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Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Gastronomical

The family and I have been suffering from some sort of gastro for the past 4 days. Some are vomiting, some squirting, some doing both. It's a terrible thing to see your children sick and not be able to fix it, a good reminder of what it is to be a mother when all you can offer is love and comfort.
However 4 days in and myself being one of the gastro sufferers the novelty of being Nurse Nightingale has worn off. I'm sick of my kids, sick of my husband and definitely sick of the back of the toilet door. In between caring for family I've spent what seems like hours contemplating the back of that door and my thoughts keep taking me back to the same place. This is shit. Literally. Totally. I'm desperate for someone to tend to me, longing to just lay in bed and feel sorry for myself for as long as my bowels will let me.
The best I got was a rub on the back from hubby, with the question - "Do you think you'll be better tomorrow?"
It wears thin, being the homemaker. Running the household. Home Duties. Often I feel moments of hysteria, where I really can't believe that this is where I am, somehow I've ended up some Stepford wife, albeit not a very good one - not thin enough, clean enough, committed enough.
Even worse my Baby Bonus money just ran out so I have no money to call my own. Hubby puts a set amount into a shared bank account each week and I am, I believe, a kept woman. On a budget. Yet the question remains, if I were to go back to work, even part time, who would tend to these home duties?
How dare I complain? My mother never would have, and I know, I know, there are people who long to have what I have. And most of the time I'm delighted by my lot, proud of myself, proud of them, I try to find a sense of achievement in dusted louvres. But evenings like this one, where I'm halfway to falling apart, it's just a pain in my arse.

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