The Mother Load.

It’s such a cliché but no one ever really tells you what you’re in for when you decide to have a baby and to be honest I don’t think I would be telling anyone either.

The baby stuff is definitely new and difficult, sorting out how to care for them and what they need. But it’s the emotional side of it that hit me like a 10 tonne Tessie. I had no idea that I could sit bolt upright awake at 2am in a panic about the fact that I wasn’t really holding onto the pram tight enough as we walked down a hill the other day and what if I had accidentally let go just as a bus drove in front of us. It really came as a shock to me that my mind could come up with all these impossible scenarios and somehow turn them into very real and plausible threats.

And then there is the guilt.

I have guilt attached to leaving my children in care as I go to work, I have guilt attached to not being able to work the full time hours my job requires, I have guilt attached to the fact that I’m not willing to change our lifestyle dramatically to ensure that I don’t have to go to work, I have guilt attached to the fact that I feel so much guilt.

I don’t think I can ever rid myself of it, I just get used to it always being there, always feeling like I’m just not quite enough for everything. Why can’t I hold it together like so many of my friends that have children? Is there something missing in my make up that means I’m just not able to cope with all the competing pressures?

The other night I was simply defeated. I picked the eldest wee one up from after school care a little after 5pm – he was sitting by himself at a table playing quietly, waiting patiently. I couldn’t hear anything the carer said to me because my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the gut wrenching guilt were too loud and my focus was on holding back the tears. We picked up the smaller wee one from child care and got home about 5.40pm.

The dog and cat were barking and meowing, I was carrying 4 bags, school jumpers, drink bottles and the mail. The wee ones fought over who got to put the key in the lock to open the door, we finally got inside, I rubbed at the red welt on my palm from all the bags (result of being made to wait for 10 minutes whilst the eldest wee one painstakingly put the key in the lock and slowly turned it....), dinner needed to be heated up, the eldest wee one was crying because his t-shirt was stuck on his head and he wanted help getting changed, the smaller wee one was crying because her molars are coming through and she just wanted to kick back and watch Peppa Pig NOW.

Feed the animals, check the dinner, get the plates out, unpack the lunch bags, wash the containers, I’ve got work on my mind and the way that makes me constantly feel inadequate, too much, too much, too much. Husband arrives home and I dissolve into tears.

Hopeless.

I went to the supermarket for some ‘me’ time, got a lot of pitying looks because I didn’t bother to check my face before I left the house. Blocthy red face and neck, puffy eyes with a hint of mascara over the cheeks. I chose not to care. It’s official, my self respect has tendered it’s resignation.

The worst part of it all, in my post melt down vagueness I accidentally gave the youngest wee one a double dose of Nurofen. After a panicked (read slightly hysterical) call to the Poison helpline we found out that it was ok and wouldn’t harm her. But I am sure I now have an ulcer, a guilt ulcer. Can guilt give you an ulcer? Well it should because I deserve it.

Today will be a better day. Next week will be a better week.

This is not a particularly funny piece, it’s a reality piece, well perhaps more a self pitying piece, because I’m sure there are people who have a lot tougher things to deal with and manage it all quite well.

I feel better for writing it and I hope if someone else is feeling like this, then maybe you will be comforted to know you are not alone.