Fragile

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It’s a fragile day. The kind where you can feel yourself creeping up the Edinburgh Scale as each minute passes. The kind where you can’t find a park and you try not to cry. Where your shoes get all wet and you try harder not to cry. Where the doctor keeps you waiting 45 minutes so you’ve run out of parking meter and you quickly mention the quick thing but you don’t mention what you really came for.

The day started with a double scream fest. Another one. I couldn’t do anything other than hold one and settle him while the other one screamed, then put him down and hold the other one while the first one started up again. Days like these…you’ll know what I’m talking about if you’ve experienced it. Your face is fixed, eyes blank but focussed and you try to go to your happy place. Where was that again? And poor, poor Archie, not a scrap of attention from me all morning. He kept shouting out to me from upstairs and the din was so loud around me all I could do was shout yeah that sounds great honey, back at him. Poor little darling. At one point he shouted mummy, can we go live in a spaceship? Yeah, let’s do it sweetheart, maybe there is a air lock of some kind we can use to drown out the screaming.

Later my neighbour came around to warn us that they were preparing for flooding. They are experienced in such matters and we have just moved in. So nice of her. How are you coping with our noise I asked. Ahh, she said diplomatically, yes, it’s loud. Honestly in defence of her, she couldn’t have shared her concerns in a nicer way, and I did ask, but it was the last straw of a really break point day. So now I know that I am that neighbour that people talk about. Not only does this suck for me, but now I know it sucks for others too. Those bloody screaming kids over the fence. I thanked her, closed the door, and then I really did cry.

But then, again, a little ray of sunshine giggled hysterically to see my face, ran and threw himself into my arms. A little piece of me came back home. And another learned to give kisses. Wet, all over the face kisses. Another piece. And the other one said, mummy, let’s play a cuddling game. Yes, let’s.

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3 responses »

  1. I know it’s hard not to imagine what others think about us, but when thinking about others, I really try to remember that babies cry, teenagers slouch or play music loud, and kids always have more energy than adults. (And I now add, that parents of young children are sleep-deprived.) It’s one of those facts of life, and to complain about it is both fruitless and a denial of nature.

    What I’m trying to say is try not to let what others might think get to you.

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