I've been "on" for the last ten days in a row. I've had exactly 15 minutes away from my children in those ten days; maybe even two or three weeks. The 15 minutes were yesterday when I left Barry and the suckers in a cafe and I went to try on and buy a pair of trousers.
I'm spent. I've no energy, I've no mothering left in me. I'm no use to them at the moment.
I feel tired, drained, like I want to sleep for a week and get a shot of adrenaline to kick-start me, only I'm too tired to even contemplate even having energy again.
I've done it all, feeding, changing, playing, minding, washing, loving, holding, jigging, creating, thinking.
At the moment I'm so head-wrecked about the future, about the next stages coming, how we're going to deal with them, which choices to make, and all the while feeling suffocated in the present.
It's like a non-stop rollercoaster, and I'm not able to get off, I'm screaming but the wind is whipping the sound from my mouth and no one can hear. There's no "getting off" anyway, I'm always "on", always needed.
I'm trying to remember how I usually tell myself "Isn't it lovely to be needed so much, some day you're going to miss this", but I can't feel like that right now.
I'm overwhelmed. I'm pulled in so many directions, feeling bound to so many people, I feel I need to escape for a while or I'll forget who I am.
I'm eating too much sugar, and feeling the highs and lows of it.
I'm not getting any exercise or fresh air these days.
My sleep pattern is right off, sleeping in late, staying up late.
I'm having a glass of wine, which I know makes me feel lower when I'm like this, but I want to "live a little" and this is my pathetic way of feeling like the "old me".
I'm feeling and looking really old, I saw wrinkly eyelids in the mirror this morning, which scared the hell out of me, and made me do a double take.
There is a growing list of things I need to take care of, all with their own deadlines, which I'm leaving, and leaving, procrastinating, and worrying more about as the days go on. So pointless, but I'm too chicken to tackle them.
I'm nesting, feeling like spring-cleaning the whole house, and the mess and clutter is getting to me, along with the chipped paint, the hand-prints on walls, the rotting wood, the leaking pipe, the dirty windows, the unpainted doors, the endless things that need doing.
I feel like this house has become my life, that I spend all my time in the sitting room or the bedroom, I am stuck in these walls, this place, this box.
I can't get out because it's too windy, too rainy, Charlie's too tired, Noah's too small, I've no car, there's nowhere to go, there's no one to see, there's nothing to do, except wait, wait for them to grow, to develop, to start cycling, to start walking, to start talking, to take care of themselves a bit more and give me a bit of space.
But I know when that space comes I'll be pulling them closer to me, wanting them to need me like they did before, wanting them to sit in the sling, to feel my face, to cuddle into me, to feed from me.
This is it. I chose this. I planned it all. I got what I wanted. I'm here now, I've made my bed yada yada.
Still, it doesn't change the fact that I'm feeling burnt out. I think I've been burnt out for some time, and I couldn't even acknowledge it, had to keep going.
Now I've got the time and space to crash.
I'll crash for a while, let Barry take over, which he does so well, thank god.
Then I'll enter the fray again.