I have been nursing two poorly imps this week. I have felt like a proper mama again, I have actually been there for them and with them rather than coming home as a novelty act right at the end of the day. This is tough this working mama shizzle, I regularly feel like a sell out.
But the little ones, they are lush and I wish I knew what they thought of everything. I wish I could tap into their perceptions and gauge how they will remember the details of life.
Mind is starting to rediscover the love of capturing these moments, the last eight months or so of focus on other areas of life are becoming tedious. There is much love about our homestead.
If I am honest, having worked through the frustration and anger, the resentment and bitterness with the help of my counsellor has left my heart in a space where it has burst wide open with positivity which is a great foundation to lay for a future of co-parenting from a mile apart. It must too be the imminence of change and the release of years of pressure but it is becoming confusing. I acknowledge the deep something I feel for the man who is the father of my children, who I have been through various hells and high waters with, who I have lived with all my adult life, who I built a home with and who I shared dreams with for so long. In the face of all this positivity I have made monumental efforts to foster can I stand firm with conviction that this gathering space that is already proving good for us is what is needed for the both of us. Some things only time will tell. However strong, now is a vulnerable time.
But positivity rocks and I'm fucking proud of myself for the distance I've come with that. And it can only be good for the children. What better gift could we give than to be a shining example of how to get this type of change and parenting right.
No really ... am I? The countdown is on, three weeks exactly until I move. Three weeks until the childrens time is split between two homes. Almost home and dry, this is when I see how my careful planning and preparation and research pays off. But my head is aspin with new questions ...
50/50 custody may work, they may be as robust and well adjusting as everyone reassures they will be but what of the extended hours they will be in kids club after school once the holidays are over? I never forsawe this in my vision of bringing children into the world. I didn't want to be shoving them into childcare to fit around work arrangements. Will I be able to renegotiate somewhat with work? How will I cope emotionally with not seeing them half of the time - that in itself makes me want to be physically sick. How are the holidays going to work? We have blocked out the weeks we will have them and the weeks I will get off work but really thinking about it ... does that work with stay over arrangements, is it too much too-ing and fro-ing? It is more complicated than I first thought.
Frustratingly as with all of this, no-one is going to work this out for me. No one is going to say ' Girl! this is the best way to do it - it is alright trust this method and all will be fine.' Cliff is not one for discussing these things but yet resentful if I try and make more solid frameworks and structures for us to work with. I have a burning need to work this out, to know what is going to happen. I have to make good decisions and back them up with conviction.
I can't wing it, can I? I have too many variables to take into account to be simply winging this. The kids will need some structure, I will need some structure. There are only seven little days in a week and what combination of nights staying where and days to match is right for who?
I promise I'm not as tightly coiled as all these musings make out but I feel entirely saturated with logistical ponderings. Logistics that I foresaw being a headache and for so very long used as an excuse not to do this. I knew this would be the way of it yet somehow I found the courage to just get the hell on with it.
I feel like I'm standing on a precipice, leaning further and further over the edge until on August 1st I will let my feet leave the edge and let myself fall with faith that my net of preparations will appear. I knock back more medicinal wine as a way to detach from these mental pre-occupations.
I have my last counselling session at relate on Monday and although I feel somewhat ready to let go of that particular security blanket I still feel like I want someone to finish this last bit of this part of the journey off for me. I'm feeling more confused the longer I stare at my diary and the pencil lines with each of our names along them indicating whose week is whose.
None of this is helping. Not the procrastinating, not the wine, not the diary. Music can no longer take me the places I want to go to escape and walking in the woods does not lift the weight from clean off my shoulders instantly right now. Do I need to give in and guess that maybe some things we will not know until we get there. That is winging it right? Or is it trusting the process? Or is that all bollocks?
I am processing one helluva lot right now. I can feel it happening, like a seed quietly germinating within it's shell. It is almost as if I am sitting back from myself and watching myself processing it all bit by bit. I'm watching waves roll in and recede from my own personal shore, but slightly removed. My brother pointed out that this is mindfulness in motion. Mindfulness, that which I have always aspired to, it's happening quite organically at point critical. For real!
I am coming to terms with the way this relationship has flowed into a different body of water. How it has changed and evolved into something different than I thought it was. I am starting to see the beauty in what this different form can be. I don't yet feel the excitement about the move that everyone else seems to be feeling for me. I can't think further than the seemingly infinite to do list I have yet small bubbles of excitement surface when I start to describe the secret half room that adjoins the kids bedroom and the novelty of having a downstairs bathroom backing onto the kitchen or the fact we are going to get guinea pigs. For the first time in what seems like forever my life is a blank canvas and I've not even considered the colours I may use to paint it, not consciously anyhow.
This feels much like self indulgent waffle but the therapeutic qualities of writing are hard to resist and my many volumes of notebooks feel like dark secrets I don't want to return to. I don't know why I have to be louder about writing but I do. So there, if for no other reason than avoiding packing that first box.
And I still swoon at the thought of finding that elusive hug I have been searching for, yearning for. The one where arms encircle me, enclose me and squeeze me. The hug that leaves no doubt in my mind that I am being held and loved fiercely in a basic instinctual capacity. A few have come close.
I forget not how blessed I am with insanely wholesome beautiful friends.