To all the other mothers out there who feel alone. You are. You are completely on your own. There is no support for you. All the other mothers are totally focused on their worlds, just as you are on yours. Even if they give a shit, you can guarantee your schedules will never ever be compatible enough to actually see each other. Fathers couldn’t give a shit. They have way more important things to do than to care about what is going on in the household, with the kids. The kids themselves see you as the fucking enemy. They don’t want to do ANY of the stuff involved in keeping their lives ticking along. Teachers see you as an impediment to what they are trying to achieve with the children. Shop assistants view you as the plague. Cafe owners tolerate you but only if you follow their strict rules. Everyone is suspicious of you using your uterus with such raging success. Suck it up. It never changes. Grin and bear it.
I know I have a very blessed life. I have to feel it when so often dealing with kids hating the food I spend time making them, hours and hours and hours of buckling kids in to car seats, asking them to get dressed, put away their clothes etc etc. I know you do all this AND go out and make a difference to your family budget AND make a difference to the actual world. So I try to enjoy a view and share what makes me happy. Because there is a four year olds face who makes me pull my hair out 40minutes before this was taken. I know people give you a hard time for being a working mum, but my guilt at not being anything much to this world is pretty overwhelming most of the time.
Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.
It definitely feels that way to me tonight. I took a gorgeous photo of my kids, not even seeing how gorgeous they are. With one going into his last year of primary school in six months time, I’m sure I’ll have lots of these moments before he becomes a teenager and hates me forever. It’s already starting to happen!
The youngest child is about to start school and from the other two being close to finishing one section of school, I know the road isn’t going to be easy. Especially for that particular poppet!
Looking around is nice. It’s not stressing about the mistakes of the past, or worrying about the uncertainty of the future. I should do it more often. Thanks Ferris.
It’s about a year since I stopped thinking of disappearing. I can’t tell you how much lighter it makes me feel to finally be happy enough in this very body. The weight of that desire to be someone different and to be somewhere different is how my stomach felt after pregnancies. It felt weightless but the memory of that weight is still tangible enough that I would giggle out loud if I rolled on to my stomach during the night and could stay there.
I sit and enjoy a fantastic lunch while reading a book and nearly cry with the happiness of here.
Of course the phantom weight is probably that of my youngest child who I usually have with me on this day. Without him the possibilities of doing anything at all rise up and beckon like life did when I was stuck at a desk doing various corporate jobs. I won’t get half of the imaginary list done, but the delight is in having the brain space to even think of a list.
Behind the weightlessness of being child free for a few hours, is still an awareness that I don’t want to disappear. I’m aware that I’m no longer giving myself an age that I need to hang on in this world until. It was the age of 46, in case you were wondering. I can keep going without all the pain that used to underly every minute of my day. My mind has stopped time travelling back to past shame, or forward to exit strategies and now
I can be finally calm.
Eleven years ago today I thought things couldn’t be harder, and to be sure everyone around me said that parenting and looking after Sam would get easier as time went on.
Sometimes I feel as though it has never gotten easier and it’s just as hard as it was on that Thursday 11 years ago after I pushed our first beloved baby out of my body.
Any time he does something easily, it’s no guarantee that it will happen easily again.
I love my boy and I’m happy to be working hard to create a special birthday celebration for him, again. It often feels like Groundhog Day to be a mum.
I’m living back in my own head again.
Any friends that I have have ridiculous views on their own situations that I can’t condone or go along with.
Jeremy is busy now running an amazing business and renovating so he can’t possibly wash up dishes, unstack a dishwasher or look at any item in our house and make a decision on it.
A good interstate friend completely alienated me by publicly asking me to back her beliefs which I don’t categorically share.
Random strangers are asking me to shoosh at footy games. Is this because I am a woman who can be shooshed? Would they shoosh a man of my height? Or just call the cops? Ha!
I’ve lost a few kgs recently and instantly find men looking at me with interest again and I can’t stand that my value as a person is decided in these idiots heads by 3 or 4 extremely hard to lose kilos.
Even friends who aren’t dealing with difficult situations are commentating on my reactions to situations and telling me to shoosh.
I don’t feel like shooshing.
I don’t speak when I’m running so I think that’s something I’m allowed to do.
Oh my god, I am so annoyed. At absolutely everything. Right now there is a ridiculous itch in the middle of my back and it would be ok to scratch it except – THE NEIGHBOURS – are talking in their driveway and I don’t even understand how I can hear them and why the heck they have to be so loud because it is so windy SURELY nothing can be heard over the sound of the wind. I had a nice moment today, I did, I’ll tell you. Josh was lying with me in bed looking out at the trees blowing in the wind. Well, it turns out he wasn’t, he was just staring out the window thinking whether or not he should open his mouth and whinge or not, but I happened to point out to him, oh look darling, at the trees blowing in the wind. And all of a sudden his head shifted focus from the impending whinging to actually looking at the trees and he asked what? How are the trees moving? Do the leaves move on their own and then the trees move and I was like no darling before I realised how magical his question was and that I was the evil bitch from hell ruining a four year olds fantasy world which sounds absolutely delightful when you think about leaves deciding to move themselves and look like the crazy bent over treetops that we were looking at.
Anyway the neighbours are still yacking loudly and I’m still itching and feeling like the salt inside me wants to get out either through copious amounts of crying or exercise.
I am so tragic that I feel like the one day I had Joshua at Piccolos last week was my only day off and I am paying for it now with a good few hours of crying over pretty much spilt milk and how guilty I feel about every single relationship in my life and the folding and the vacuuming and the placemats that are here where I am actually typing on top of them and I do nothing meaningful with my life and there is one particular person who I know is not reading this but who points it out in a million different ways the few times we speak and that’s why I’m limiting our contact, but clearly it’s not you, it’s the voice in my head that tells me over and over that what I do in inconsequential and I know it and I can’t even do what I do well enough.
Unlike Baby John Burgess who I once had a wonderful typed rant over whilst at a temp job in Perth and even that was nearly 20 years ago and look at him swanning through life getting his hair dyed and feeling pretty aok with how it all turned out. I mean, that’s got to be inspirational and if you don’t think you too can be that dyed and primped and be perfectly fine and I guess I know that to be perfectly fine that’s all that’s involved but perfect and fine have no place with the itching even though the neighbours have stopped talking and it’s not the chlorine at the pool it’s the change in the air. We have gone from lovely mild humid air to very cold itchy scratchy, give me more moisturiser even though I thought summer was the dry season and used all the lovely lime and coconut hand cream JUST THIS WEEK. Even though the warm temperatures didn’t seem to please me entirely either and I was reminded of Qld summers where cushions and tents stored in the shed got mouldy and the washing didn’t dry despite a lack of rain in days, So regardless of regardless nothing will please me in this moment although I dream of going to bed with the television on and waking at 11 tomorrow morning skinny enough to wear tights and with a sense that the itch has gone. Even if it hasn’t.
My word it feels amazing to see in print how much my itchy mind has jumped around in 5 minutes.