Don't Take it Personally, but I Hate You

Don't take it personally, but I hate you.

Maybe hate is too strong of a word but.... naw, hate about does it.

I hate that you have a perfectly clean house, with a husband and children who help keep it clean. I hate that your closest are organized, you aren't fighting a minefield of toy cars on the stairs and your darling children keep their rooms clean.

I hate that you have the perfect 2.5 children, a lovely dog that doesn't shed or drool or eat food off the counter.

I hate that you have it all together.

I hate the 20 page e-mails you send after every class party, detailing every.single.thing that went on. (Let's face it- who has time to read that?) I hate that you think the only punctuation that belongs at the end of a sentence is an exclamation point. Of course, your life is so perfect and everything that happens is so wonderful that the only punctuation for your life is an exclamation point.

I hate that you can teacher CCD, be the room mother, be the Girl Scout leader and head up the PTO without blinking an eye.

I hate that you look on my family with a mixture of pity and scorn, wondering why I cannot do the same. You say, "Oh, I could never have four children!" but at the same time, you think that yes, you could and you would do a much better job at it than I do.

I hate that you never had to worry for a moment about your child's development. You can spend money on lessons and classes, not tutoring and therapy. Conferences aren't veiled hints that your child needs testing and an IEP. In fact, you barely have to go to them, knowing that your kid is doing just fine, thank you very much.

You aren't exhausted at the end of the day, trying to understand what your three and a half year old wants.

You don't spend hours every week talking to specialists, sitting in at therapy, trying to make heads or tails out of the alphabet soup that is your child. 

You don't have to plan your vacations around sensory needs. In fact, you can take vacations, since you have money.

You can go to the gym, take a class for yourself and have a girls night out without worrying that the money you are spending will mean your child won't get therapy one week or a bill won't get paid.

I hate that you have never sat in a therapist's office, crying your eyes out, wondering what you did wrong that made your baby have special needs. I hate that you've never railed against God doing this to your child, your family. I hate that you've never questioned, never wondered never thought that you're being punished for some cosmic sin.

Don't take it personally that I hate you... because I really envy you.