5 Signs You May Have SAHM Syndrome

There’s no denying there are benefits and drawbacks to being a Stay-at-Home-Mom, or “SAHM,” as we are called. For some, it’s a choice, while others have no say in the matter. Regardless of how you came to your station in life, being at home with the kids all day can certainly wear out even the most energetic mom, zapping you of all your strength and some days even your sanity. On the one hand, you love that you’re there to see each and every milestone. On the other hand, you’re there to see each and every milestone. And every booger that’s handed to you. And every diaper he’s decided looks better on the dog’s head. And every time you’ve seen the writing on the wall (literally). And then one day, you’ve locked yourself in the bathroom with an issue of InStyle, rocking back and forth like a psychotic monkey, and it hits you. You’re in the midst of a major crisis, and here are five signs you may have SAHM Syndrome (or, as I like to call it, Sammy Syndrome):

You find yourself inspecting your husband’s work lunch receipts and quizzing him endlessly about them — not because you think he’s cheating, but because you want to be the one to eat the fucking chili cheese fries at Five Guys while you talk to another adult about something other than whether Sponge Bob and Squidward are really enemies. “Oh, another lunch at Olive Garden, huh? Hope you enjoyed the endless breadsticks, asshole!” You know you sound crazy, but there’s no control over the comments. None.


Your pajama to street clothes ratio has gotten smaller and smaller, and your husband now sees you in your coffee-stained pajamas (read: maternity clothes) more than anything else. You’ve caught the judging glances, but he knows better than to say anything lest you decide to take it to the next level — the anti-shower stage. You’re really only one glance away from being there.



You’ve begun to talk to every person like he’s a four-year-old, completely overusing the word “we.” “We don’t eat that kind of thing during the week.” “We don’t like crust on our sandwiches, thank you very much.” What you really want to say is “WE want a fucking vacation already, and there’d better not to be one Disney character within 100 miles of me or I will kick him in his nonexistent genitalia.” 




You used to love Pinterest, but you’ve begun to resent it and all that it implies — homemade costumes you’ll never make, complicated recipes that would surely make you end up in tears on your kitchen floor clutching a bottle of booze, and fashion that you could never pull off since your wardrobe only consists of Pajama Chic. Fuck you, Pinterest!




Your fuse is so short it’s nearly nonexistent, and you’ve begun to get defensive over just about anything. If your husband asks why there’s a blanket on the couch, you throw a pillow at his head while yelling, “It’s certainly not because I was taking a nap if that’s what you’re implying!” 




It’a ain’t pretty, but it’s real, yo.


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