I was thinking of blogging about something because I wanted to take a break from the long-ass essay that I have been writing. I thought I could pull off what my favorite author, Brandon Sanderson, can do. He writes something different if he's feeling burned out. He takes a break from writing by writing novellas. But who am I kidding?

So I went through my drafts to see if I could salvage a post, and I've come across this. It's one of those days I felt I was in the dark. And I guess, this needed to be out for mothers out there who feel the same way. Know that you are not alone.

I would have turned this into a parenting blog—where I may never have to run out of things to write and, therefore, make a living out of it—but it will only reveal the sh*t mom that I am.

You would probably read nothing but parenting fails. I would be shamed for being the kind of mother who orders pizza for dinner, gives in to screen time to shut the kids, lets toys take over the living room, doesn't mind the kids rolling on dirt, and one who would probably use a child leash when the situation calls for it.

Much has happened the past weeks. I don't even know where to begin. But I guess, I'll start with the news that we now have two feral toddlers to keep an eye on. 

Our little girl, Isabel, turned one this month. And I know I have already said that we won't be traveling until she turns two. But here I am, creating a toddler-friendly itinerary for our next out-of-the-country trip.

I am sure no one is going to disagree when I say that traveling with a toddler is a pain in the ass. I've seen it, experienced it, and proven it an understatement. Yet, we find ourselves turning a blind eye to the thought that with these feral two in tow, we may never be able to relax—which defeats the purpose of a vacation.

I don't remember the last time I wrote something serious.  And I think this post will be serious. And long. And unrelatable. And boring. 

And... anyway. 

Let me start this with our daily scuffle: 

When you become a mom, you take on not just one, not two, not even three, but multiple roles. 

As a mom of a teen, toddler, and a baby, I can be a referee, teacher, nurse, storyteller, an entertainer, event planner, a coach, caretaker, driver, repairman. And if I have the whole day, this list can go on forever. And I am not exaggerating.

It may not seem like it but, truthfully, I am terrible when it comes to parenting. A lot of moms probably feel the same way, too. It's just that people don't really talk about it.

"Kamukha ng tatay noh?" 

Women my age don't get knocked up easily. Or so I thought. It takes a lot longer to get pregnant again. Or so I was told. So we made love unprotected. And surprise, surprise! It only took less than two months to miss a period. While the news was one of the best we received, it honestly got us a little bit alarmed than excited.

Oh shit, are we ready for this? 

It was twelve years ago when I pushed a giant papaya out of my lady parts. And fifteen months ago, I did the same thing. I wish I could say that having a baby at 24 isn't all that different from doing it at 35. But nope. I sneezed my first born out. The second one, however, felt like those exaggerated, nowhere near accurate depictions of labor and childbirth in movies. Except, it was real albeit there was no moaning, screaming, or howling on my part. My doctor had to break my water because my labor was not progressing and a few hours later, I was still stuck at 6cm.

Scenario at the vaccination site: 

Kuya assistant: "Diri ang mga buntis."

And he guided every pregnant woman out of the queue but me. 

I have been solo-parenting for almost a week now. 

And that's because our cat, Appa, bit Jan on his left leg. While Jan thinks the biting was an accident, I think otherwise. That cat has been plotting to kill me since day one but was miserably unsuccessful so it decided to take it on the husband who has a softer spot for animals than I do.

Every day I wake up feeling like those Instagram moms who seem to have figured out motherhood only to become borderline psychotic when faced with Rhett's homework.

Of all the evil that's happening in the world, Math is probably the worst. I have been stumped multiple times by elementary Math since Rhett started his online classes six weeks ago. Apparently, I am a moron when it comes to basic Math (read: I pull out a calculator to equations like 5+3). 

My face every time I deal with Math problems.

I never thought I would come face to face with the devil again. I hate that I even have to stop any loathsome chore just to solve a problem you can't even apply in the real world. There is a reason why they are called problems. They are meant to cause a civil war between a parent and a child. We should have just left Math uninvented.

Anyway, I usually spend about an hour relearning and teaching Rhett how to answer his worksheets. Imagine my delight at going through this on a regular basis without the carnage. 

Damn. I should congratulate my awesomeness with sushi bake and milktea.