May Blossom at work in her office.
A month or so ago we let May Blossom watch Singin’ In the Rain. We were on the hunt for a movie that wouldn’t frighten her, and that seemed to fit the bill. What I didn’t know at the time was that I would then spend hours every day afterwards explaining the finer plot points to her: why Kathy hits Lena in the face with a cream pie. Why Don Lockwood is trying to escape from his marauding fans. What fans are. Why it’s funny that Lena has an ugly speaking voice. Why the policeman makes Don stop singing in the rain and go home. Why Kathy’s job is to jump out of a cake and dance. It’s endless. She particularly likes the big song and dance numbers, though she is pretty disapproving of much of what goes on in the tribute to slapstick, ‘Make ‘Em Laugh’. ‘That’s not very safe’, she says every time Cosmo dances on top of a piano or runs up a wall. That makes me laugh more than the slapstick itself, which is good because not much has been making me laugh lately.
Did you know that today is International Women’s Day? If it weren’t for the increasingly feminist, joint destroying, awareness-of everyday-sexism-raising circles I seem to have ended up in on Twitter (none of which is terribly cheering — have you seen the state of this world we live in?), I don’t think I would have known. I have celebrated, so far, by getting up at 3.30 am to cuddle May Blossom when she woke screaming and sobbing from a nightmare about someone taking her milk from her. I followed that with an hour of sitting in the chair beside her bed, breastfeeding and holding her little brother, whom she woke.
That was followed by three more hours of very broken sleep as young Garnet doesn’t seem to settle well after about 4 am. He usually ends up in bed with H and me, quietly drinking milk and napping while H and I mutter to each other, ‘We mustn’t do this. It mustn’t happen again. He can’t sleep in our bed like she did. I love this. Do you love this as much as I do? How can it be wrong if we love having him in here so much? Smell him. He is lovely. Is that sick or milk on the sheet?’ We aren’t very good at making decisions at that time of day.
Then, as has become the pattern, H got up, like a complete saint, with both kids and took them into the kitchen, leaving me to sleep for another hour. I typically do my best and deepest sleeping at that point. It’s worth about six hours of broken night sleep. Having said that, I still can’t really think coherently today, or any other day. That’s partly why I haven’t blogged much this year. But I thought perhaps a ramble was better than nothing. Am I wrong?
I’ve been quite uncertain lately about this blog. Maybe due to the postnatal depression rubbish, or the sleep deprivation or the realisation that I haven’t worked for money, doing anything related to my profession, for two and a half years, I’m feeling rather wobbly in the self-confidence department. If you have been through this and can tell me it ends well, that one day I will come out of this baby haze and be able to converse about anything other than what my toddler said or how much my baby weighs and sleeps, I’d be very grateful. If, on the other hand, your children are now school age or grown up and your brain never recovered and you never managed to go back to work or achieve any sort of balance between being a mother and other parts of your personality, feel free to pipe down. (Pretty sure that saying ‘Pipe Down, Permanent Housewives and Drudges, I Don’t Want To Hear It’ is not exactly what you’re meant to say on International Women’s Day. Sorry.)
The other hurdle I’ve been constantly butting up against is Time. Specifically, where the fuck is it and can I please have some? Garnet is now well past the nap-all-day newborn stage. May Blossom still sleeps for an hour or so a day, but not usually when Garnet does. And when the stars align and they do sleep, I fall in a heap too. I know This Too Shall Pass. I’ve been here before and I know things will get easier, but I miss writing and I hate sounding so whingey when I do.
But in the interests of honesty and telling it like it is, I am now going to resist, with all my might, the temptation to hit delete on this post and instead I will hit publish. Because I seriously believe if there’s one thing women can do for each other, and for men, it’s not to sugar-coat the experience of motherhood. That shit will not help anyone. Being a mother is sometimes very hard and very tiring. All parts of life can be hard and tiring, for everyone. You just have to get through until the next part that makes you laugh. I might go hit myself in the face with a cream pie.
Thank you for not hitting delete. It’s so lovely to hear your (writing) voice again. xx
Love reading your blog. Whatever you write, whenever you feel like it, will be hugely appreciated. I don’t even have kids (just one weird little needy polydactyl Manx cat who is sitting here looming over me as I type) and even I don’t know where the hours go, so heaven knows what it must be like with two little humans. And you must be the best mum in the world if you’re introducing Mae Blossom to Singing in the Rain, aka Probably the Best Movie Ever.
Please never stop writing this blog. I love it. That is reason enough I think.
I am a few years ahead of you on the mothering front, though not so far ahead that I don’t constantly still encounter all the issues you raise. All I can offer is that this time goes so quickly. It is a massive chunk of time (when children are below school age) but it also passes so damn fast and can never be replaced.
You will get some balance back sometime, in fact any time you want. But at this stage it will mean having regular time away from your babes too, which you need to be ok with.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with going back to paid work because you need to, or want to, or because you get some self worth out of it.
There is also nothing wrong with providing some structure for your kids where they are playing by themselves, without you (you still need to be somewhere nearby! Can’t duck down to the local for a bevvie!). Even if it is the beloved half hour of play school or whatever, you can structure in some time for you.
Our generation puts enormous pressure on ourselves about everything, including playing with our kids all the time, like they can’t play by themselves. I have been searching my childhood memories, and I can remember very few when an adult was playing a game or with a toy with me.
Enough rant. You’ll get through it. And you are amazing. And H is pretty awesome too. And it goes without saying that May Blossom and Garnet are two of the most beautiful and amazing kids in the world. Go hug the stuffing out of them, give yourself a break. You’ll get back into it. Later.
Xoxo
I love your blog! Please don’t hit delete. Ever. As someone who has yet to have kids, your honesty is refreshing and makes me feel like its something I will be able to do. In a sea of smug mothers who love to tell you how amazing it all is with the beatific looks similar to people reaching for the coo lade, you are my reality check. x
coolaid. Stupid autocorrect.
I’ve just now discovered your blog, and smiled knowingly at a lot of this post. I hope you’ll stick with it; the world can always use more thoughtful writing and musings.
As for your last thought: laughter is totally essential, and worth working for! The true story is that when our son was born (a deeply special needs child, and his life is a sad tale), my wife and I found ourselves desperate for ways to stay connected and find ways to laugh. One thing we tried, which has become a tradition of sorts, is that she gets to pie me in the face! So believe me, that most certainly IS a viable option.
Best wishes!
Hit yourself in the face with a cream pie? That’s not very safe.
Yes! I woke up from a very strange dream when my youngest turned three. The world was suddenly a different place with actual possibilities and and actual future to behold!
I adore your posts and your raw honesty… no point dressing up your experiences. I find your observations so substantial and similar to my own… I’m muddling through, full of awe, but with adequate doses of anxiety, bewilderment and fear of how I’m going to fit myself back into paid work (which is essential for our family, as the one regular income we have isn’t big enough to support us all).
Keep going and keep writing… please.