All week long I slog away. This week I did over 50 hours at work. And before I went to work and when I got home I did my other job. Or, rather, jobs: cook, homework monitor, housekeeper, play mate bedtime whisperer etc. I don’t know how many hours a week that takes up but it is definitely zero hours contract and definitely below the minimum wage. My fault perhaps. I “lay down”. I wanted, begged, tried furiously to be a parent. And for 50% of the time she is utterly charming, engaging and the answer to all my prayers. But for the other 50, she is like the Commanding Officer of a very sophisticated torture chamber. The girl who consistently gets reports that say her focus is deeply questionable…well, that kid can focus – without even blinking – on ear-piercing screaming and tantrums for 2 hours straight. I expected it at 3. At nearly 11 though? Really?
I know it could be worse. I could have more than 1 and be juggling multiple tantrums. She could be ill or disabled. I could be penniless and dealing with it at the same time as wondering how to put food on the table. So, I know in many ways I am “lucky”. But, you know what? It’s exhausting. It’s relentless. And going it alone is sometimes the bleakest thing I can ever imagine. Especially when that wasn’t the bloody game plan.
Today 2 hours in, I just wanted to walk out my front door and keep walking but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t hand her over to a partner to take the strain. Because I don’t have one (and can’t imagine anyone ever volunteering for that gig). I just had to take it and keep trying to find ways of getting us out of the situation we found ourselves in. The lowest ebb was the 3 year old in the garden next door going “xxx NOT happy”. This on the back of being hauled in front of two teachers yesterday as she had threatened to cut a boy’s face off at school as he’d dripped something on the artwork.
I was supposed to be going out tonight. I sent my friends voice recordings of her blood curdling screams. My childless friend replied:
“I just don’t know how you do it, lovely”.
I don’t either, lovely. But what choice do I have? Her Dad is 200 miles away, loves her but can’t help me out either practically or financially.
I thought I was resilient and I thought I was on a fairly even keel recently. But what I realise is that possibly I have been burying it, faking it, ‘buggering on’ and desperately trying to keep the lid closed on the pressure cooker.
I hate and am sorry for such a doom and gloom post. But sometimes the enormity of the juggle is all too fucking much.
Wine? Heck yeah
Swapping Breeze Blocks for Butterflies 