Never Enough Time

Just leave me the fuck alone!—Not actual words spoken. Only what my brain is saying to my little monkey fucker~~now, now, I know he has not actually fucked a monkey. Nor will he as an adult–it’s just a saying guys. [However, if he shows tendencies of wanting to fuck a monkey, I’ll get him evaluated right away.] 

I just need space child.

To pee.
To cry.
To be.
To not have to answer your questions for a few minutes.
Just allow mommy a few minutes of space and get outta my face.

Parents, we all know our little beastlies are automatically alerted when we close the bathroom door, attempt to answer to the phone, or dare share an embrace with your spouse–their fucking spidey senses are on fleek.

But fucking (insert juvenile snicker here) as a SAHM it’s challenging enough. Add to the the knowledge you’ll be undergoing a major breast removal surgery to eradicate poisonous tumors from your body….I know he just wants me to play with him….I do…..There’s that guilt again…..All the while I have 6000 things to do before I go in for a double mastectomy in 11 days.

He doesn’t understand I’m buried underneath a fuckton of paperwork trying to secure insurance, grants and the like for prescriptions, treatments and who the fuck know what else I’ll be needing in the very near future. I know I should be fortunate he’s not glued to an electronic device like most five year old children. And I do engage him educationally. He for the most part is an only child–older bros are 21 & 19 and there’s the angel baby, Jackson, who was to be his lifelong playmate.

But goddammit hunny go play, watch a show….give me 15 minutes…….Go swing, ride your scooter….there are so many things you can be doing instead of bugging the shit out of me.

If you need me in the meantime….. we’ll be playing tag or monsters or trains or cars or snoopy’s or burp contests……

After I finish typing this from behind the closed door in the bathroom under the guise of the flushing toilet. Obv. I’ll get dinner from the oven.

We’ll tickle and giggle for a few minutes before we eat and decorate the tree. And hug that sweet child tonight. He’s not sure the entire scope of the situation but is smart enough to pick up a lot of shit.

The cancer will be gone soon. Recovery will begin.


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