I suppose I have really become an adult now because I recognize where the sacrifices need to be made, and many of them are on my back. I am happy to have my family and want to do all I can to preserve it. I love my husband and my children but I certainly don't profess to consider this current arrangement even remotely satisfying. I wish it was about getting a sitter and going out on the town to have some fun, but it is so much more complicated than that.
Didier is old school. The arguments we have are all cliches of parenting books and there is no stopping these conversations from going down. I hear them play out before we even begin. He has a job. It is very demanding. He has just enough to concentrate on that job and perform well in shark-infested waters. It is hostile and stressful and exhausting and when he comes home he wants a break. And the break he gets, is on my back. Because I am taking care of and running this household and raising the girls on my own, save his two days off when he plays with them while I take care of the household and handle anything pertaining to life outside of the hotel. He does cook when he is home. Lovely, delicious meals for us and pasta and pizza for the girls. The pizza is made from scratch and is extraordinary. And for the cooking, I pay back tenfold.
I want for Lily and Virginie everything I couldn't get from my mother who was frustrated at having the responsibility of taking care of three children while her husband worked and offered little help at home. I know that the anger can turn one away from the children and that that can never happen with my girls, not with me. So I play with them and read with them and draw and paint and swim and swing and make dinner and bathe them and get them dressed and brush teeth and go pee pee on the potty and then one more time because "it didn't all come out that time" and get a glass of water and turn the light just so and put on the monitor so I can hear them in the middle of the night and tuck them in and stay with them until they are asleep...and then come out into the empty house. I make something to eat. Wash the dishes. Read. Some nights I wait up and others I pass out. I turn off the lights on a tidy, orderly house, and get into bed, listening to the girls on the monitor.
I am up at the first cry or call and check for wet diapers or undies. I change the baby, the sheets, if necessary, take Lily to the bathroom and depending on the time of night or how tired I am, just get in bed with whichever babe gives me the most room. Always up first and always before 6:30, I start the girls on the morning rituals. Making beds, getting dressed, making breakfast, lunch, turning on the coffee, making our bed once Didier is up, finding a minute to brush my own teeth, maybe shower, pull my hair back for the ride to school, making sure everyone feels loved and appreciated and we are off to school by ten after eight. After dropping Lily, I wish Didier a good day at work, pray for less stress, offer him words of encouragement and praise and return to the house with Virginie no later than ten to nine.
And then my day begins. I am not delusional. I feel full of hope because it is what keeps me sane right now. I am making friends, getting into new things. Writing. Trying to learn French. Trying to lose those last five pounds. Breathing. A friend of mine called me an independent woman and I burst into tears hearing that comment. It has been so long since I allowed myself to consider me, to acknowledge the "just me."
Barbados isn't the only problem by any stretch, but it just doesn't make it any better.
(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle
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