Beck Vass: Rage against the family

It's like working for a boss where, no matter what you do, there is zero appreciation. Photo / Getty

• As a wife and mother-of-two, I have had enough. Here's why, if parenting was like any other job, I would have quit by now.

I've hit a wall. It feels like every time I touch something, I drop it, spill it or trip over it. Every small thing just leads to another mess to clean up. Or I'm faced with an invisible, dull chore that needs to be done but no one knows gets done because it's invisible.

I know it is a stage, that it will pass. It always does.

But right now it feels like all I do is wipe up messes. Mostly other people's messes. Sometimes it just feels so exhaustingly pointless.

I sit down to have a little rest and as soon as I do, I hear the four-year-old whining "Mumma, Mumma," from another room, every few seconds. It is so instantly aggravating I want to walk out the door and not come back.

The entire world revolves around her and it is inexcusable that she might have to wait for anything.

Unfortunately, her two-year-old brother is in a similar space. The words "hang on" or "in a minute" mean nothing to them.

It's like working for a boss for whom nothing is ever good enough, no matter how hard you try, yet they keep demanding more and more of you with zero appreciation for anything.

That is until they have their own kids, of course: Thanks, Mum and I AM SO, SO SORRY.

If this was a proper job I would have quit by now.

I feel the last bits of energy I have draining away with every "Mumma."

I am guilt-ridden after yelling over the pointlessness of what she wanted.

Later, I emerge from getting our son to bed and pass my husband, already in bed.

I go to get a glass of water and divert to close the bathroom door where I find a soaked towel on the floor and dirty kids' clothes that need to be taken to the laundry.

On my way to the laundry, I find my daughter's school bag on the floor with clothes in it that also needed to be sorted.

Internally, rage rises. Don't worry, I tell myself. Just go to bed, I can't clean up everyone's crap all night.

I finally get to the kitchen for my water and find Duplo all over the floor that hasn't been put away. Rage.

There's a tissue that needs to go in the rubbish, but the bin liner and bag have been removed but not replaced. Rage.

My husband emerges and asks: "Are you coming to bed?" RAGE.