Dancing in the Rain

I’m tired. Do all women doing this crazy balancing circus want to throw it all up and move to the Bahamas at some point or the other? I do literally mean this. What sounds fantastic at this point is to just give Number One (my son) and Number Two (my daughter) to the Source of all Wisdom (my mom) and escape to a sunny shore where I don’t have to deal with anyone AT ALL.

Man of my Dreams (my husband) has been away for a week now and I’ve been pretty much handling home, kids, work and the general nitty gritty of life all by myself – wasn’t that the trade off for the freedom of single life? Through thick or thin, dirty nappies or first steps, long nights or sweet smiles; you get a partner in crime to hold your hand through it all. Frankly though – at this point even if he came back, I wouldn’t want to indulge in long, meaningful conversations with him. I just want to have a reliable babysitter to leave the kids with so I can hit the road and run.

I think space in any relationship is a hugely important thing; be it a marriage, friendship, other familial relationship or even a mother-child relationship. With the onset of the summer holidays, I have both Number One and Number Two home all day and as I work from home, you can imagine the chaos that we exist in. From morning to night unless I pack one of them off to a friends place or to the Source of all Wisdom, they are constantly with me. Don’t get me wrong, I keep repeating – I LOVE my kids, I baked them in my oven and they truly are the best things that came out of me. But, it got a little ridiculous the other day when my concall with Boss went on for 3 hours and I had Number One sleeping in my lap and Number Two leaning against him guzzling down her milk at the same time.  This work-out-of-home-when-there-is-no-school situation is tough and Boss has been awfully patient with important discussions being interrupted with ‘have you washed your hands?’ to which much to my amusement he has even replied ‘Of course I have’ on occasion.

The point being, from the minute we wake up (and we all sleep together in the same bed which defeats the purpose of having a multi room flat – we should just live in a studio apartment) to the minute we go to bed, the kids and me are together.  Further populate my day with work and a hundred interruptions to do with household related things and really one can’t blame me for almost holding onto the walls when bedtime comes and the house is quiet. I cherish those few hours before I knock out to just do my own thing. Does that make me a bad mother? Or does that make me amongst the few who dare to voice what we all feel at times? I believe I’m an involved Mom, I hang out with my kids, I bathe them, feed them, put them to bed. I take them out, I teach them things, I worry about them, I love them beyond control. But…there is a part of me that misses those days when I could do what I wanted at the drop of a hat. When spontaneity wasn’t a luxury and when I could head out the door without packing for every possible situation that could crop up (admit it, we all do it!). But then, there is a huge amount of spontaneity in those first steps, in that first ‘Mama’, in that first ‘I love you’. So…maybe the happy balance is that this evening, I’ll dance to ABBA in the rain and then go and fall asleep between my kids.

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