Acting Your Age

Strangely enough, this post is about me, not the Squidgelet. She’s having no problem acting her age. She is great most of the time – She sweetly says “Please Mummy” whenever she wants to steal some of my breakfast & “Thank you Mummy!” mostly unprompted when I hand over said breakfast that I probably didn’t need to eat anyway.

And then there are the fantastic tantrums. They wash over me now because it’s not worth getting frustrated at a little person coming to terms with the surge in their own emotions. I’m worse than that. I tend to find them funny – my favourite so far being when she threw herself onto her bedroom floor utterly distraught and screaming because we wouldn’t allow her “Caaaaaake!” before bedtime. (Definitely my daughter people!)

It’s me struggling. I’m 30 next year. All around me, people are living. Maybe not their best lives but their lives are still full of energy. I meanwhile, am exhausted and fear living like a pensioner many years before my time.

I got up just after 7am today because my eyes sprang open as soon as the Squidgelet called. I haven’t slept in properly in weeks and I rarely sleep through either. I went to the hairdressers to get my hair done in time for our holiday and then I went and grabbed some bits from the supermarket. I was home by 2:30 – and yawning. I fell asleep sitting on the sofa which I only realised when my elbow lurched off my knee meaning my chin was no longer propped up. And why… Why am I so shattered?

Kev asked if I wanted to go nap which is a sensible question for me now. I refused… not because of the stubbornness of old but because… what’s the point? Unlike the other 29 year olds out there, I have no sodding use for any scrimped for energy. There’s no Saturday drinks and dancing heading my way is there? My energy’s too spent on getting through each day for invitations like that to still be coming my way.

And I understand. There’s only so long that you can flog a dead horse after all. Problem is, I worry I might be the dead horse… just with another 40 or 50 years of this utter exhaustion before I’m actually dead and done. It’s such a sad and scary prospect.

My little girl is going to be grown up and gone before I know. And I worry my energy will be all gone by then… Maybe taking my friends with it. They have been so understanding… They always say “Oh… life gets in the way.” But it does… more than I think they know. And I’m just not sure how to be OK with a body that conspires against me. I miss fun.

The Battle for Baby #2

I mentioned earlier that I have been suffering with anxiety and feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of elements in my life.

Last week, like a kick in the chest, I suddenly was able to give these anxieties their unspeakable name.

“I’m not sure we should have another baby.”

Now, permit me to be clear…. Being Squidge’s mum has shown me what my purpose is in life. I was terrified to become a mum, so scared of failing my baby, but I loved her from the first second I put my hand on my belly on the way home to tell Kev I was expecting. She is mine, she is the light in my life.

I want nothing more than to go through the experience again. I feel as though I know more what to expect now, and I want to appreciate the miracle that pregnancy is, I want to take the time to appreciate the amazing things that my body, normally wrecked and ruined, can do.

But….

Parenting is hard. It is so very hard. I am so tired, scrabbling to find the energy for other aspects of my life that I cannot let give yet.

Work being the first example.

I honestly believed I would work forever, just as everyone else my age is condemned to do these days. If I needed money, I needed to work, simple as. But it took Kev looking me dead in the face and saying: “You realise you can’t do this for much longer, don’t you?” to realise how damn tired I was. And he’s right. It’s not worth giving up the quality of the rest of my life to be able to bring in a wage. People survive every day.

And so, we mutually agreed that I should phase my working hours out. I like working. It gives me a sense of normality and of self worth. It wouldn’t do anyone much good for me just to quit working outright. And who knows, we might strike a beneficial balance along the way.

I am very lucky that I now have a very understanding boss, who, in his own words “lives in the real world” and always tells me to take care of myself and that I must “tell me how it needs to be, you don’t need me to tell you you come first.” He knows how hard I find the second point because I so desperately don’t want my condition to affect my productivity at work. But he hasn’t seen a decrease and so refuses to dictate to me. I really like that and I really enjoy working for him.

He already knows that it won’t be forever, but he too is determined to help me find that balance. He also knows I envision another maternity leave in my future at the company.

But can it really happen? Childcare alone prices me out of being able to work and enjoy the miracle of 2 children. Kev’s income currently is diminished by the amount we would need to survive as a one income family and my God, I already watch every penny I spend.

And so, I put the question of income to the wisdom of the internet, trying to bring our expenditures down. I explained about my condition and the need to stop working no matter what happens, and the want we so have for another baby.

I mention to the internet how I have aspirations to do my masters after my degree. Someone asks: “Why, if you can’t work?”

And I bristle, feel myself get defensive. “Why not?” I fire back. “How else can I invest in my self worth if I’ll be at home through no fault of my own with no job and no much wanted baby to care for, because it’s for the best?” I tell this lady about my aspiration to become a play therapist and that is most likely to be sessional work rather than a 9-5, which will suit my physical health better.

She replies: “If you’re adding to your skills, your financial worries won’t last forever. Good luck.”

BAM! She’s right. I’ve never realised it before. I have always been determined to see through my degree and the masters to show Squidge that no matter how long the road to get there, dreams are obtainable. I never even thought about the fact that if I keep going, I’m not simply crashing out of having any uses, or contributions to make. I’m simply taking my time to get there. Such a simple and powerful concept, but one I’ve never allowed myself to realise.

I have spoken to Kev about all of this. I was apprehensive when I asked to sit down, so fear ful that I will make him sad, squashing another of his dreams. I already negotiated Kev down from 3 children for my physical limitations, and we were set on 2. Having to let that dream go would break my heart. To break his would be a million times worse, like I’m punishing him for loving me.

But he said he was proud of me for being able to come to him in a measured way and lay out my worries. I didn’t feel very measured. I sobbed out my guilt and stress. I so, so want another baby. Not until Squidge is at school, operating a little more independently in her own little world, but I want to do this again.

And maybe we won’t, says Kev, but how can we know that now? Why am I allowing myself to get so overwhelmed by guilt I don’t even know yet that I have cause to feel?

And he’s right too. If we don’t, then, as heart breaking as it is, it’s for the best – and there are so many children out in the world we could help in one way or another. If we do, then it will take a lot of planning, and there can be no baby before we’re ready and happy with the plan in place.

So there is money to save, care to take of myself and time to take. Because it will be hard, but thanks to the lady on the internet who made me remember that those tough times have a time limit. They cannot, and they will not go on forever. It could well be 2 or 3 years before I give up work completely. By then, my BA will be in hand, Squidge will be at school. And if I choose to pursue my masters, we might be in for 5 hard years. And that won’t be fun. But at least it has a number, like the sadness and anxiety has a name.

That is so much better than the unknown. I need to remember that.