Today my thoughts are banging around in my head like a never-ending playground of dodgem cars.
My children are products of my own body, your blood is my blood, your flesh comes from mine. Then why am I wanting to run a mile from myself?
I am suffering. I need a break from motherland. I need to go somewhere very quiet and rest from the demands of this family. Find myself again. I think the three to nine months stretch is the hardest part of having a baby, six months that will stretch you to the point of breaking. It's a combination of factors; interrupted sleep every night, constant adjustments to new stages of development, loss of autonomy, low income which, lets face it, does define our value in this society.
What I have to look forward to tomorrow is fitting in a trip to see a client for new signage, ring three others to organise a start on their contracts and running around getting packed for my family to go away while managing a baby who I'm weaning and introducing to solid food, while organising her to begin (one day) of childcare soon (this involves familiarisation visits and about twenty pages of paperwork) so my career can start to flow on when I get back, no wonder I'm so schizo. Then early Saturday morning when I will be feeling very tired and grumpy I get to pile into a car and spend about 6 hours in a confined space with them. It makes me want to throw up. I feel sick at the thought.
If I have to change one more shitty nappy, scrape saliva-thinned food off my shoe, wipe vomit off my shoulder while talking with a client on the phone, I am going to go and shoot myself. I have nightmarish hallucinations of bottles going around inside the microwave, the seconds counting down to a 'ping', along with the clunk of the washing machine and the scatchy rip of velcro nappy tabs.
My intimate life is so fucked over I can't even abandon myself to pleasure anymore. Not for lack of partner but because I just don't feel like it anymore. Six months of breast feeding and the thought of anyone touching my boobs, or even eyeballing them is enough for me to lock myself in a dungeon. Don't touch me, just don't fucking touch me.
I don't want to go out anymore in public with my kids, people stop me all the time and tell me how 'lucky' I am to have such well behaved, beautiful children. Is all this time, this love, this draining, life sapping devotion worth it just to have pin up kids? AM I doing this just to have pin up kids? I feel like such a fake when I parrot back 'Yes I am lucky'.
Then I start beating myself up for not being a good enough mother, not loving it and it's constant demand that makes me put myself last time and time again. When it gets to 11 am and I have had enough time to get up, change nappies, clothes on kids, jump in the shower, towel dry myself while answering 20 assorted questions shot from the curious mr 2 and a half and juggling a grizzly miss 6 months. Feed him, feed her (it takes excruciating patience and perseverance to feed a baby beginning solid food), change nappies, put her down for a sleep, almost pass out with hunger, bite my tongue when mr insatiably curious asks me for the 100th time what something is, mid shovelling my mouth full of muesli, then cursing at the time and shoving him toward the car, he starts wailing because I lifted him into his seat and he wanted to get in himself. Drag him out, help him back in, run back to get miss 6 months who is now very cranky at being left for exactly 5 minutes on her own, juggling her, and nappy bags, shopping bags, other misc but necessary items (books and cars for him, chewable toy and blanket for her).
Running back to close the front door I glance at the clock and I'm running about a half an hour late. I get back to the car and the unmistakable smell of shit fills the closed confines. I can smell the difference between my children's shit - amazing hey. Its mr curious, I ask him if he has done a poo and he looks at me sideways and says 'no'. I wrestle him out of his seat, unlock the front door and frogmarch him into his room to change his nappy, him protesting the whole way and then telling me he is hungry on the way back out the door. It's lunch time by now and I have got exactly squat done for the day. I give him a snack for the car and on the way he asks for his water cup. I can see it in my head sitting on the kitchen table. They both fall asleep by the time I get to the shops. I stare at their beautiful, peaceful, angelic faces.
I feel like crying, I feel like screaming, I feel like walking away but I can't because I am their mother and they need me and I love them and they are my life now.
Now my partner has just stomped off to bed angry with me because I asked him to knock on my studio door before barging in to say goodnight and scaring the bejesus out of me.
I don't feel so good tonight because not only do I feel exhausted, in need of a break, broke, and alone but I now know that this holiday is going to totally suck because the man I married has been replaced by someone I don't know anymore and the girl he married is a distant memory. It's like sharing a bed with a stranger. I don't know how to make this ok anymore. I don't know what is left when love doesn't feel enough to hold two people together long enough to get through this tough time. And if we get through will it be enough to sigh with relief and part ways or will we engage in one of those 'hell on earth' separations that fuck up parents and children alike? I think getting married is like handing someone the most vulnerable parts of your soul and saying 'here look after this for me, will you?' It reminds me of a plant I forgot to water and it died. I kept watering it for a long time after hoping it would shoot a few leaves, give me a sign that it was ok, going to keep growing. It never did.