The stomach bubbles are seriously impeding my ability to twist in Mari D (binding by the fingernails, I knew they would come in handy if I finally stopped biting them) and kind of making Mari C unpleasant. Went to my shrink today, and she put me onto the notion that the sour stomach and inability to find any food or drink that doesn’t bubble up and gurgle unpleasantly (even 12 hours later) might just be symbolic of me swallowing my rage at having to be home for almost a week with a sick child.
Dirty little secret time: it’s not always fun and stimulating to take care of your kids. And by “your”, I mean mine. But probably, yours too. Even if you don’t care to admit it to yourself, and instead, churn acid in your stomach and then have trouble binding in Mari D.
Seriously, homework? It is as boring, no, more boring, than when you were the one who had to hand it in to your teacher. Listening to endless and exhaustive play-by-plays of the X-Box Baseball tournament? Like listening to water drip out of the faucet. Transporting kids to and from their activities? How do I describe the way this begins to get to you after awhile? Think Sisyphus with a rather unruly rock that is in constant danger of running into the crosswalk while a car is making a left.
But when your child is home for a week with a rotten cold, and you spend the week sitting around the house listening patiently to the bitching and moaning and cleaning up after the snooting and vomiting, well, it makes all of that look like a day at the beach with a shirtless Josh Holloway. Basically, it sucks ass. Only you are way too deep into the “Perfect Mommy Fantasy” to acknowleged those feelings. And when they begin to surface, you just no sympathy for yourself whatsoever, which only makes the stomach acid churn a little more.
Brian returned to school today (he tried to return on Monday, only to go home sick and stay home yesterday; I had a yoga furlough in the morning but spent the rest of the day playing the role of the Perfect Mommy, which is to say, the one who won’t acknowledge that it’s okay to hate staying home with a sick child, when the Good Enough Mommy would been good enough (that’s the one who stays home with the sick child and allows herself to feel her feelings of feeling trapped). He is much better now and even has a friend over.
And the Good Enough Mommy is hosting that playdate like a trouper and is allowing herself to feel quite put upon.
Doctor’s orders and all that.