Maybe it’s that I’ve been more attuned or receptive to these types of stories, but lately, I’ve been hearing lots of tales of woe told by parents–mothers, especially–who are at the end of their rope.
Here’s one about a mother who kicked her fighting 10 and 12 year olds out of the car (fortunately, she pulled over first), driving off into the sunset as they stood on the sidewalk wondering whether to keep fighting each other or to gang up against their mom.
When you’re not a parent or when parenthood isn’t in your immediate future, something about these stories is kind of funny.
But if you’re approaching parenthood, or already have kids, there’s this familiar and terribly uncomfortable feeling of recognition that’s not funny at all: that could be you, patience utterly exhausted, acting on impulse rather than good judgment.
I don’t have some sort of neat conclusion about this. Quite frankly, it scares me.