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There’s a special kind of exhaustion that comes from being someone’s personal audience all day long.
You think you know what it means to be tired, and then you spend 10 minutes locked in a monologue about Minecraft villagers with no escape route.
I put out the bat signal to my fellow moms, and guess what? I’m not alone.
Turns out, we are all drowning in a never-ending tsunami of kid chatter.
Here are six real, soul-crushing, and painfully relatable confessions from moms just trying to survive the noise.
Confession #1: I’m Being Held Hostage by a Six-Year-Old’s Nonsense
“The other day, my six-year-old cornered me in the kitchen to explain, in excruciating detail, how she would build a robot unicorn out of ‘magic metal’ (her words) and how it would fight crime using marshmallow lasers. I nodded, smiled, and said, ‘Wow, that’s amazing!’ at least 17 times while desperately trying to make dinner. I don’t remember how it ended. I think I blacked out. But I do know I burned the pasta, and she was still talking.”
— Kelly, mom of two
Confession #2: The Never-Ending Commentary
“My four-year-old gives me a play-by-play of everything she does. ‘Mommy, I’m eating my cereal. Now I’m picking up my spoon. Now I’m chewing. Now I’m looking at the dog. Now I’m thinking about dinosaurs. Do you think dinosaurs would like cereal? Maybe they’d eat Fruity Pebbles because they have fruit in the name.’ By the time I even process what she’s saying, she’s moved on to explaining why she thinks our neighbor is probably a secret princess. There is no off switch. Help.”
— Jessica, mom of three
Confession #3: No, I Don’t Know Where Your Toy Is
“My son wakes up talking. Like, his first words of the day aren’t even ‘Good morning’—they’re usually something like, ‘Hey Mom, where’s that tiny blue Lego guy with the helmet?’ And it only spirals from there. By breakfast, I’ve been asked approximately 47 questions, most of which require an unreasonable amount of mental effort before I’ve even had coffee. ‘Do fish sleep? Where do whales go when they die? Can I have a pet snake? Did dinosaurs have best friends?’ I love him, but I am too underpaid for this.”
— Lauren, mom of one very inquisitive child
Confession #4: My Kid Reenacts Entire Movies—With Commentary
“My five-year-old doesn’t just watch a movie—she absorbs it. Then, she follows me around for the next three days reenacting the whole thing. And she doesn’t just act it out—she directs me. ‘Mom, now you say, “Oh no, the dragon is coming!” No, say it louder!’ It’s like living with a tiny, unpaid Broadway director who only lets me play boring side characters. And the worst part? If I mess up a line, she corrects me.”
— Hannah, mom of two
Confession #5: Car Rides Are a Verbal Marathon I Didn’t Sign Up For
“The car used to be my thinking space. A peaceful, music-filled escape. Then I had kids. Now, it’s a rolling interrogation chamber. ‘Mom, how do bridges work? Why do cows have four stomachs? What happens if the moon explodes? If you had to eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be? No, not that one. Pick another. No, another.’ There is no escape. And I swear, they time their most intense questions right as I’m merging onto the highway.”
— Amber, mom of three talkative gremlins
Confession #6: I Have Hidden in the Bathroom for Silence
“I’m not proud of this, but I have locked myself in the bathroom—not to use the bathroom, but just to sit on the edge of the tub in silence. My daughter followed me, of course, and just talked at the door. ‘Mommy, are you pooping? Can you hear me? Knock once if you can hear me! Mommy, if I whisper, can you still hear me? Are you sure you’re pooping?’ I thought about escaping out the window. I didn’t. But I thought about it.”
— Sarah, mom of one extremely persistent child
Motherhood: A Lifetime Subscription to Noise
We love our kids more than life itself. But if there were a mute button, we wouldn’t hesitate to press it—just for a minute.
Just long enough to finish a thought. Or a coffee. Or to remember what silence even sounds like.
Until then, we’ll keep nodding, mm-hmming, and pretending to care deeply about whatever bizarre, nonsensical thing they’ve decided is important today.
Because as much as we joke about it, we know one day… it’ll be too quiet. And we’ll miss the noise.
(But just for now? Just for today? Please, child. Stop talking.)
Moms, stay strong. And if you ever need a moment of silence? The bathroom is always an option.
