I’m burnt out and fed up.
I need a break.
And somehow, the kids just know I’m at breaking point…
I love my job, and I’m not going to feel guilty about that. The people I work with are wonderful and I know I can rely on them to get shit done. If they say they’ll do something, I don’t have to check in or remind them. It will get done. They’re pretty fucking fantastic, now that I really think about it.
But the pace I’ve been working at for the past few months has sapped every bit of brain capacity I may have had left, after the kids turned part of my brain to porridge. I’m pretty sure that it has been scientifically proven somewhere that having kids affects your brain’s capacity to retain information and hold coherent conversations for extended periods of time…
Throw in to the mix of the past few months, a husband who has been away on and off for work, sick kids, sick kids infecting us (delightful little germ disseminators that they are), and a whole heap of other shit, and well, I’m done.
I’m burnt out. I’m fed up. And the kids just know it.
The eight year old has well and truly decided that his ears are for ornamental purposes only. Don’t even get me started on how many times I have to repeat myself, to remind him to do the same routine in the morning before school he has been doing now for three years!
Shoes go on before we leave the house. Brushing your teeth requires toothpaste. Building a Lego contraption that does whatever (I have reached the point where I don’t give a shit) but not yet having put lunchbox and drink bottle in bag. Antagonising his younger brother after being told to leave him alone…. Oh. My. God.
The toddler has decided that I don’t exist, when Dad is around. He asks for a drink. I offer to get him a drink, only to be met with a filthy stare, then turning his back and running towards Dad, to ask him for a drink. I cannot make his toast. Dad has to make it. I cannot put him to bed. Only Dad can. And more of the same…
You’d think I’d be rejoicing over shirking some of these parental responsibilities, but it is just making me feel like a piece of furniture that everyone has forgotten about. Or a ghost.
Feeling the love, people.
Surely I’m not the only one.
But I’m changing it. For once, I’m putting myself first for a bit.
My muscles are so knotted up and tense, I think I actually whimpered when I went for a remedial massage the other day.
I’ve started doing yoga classes that work runs. I’m actually taking a lunch break and getting away from my desk.
Today after work, instead of going straight to collect the eight year old from after school care, I went home. I took the dogs for a walk. I breathed. I put a load of washing on and put the bins out, unaccompanied. Trying to put the bins out with the ‘assistance’ of kids takes 15 minutes and almost triggers a stress-induced heart attack…
After I had had a moment to regroup, I then collected the eight year old. I was still barraged with the usual onslaught of verbal crap that occurs after school, and excuses of why he couldn’t eat his piece of fruit. Last week’s awesome excuse was he couldn’t eat the apple because, wait for it, “a bird pooed on it”. How a bird managed to poo on his apple, which was in his lunch bag, which was in his school bag, is beyond me. Points for creativity, though…
But at least I wasn’t frazzled. Things ran smoother.
I’m still tired, and I still poured a glass of red with dinner, but I managed to hold a semi-intelligent conversation with my husband about his PhD, and not just fade out after 30 seconds due to exhaustion.
This whole self-care thing needs to continue. Maybe when I’m feeling more human, I’ll feel like a better mum and wife, too.
Are you feeling burnt out and fed up, too?
What did you do to change it?
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