I’m Not Ready To Be A Parent

I know.

It’s a little late.

I’ve got a three year old and how she is still alive is a wonder to me only answerable by Jesus.

I get distracted easily.

I need copious amounts of alone time.

I hate throw-up.

When I’m sleep-deprived, I cry and try to microwave inanimate objects, searching for my coffee mug.

My bank account is continually adorned with that maddeningly red exclamation point. As if, by some chance, I was unaware that we had -134.45 dollars. As if.

I hate playing games of all kinds- board games, outdoor games- I even tried to find excuses to dodge the Easter Egg Hunt.

It seems, I hate all things fun.

I’m not ready to tackle these growing up years.

I thought infancy was rough.

Now we have to contend with matters of the heart.

We’re up against a lot, as parents.

It’s enough to drive you to your knees.

Or to the bottle.

Sometimes, both.

In rapid succession.

I’m not ready.

We never are.