There are days when I hope that I get Covid. I consider driving to the border to cross in the mountains so I’m forced to lock myself away for two weeks in a hotel somewhere. Some days quarantine doesn’t sound like a shit alternative.
The monotony of motherhood exists and it’s hard to fathom feeling this way about something that I wanted more than anything else in the entire world. My life before motherhood was done to death. I was bored, overly analytical, hyper critical and stuck. Nothing was changing and more than one part of my life was stagnant. I was ready for the next chapter and I was already clinically geriatric.
So I made Abbie. I made an entire human being all by myself. And I was right. My life hasn’t been the same since. In the middle of the happy ever after I made for myself, where my ‘this is it’ moment – my ‘I’m happy now’ moment should exist, the grown up in me knows that that moment will never exist.
My toddler throws tantrums. Big ones. Full blown, on the ground, exhausting, snot inducing tantrums. They hurt to watch and I feel like a useless human being and a more useless mother when they happen. From my research (read googling) this is not unusual. Even Maggie Dent says it’s perfectly normal to feel this way when your kid is mid-meltdown.
And I do. I feel that way. The research also says that you need to rely on your partner to manage the phase. That staying strong, setting boundaries, explicitly teaching behaviour and consequences are all good ways to help. But you will need the support of your partner to keep your resolve, to provide reassurance, work in partnership to provide a united front and sometimes run diversionary tactics. Consistency is the key.
It’s enough to tell Google to go fuck itself. I don’t have any of those things. When my baby throws a tantrum all I can do is sit there. Sit there and wait for her to finish, exhaust herself and crawl into my lap and wait for her to tell me what went wrong for her if she can. The tantrum passes, she resets herself and carries on to tell me about the noise an elephant makes.
The elephant distracts her and brings her back to the moment. But I’m not there yet. I’m still checking the watching eyes that smile in contempt and sometimes in support at the woman who is almost 40 sitting in the middle of the walkway while she does nothing as her kid screams and cries, kicking and rolling beside her.
I envy her ability to move on. To feel her feelings, let them roll over her and then let them go. I’ve been watching her, trying to put into practice her approach to life into my own and it’s almost impossible. I can’t let them go. The hurt, the regret, the sting – it all stays and I have to work it out like a grown-up. I even tried the elephant noises. It made us both laugh but the feelings didn’t go away.
Adulting sucks. And in 2020 it sucks for more reasons than I’d like to talk about. The closest I can get to running away across the border at the moment is bed time. That forty-five minutes where I get to read two stories, tell her I love her more than dinosaurs and be that weird creeper that holds her face too close to her sleeping baby.
In that forty-five minutes (most nights) the rest of my world stops. The noise, the chatter, the self-doubt of my parenting, the misplaced purpose at work, the confusion and rejection of friends now lost, the regret and misplaced faith in a love that wasn’t real – it all disappears with her. Well her and biscuit icing videos.
Maggie suggests life with a partner would be more consistent. That having a bit of silent, and sometimes not so silent, back up would make parenting a toddler easier for both her and I. And she isn’t wrong. The days would seem less long, less exhausting and less soulless if there was someone else who with a squeeze, a look, a reaction of any sort I could share and know that they were as invested as I am in her and her behaviour. But there isn’t. And some days all that is left is a very tired, defeated mum that can only hold the space beside her. And that has to be enough.
She makes the days hard but she is what saves them too. She is a purpose so much greater than my self pity, my regret, my rejected heart and my lack of purpose at work. She is the answer to all of those things. Because she is my real life. My everyday. 2020 has bought a global pandemic and I have grieved more ways than one this year. With Abbie’s help and the only positive her tantrums bring, I promise to try and be more elephant noises and less sad and hurt and angry about what it is that runs on loop in my head.
My words haven’t changed the situation. The tears didn’t work either. I have tried. But if the ears they are meant for are deaf then there is no choice left but action. Make the elephant noise and walk away. You’ll forget what the crying was for eventually. I’m a grown up, it will still hurt. But I am kind, I am brave, I am strong. I am practicing grace. Badly, but still practicing. Time, red wine, cake videos and bedtime stories will move the year and this phase till its end.
This too shall pass.
life in big frilly knickers 