I’m not sure what to talk about tonight. Usually by Sunday I’ve got a post drafted, which I simply tweak and add images etc to before posting. However this last week or so has been busy with Posey’s birthday, our covert trip to the zoo while Bear was a school, her party, starting the settling in process at pre-school and my Mum staying. I haven’t had chance to really get into it.
On top of all that, I’ve had a really bad chest and my asthma has felt the worst it’s been all year. So while I’ve had the time, I simply haven’t felt up to the task of sitting down and writing anything. Without wanting to sound dramatic, just breathing has felt like enough of a chore.
Anyone who suffers with asthma will know what I mean but for those that don’t, imagine feeling really run down with some kind of chest/throat infection and having lungs the size of a Capri sun straw. That’s been my week and I have been miserable. I’ve tried really hard to be cheerful and enthusiastic but it’s been a bit beyond me and I have very mild asthma, there are people who suffer like this all the time. And worse. My heart goes out to you.
Before becoming a Mum, I would’ve called in sick and took to my bed for at least a day but that’s just not possible now. Although, to be fair, my Mum was here so I could’ve but there’s that thing which comes with Motherhood which states you must be a martyr to the cause at all times. Rest is not for Mother’s. Even sick ones. How ridiculous is that?
No sane person would begrudge a sick Mum a lie down, or an hour break. So why do we do it to ourselves? Why did I? I allowed myself 15 minutes the other day to rest. But the whole time I was laying down upstairs, I could hear the sounds of Bunni & Bear’s little feet charging about downstairs, chasing each other and I felt like I was missing out. It wasn’t even so much that people would think less of me, I just didn’t want to miss the moment, despite it being the same thing they do everyday at around 6pm – they chase each other, naked, around the dining table – I love it.
My martyrdom knows no bounds.
I dragged myself back downstairs and enjoyed the moment, partly wishing I’d let myself sleep but glad that I got to be part of Bunni & Bear’s happiness. It made me feel better (sort of).
So, because I didn’t let myself get better, I have nothing really to say. I had toyed with the idea of talking about my own #metoo on this weeks blog, because let’s face it, we all have one (or several) but I’m not in the right head space for that. I feel like I need to be healthy to discuss such a sickening topic so we’ll save that for another day (whenever that may be) and that’s ok.
It doesn’t make you a hypocrite or complicit if you aren’t shouting from the rooftops.
It ain’t easy speaking out, credit and virtual hugs to all the women that have gone before talking about painful experiences, from being wolf whistled, to groped by that guy at a party, to the violent and brutal tales we all hope to avoid.
Tonight isn’t the night for that but I’m always here to talk to and listen to you ladies, if you need an outlet. For now though, I’m going to eat a curry and feel sorry for myself, over my very real and pathetic cold.