I've said for a long time that "I'm TIRED". In capital letters. Big. Capital. Letters. After months, even years of introspection, medical testing and self examination, I think that today I stumbled on the cause.
No low hemaglobin here. No vitamin deficiency. No exercise insufficiency. No lack of sleep (most nights, anyway). I even discovered that by weening myself off my Cipralex, I am surprisingly far less sleepy than before (damn anti-depressants that work by sedating the crap out of you!). Yet TIRED I remain. What else could it be?
A voice at my elbow asks for a drink. Another voice down the passage asks for a wipe. A voice in the garden asks me to negotiate a truce between it and its sibling. Someone asks for a hug. Someone else asks for sex. Someone asks for a sarmie. A little voice requires assistance to dress her Barbie. He asks for razor blades. She asks for a turn. She asks for a swim. They want to go to the park. They ask for attention.
Please.
I need.
I want.
Can we.
Give me.
Come here.
Fix it.
Bring me.
Fetch.
Please.
Get me.
Can I.
Will you.
I think I've become all asked out.
We've all heard the analogy of motherhood being like a pouring jug and how at some point the jug is empty, and yet the mother pours. This is what I'm talking about. I think I'm empty.
The realisation hit me like a labour pain - I can only give so much. I'm not complaining, mind you, this is the life I chose after all. It would just be nice that when people talk to me they don't ask me for stuff. Please. Let's talk about stuff, all kinds of stuff, just not the stuff you want from me.
I realised that every time one of my offspring opened their mouths, it was to ask me for something. So I addressed the issue promptly, a feeble attempt to prevent maternal burn-out.
It's 17h00 - the dawn of suicide hour. The girls are playing with our virtual pet while I start preparing dinner.
T: Mom?
Me: Yes, T.
T: Can I have some juice?
Me: (sigh). (pours juice)
Air: Also me!
Me: (pours another)
T: Mom?
Me: Yes, T.
T: I'm hungry.
Me: I know. I'm making supper.
T: But I need something to eat now.
Me: It won't be long.
Air: I want something to eat!
T: Mom?
Me: (just breathing)
T: Mooooooom!
Me: T, are you going to tell me something, or are you going to ask me something? Because I don't mind if you want to tell me something, but I think I might burst if you ask me for another thing.
T: Oh. Ok.
(virtual play continues)
T: Mom?
Me: (raised eyebrows)
T: Nothing.
Me: (smile suitably satisfied)
T: Mom?
Me: Yes.
T: I need....
I want...
I.
Oh.
Me: (high fives myself)
T: I need to tell you something!
Me: Sure?
T: I love you. (She smiles at her accomplishment)
And I smile too. Because it's nice to hear, even if it was a bit forced. Still, it filled my jug a bit, so on I go.
3 years ago
2 comments:
The next step is realising you do need to do things and take time for yourself - somehow - and it doesn't make you a bad guy, or even selfish. It's called balance (although it is never balanced) and survival.
I hear you, I feel your pain.
It is unbelievable how much is asked of us all day every day. And it doesn't just end with kids and husbands. My parents need me to be a good daughter, my siblings need me, my friends, need me, my boss needs this, my business needs that.
I was in the shower this morning, thinking about how not only do we choose this life, but we do it over and over. We must be mad.
My husband had a freak out this morning because he couldn't find his golf bag, so I had to get up from what I was doing, and find it for him (in front of his eyes), then Kate was crying because Adam took her singing pig, get up again to sort it out, then Adam wanted juice, get up again, then while I was in the shower, Adam was crying outside the door that his nose was running and I had to wipe it immediately.
I am pregnant, and tired, and yet I get up at night for the kids all the time.
Give, give, give. No rest, no excuse, no place to hide.
I wouldn't change my life for any thing else as well, but dammit, sometimes I am also just all 'gived' out.
and then I look around and every one else seems so together. If they are coping, why can't I?
I hear you, I feel your pain.
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