Friday night with a glass of heavy bodied red paired with the bustling buzz of winter in the city, everyone making warm and merry, whilst brewing in the young night. To be cliché, the party is getting started. ……. You know that feel…. right?
No… ! it is not the case for me……
Albeit, I have my glass of wine, but on the contrary, in my pyjamas, leering around the room, in a state of absence, waiting for something to hit me in the head and give me a “ctrl-alt-delete” reboot – zap me awake and remind me what to do next. If you truly ask me, this silence is rather quite deafening. Like swimming in my pity pot, with my head under the water. (I can hear my thoughts….). My moods should really be dancing up above, in the first paragraph, rocking the night, bursting with the freedom that I have craved for approx three years.
A gulf between what I desire and what I need. My ears are itching for the noise, the pitter patter footsteps, clink, clank, clunk sounds, the irritating attention seeking cry and possibly the scent of dirty nappies. My heart sinks… But my mind needs these precious hours to myself with the freedom to do what I want with no distractions. What could be wrong with me! one would think. Why can I not grab the moment while it lasts.
Dewy-eyed, I refresh my glass of wine, as if, in a selfless pity, it is the only two cents I can enjoy for the moment. Seriously, why does everything have to be so intense with us mothers? The first bath, the first smile, the first steps… the first words… the first ….. list goes on and on. We hold sentiment to everything, yet we seem to forget ourselves within this euphoria of emotion. And here I go again…
My first night home alone without my son. For 669.2 days and nights, I’ve slept and woken up with him next to me. (not to mention the 273.75 days in my womb) Sorry to be so technical but I’m an engineer in despair. Today I break the 22-month cycle as he spends tonight without me.
I find it amusing and somewhat piteous how consumed this night is getting. Worrying as each hour goes by, constantly watching my phone for messages. but at the same time contemplating in hope that my son might shed a tear or two realising I am not there.
I am sure some mothers, if not all, go through this. It is an irking layer of skin that has grown on us types of mommies. One that attaches and latches on to our little ones, and holds them tightly in place when they stray away from us. Stretching miles and miles like an elastic band that will never break. (An extendable organ?… is the wine speaking to me?)
Our little ones become a new organ that hold the functioning of our heart and mind together, even though, on most days suffer a permanent state of exhaustion. Ah what do they say about Dr. time? With time, we get used to this feeling (I’m hoping..), it will soon setttle to a plascid disposition. And next time around it will not feel as bad as it did today… x x