How Do Funny Motherhood Stories Help With Parenting Stress?

DADDY Five girls who have been friends for a long time have the same taste, same likes and dislikes, but their personalities are quite different, but blend in throughout their friendship. As they grow up into women, they have the same fantasies about their gorgeous, attractive stepdaddies. They can't resist the urge to take care of them, to love them, turning into something more. MOMMY Five divorced women who are successful in their careers have weird feelings for their adopted sons. Their adopted sons are now grown, and it's their last year of high school. They are all athletic since they are players of the basketball team. Living in a house with handsome and hunky boys is quite difficult, especially if they are all 'tigang' when it comes to sex. It even became more difficult when their sons acts also weird towards them and their eyes stare at them with lust. Could they even stop and control their feelings before it's too late?

I once toyed with a college boy. When he fell in love with me, I ended things. Years later, after he made something of himself, he married me in front of everyone who thought I was lucky to have him. My family had fallen from grace, and to the outside world, I had won the jackpot. What they never saw was what happened behind closed doors. Every night, he brought a different woman home. I never cried. I never made a scene. That only seemed to enrage him more. So he went further. He got his first love, Natalie, pregnant on purpose. When I still stayed calm, he pinned me against the wall and demanded, "Stella, do you even love me?" Later, Natalie and I went into labor on the same night. I dropped to my knees and finally admitted I loved him, begging him to take me to the hospital. He held me tight, almost giddy with satisfaction. "I knew it," he said. "You liar." Then he shoved me aside, picked Natalie up, and walked away without looking back. "I'll take you to the hospital later. The pain of childbirth can be your punishment."

This is the seventh year of my arranged marriage to Frank Jackson, yet he is constantly seeing other women. Because of that, I become known in our circle as the ever-tolerant wife. Everyone is watching and waiting to see when a mistress will finally replace me. But when I unexpectedly get pregnant, I hear a furious voice screaming at me from my belly in my mind. "Mommy, are you some holy saint? In your past life, you kept tolerating everything. That was exactly why my scumbag dad's mistress drove you out and left you for dead on the streets! "That vile woman is practically trampling all over you. How can you not fight back? Slap her! While you're at it, give my fool of a dad a good slap, too! The more you tolerate, the more people push their luck. You need to stand up for yourself and divorce that scumbag!" I swallow nervously, but my hand is already itching to act. Maybe I should try doing what the baby says...

My mom is terrified of being laughed at by others the most. Whenever the holidays are here, she will keep repeating one sentence to me—"Don't go around embarrassing me." When my relatives gather around and chat with each other, I accidentally knock a fruit platter over. Mom drags me over and slaps me on the spot. At the holiday feast, I grab extra pieces of steak for myself. Mom responds by kicking my chair over. When it's time for the holiday gifts to be distributed, my aunt, Gabriella Hall, has miscalculated the number of children present among the family. So, she has prepared one less gift for the occasion. Mom doesn't hesitate to kick me out of the apartment, leaving me shivering in the cold corridor in just my indoor clothes. The icy winds chill me to the bone. I keep slamming my palms on the front door while screaming and crying my apologies at Mom, and yet she remains unmoved and silent. Instead, she turns to face Aunt Gabriella with an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm really sorry. I didn't raise my daughter well. It's only fair that you ridicule me." What Mom doesn't know is that I get triggered whenever I hear the word "ridicule" thanks to her so-called parenting lessons. Whenever I hear that word, I want nothing more than to hurt myself uncontrollably. So when I hear the word "ridicule" coming out of Mom's mouth through the front door, I turn on my heel quietly and begin making my way toward the bridge next to the neighborhood that's plunged into darkness. The moment I jump from the bridge, the only thought I have is, "Mom, no one will ridicule you because of me this time."

When Mom punishes me, her palms are sweaty. I know she's even more nervous than I am. She's scared that others will accuse her of favoring me. When the rest of my classmates perform poorly in class, all she does is tell them to review the lesson and do a few more exercises. But when I'm the one who does badly, she points at the field outside the window. Despite the burning midday heat of June, she commands, "Julia Swanson! You're going to stand out on the field and memorize all the words you messed up. You're not allowed to come back in until you know everything by heart!" Everyone in the classroom looks at me. One of my classmates mutters, "Ms. Campbell is being way too hard on her own daughter." Mom hears that comment, and her eyes flash with satisfaction. That's precisely what she wants everyone to see. No one will dare say she's biased toward me if she punishes me the most harshly out of all the students. "Why are you still here?" she barks at me. "Get out. You think you can get into a top college with grades like yours?" The classmate sitting next to me tugs on my sleeve and whispers, "Why don't you try asking her to go easier on you? It's blazing hot outside." I shake my head. The most futile thing I can ever do is ask Mom to go easier on me in school. She prides herself on her professionalism as a teacher. It's a matter of principle to her. But she has forgotten that it's over 104 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Not wanting to disappoint her, I stand out in the sun. The blazing hot air dries up my sweat—and my tears. Eventually, my vision goes blurry. The world seems to spin around me… As I collapse onto the ground, I hear Mom tell her colleague, "I'll just get a popsicle as a gesture and bring that stubborn daughter of mine back inside later." She has no idea that I won't be able to accept her olive branch anymore.

I was a housewife with severe OCD and a serious cleanliness obsession. I accidentally entered what I thought was a wholesome parenting game where I beat the crap out of my rebellious son, smothered my adorable daughter with love, and ripped out the corpse-stitching on my husband to sew him back up. On the day I cleared the game, the three of them tearfully sent me off. Only during the final settlement did I learn the truth: my husband was the ultimate boss of the horror game. My son was an infamous demon who left no players alive, and my daughter had crushed the skulls of a hundred players. Wasn't this supposed to be a parenting game? Turns out, I had walked straight into a horror game.