…and while I write he draws sunflowers: Post-pardonne moi #3
Tonight I held my son wrapped in a towel after the bath. I held him there tightly so he couldn’t see the tears welling up in my eyes. We have just come back from seeing Papa, Papa who is away for 6 weeks working out of town and we at the 3-week mark, going to visit. But not all goes according as planned and we found ourselves watching TV and convalescing on the beds in a hotel room – with a boy too sick and fevery to wander the streets after breakfast. And the departure, ever bittersweet, left me heavy with the burden of a working mom, celebrating two days of not planning dinners and making a lunch and yet the break, the lounging in bed while my son twirled my hair, cold facecloth compress on his head was hardly a break at all. And the twenty minute or so walk I took around Old Montreal, alone, was glorious, but not really as I walked like I was on a track, with such intention to get anywhere near 10,000 steps, anywhere closer to a feeling of relief and a break from the constant being talked to, asked a question, beckoned and yet, the break, in my head, a place I long for more than anything some times, was so loud and cantankerous, filled with self doubt and the compete opposite of self love that my 20 minute break into the body couldn’t get me out my negative head and even as I write the boy natters on to me, wanting desperately to show me the words he’s written, the truck he draws.
The truth of ‘doing it all’ means nothing I do is done to a state of satisfaction. I work and rush to get home, I stay home and rush to get to work, to school on time, to make a lunch, make sure clothes that fit have been bought, the emergency contacts are up to date and bills and ok I will play Hot Wheels right about now sure, and this too shall pass, this feeling like I’ve failed somehow of myself, to myself from being an independently financially sound woman in her late 30s to now being a woman in her mid 40s feeling lost and paddling, and something like a bit of FOMO but yes let’s write your name and mine and sure pass the airplane to me but for once just put yourself to bed, or just be still, be quiet and let me have a thought that transpires when staring at the clouds without thinking about getting you to bed and feeling so alone while I embrace you in this hug. And so tonight, for now, I held my son a little too tight and a little longer than usual as I wrapped him in a towel after the bath, just so he wouldn’t see my tears.
*My son has seen me cry numerous times and I’m ok with that, but more than anything I wasn’t holding back from that I simply wanted a break. Then don’t have kids you say, you should have thought about that beforehand just as I should have thought about that dress I wore when I was sixteen asking for it. Well I am thinking about it, and instead of losing it and screaming or running away, I’m just holding my tears behind his back tonight and all will be ok in the morning.
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