The Scenario In Which I Am The Toilet
Farrah napped for 20 minutes today.
40 the day before
I cannot do this anymore.
After meeting her basic needs all night and all day less 20 minutes, there’s not exactly a plethora of loving kindness at the well; vapor is what I have to offer my four-year-old. We walked home from school today despite freezing temps just so I could give him something of myself. I miss him, I want to be with him. With Farrah supine in her stroller, our walk is our only opportunity, all snotty noses and winnowing wind chill. Kris, able to feed, nurture and entertain himself, gets nothing from me. And then there’s me.
Kris comes home and as I dash away he asks “Where will you be?” and I reply “Anywhere the kids are not.” And in that moment I become a monster. The first words he hears from me all day and I hear them too but I mean them. Mother as Monster. I hear them and they burn as I say them but I mean them and I see the look on his face and I am a monster but he has no idea. No idea what it took from me to still be here today. Yesterday. The day before.
I think about my labor and Farrah’s birth and how when things were at the apex I dreamt of ripping the lid off the toilet tank and bashing myself over the head with it – removing myself from the equation. Someone will have to do something because I.am.fucking.done. Think I’m joking? BONK. Ridiculous but reasonable given the intensity of birth, and at the end of it all, I bore my child and survived just fine. Thrived even. I harken back to that moment every day though and wonder, imagine, dream about removing myself from this new equation. Someone will have to do something because I.am.done.