Thursday, May 17, 2012

WARNING: Angry pregnant lady on the loose

Darling Reader. I can't do the whole catching up on my life thing - I've tried, and it ruins my mojo. Therefore, please try to piece together what's going on for yourselves. Questions are permitted. M'kay? Tx

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This morning, as Shane and I went tearing out of our driveway in convoy, much too late for getting the kid to his second day of school on time (how useless are we, really?!) and for getting one vehicle into the workshop on time (thank heavens the owner is a friend) so that I could drop Shane at work on time (they gave up on that happening a long time ago) - I glanced briefly at my staff, weeding diligently in my front garden, and sighed with relief that at least one aspect of my life was running to schedule.

Naturally, dropping Ezra at school was not fun, (the boy is already adept at seeing through the strained veneer of calm we try to exhibit for him), so when we walked in the door he said to me in his sweetest pleading tone: "Mommy, you not going bank? Mommy stay and play with Ezra? Please stay, Mommy. (cue heartbreaking, squish-eyed smile) Please?" (This in direct contrast to his first day, on Tuesday, when he could barely turn his head towards me to say goodbye, so engrossed was he in everything new) Shane, at this point, was hanging back near the door, overwhelmed by his first visit to the school which was absolutely heaving with about sixty or seventy two-, three-, four-, five- and six-year-olds in various states of early morning excitement or tears as they kissed their mommies and daddies goodbye and skipped along to their respective classrooms. Which left me to be the parent that does the goodbye, watching the teacher watching us, waiting for the meltdown that she clearly knew was coming. I tried being sweet and understanding and firm with my little monkey, but tears erupted quickly and I had to leave him, sobbing in the arms of his teacher so I could go and sob in the arms of my husband outside. It is the most despicable I have felt in a very long time.

Racing around our little town in a blur of tears, I stopped being sad and started being angry. At Shane, mostly, for not grasping how anxious it makes me feel to leave my boy in the arms of (obviously well-trained, thoroughly qualified and undeniably nice) strangers, and for therefore leaving me to do the yucky goodbye on my own. And that's where the rational part of my anger ended. The irrational part started with me being angry at myself for not managing to be a full-time-stay-at-home mom AND a full-time-work-from-home mom. Being angry at myself for desperately needing this time alone to work (though so far I have spent my time panicking about how Ezra is and not much else). Being angry at my maid for not being the maternal figure I hoped she would be for Ezra and thereby forcing me into sending him out of our home. Being angry at my mother-in-law for comparing her stay-at-home child-rearing years with my work-at-home arrangement. Being angry with my friends for being able to balance this better than I appear to be. Being angry with my mom for not being closer and for still having to work for a living. This really can't be everyone's fault, can it?

I got home from town and found that my hard-working staff had all but evaporated. Neat little piles of weeds left exactly where I noted them on my way out. Not a whisper of humanity. I parked outside our gates, walked down to the house and heard gleeful cackles accompanying  loud music coming from our maid's room. You can just imagine the scene - me, eyes swollen and red, ringed with smudged mascara, snot dripping from my left sleeve and enough bottled-up fury to blow a stadium into orbit, gate-crashing an early morning tea party in the servants' quarters. Lawdy lawdy. Sparks did fly.

The happy outcome was that it turns out I actually CAN speak a fair amount of Zulu. Either that, or these woman are fluent in Hormonal Bitch. I prefer to imagine the former.

3 comments:

  1. WAAAAhahahahahaahaaa!
    Congratulations! Can't wait for that visit to Durbs; we can compare mother-in-law stories. (I promise to be super indignant on your behalf and never to take her side... :P)

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