Between a rock and a hard place

Sometimes in life, there’s no keeping anyone happy. No matter how hard you try to ensure that all the different areas of your life are flowing smoothly, chances are they just aren’t.

As you know, my eldest child started school this year.  I was convinced that the transition was going to be easy.  Alas, I was wrong.  The drama that unfolded was nothing short of spectacular.  Tears, anxiety induced vomiting, issues with drop of arrangements; it just went on and on with no end in sight.

Most mothers will agree, the emotional well being of our children is paramount and woe betide anyone that adds to the stress and angst.  You will become number one on my hit list and I will pursue you to the depths of hell to extract retribution if need be.

Thankfully, a few phone calls and some new arrangements later, we seem to be on an even footing now and the tears have subsided.  My child is happier, we are making inroads with being comfortable and it’s all good.

Or is it?

To be perfectly honest with you, I think the one that suffered the most during the past three traumatic weeks is Mummy.

As a woman, I find myself placed in a very shitty position.  This is what I call being trapped between a rock and a hard place.  And let me tell you, it fucking sucks being here.  Allow me to explain.

I have no choice but to work full time.  Mr Nobody and I discussed our lives way back when, before children were a factor to contend with.  I’m not ashamed to say I like to live a nice life.  And by nice, I mean I want to be able to take a holiday with my kids to exotic destinations (?) like the Gold Coast or maybe Rye.  I want to be able to give my kids a few luxuries in life.  Hell I want to be able to give myself and Mr Nobody a few luxuries in life! I want to have take away sometimes, because seriously, the thought of arriving at home after 6pm on a weeknight, having to unpack lunchboxes, wash up, repack lunches, get clothes ready for the following day, cook some dinner, clean up the mess from dinner, get the kids into bed, feed the dog and perhaps sexually gratify Mr Nobody makes me want to weep in frustration. 

So I miss out on the school drop offs, the school picks ups, reading with the children, taking them to extra-curricular activities after school.  That also fucking sucks.  More than that, it hurts to know that there’s a part of my children’s lives I’ll have to experience second hand. 

The thing is... people judge.  A former friend once told me to get my priorities right.  Oh really?  Right according to who?

And then there’s the whole juggling work responsibilities to contend with. My manager couldn’t give a toss what my parental responsibilities are.  All I know is, it displeases her when my parental responsibilities clash with peak periods at work.  Case in point, I requested time off to aide my child with the transition, because a part of me knew it wasn’t going to be easy. This was denied.  And I gave them a year’s notice.  Which only served to fuel my fury when I learned that said manager had taken time off to fly to an exotic location (NOT the Gold Coast or Rye) while I had to run around like an insane (an incredibly sweaty) woman trying to keep things under control.

Mrs Nobody was NOT a happy camper and would have, in all likelihood, said a few things I would later regret had she been here in person last week. All I know is I spent a lot of time crying in the car, dashing like a mad woman to work, only to have to turn around again a few hours later and make the dash back to the school to pick up my unhappy baby.

So; judged by work and judged by some women who have made the decision to stay home with their children. Both parties are ruthless in their assessment of my failings and my inability to get either aspect of my life right.

But the biggest critique comes from a closer enemy. It comes from that voice in my head, the one that never shuts up. The one that never lets anything go. The one that, late at night, when my house is finally in blessed silence, begins a crescendo of accusations that won’t go away:  Bad mother, bad wife, bad employee, BAD PERSON.

She’s the one I hate the most. Because no matter what I do, how hard I try, how many tears I shed, nothing is ever going to make her happy.  Nothing will ever be good enough. No accomplishments will be great enough, no sacrifice big enough.

I hope I’m not the only one beating myself up like this.  I can’t be.  I know a lot of wonderful mothers who just don’t think they are doing a good job.  I take comfort in knowing that, although unspoken, there are others having the same conversations with themselves every night.

Rest assured you are doing the best job possible.  But don't worry, I don't believe it either.  Even if I know it's true.