutely aware of the isolation that can come with being a stay-at-home parent. While I appreciate my husband and his work, I can’t help but resent that he gets to escape the monotonous grind of home life.
I adore my kids, truly. I know that amidst the chaos, there’s beauty in the challenges I face daily. I’ll look back on these years with fondness, longing to relive even the toughest moments. I’ll admire my ability to keep pushing through.
As the week progresses, I know that Tuesday will be manageable, and Wednesday will be tolerable. I’ll find my rhythm, and so will my kids. The weekend’s magic will fade into the background, and while I may miss adult conversations, I’ll remember that my little ones can hold a decent chat—even if it mostly revolves around video games and bodily functions.
By Thursday, my sense of humor will return. By Friday, I’ll realize that my life is beautifully full, but just as the weekend rolls in, I’m filled with joy and an impending sense of dread for the transition back to reality.
Sometimes I think it might be better if weekends just didn’t exist. They’re too sweet, and the return to the weekday grind is too harsh. But I suppose that’s just the rhythm of life—or something like that. Please forgive me: It’s Monday, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all.
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Summary:
This article humorously explores the ups and downs of weekend parenting compared to the challenges of weekdays. It reflects on the fleeting joy of weekends and the stark reality of Monday mornings, highlighting the emotional rollercoaster that comes with being a full-time mom.