Breathing.

Hi.

Haven’t been here for a while.

I’m still trying to decide whether I want any record of the last month or so. So, I’ll write this and see where we go from there.

It’s not been pretty.

A little sister is hard, when you’re two. I miss my lovely, happy boy. I’m very tired of having to apologise for his rottenness. Being out of the house is hard, for that reason. But being in the house is so much worse. He wants to play rough and destructive, with Lauren, (babies are surprisingly tough!) and with me, and with the laundry, and the wallpaper…

I try so hard to get him out, get him running and climbing and using up energy. We walk to the park, and the train station and the library. We meet friends, and volunteer, and run and run and run. Sometimes we use more of my evergy than his, especially with Lauren in the sling, and I do not have any to spare.

I can’t believe we haven’t moved yet- I’m holding so tight to the idea that a back garden will save us. He can be wild, and I can soothe myself with plants, and digging, and lovely compost worms. (Or he can be wild, and I can be in the house!)

Every day, I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach, the breath knocked out of me, by the realisation that this is my life, and it sucks. And I chose it myself. What the hell was I thinking?

I can’t figure out whether this belongs in past or present tense. Bear with me.

CJ called it Mama Rage (go read that!) and that blog post gave me a way to begin some wonderful, cathartic conversations with various groups of Mummy friends.

I’m not the only one furious about how crappy this life is. And, it turns out, I’m not the only one thinking, “How can I be the only one who completely cannot cope with two kids?! FUCK!” And, apparently, it gets better.

I spoiled myself rotten before I had kids. I remember once telling my mother-in-law that being able to have a whole day in bed with a good book was a luxury I was not willing to give up. Ha. Messed that up, didn’t I? Idiot.

But we are getting there. Deep breaths. He’s settling down, gradually. I’m surrounded by love and understanding and people I can moan to. We might even be moving next week. (Or the house we’re trying to buy may be put back on the market tomorrow. Our purchaser’s solicitor has just today gone off on long term sick leave, so we’re waiting to hear from his replacement. Today. With the final word.) Last week our solicitor’s office was seriously damaged by lightning. The British system boggles my mind even without
these little comedy extras.

Okay, I’m posting this. We still love them; it’s all good.

To Future Sue: You got through this, Mama- way to go!

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One Response to Breathing.

  1. Calamity Jane says:

    oh sweetie. i know. that first year… ouch.
    the getting out to “run your kid” and the feeling of getting “run” even more yourself! if you get any yard space, i have one word for you. trampoline. they make mid-sized ones, we got one that’s 8 feet across. kids get on there, get that tight crazy energy out. me, i SIT IN A CHAIR and watch. glorious.
    short of that, try a yoga ball. you sit on the couch, pinch the ball between your knees and hold yer little guy’s hands. he jumps up and down like a mad person on the ball. lots of falling off and climbing back on. lots of giggling. you get to (mostly) sit there.
    all day in bed with a book. fuck what i wouldn’t pay for that.

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