I Love My Kids, But Sometimes I’m So Over Being Just ‘Mom’ – A Mom’s Honest Truth

Little Germs, Runny Nose: When Kids Bring the Flu Home

My daughter brought home the flu yesterday—fever, stuffy nose, the full disaster—just as my son stopped dripping snot from his school cold. I thought I’d survived the germ war. Wrong. Now it’s round two, and I am getting ready for another round of chaos and snot while getting lemon, honey, ginger, and a humidifier ready. It usually goes around in my house; everyone gets it, and there is no exception. When it’s my turn, I’m screwed—no backup, no parents, just me coughing up a lung while the house turns into a dumpster. Kids crying for juice, food, their lost toys; diapers stacking up; everyone needing something; and me? Done.

Keeping them apart is a joke—they’re basically one kid in two bodies, swapping toys and viruses like it’s their job. Even if I keep them separate, begging them to stay away from each other, the germs spread. Now I’ve got it, and it’s worse than theirs. Why does it always hit adults hardest? I’m a wreck, and all I can think is, I love these little monsters, but where the hell did I go?

Pre-Kid Me Was a Rockstar

Before them, I had a life. I taught ESL, drank tea or coffee that didn’t go cold, and wore jeans without spit-up or food stains. I’d play music and dance, not just hum “Baby Shark” to survive, and I loved to hang out with friends. Now I’m a flu zombie, wiping noses and listening to their whining at midnight alone. I’m the only one holding it together here, and when I crack and get the flu, I am done. I’d die for my kids, but I miss that me who wasn’t always on call. I miss the woman I was, full of dreams, energy, and joy. I miss the free moments, the moments I could eat without anyone shouting, spilling, or crying.

Yeah, I Feel Bad Saying It

I adore them—my son’s big hugs and sudden kisses, my daughter’s sleepy “love you too.” But missing old me feels like a crime. Moms don’t get to say this, right? We’re supposed to love the chaos. Well, I don’t. I’m tired, I’m sick, and I want a piece of me back—not the whole pie, just a damn bite. I love them, but I’m not just “Mom.” I’m me, too.

Moms, Let’s Quit the Act

Hey, you—paddling through sippy cups and guilt: it’s okay to miss pre-kid you. We’re not robots. Sneak a coffee; hide in the bathroom as I often do; admit you’re over it. Love your kids, sure, but love yourself too. Share this with #MomsOverIt if you’re nodding—let’s stop pretending.

Spill it: When’d you last miss the old you? Drop it below—I’m here, wheezing and waiting.