resentful ovenbird If I’m honest with myself I resent it. This should go on the list of things_you're_not_supposed_to_say but the truth is that I’m tired of feeding everyone, both literally and metaphorically. For twenty years now you’ve been inviting your family to dinner. And for twenty years it has been my job to do the work of feeding them. While you’re in the living room chatting about the newest global horror, sipping gin and tonic, I’m in the kitchen getting a face full of steam, having already spent the day meal planning and shopping. Afterwards you do the dishes, but by then everyone is on their way home. You get to experience a sense of belonging while I have to provide the framework for that connection. I take on the physical and mental labour while you reap the benefits. I don’t even want to argue about it. This is part of the job I’m expected to do in my role as “stay at home parent.” And it’s what you came to expect growing up with a mother who has also spent her entire life feeding everyone who walks through her front door. I used to love cooking. It’s hard to remember that now, after twenty years of meals made for others (most of them rejected by picky children) and so few days where I’ve been allowed to relax while someone else brings a meal to the table. Food was once pleasure, now it’s a duty, a chore, a burden. I find that most days I’m not even hungry. 260913 what's it to you? who go blather from