What am I doing?
Well, me, that's an interesting question.
My answer would, truthfully, have to be: At least 80% worrying and stressing.
This is not new. Or news. I have been a champion worrier since my early teens, an affliction that I assumed would pass with puberty. Instead, it seems I am eternally cursed to ponder, worry and niggle at every feature of my being, thought of my brain and event of my life. Here's an abridged list of things I've worried about in the last 24 hours:
1. My motherhood skills
I'm currently a stay-at-home-mum. The reason people have NOTHING to say to women who, when asked what they do, say "I'm a stay-at-home-mum" is because they, perhaps subconsciously (and rightly, in my opinion), assume that there is absolutely no crossover between the working life of a working person who works for a living, and the (equally, if not more-so) labour intensive home life of a woman who spends her day looking after her own offspring. This is because the two have absolutely nothing in common, unless the person asking the question works in the childcare industry, and even then it's shaky. For example, you can't compare employers. A working person says "God, I had such a rough time with my boss today" and goes on to describe how the person they work for is such an arse, they always give me a 'five minute job' at 5:15pm that inevitably takes at least an hour, he only ever talks to my cleavage, she belittles me in front of the entire office, etc. What does the average SAHM (Stay-At-Home-Mum, abbreviated henceforth for labour-saving purposes) have in response to that? As a working person, you can't enjoy the same camaraderie as you might with a fellow worker, because the boss in the SAHM's case is a dribbling child. More than that, they're a member of their immediate family. More than THAT, it's the fruit of their own sodding loins. Many people assume that any implication, however slight, that being a SAHM is ANYTHING other than beautiful, wonderful and intensely fulfilling will be taken as a mortal insult. And in some cases, they are (unfortunately) correct.
Not me.
I knew before my daughter was born that I wasn't cut out for SAHM-ness. While I do have certain hippy aspects, I lack the patience and the mother-earth-gaia elements completely. I've met other SAHMs and seen a few blogs of same, and they all seem to be endlessly patient, relaxed, with a healthy "my child's development is paramount" attitude, which I simply lack.
The fact is, while my daughter is lovely and brilliant and bright and all of that, she's also irritating, annoying, incessant and frustrating, with each day full of "what's that?, what's that?, what's that?", "want pingu!", "want orange drink!" and the newly added, triggered by nothing "waaaaaaaaaaaah!", and I'm just not cut out to deal with it.
So I worry. I worry that I'm not a good mum.
2. What do I contribute?
This is kind of two-fold.
One of the aspects of being a SAHM is being a housewife (strictly speaking, housegirlfriend, but who's quibbling?), which means doing washing, washing up, vacuuming and generally keeping the place clean and tidy. Anyone who's been to my house knows that I accomplish exactly none of these things. I am a naturally untidy person, incapable of seeing mess until I'm wading in it. It's a weird affliction, but I simply don't NOTICE mess until I've had to climb over it to reach the sofa for three or four days in a row. Some people think I'm lazy, and I won't deny it, but that's only part of the problem. It just doesn't occur to me to move stuff out of the way, to tidy up. In part, I think it's because of my mum. Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming my mum for this, it's entirely my problem and I take responsibility for it, but as a youngster, I came to understand that, once mum had noticed the mess and become exasperated by it, it was only a matter of time until she cleaned it up herself. And I think that bit of brainspace still rules, the part of me that abstractly realises that something should be done about the mess, but ultimately, someone else will eventually come along and deal with it for me. As a result, my daughter learns new and interesting things about random flotsam that accumulates in the front room.
The other thing: I'm meant to be starting my own business holding workshops and lessons on upcycling (yeah, upcycling. Look it up. Come on, what am I, your mum?). I quit my last job a year ago with the intention of starting said business pretty much immediately. A year later and I've made almost no progress.
This is largely due to fear. I don't have a proper business brain, I lack organisational prowess (as mentioned previously) and I lack start-up funds. All of this is easily overcome, and I know it. I know what I want to be doing, I know how to do the actual workshops/ lessons/ teaching bit, I'm just terrified at having to take responsibility for it, both financially and emotionally. If it doesn't work, my rational brain says, then fair enough. At least I tried, I gave it my best shot and I've learned valuable lessons. My irrational brain, however, kicks in with all manner of hard-to-pin-down-but-all-too-real terrors and fears that I'll bugger it all up completely, that I have no clue how to do anything, that I'll lose any money I've spent, that no-one will be interested, blah, blah blah, blah blah fucking blah.
Long story short, I've done nothing, because my utter lack of contributing any damn thing to the running of the house has built up to this huge pressure in my head and now I'm unable to think of my business ideas without being washed out by white noise.
3. Girlfriend skills
All of the above leaves me tense and stressy. The ideal environment for my poor fella, who has to come home to it. He's a much better cook than me, too, and now we have this system where he cooks on Saturdays, Sundays and Mondays (when he doesn't work), I do it on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, and we have a take-away on Fridays, so I worry about my lack of cooking prowess.
For example, two days ago I made bangers & mash. I made the mash with potatoes and carrots (for added flavour and crunch), and Fella decided peas would round off the meal perfectly. Turns out he was right, but I considered my Bangers & Mash to be a rousing success. Possibly the simplest meal since Cheese on Toast, but I was very proud. To put this in perspective, Fella makes incredible creations without trying. He never uses recipes, just relies on basic intuition and whatever's in the cupboard at the time. I'm simply proud if I can make something that's edible and stays down.
That's one example of my girlfriend-related worries, the myriad others are too diffuse to really go in to here. Perhaps another time. You can't wait can you? Just be patient, all my demented neuroses will eventually be unearthed for your pleasure and delight, you lucky thing.
4. My body
In no particular order:
Stretch marks, hairy toes, hair that won't do what I tell it, unwanted fat, desperately unfit, knobbly knees, a missing right pectoral muscle (and subsequent boobular lopsidedness), large nose, large pores, cellulite, gapped teeth, poor coordination, huge feet (for a girl), small boobs, boggly eyes, a mole with a hair growing out of it that I keep pulling out and keeps growing back, and I realise, reading this list back, that the visual image conjured here is something akin to Quasimodo's twin sister...
I'm not that bad, but those things bug and bother me.
5. That I worry too much
Oh, the irony.
Ha. Ha ha.
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
My answer would, truthfully, have to be: At least 80% worrying and stressing.
This is not new. Or news. I have been a champion worrier since my early teens, an affliction that I assumed would pass with puberty. Instead, it seems I am eternally cursed to ponder, worry and niggle at every feature of my being, thought of my brain and event of my life. Here's an abridged list of things I've worried about in the last 24 hours:
1. My motherhood skills
I'm currently a stay-at-home-mum. The reason people have NOTHING to say to women who, when asked what they do, say "I'm a stay-at-home-mum" is because they, perhaps subconsciously (and rightly, in my opinion), assume that there is absolutely no crossover between the working life of a working person who works for a living, and the (equally, if not more-so) labour intensive home life of a woman who spends her day looking after her own offspring. This is because the two have absolutely nothing in common, unless the person asking the question works in the childcare industry, and even then it's shaky. For example, you can't compare employers. A working person says "God, I had such a rough time with my boss today" and goes on to describe how the person they work for is such an arse, they always give me a 'five minute job' at 5:15pm that inevitably takes at least an hour, he only ever talks to my cleavage, she belittles me in front of the entire office, etc. What does the average SAHM (Stay-At-Home-Mum, abbreviated henceforth for labour-saving purposes) have in response to that? As a working person, you can't enjoy the same camaraderie as you might with a fellow worker, because the boss in the SAHM's case is a dribbling child. More than that, they're a member of their immediate family. More than THAT, it's the fruit of their own sodding loins. Many people assume that any implication, however slight, that being a SAHM is ANYTHING other than beautiful, wonderful and intensely fulfilling will be taken as a mortal insult. And in some cases, they are (unfortunately) correct.
Not me.
I knew before my daughter was born that I wasn't cut out for SAHM-ness. While I do have certain hippy aspects, I lack the patience and the mother-earth-gaia elements completely. I've met other SAHMs and seen a few blogs of same, and they all seem to be endlessly patient, relaxed, with a healthy "my child's development is paramount" attitude, which I simply lack.
The fact is, while my daughter is lovely and brilliant and bright and all of that, she's also irritating, annoying, incessant and frustrating, with each day full of "what's that?, what's that?, what's that?", "want pingu!", "want orange drink!" and the newly added, triggered by nothing "waaaaaaaaaaaah!", and I'm just not cut out to deal with it.
So I worry. I worry that I'm not a good mum.
2. What do I contribute?
This is kind of two-fold.
One of the aspects of being a SAHM is being a housewife (strictly speaking, housegirlfriend, but who's quibbling?), which means doing washing, washing up, vacuuming and generally keeping the place clean and tidy. Anyone who's been to my house knows that I accomplish exactly none of these things. I am a naturally untidy person, incapable of seeing mess until I'm wading in it. It's a weird affliction, but I simply don't NOTICE mess until I've had to climb over it to reach the sofa for three or four days in a row. Some people think I'm lazy, and I won't deny it, but that's only part of the problem. It just doesn't occur to me to move stuff out of the way, to tidy up. In part, I think it's because of my mum. Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming my mum for this, it's entirely my problem and I take responsibility for it, but as a youngster, I came to understand that, once mum had noticed the mess and become exasperated by it, it was only a matter of time until she cleaned it up herself. And I think that bit of brainspace still rules, the part of me that abstractly realises that something should be done about the mess, but ultimately, someone else will eventually come along and deal with it for me. As a result, my daughter learns new and interesting things about random flotsam that accumulates in the front room.
The other thing: I'm meant to be starting my own business holding workshops and lessons on upcycling (yeah, upcycling. Look it up. Come on, what am I, your mum?). I quit my last job a year ago with the intention of starting said business pretty much immediately. A year later and I've made almost no progress.
This is largely due to fear. I don't have a proper business brain, I lack organisational prowess (as mentioned previously) and I lack start-up funds. All of this is easily overcome, and I know it. I know what I want to be doing, I know how to do the actual workshops/ lessons/ teaching bit, I'm just terrified at having to take responsibility for it, both financially and emotionally. If it doesn't work, my rational brain says, then fair enough. At least I tried, I gave it my best shot and I've learned valuable lessons. My irrational brain, however, kicks in with all manner of hard-to-pin-down-but-all-too-real terrors and fears that I'll bugger it all up completely, that I have no clue how to do anything, that I'll lose any money I've spent, that no-one will be interested, blah, blah blah, blah blah fucking blah.
Long story short, I've done nothing, because my utter lack of contributing any damn thing to the running of the house has built up to this huge pressure in my head and now I'm unable to think of my business ideas without being washed out by white noise.
3. Girlfriend skills
All of the above leaves me tense and stressy. The ideal environment for my poor fella, who has to come home to it. He's a much better cook than me, too, and now we have this system where he cooks on Saturdays, Sundays and Mondays (when he doesn't work), I do it on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, and we have a take-away on Fridays, so I worry about my lack of cooking prowess.
For example, two days ago I made bangers & mash. I made the mash with potatoes and carrots (for added flavour and crunch), and Fella decided peas would round off the meal perfectly. Turns out he was right, but I considered my Bangers & Mash to be a rousing success. Possibly the simplest meal since Cheese on Toast, but I was very proud. To put this in perspective, Fella makes incredible creations without trying. He never uses recipes, just relies on basic intuition and whatever's in the cupboard at the time. I'm simply proud if I can make something that's edible and stays down.
That's one example of my girlfriend-related worries, the myriad others are too diffuse to really go in to here. Perhaps another time. You can't wait can you? Just be patient, all my demented neuroses will eventually be unearthed for your pleasure and delight, you lucky thing.
4. My body
In no particular order:
Stretch marks, hairy toes, hair that won't do what I tell it, unwanted fat, desperately unfit, knobbly knees, a missing right pectoral muscle (and subsequent boobular lopsidedness), large nose, large pores, cellulite, gapped teeth, poor coordination, huge feet (for a girl), small boobs, boggly eyes, a mole with a hair growing out of it that I keep pulling out and keeps growing back, and I realise, reading this list back, that the visual image conjured here is something akin to Quasimodo's twin sister...
I'm not that bad, but those things bug and bother me.
5. That I worry too much
Oh, the irony.
Ha. Ha ha.
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
posted by Kathmonkey at 11:27 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home