Boob in the Door

It’s 7:45pm. I put the kids to bed last night and had intended to take a nice, long, hot and relaxing bath. Usually bedtime is the best time. If I wait much later I run the risk of having to pull night duty instead. So there I was in my starkers and Betty decided to squeal the place down. She’s been managing to fall asleep on her own recently. I’ve been so impressed (and liberated) that I thought I could put her in her cot and jump in the bath before she was actually snoring. Big mistake.

It’s 8:10pm. Now, as I’d already eaten my dinner with the chillins’, the bath was the last and final ‘task’ to accomplish and then I could literally put my feet up. It had been a long day of cutting teeth, walking to and from nursery, the library, the grocery store, the village and then to and from nursery again. And it all culminated in excessive whining for dummies (or pacifiers, as we call them in the States) and general grizzling and grumbling. But, as I’ve already said, Betty wasn’t impressed and was giving me an earful and then some. Alex, of course, was awake and doing her merry best to settle her. But she wanted the boob. Dang it.argh

It’s now 8:30pm. Graeme has come upstairs to get Betty while I had nipped to the loo. (Trying to escape only I can’t fit down the toilet. This seems to be a theme as I clearly remember attempting to ‘end it all’ as a child by standing in the toilet and threatening my mothe r with flushing. Now, of course, I realize why she chuckled.) Anyway, I get out and there’s Graeme with Betty and Alex at her feet. Jackson is sleeping through the ruckus. I’m thinking,”Yes!!! Now I can REALLY relax!!! Whoo Hooo!!!! Graeme’s gonna take her down until she passes out. That’s what he’s gonna tell me.” But that was short lived. What he really said was,”I’d like to go down and eat my dinner.” Damn.

It’s 8:45. Alex is in my bed with me and Betty while she nurses herself to sleep. I am, of course, still wearing my birthday suit. So Alex is getting a good look at Mommy in all her glory. She came close to Betty and I and said quite matter-of-factly,”What happened to your boob, Mom? Did you get it stuck in the door?” I suppose she was referring to it’s lack of substance. They appear quite flat and squashed when they’re not shaped within a really good, strong, horse-strapped bra. And, as Graeme has so eloquently explained, it’s the kids fault anyway. They’ve sucked the boobies out of me. And so they just kind-of hang there. They’re more like flaps than boobs, really. But I suppose after nursing for over 4 years straight something’s gotta give, right?

bitchIt’s 8:55pm. Betty’s asleep. I put her in her cot. Alex goes back to bed. I grab my book, The Bitch in the House, and start to read a short essay on motherhood called Attila the Honey I’m Home. Thank God there are other women who are brave enough to dispel the myth of prefection and tell it like it is!

I love being a mother. And I love my children more than anything in this world. But Good God do they send me round the bend. I’m sure everything will get easier in January when Alex starts full-time school and Jackson starts half-day nursery. Betty may even be talking by then. Then I’ll be crying because I miss them, feeling guilty for all the horrible things I’ve thought, done and said while I still had them around and will regret that I haven’t done or said something that will inevitably screw them up in the end.

Why don’t they tell you just how heart wrenching, torturous and all-together guilt-ridden being a mother can be? It just seems to sidle right up there beside unbounding love, complete and utter awe, unriveled pride and delight in the wonderous new discoveries that they each make very single day. It can make you fell a bit schizophrenic.

schiz‧o‧phre‧ni‧a[skit-suhfree-nee-uh, freen-yuh]


1. Also called dementia praecox. a severe mental disorder characterized by some, but not necessarily all, of the following features: emotional blunting, intellectual deterioration, social isolation, disorganized speech and behavior, delusions, and hallucinations.

2. a state characterized by the coexistence of contradictory or imcompatible elements.

Why not just say motherhood?

~ by imadethis on October 10, 2006.

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