I won't lie, it's been a difficult couple of months - hence my absence.
I'm at the point of no return with my nonchalant and completely blatant discontent with my life. I wish things could have been different, why can I still not see the blessing in this situation. Why does it feel like I'm being punished.
Parenting is hard, and off-putting
Someone asked me the other day if I was still interested in having children of my own. Of course I'm wanting my own children, but raising a pre-teen and a 9 year old is hard, and off putting when I think that I may need to do this all over again. I know they say it's different when it's your own children, but gosh, this is a constant battle between cooperation and defiance. The latter dominating at the best of times.
Mr N(ASS)ty was introduced to me a couple of weeks ago by a client of mine. "It's time to step up and hand out some good old fashioned discipline", she said "it's not always easy dishing out hidings, but we all grew up with them and we all laugh about it now."
She was referring to Mr Nasty as if he was the benchmark of parenthood, as if, when you're at this point of idle threats, Mr Nasty is at the top of the list when it comes to distributing physical reminders of who is boss. Today the kids met Mr Nasty, although, as you would imagine my luck, it was a giggle session between them while I sampled some Mr Nasty to their backsides. The introduction was futile as the youngest scoffed at my soft and harmless blows. "That wasn't sore", giggles the youngest, "do it again".
At this stage I'm over it, I'm also considering taking an online mental wellness quiz to check that I'm not, in fact, losing my mind to the insanity I call my afternoons.
Maybe it's not meant to be
Today, for the first time, I questioned whether or not I should walk away. I wondered what it would be like to just say, 'Sorry everyone, I'm done, I need a permanent time out in a remote location with a couple of cocktails around an adult only pool', but I know I could never, I don't want to.
Every fibre of my being is battling through this challenge of acceptance. It's not them, it's me. It's my frustration and my resentments and my regrets. I love their father, and they are good kids, but I'm selfish and I wish they hadn't been born. There. I said it. I wish, they hadn't inconvenienced my life.
If that makes me a bad person then I'm a bad person. But the fact that I'm still here, still committed, still doing my all for them with no expectations and no return on investment is a very clear form of love. Love isn't a duty, it is a privilege. I choose to share my home, money, time and knowledge with them. I choose to give of myself even when it means I'm near tearing out my hair and making idle threats with a bamboo spoon that I brought for a couple bucks at the local store.
I love them, I love him, I just don't know how long it's going to be before I can accept them in all their humanness. Perhaps I've just forgotten how to be patient, tolerant and accepting of others. Perhaps they are my reminders that all things, including love come at a price and mine is loving their father with the burden and privilege of raising them at the same time.
C'est la vie.
