I figured that it's better if I write about my feelings; about things that are bothering me; things that are coming straight from the heart.
Just so I set the record straight. So that I know what exactly it is that needs to be done to make myself happy.
This year, I will be 29 in February.
A part of me feels that I feel this way, (this way being not being sure of what I really feel) because I just don't know what someone of my age should be thinking about or should be feeling or should really be doing.
And to be honest, I don't feel my age. Just a few days ago, my cousin turned 21. 21, okay! Each time I look at her, I always see her as the 15 year old kid, in all her innocent adolescence, because I always think that my sister is still 14. Turns out that my sister will be turning 20 this year and I can't even digest that, so how on earth am I supposed to digest that I am actually 29???
Is there a standard set of rules on how I'm supposed to act and react to each given situation? Is there a certain number of children I am supposed to already bear? Is there a certain amount that I am supposed to already earn? Is there?
At work, I always think of myself as very junior. You see, in the Public Sector, we are expected to toe a certain line for the first few years, until we gain the required trust needed to carry out the job. Thereafter, when we've gained enough leverage, we're allowed some empowerment and our voice will finally be heard. It's a long, hard way up, but it's worth it. But even when I have climbed up the ranks accordingly, out of habit, I still maintain the same demeanor, as though I am still very junior.
Until some officer comes up to me and greets me with, "Morning, Puan."
And I am reminded that hey, I am his/her colleague, and most of the time I view myself as their peer, but they see me as a superior; one they look up to for answers, one who calls some shots and makes decisions.
Although power may appeal to some, to me, "with great power comes great responsibility". There are times when I even feel like I'm really not ready for this. Really, I'm not. But I also remind myself that I am paid a little more now for it and that money needs to be hard earned.
With my husband and I working late almost everyday, I sometimes wonder how many percent of my son is really from our upbringing. Like, seriously, think about it. He spends 8/9 hours at school, which is the same amount of time I spend at work and when we both get home, he's hungry for attention and I'm just plain hungry. And tired and sleepy. Sometimes, I just want to cook to take my stress away, but he's hanging on to my legs, crying, like his life depends on it and I find myself getting angry for the "alone time" that I don't get.
How terrible of me, right? How terrible of me to feel that after 8/9 or more hours away from him.
I sometimes wonder what it was that I did that made him THAT clingy. I sometimes wonder why it is that he can't let me go to the loo in peace without making a big fuss out of it, I don't know why he won't let me pray without crying like he's being abused or worst still tugging at my telekung until it comes off, until I have to start praying again and again and again, I don't know why he won't sit in the stroller so that I can multitask better after work, i.e. do some grocery shopping or just take a stroll in the park, I don't know why he can't mind himself for just a few minutes without whining for me to pick him up. I don't know why he doesn't want to eat properly, which in turn makes him hungry, which in turn, makes him wake up so many times at night, and in those times, he would refuse the bottle and make me breastfeed him until he is satisfied, which is NEVER.
And since I'm not that hitting, membebel or shouting type, I throw him a silent treatment.
And that's when he would look at me with those eyes of his and call me "Mamaaaa" repeatedly, complemented with the most dazzling smile and that's what makes me feel like crap the most.
But I can't help the things I think; which makes me feel even more guilty.
Sometimes, he just wants to play and he wants me to play with him. Isn't it normal that on some days he just wants to cuddle, play hide and seek and read story books together and that on some days he just doesn't mind watching Upin dan Ipin alone and that on some other days he's just moody and broody and just wants to cry. He is, after all, just like us, with different moods on different days.
But no. The silly old selfish me strives for a perfection that can never be, where toddlers and motherhood is concerned. The silly me expects the house to still look pristine and that her son would stop playing with the shoes or peeing on the floor or whining for attention or touching everything he sees or expects me to offer whatever it is I am nibbling on, even it's not good for him. And the silly old me would get threatened or offended for not being able to bring my kid to the park everyday or not being able to read or play with him everyday because there are just some days when I'm just not up for it and I would mock-sleep so that he wouldn't bother me. Thing is, there's no one judging me or offending me to begin with, which just makes this whole situation sillier said aloud than it sounds in my head.
And all the while, I forget that I once promised myself to not be that kind of mother; the mother who would mind doing things for and with her child. I forget that motherhood is supposed to change you... for the better. That the reason why he was programmed to ask for everything I am eating is probably because whatever I am eating isn't even good for me either (sweets, coffee and junk food, for instance), which is why I am so very reluctant to offer them to him. I also forget that the housework can wait but that my boy wouldn't. And that at some point, he would grow up so fast I would wish he would slow down. In fact, I think he's growing up so fast right now, and I'm just failing motherhood terribly by not cherishing it.
I know nobody said it was easy. But I also wish I wasn't so hard on myself.
In a nutshell.
These are some of the things constantly fogging my head.
As I write these few last sentences, I'm tearing at the fact that I can't even control the thing I should have most control over, which is my mind, which in turn, has affected me the most especially where motherhood is concerned.
I've got a feeling that this year is definitely not going to be a walk in the park. But that doesn't mean it won't be wonderful. It shall be wonderful, I'm sure.