It is 7:30pm on Saturday night.
I reach into the cradle and put Emily’s dummy back in her mouth for what feels like the eighteenth time. Although in her defence, it is probably only the fourth, and it isn’t as she can do it herself, so why the attitude?
I have been like this all day.
I am tired. Oh, God I am tired. I am so tired by entire body aches, and I can no longer form a coherent phrase.
The television is overwhelming and too fast for my cognition with all that fast pace sound and colour. Honestly, who gives a rat’s ass what Jamie Oliver is saying?
However I should be grateful, it is him instead of something more mindless for our viewing pleasure.
Thus, I have done the only smart thing I know; I have come to bed in search of solace.
Everything Michael says sounds unsupportive to my ear.
Who knows how I manage to hear, “you’re a bad mother” from “relax and eat your dinner, Emily is sound asleep”. Or “I need a break from the two of you…” from “I’m going to the shop to get milk”. Oh man, I need some sleep.
I know it is the sleep deprivation talking. But it is better to walk away under the guise of exhaustion, rather than say something untrue and misguided, thereby causing, an unnecessary utterly ridiculous it is all in my pretty little head conversation decoratively laced with friction.
And by friction, I mean where I know I am projecting my acute feelings of inadequacy as a mother on to him, and we both know it kind of way.
The only difference being, he is so calm and collected, it is water off a ducks back, which makes me feel even more inadequate, and then I have to apologise for being an idiot.
It is not fare he has it so together and makes this look so easy. Why can’t I feel that way? He is such a good dad.
Now back to the Macbeth type madness, which is my inner world right now.
As if things aren’t bad enough, I’m secretly shamefully stupidly harbouring feelings of guilt over not having sex. Maybe I should offer it to him at 2:00am in the morning when I know he’ll choose sleep instead.
Oh God! Since when did sex become a chore? And how long has it been?
Perhaps it is better not to think about that.
Whoops, too late! That train has left the station…
Obviously, it was before Miss Emily was born. I have vague recollections of my body being heavy and cumbersome, and it being somewhat
Awkward and uncoordinated. I think I did it more out of obligation than desire.
Oh great! I’ve just admitted to having duty sex.
Yeah, because nobody else has ever done that, right?.
Note to self, add sensuality to the inner agenda of things to over analyse later in my spare time.
To think, here I was determined our sex-life wouldn’t suffer.
Whom was I kidding? It is a mess, just like my pelvic floor. Oh the joy!
Admittedly, it is difficult to put physical intimacy high on the priority list, when my body is still reeling from the caesarean.
The site of my incision and my battle fatigued nipples are sensitive, but not in the good way. In fact, it makes me almost squeamish to think about it.
Emily has a tummy ache. It came on yesterday afternoon. I have tried running legs, baby massage, baby whispering, putting her over my knee and rubbing circles on her back, I have taken tissue salts, and homeopath remedies, but nothing seems to alleviate her discomfort. She is too young for aromatherapy, and I’m fairly certain we gave her a warm bath.
Or was that the day before?
Have I lost another day somewhere?
The poor little thing is fussing and desperately working with her body in a bid for a resolution.
All power to her, she has been squirming, worming, wriggling, and turning. She has been scratching, scrawling, screaming, and shaking, yet at this point, there is nothing I can do. I feel helpless, hopeless, frustrated, and frantic.
Yes, I know I know. Now that is unnecessary utter ridiculousness, and just another crazy idea also living in my pretty little head. However, here we are! Hands up who is enjoying the ride so far?
Truth be known, I am somewhat intimidated by the potential restless night, we may have before us. Not because of my needs, but because witnessing Emily in pain is horrible. I’ve never known such anguish.
John, our osteopath is coming at 8:00am tomorrow morning on his way to a course in order to help. Talk about going above and beyond, but that is the kind of man he is.
He treated me throughout my pregnancy, and although I have no empirical evidence, I am certain I may not have carried our daughter to term. Let alone that Emily would have come out so relaxed, or be such a calm baby without his having intervened. Thank God for our network of fantastic health practitioners and their unwavering support, wisdom, and generosity.
We are due at big family breakfast at 9:00am, but I don’t want to go. I am overwhelmed at the prospect of getting out the door on time, let alone anything else. I want to send Michael and Emily alone, but as if that is going to happen.
Actually, I don’t want to send Emily, but Michael could go?
Again, what is with the attitude?
I have the life I’ve always strived for, and knew was possible, so why am I resisting its glorious bounty?
The problem being, the very idea of all those tiny decisions and all that stimulation has me inwardly cringing and retreating. I simply don’t have the resources to function in a busy environment right now.
Clearly, I need some sleep.