Mother of all fu*k ups

“Oh my word Esmè do you ever stop talking?” I asked.

The moment the words left my mouth I regretted them. I never wanted to be one of those mums, you know the ones that that are always just trying to get home and don’t really want to hear their child’s day. But today her, constant questioning was the baseline to RJ’s constant shill screams.

He has been screaming for a while now, all the time that is. At most he will nap for 90 minutes during the day but most days that’s not applicable and so when he is put in his cot, so you know, I can just use the toilet or such, he just cries mercilessly. And I thought I was getting tougher, I thought that the skin on my ear drum had grown a layer whose thickness resembled that of an elephants back foot but today I feel broken.

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I love them kids, really I do. But I adore me time and the space I feel I need, mentally and physically to take in a good book or create impactful content. Right now, everything I do feels as though it’s hastily thrown together because more often than not I’m dealing with two small people, with two different needs, who need me, specifically, all of the time.

I try to park these feelings. Running Make Motherhood Diverse is a daily reminder that women, people, all over the world would love to have fit and healthy children. So I try my best to just paint a smile on and keep pushing through but right now I’m not feeling too cheery. I won’t go as far as to say I’m depressed but there is definitely a cloud of sorts lingering up above.

Like many, I’m in the rush hour of my life. All of these amazing doors are opening but admittedly most of them aren’t double nor do they have automatic opening mechanisms making it a trifle uncomfortable in the metaphorical sense for me to bring my babies with me at every new turn. So I try to shove as much work as I can in the spare moments of the day in between RJ’s incessant crying, the school run or having a shower. And it’s hard AF. 

I’m at a point where I dread waking up. Because I know that from 7am until 7pm, I’m going to feel anxious and overworked. And although he sleeps through the night, those moments still are not my own because then Esme and Papa B need me too. I don’t usually have a moment to think about myself until 10pm.

One could argue that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew and I should’ve perhaps not said yes to jobs so soon after having him but I have dreams and debt. A lot of the dreams can’t be actualised because of debt so the only thing I can do is take every opportunity I can and try my hardest to get myself into a position of financial solvency which will allow for extra childcare. 

We recently settled on getting some help with the ironing. We only hired our cleaner a few months ago but he has been such a great help already. I know to many this seems like a very standard thing but i was raised to falsely believe that I should be doing it all, all of the time. So whenever I get to make more money I want to spend it on making my life easier. But consistent childcare for RJ is not yet something we can afford, so we’re trying our best to make it work.

Apart from things related to work, I never go out. I can’t tell you when last I got dressed up and went out, just because I wanted to. I guess I’m the only one to blame for not making myself a priority in that sense. I am going to try harder.

Right now, I guess I just have to suck it up and take the rough with the smooth. But I just wanted to put this down on paper (or out on the web) so other mother’s in my position don’t feel so alone.


PS. I think I’ve burnt the oven food. Again.
FFS.

PPS. for the record, this is me complaining. I know I’m blessed but I still find it incredibly tough.