Bad Day/Good Day

Bad Day

I open my eyes. Damn it, it is early. Too early. I stagger, bleary eyed down the landing, the need for more sleep so overwhelming that I want to cry. I know I will feel tired all day. He sits there, the complaints already on his lips, the shouts and screams and protestations forming like a queue at the back of his tongue, ready to roll off in endless thick torrents the whole day long. Ready to drown me.

He wants to TV on. I am too tired to argue. And so begins the battle of figuring out the endless demands, all met with a firm and angry NO! Pulled and pinched, punched and prodded. Go away mummy. But then needed, oh god needed so much. Come here mummy. Come here NOW. Look at this. Read my mind mummy.

Resentment. Guilt. Inadequacy. A dull anger that sits in my stomach.

The niggle to write builds, through breakfast, the need for space and quiet, through the frantic dance of protesting limbs of getting washed and dressed. The endless noise, the endless nonsensical chatter wearing me down, wearing me out.

I look in the mirror. What has happened to me? Who is this tired, faded woman? I do not bother making myself look good. Who would care anywhere? I am not seen, I am not wanted. I am just a mother.

I try. I do try. To fill his days with things to make him happy. But I am tired. And nothing is good enough, it seems.

I fail. I give up.

I count the hours, the clock ticking past so painfully slowly. Consumed with the things I am not doing. I have got nothing done, my whole day filled with managing this complicated puzzle, I cannot get the pieces to fit.

Is this it? Is this my life now? Is this who I am?

Bedtime. At last. An evening filled as I try to desperately to regain some sense of self.

It is not enough, I must do more, be more.

I push away the person that loves me most, too worn out to talk or engage. Just wanting to retreat, to take solace in darkness and aloneness, but then yearning for touch and contact in a way that makes my stomach ache.

I stay up late. Stretching out every minute of free time and falling into bed exhausted. Empty.

At least it is over, this day. But the thought of tomorrow fills me with a an inner panic that builds and builds.

I want to run. I don’t want to be here.

Good Day

I open my eyes. Damn it, it is early. Never mind, I have a whole day ahead. There will be time to sleep later. And there is fresh coffee in the fridge and the sun is shining.

I open the door to his room and his frowny face, ready to tell me off for something or other makes me laugh at its seriousness and melodrama. I silence him with a kiss and pull a silly face and he laughs, his eyes crinkling and a stream of soft and musical expression and life and personality burst forth from his lips. I am bathed in them. Renewed.

He wants to TV on and I smile and say yes. There will be time for outside and play and interaction later, and besides, Telletubbies makes him laugh, deep and free. Why wouldn’t that be ok? He is hard to figure out, of course he is, he is a complicated little soul but I am listening. I am tuned in. And I will keep trying. YES! The pulls and pinches are soon turned into cuddles, and opportunity to teach about gentle hands and how to take care of those you love. Go away mummy. I give him the space he needs, using the time to eat and soak in the odd moment of peace. Come here mummy. Of course my darling, relishing the soft curls and arms wrapped tight around my neck. Breathing in his need for I know it will not last.

Love. Acceptance. Peace. Pride. A sense of rightness that sits in my heart.

The niggle to write builds, of course it does. I could deny it as easily as I could deny breathing but that’s OK. I use the slow rhythm of the day to let my mind wander and dream, letting the moments inspire me. I am present, and somewhere else too, writing in my head if not on paper. The chatter washes over me, makes me smile in its bright energy.

I look in the mirror. I smile. I am beautiful, confident. I always will be, the woman I am shining through. I chose the clothes I love, that make me feel sexy and alive. I am seen, I am wanted. I am full of femininity and sensuality and youth and I relish it.

I try.  To fill his days with things to make him happy. And the moments I get it right eclipse all else. If something isn’t working I try something else, and I remember that bad days are always rescued by a cup of coffee in a cafe somewhere and a feed of the ducks in the park.

I am doing so well. I am good at this.

The hours fly by because I fill them up. And the things that don’t get done can be done tomorrow, or not at all. I am under no obligation. This is my day and I am in charge. I haven’t figured out the complicated puzzle that is my life but that’s ok too. I am young, there is time. And it is the journey that counts, I don’t have to have figured everything out before I turn 30.

This is it, for now. But life will change, as will I. It is exciting.

Bedtime. A long evening, I can fill it anyway I like. But there is no rush. If I want to sleep, or to read. If I want to do nothing that is fine. I have no job, no obligation. There is no pressure to do anything other than what I chose.

I am so much already. I don’t need to be anything more than I am tonight.

I gravitate to the person that loves me most, needing his touch and his smell and his warmth and knowing he knows me better than anyone.

I go to bed early, leading my lover by the hand. Full of everything I am and everything I can be.

It is over, this day. And the thought of tomorrow fills me with hope and promise.

I want to stay here forever. I am exactly where I need to be.

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Why are the bad days so pervasive? Why are the good days so fleeting, so fragile?

I want more of them.

What is different those days? Me? Is it as simple as that?

What makes the difference between your good and bad days?