I once prided myself on my patience. Seriously. There was a time when I could wait calmly in long lines at coffee shops or tolerate slow drivers without a second thought. Listening to my partner’s lengthy anecdotes didn’t faze me, and even the sight of his clothes strewn about the house barely registered. I didn’t even skip through commercials, for heaven’s sake.
Ah, those were the days.
Back then, I didn’t walk around with a constant “What the heck?” expression. I wasn’t infuriated by the sight of a long line at the DMV when I had a mere 45 minutes before I had to pick up my child. I managed to keep my cool even when I looked at the mountain of laundry in my room, my kitchen, and my car.
Excuse me for a moment—CAN YOU PLEASE HURRY UP? BALLET STARTS IN 10 MINUTES!
Now, where was I? Oh yes, patience—or rather, my dwindling supply of it.
Since becoming a parent, my ability to remain patient has been reduced to a mere shadow of its former self. As the saying goes, I’m hanging by a thread, and every day feels like a new determination to test that thread. The emotional and physical demands of motherhood have drained every ounce of my former saint-like patience.
On a good day, my patience teeters on the brink of explosion. “Hey, can you please hurry up, DMV guy?”
Just a moment, please. FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING, GET OFF THAT GAME AND FINISH YOUR HOMEWORK!
Sorry, I lost my train of thought again. Patience is supposed to be a virtue, right?
Just ask me about the time I lost my cool in front of my neighbors wearing a bathrobe after my child missed the bus. Or that Thanksgiving morning when I screamed at my family because the turkey was still frozen and we had a house full of guests arriving soon.
If only I had a dollar for every time I attempted to complete a simple chore like folding laundry or paying bills—only to be interrupted by a dog covered in fresh asphalt or kids wrestling in the hallway.
You didn’t mention you needed your gym uniform washed?
Sigh. Mothers simply don’t have the luxury of time. Every task feels like it requires 96 extra steps because children just don’t understand that putting on socks shouldn’t take forever.
And even when I account for the toddler who decides to have a potty emergency right after getting strapped in or the teenager who realizes at 10 p.m. that he has a project due the next morning, we still can’t catch a break.
OF COURSE THE WASHING MACHINE BROKE TODAY. WITH SEVEN LOADS OF LAUNDRY WAITING. AND A DIRTY GYM UNIFORM.
It’s always something. Someone is either waking up sick or throwing a fit in the grocery aisle, interrupting important calls and turning us into the laughing stock of the neighborhood.
Daily, mothers face disruptions in their plans because kids make patience seem impossible, and those fleeting moments of tranquility? Forget it.
We’ve earned our impatience, honestly.
THE WASHING MACHINE REPAIR GUY WILL BE HERE BETWEEN 8 A.M. AND 8 P.M.? GREAT.
It’s frustrating when that one parent replies to the group email chain about the classroom party 15 times. Sifting through all those messages just to find out how many juice boxes we need to send in is enough to test anyone’s patience.
And I’m not ashamed to show my annoyance when the person in front of me at the store is pondering over their Kohl’s cash after a return. Seriously, no one cares about your Kohl’s cash, so can we move along? Carpool duties await.
Am I proud of my impatience? No. Should I aim for a more Zen-like approach and not let the chaos around me drive me to the brink?
Honestly, just forget the gym uniform; going commando sounds easier at this point.
If I’ve learned anything through motherhood, it’s that patience is not included in the package deal. Kids complicate everything—nothing is easy. Every simple task turns into a lengthy ordeal, and mothers have long since said goodbye to their patience.
So if you’re looking for me, I’ll be here, impatiently awaiting the washing machine repair guy to show up.
Summary
Motherhood has a way of draining patience, turning simple tasks into monumental challenges. The daily chaos leaves little room for calm, and the journey often feels like an uphill battle against time and interruptions. As parents, we learn that waiting patiently is a virtue we’ve had to set aside.