Things have been kind of challenging these days at fort slowmamma. Much of it, no doubt, is amplified (if not outright caused) by my total inability to weather the hormonal storm of pregnancy with anything resembling grace. I was thinking back to this exact point in my pregnancy with the twins and it called to mind a nice dinner with some friends that ended with me losing my shit over the fact that motherhood and self are incompatible and that my “life was coming to an end”.
The irony of that moment is not completely lost on me. The hormones may have been responsible for that particular panic attack but the reality that followed is my responsibility alone. The truth is that I’ve done a pitiful job of tending to my own needs since g was born. Actually, I think it was only recently that I remembered that I have needs – beyond the health and well-being of my two year-old. The second that I admit failure, my mind releases the emotional equivalent of a hungry pack of spotted hyenas in my defense. Honestly, generally speaking, I tend to go very easy on myself. My road to motherhood was filled with potholes and mudslides – and I might add in a wildfire and a pile-up or two as well. I should have done better but I didn’t. Right now I just want to relegate at least some of those shortcomings to the past tense.
I have been trying to figure out what it might look like to retake possession of myself, one small piece at a time. This strategy has relied predominantly on g beginning to attend a daycare, part-time, just 2 short mornings a week. g, however, does not agree. He’s on to me. He sees where I want to go with this and he seems intent on fighting it all the way. It pains me to force separation on him when he is clearly not ready for it. It is, after all, mostly my fault that he hasn’t learned this by now. Apart from G, who by the way is fantastic and has been charitably picking up my kilometric slack these days, nobody has ever helped us to care for g. Our family is impossibly far away and it’s very hard to justify shelling out for help when you aren’t making a cent. Add to that the fact that g has suffered from intense separation anxiety from the time that he was very small. Ugh!
I do believe that we will begin to achieve separation sometime in the future. I only wish that I knew how to go about it – you know, ideally without leaving my child emotionally scarred for life.