"They" say that insanity is hereditary - that you get it from your kids, and I think I may have to agree with "them".
If it were just me making my little space in my own immediate environment; if it were just me pondering the complexities of life; if it were just my own gases I'd breathe in from time to (far spread) time, I reckon I would be far healthier - on a mental level.
I believe that tripping over toys and rollerblades in the passage; sorting knives and forks in the cutlery tray from Crayolas and fairy wands; staring helplessly at a heaving breathing pile of laundry at the end of every day - these are the kinds of things that make a normal, well-adjusted woman balance on the verge of madness.
Trying to get Play-Do out of the upholstery on my couch; wiping pee seats and flushing forgotten floaters, labeling EVERYTHING in my home with clearly printed labels so that my five year old can learn to read, spraying the especially dark corners of the bedroom with lavender mist to expel the monsters hiding there (everybody knows that monsters HATE air freshener) - these are the things that can push a woman over the edge.
(Probably THE most craze-inducing event for any mother though, is the first time she wakes up at 3am with the Barney theme song cemented in her brain.)
Yip, having children is not a walk in a rose garden - there are bound to be thorns tipped with mind-altering hallucinogens at some point in the journey.
For me, it's been a decently appropriate amount of time since last I was skydiving into a black hole of melting clocks draped on the skeletons of dead trees. I can honestly say that I am here. I am present. I am current. I am together. I do not need to check my pack of birth control pills to know what day it is. I make jokes. With my kids. That's a big step for me.
So here I am thinking - gee, so this is what "normal" feels like - when down the passage I hear muffled conversation from the bathroom. The girls are in the bath. Where I put them five minutes ago. And they're playing. Hide and seek. ? .
I didn't investigate the situation, so please don't ask me how.
I. Don't. Know.
So if I do develop a nervous tic in my old-age, or perhaps I start muttering to myself, please don't look down on me. Please don't judge me.
I am a mother.
