If you’re all happy clappy today, you should just come back tomorrow.

Somebody should have told me motherhood is this hard. I mean, I knew it was hard, but not this hard.

I thought I had a very high threshold but this, this is a whole new level of insanity. People shouldn’t have to deal with this. Alone. Everyday. Not without booze. Or ending up in an asylum.

They told me the pregnancy was tough. Nine months of heartburn, carpal tunnel syndrome, cramps, nausea, insomnia. Sure, it was mildly uncomfortable but if you ask me now, piece of cake. I got to go to bed at 8pm, sleep like a baby and walk around feeling all smug for I don’t know, making an entire human being in my body. “Hey, I’m like friggin’ Cleopatra, so you better start scrambling to feed me grapes and massage my ankles while I lie here on my side.”

I basically had a super pass to behave like a spoilt brat. “It’s not me, baby wants to eat durians. And don’t come back with the crummy ones. Baby needs Mao Shan Wang (it’s a top of the line durian variety) that’s specially air flown in direct from the jungles of Sumatra. Handpicked by Oompa Loompas.” Next thing I knew, durians would magically appear. Damn, I miss being pregnant.

They also told me the delivery was bad. Think of the worst pain you could possibly imagine, then multiply it by a gazillion times and you get childbirth. Ok, it’s no fun being in labor for 27 hours and it’s not fun having to push a screaming, kicking, giant of a child out of my child-bearing bits. But that’s what epidural was invented for, people. And the whole time, I got to scream orders at everyone in the room so it was kinda fun.

Then the baby comes out and bam, I’m no longer royalty. All of a sudden, I’m now like a slave. “MOMMMMMMMMMMMM… Where’s my milk? Why is my diaper poopy? Who took all my toys? WHY AM I WAITING???” And the party never stops. I try yelling for durians and the husband is all like “God gave you hands and legs. Use them. Anyway, are you sure you should be eating that much durians?” I actually haven’t tried yelling for durians yet but it’s because I’m considerate.

There’s no break from being a mom. Superdad gave me a day off last week to go out and get some fresh air. 2 hours in, I get an SOS call because Tru is refusing to eat his food and cranky and baby girl can’t sleep. Hello, welcome to my world.

So my dreams of taking a nap by the beach vanishes into thin air and I’m back to the mill.

While we’re at it, being a dad, totally not the same. The decent fathers change an occasional diaper. The really awesome ones can maybe hold the fort for a day or so before they cave. Then they pass the kid back to you and their lives go back to normal and it’s back to “Hey honey, I’m home. How’s the kids today?”

So I think I get to give myself a nice big pat on the back for getting through each day. Because the plate I’m holding, it’s full. And keeping everything there is a delicate balance while I’m getting pulled in a thousand different directions. You see those Chinese acrobats spinning 20 bowls on chopsticks. That’s me right there. Must. keep. my. act. together.

Maybe one day I’ll get to ask the question. “What about me?”

Now I understand why some women choose not to have kids. Like ever. Perhaps they know something I don’t. Perhaps I’m just tired of being a martyr.