Isolated

Today I feel very isolated. Close to tears because of it and for the first time in a while I considered cutting. 

I am thoroughly ashamed of myself, which only adds to my feelings of despair. It’s a neverending cycle it seems.

Husband is at work, and will be there until late. Which leaves me at home, alone with the child, who is demanding and whinging and wants to be my shadow. I don’t remember the last time that I had a “day off”. It’s a constant whirlwind of work, housework, parenting. I just want some time for me.

Some time where I can sit and do one of my hobbies uninterrupted. Where I can drink my coffee before it goes stone cold. Where I can have a bath without a little person wanting to know what I’m doing (I’m in the bath) or wanting to have a bath too (no, you can’t, oh fine, come on in) and then having to get get out 2 minutes later because “mummy, I’m done! Need a towel”.

 Where I can have a crap without a little voice saying “mummy can I see your poo?”

I’d like to be able to watch a TV show that doesn’t include annoying animated characters or fucking Mr Tumble and his sodding spotty bag. 

I like to be able to just sit. In silence. Without the fear that something is being destroyed. (It’s always the bloody toilet roll!)

It’s hard, and feeling isolated doesn’t help.

I can’t remember the last time, a friend said to me, “get a babysitter and let’s go out for dinner and a drink a bottle of wine” or anyone even visited, or invited us to visit.

I don’t remember when anyone actually made an effort, or the last time I made an effort to be honest. I stopped after a while, because no body seemed interested. It goes two ways, and that two way street seemingly merged into a one way system. One way systems suck.

I knew that being a parent would be hard and becoming a parent would be complicated, but I didn’t imagine  it would be this hard and this complicated.  Some parents make it look so easy. It’s not easy at all.

I’m so unbalanced (hah) that it’s unreal.

I want to sit and cry, but I don’t. I don’t because I have to parent. I can’t parent and be a snotty useless heap. 

I just want some time for me, to be me. I feel like it shouldn’t be much for me to ask for. 

I don’t know who I am anymore.

 

The Not

I lay in the bath, which is now only just warm, wondering.

Bedtimes is exhausting. Child has taken to refusing to have her teeth brushed before bed, and the resulting stress trying to get it done is frustrating. 

Then she won’t stand still to be dried off.

Then she won’t let me dress her, or dry and brush her hair.

Instead she wants to run around like a lunatic and jump around like some sort of trampoline gold medalist. 

It frustrates the hell out of me and I feel my blood pressure rising and eventually I shout at her.

I’m not proud of that.

She’s only little. She doesn’t really understand.

But I do. 

At bedtimes I’m pushed to my limit. She makes me so cross. Then she hugs me tight and tells me she loves me. She hugs her beloved soft toy, and the sandman takes her, to dream of whatever toddlers dream of.

I feel blessed and loved and humble. And guilty. 

I shouted at my toddler.

I am her mother, I am not supposed to shout.

I am only human. And I feel as guilty as sin.