The last week or so has been really tough.
I went back to work.
S started nursery.
S is cutting at least 2 teeth.
S has had The Neverending Snotfest cold.
I have had a cold.
S has had trouble sleeping.
|A rare occurrence.
With the weather being nice last weekend, and S being a screaming, snotty, clingy mess, I couldn’t bear the thought of staying in the house all day. So I took her to my mum’s for the day, thinking that might give me a bit of a break. What it actually did was make things worse. S went into meltdown when it looked as if I might leave her side, and nobody else could console her. When I went to the toilet, I had to take her with me and even then she screamed when I sat her on the floor next to me.
As long as she was close to me (as close as possible, preferably with one hand on my boobs at all times), she was perfectly happy . The only problem was, I really just wanted some time out to relax.
At one point I was desperate for the loo, so I got my sister and brother in law to come and sit with S on the blanket we were playing on while I literally ran into the house. S screamed as if the world were ending. When I came back out it took me 10 minutes to calm her back down. In hindsight it was probably predictable that my mother spent the entire time at the other end of the garden saying “oh you’re so mean, you ran away from her! Poor S, she’s so upset because you were so horrid to her!” In the end I had to tell her to shut the ***** up because she wasn’t helping.
This is the extent of the support I have received from my family whilst returning to work and doing my best to deal with leaving S at nursery, her teething and having a cold.
Ok then, fine, I’ll just get on with it on my own, same as I have for the last 13 months, for my traumatic pregnancy, for my entire life.
Yesterday I was so tired I spent the whole day walking around with a lump in my throat as if I was about to cry. This wasn’t helped by S falling off a swing at the park, and my feeling like the world’s worst mother for it. She was fine; I was most definitely not. This was followed by a ridiculous evening of alternating wailing and wanting to play, and no sleep until 11pm. By that point I was about ready to just get up and walk out of the house.
Having gone to sleep so late, S slept pretty well and didn’t wake up until 8am, meaning I had some time by myself this morning to sort some things and have a bath. It was only about an hour, but it made enough of a difference.
I’ve had some sleep and a bath, and I’ve tidied up some mess upstairs. Things are looking a lot better this morning. I might be in this alone, but I’ve survived the last 13 months so there’s no reason I can’t continue.
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