Because I cant be her again I grab my phone and google holidays I can’t afford. I stare at women in bikinis on cruise ships holding cocktails as bolognaise burns on the stove top. I trawl through palm fringed retreats and salivate over resorts that have sun beds surrounded by water, where handsome waiters bring drinks served in watermelons. I plan out of reach getaways as I run a bath for my baby and ‘like’ faraway havens on my Facebook feed as I heat up milk in the microwave. These wistful visualisations break up my boredom and help me imagine a life beyond the monotonous wheel of parenting.
I don’t know why I do it to myself. It’s not like I haven’t been that girl in the picture, I have. I looked more like an over cooked sausage in a bikini than her, but I have been there! I have had a life. So, I don’t know why I can’t be satisfied with the humdrum.
Perhaps if humans were totally satisfied, we wouldn’t strive for more? We wouldn’t move forward. Maybe that slight sense of disappointment is what spurs me on?
I love my children but, life can be tedious. Repeating the same routine every day gets damn gloomy. The feeling I wake up to is boredom. It sits heavy in my heart at the start of each day. That’s the sadness. That’s the crisis. Knowing my day is going to be the same as the day before makes me despondent.
But, I get up. I kiss my kids good morning and hug my husband as he passes me a mug of coffee. I shake off the blues before I get caught. Before they’re noticed.
‘Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit tired’
I get on with my day. My day that could have been any day last week or any day in the next decade. I made this choice and no matter how much I wish it was more exciting there is really nothing I can do about it.
I will have to be patient. My shiney time will come again. That carefree girl on the curb will have to stay hidden in the place between my morning melancholy and my first coffee.
I am not ashamed to admit that I get bored of motherhood or that I feel sad and isolated at times. I don’t feel guilty about needing time away. It’s what will keeps me strong.
I don’t hate being a mother but I’m not going to pretend I love it all the time either.
The children challenge me and reward me. They punch me with one hand and tickle me with the other. I love them with every aching bone in my tubby middle-aged body. The love in-between their demands is what makes that descision to become a mum, right.
I’d just like something in return every now and again.
Not a dead flower from the garden or a pin cushion made in class. Not a cuddle or a long soak in the bath…
I want time. A break. A massage or a night in a hotel. I want to go for a walk or sit in a hammock with the sun shining down on me.
I want them to leave me the fuck alone… just for a minute.
Please give me a moment away from the boredom. Some time to remember who I am. Give me some space so I can come back and be the best mum I can. The one that sings ‘The sweet gingerbread man’ song while dancing around the kitchen counter. The mum that does the greatest gibbon walk and gives the best sniffy dog snuggle in the universe.
Give me some space so I can give you the world.
That’s it. Simple.
Originally published here.
Victoria lives on The Sunshine Coast on the East Coast of Australia. She has three uncontrollable children, a very patient husband and a dog. She’s been sober for 2 years and writes about her zig zaggy journey in her blog – www.drunkmummysobermummy.com. Victoria is currently writing a book about parenting, alcohol and life as a sober mum.