It is extremely hard for me to write this post. I am about to admit things that I can barely admit to myself, but if I don’t get this out soon, I will quite possibly explode and unleash my inner bitch onto the people I love the most and be an even shittier mum than I already feel like I am.
Hands up who has had the dream that you are trying to get somewhere but you just can’t push through the wind and atmosphere that is holding you back? Like you are grasping at the grass and trees and rocks, trying to pull yourself forward, while you dig your feet into the earth to gain some friction to push against, but despite your best efforts the force pushing against you is just too much?
That is how I feel. Or like I am drowning.
I don’t even know where to start or how to explain.
I don’t feel like this all the time. Some days are great and when I am fine, everything is wonderful, but as soon as one little thing goes wrong, it can throw me into the biggest funk imaginable and turn me into an angry, depressed, resentful monster. There is nothing in this world I love more than my family and all I want to be is a good mother, but I losing touch with the kind of warm, loving, fun mum that I want to be. Make way for the grumpy, yelling, numb, bitch mother.
I feel like I am losing touch with myself. I am not this person. Every day I grow another grey hair and lose a bit more of myself. Every time I slam a bowl on the bench or say ‘for fucks sake’ I hate myself just a little bit more.
I wanted these babies and I love these babies more than I can possibly put into words and if I had my time over I would still have these babies. I love them. I adore them. I would give my life for them.
But, here it is – I am struggling.
It is not how hard having two babies is that I am struggling with. Yes, two babies is bloody hard work. It is the fact that it is relentless. It never ends. Looking after the babies is my job, but it is more than a full time job. It’s a never fucking ending job. It’s a ‘never get a GD break’ in your life job. It’s a non-stop from the moment you wake up until you collapse onto your pillow job. It’s an on call while you are asleep job. It’s a 24 hour a day job with no pay, no overtime, no sick days, no weekends, no holidays, no ciggy breaks, no time to eat, no privacy to poo in peace, no time to wash your hair, no me time, no down time, no recognition, no praise, no-one to talk to, hairy legs, bags under the eyes, pyjamas all day, mountains of washing, crap everywhere, groundhog day, just barely existing kind of job.
I need a break. There, I admitted it. I need a break.
I need help and I need support.
I need my doodles to pick their own shit up and close the fucking cupboards so I don’t have to spend every waking moment picking up shit that T pulls out, and then deal with the tantrum that ensues. Don’t bitch because you can’t find your clothes in the morning, put them in the fucking washing basket and I’ll wash them. Just get ready for school so I don’t have to constantly tell you what to do, you’re teenagers for fucks sake. Is it so hard to put your shit away in the kitchen after you’ve made a sandwich/noodles/dinner/breakfast? I picked up 18 fucking dirty socks the other day. 18! Rubbish goes in the bin, not on the floor. Don’t fucking taunt T with things he wants but can’t have so I have to be the mean mum when I take him away. Be thoughtful. Help without having to be nagged.
There is rage in me, there is a deep sadness. I can’t even say why and I can’t talk to D about it. I just don’t know what to say, so instead I merely exist and smile through gritted teeth and then cry when I am alone. But I am telling you blogosphere. Please don’t think that I don’t love my babies, I do. I just don’t know who I am anymore. I need help to find me again. I want to be happy fun mum. I want to feel good about myself. I want to feel attractive. I want a break.