One of the cruellest things about parenting and responsibility is the accompanying guilt.
Why aren't I doing it right?
Why is [insert anyone from baby group] so good at this and I am not?
Why do the creatures we love so much try us?
Why do they press our buttons when we just want the best for them?
Why can't I do this?
When can I run away?
What is wrong with me?
Some days it is relentless in it's let up of internal criticism. Some days I just want to walk out the door and I run and run until my feet fall off. Some days I want someone 'proper' to take over.
Of course I don't.
The furthest I've ever run to is my bedroom; just metres if that. I won't even lock myself in the bathroom.
I thought I had this depression, this rememberance, these experiences under control. Somehow, behind my back they have broken free of their shackles and crept up to tap me on the shoulder.
I am so tired.
Today it was all I could do but to curl up in ball on the floor while Wriggles pulled everything off the bookshelf half-watching In the Night Garden.
I have no idea what Iggle Piggle did with Upsy Dasiy. My eyes were closed. My brain was numb. I felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing. I should have been awake, alive. I should have been playing with my precious child. But I couldn't. I selfishly couldn't find the strength to even sit up or mumble through The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
Why is it all so hard?
When can I move on?
When can I get it right?
When can I have happy moments all day and everyday?