Tonight, I struggled to put my two year old to sleep. Oh he was such a cheeky monster. I was at the end of my tether. Feeling irritated. Touched out.
Like I was about to explode into a million pieces of piercing anger, all directed at his little baby face with those big eyes and those rosy cheeks.
But I did not do it. I breathed. I thought of the sunset. Gleaming through the room, burning through the curtains.
I lay there still as a statue. Still as stone. Dead.
He touched me on my arms and kissed my wrists and climbed all over me and chattered away. Counting things, talking about things we did that day, asking to kiss ‘mum-mum’ (what he calls his little sister) – who was soothing herself to sleep with her thumb in the crib next to me.
When he finally fell asleep it was 10:30pm and there was no time for anything.
I took myself to the shower which turned into a bath, because the plug found its way to the hole and the bath started filling up.
I saw an unopened face mask beside the bath, the paper ones that you peel and place on your face and let whatever serum they soak it in do your magic. It has holes for your eyes and nose and mouth. I thought, why not. Been wanting to do this for months. Catching sight of my reflection in the bath taps made me shudder. Horror movie things.
I lay back in my unplanned bath and just felt tired. Guilty. Defeated. Like a failure. I felt like I failed my child because I did not manage him adequately. We did not do much today.
My legs felt sore and I just did not feel anything emotional.
Couldn’t stay in the bath too long so I hauled myself out and … here I sit.
I don’t know why I couldn’t stay long. I couldn’t relax. My mind feels like it’s teeming with thoughts but I simultaneously have nothing to do.
My babies are sleeping.
Tomorrow is a new day.
Tomorrow I will do better.