For the past week, minus last Wednesday when he went to daycare, I have been with my child all day. My husband has entered the busy season of work, so he’s busy, on the phone, or participating in a golf tournament put on by his company. So basically, he hasn’t been around much this week.

The first couple days were fine. I had to write some papers, but I got it done during nap time and Wednesday while my monster was at day care. The last couple days have been hell. I’m not even sure that’s hyperbole at this point.

Before I say what I’m about to say, I know full and fucking well some people are going to judge me. Come at me, bro. And though logically, I know I don’t have to put this on the internet, or explain myself to the people that read this, I’m going to because, hello therapeutic.

Full disclosure: I was totally suffering from severe PMS, and having a pity-party because I fell off the diet wagon, I also skipped my workout class both days, so clearly I was all around a shit person this week. AND we’re potty training. And my child has an attitude.

I told my son and my husband I hated them today.

And, at that moment, I fucking meant it.

I feel like a shit human now, but this week has been so overwhelming. And I feel SO fucking alone. I needed adult time. I needed my husband to be more available than he could be. And I have resented him most of the week. Which is on both of us, mostly me, because I didn’t tell him most of this until I lost my shit Friday night.

But today. I told my husband what I needed: help, for him to help discipline, and when he’s home not be checked out. And literally, he watched my son pee on the carpet-because he was put in the corner for not listening, fully fucking intentional by the way. It happened FIVE fucking times in the past two days. FIVE. FUCKING. TIMES. And he told him no, but didn’t get up to clean it up. Didn’t even move. Like. Fuck you both.

And so, I cleaned up pee. Then I walked away, telling them both I hated them. Sat and read for a minute. Then left the house.

Do I feel guilty? Fuck yes. I don’t hate my husband or child. Am I frustrated with both of them? Was I angry and frustrated and exhausted and overwhelmed at that moment? Also fuck yes.

Do I have a happy note for this?

Well, the monster is in bed, and the husband is at a meeting, so at least I have a second to myself and no one touching me for what feels like the first time in a week.

Today, the past week, fuck, most of the past month, can go crawl in a hole and die. Fuck it.