On being positive

I have noticed a trend with my blogs that they have taken a very negative turn.  They seem to be all about depression and how bad I have it (I don’t have it bad at all). So, in an effort to make things much more light and pull me out of my anxious funk, I decided on Saturday I was going to be more positive for the entire weekend.

I would love to say that it was a blazing success and that I’m now not only ready to be left with the Toddler on my own on Tuesday but all my paranoid worries about the upcoming few weeks have passed and I’m ready to face the world.  If I said that (and that is truly what I would love to be able to say) I would be lying.

So, if you don’t want to read another post about how rubbish I’m feeling at the moment and how it’s affecting my family, then stop reading now.  If, on the other hand, you can offer constructive advice and support for someone who REALLY wants to feel much better, then read on and comment :).  Warning: contains profanity.

Saturday wasn’t too bad.  I mean, it started ok, as Saturdays normally do with us all messing about in our bed after The Toddler came in and woke us up.  I even had a lie in (I think I had this both days).  Then we decided we were going to go and buy some things with the OHs gift vouchers he’d been given as his leaving present.

We had the whole morning to mess around, as usual.  Nothing much ever gets done in this household before lunchtime at weekends (another point of severe frustration for me, but I guess it’s good to have time to relax as a family.  We don’t do enough of that.)  Then we set off and went shopping.  By this time, The Toddler is beyond tired and refusing to take a nap, so I end up walking with her halfway up and down the highstreet to see the fish and the animals in the pet shop.  Anything to stop her crying in the middle of Argos.  My temper is running short by this time as my hips and pelvis are hurting and my back is starting to ache, but I will NOT let this beat me.  Women survive like this all the time.  They do it ALL on their own.  I’m not even on my own and I’m crashing and burning.

Anyway, after shopping, we go to OHs parents for a cuppa, where the Toddler sleeps for a bit.  We think she currently has teeth coming through as she has started biting her arm to the point where she is marking it.  This is something that I feel a bit guilty about as it reminds me of my self harming tendencies and I can’t think what else she has in her life to cause an extreme amount of stress to the point where she bites herself apart from me.  Of course..here is MUMMY GUILT.  Expect a lot of it in this post.

She wakes up and is whingey, we come home and have dins and put her to bed.

GROWN UP TIME.  We don’t talk during grown up time.  He’s been doing his Gears of War thing and I’m blogging like crazy, trying to get this one up to date and starting another one.  Plus keeping up with Twitter and all the other computer related things I do that don’t actually mean anything.  I also have my knitting.  The headphones go on so I don’t have to hear him murdering other players ruthlessly (more like dying lots) and I just get on with it.

Then Sunday rolls around.  What a big fuck up that was.

I am woken up…not once, but twice by The Toddler literally jumping on my head.  NOT the best way to wake up.   I’m not a morning person as it is, but having my head jumped on by almost 2 stone of child?  Not great.

I get out bed and chuck some clothes on and go downstairs.  OH had arranged with his parents that his mum would come over to help with our garden (we love our freebie-ish garden) and she arrives at about 10.  Well, NOONE goes outside without The Toddler.

“Outside in garden!!! OUTSIDE IN GARDEN!! SHOES ON!!” And I get presented with shoes and socks, regardless of whether she’s dressed or got a nappy on.   Fine.  Shoes on, out side.

OH and his mum spend the next few hours cleaning up leaves, cutting back bushes and generally doing a job on the garden (don’t get me, wrong, I’m not bitter at the work they did.  In fact, I’m grateful, but timing is key.) whilst I chase her around.  Up the decking, down the decking, down the slide, leaning over the ball pit, making sure she doesn’t eat stones, or fall over or off anything, or get in the way, or pick up creepy crawlies.  For 3 hours. With SPD.

Lunch rolls round and I’ve already had enough of chasing her.  I’ve had enough of having to look after her and keep her out of things and doing motherly stuff.  I was trying to keep her entertained and failing.  She has the attention span of, well, of a small child.  After lunch, they go back to working on the garden and I try to get her to sleep as she’s started the grizzly tantrum phase.   I bring her inside, and try snuggling with her on the sofa, the chair, putting her on her chair, but all she wants to do was play with our computer, and pick things out the bins and eat stickers off the floor.  Oh and draw on our TV stand.  It was a case of stand up, tell her off, lead her away, put her in “tantrum position”, walk away and then repeat the process less than three minutes later.  This can get a little tedious.  Temper was seriously getting frayed by this point and he’s still outside.

This went on for about 2 hours until he came in and tried to get her to sleep.  No way.  She is NOT sleeping at all ever never never.

Then I snap.  I mean, I lose it.  I would NEVER EVER hurt her physically.  If I snap, I make sure I walk away or go into another room without her so I CAN’T touch her.  But I haven’t felt so low and frustrated since PND.  I failed.  I failed at being positive.  I failed at being a parent as all I’m doing is shouting at her.  I failed her by screaming at her.  I start crying.  And I feel like HE doesn’t get it.  He got to clear the garden, he got to do something without her under his feet.  He got to GET THINGS DONE, and I just had to chase her around repeating myself like some awful broken record and at a loss about what to say or do with her to make her feel better and lift us both up.   I managed 2 rows of knitting between tellings off and nothing else.  I hadn’t even managed to find time to have a shower.

As I’m crying, she comes up and says “Mummy, whats wrong?”

I mean, how low can you go when your almost two year old has to climb on your lap and comfort you with tears in her own eyes?  What kind of mother lets it get to that point?

But it gets worse.  I’ve already lost the plot.  We were supposed to be going to OHs parents for dinner.  And we’re already late and he tells me to go shower.

“I can’t because I have to watch her.  I ALWAYS have to watch her.  I can’t get anything done because I’M FUCKING WATCHING HER!”  I shout, like she’s some kind of burden in our life.

His priority should have been feeding her.  She’s almost an hour late for her dinner.  She’s probably hungry.  I’ve thrown him a curve ball by refusing to go to dinner so he should be dealing with it by making sure she gets fed.  And he’s not.  He’s wasting his time and energy on trying to get me ready to go.  GET HER FED FOR FUCK SAKE.  He’s never good with priorities.

He picks her up to shield her from my venom and takes her into the dining room.  With no shoes on, I storm out to the dining room, and LITERALLY SCREAM IN THEIR FACES that I’m going out and they will never see me again.




How much must that fuck up a child?  Mummy is going out and you will never see her again.  She’s shouting at you.  Daddy is pale and looks like he’s going to throw up, and you are fucking terrified.

I can’t stop picturing their faces as my brain is working a mile a minute to try and get me out of this horrible horrible place where it’s dark and endless and it sucks hard.

I leave the house, no shoes, just my bag and I and walk to the cutway round the back.  I stop there, and take a deep breath and decide I’m not fit to parent, and social need to be involved.  The mist clears and the anger and frustration subsides and I head back.

Both of them are almost ready to go out when I get back.  She comes up to me again, and strokes my hair, and brushes my tears away.

“Mummy is feeling a bit sad baby.”  OH says.  “Go into the living room a sec.”  He tells her.  She obeys.

I cry on his shoulder and agree to go out.  The Toddler brings me my shoes.

We eat dinner and everything is calm as we go into the evening.  She goes to bed without a glitch, but I can’t help but wonder if she dreamt about my insanity.  That has to scare a child to their very core.

Now to learn to manage the guilt so I don’t go out of my mind even though she’s not here today and everyone thinks I’m just upset because I’m being too hard on myself, but I’m putting my family through this hell and I don’t know how to deal with it.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s