I am chasing that elusive hour. You know that magical hour, the one that you get all to yourself. Or maybe like me you don’t, maybe like me you devote all your time to your family, if you aren’t tending to their every need then you are planning for their every need.
I’m not really complaining, I LOVE my family but honestly I need a break, I need an hour to myself. I can’t honestly remember the last time I had an hour completely to myself, no children, no husband, just me. It must sound completely selfish. I probably sound like a complete brat. Like a child stamping their feet and demanding things. But right now I don’t care. I don’t care if people think I’m a rubbish mother, I don’t care if people think that I’m over reacting or making a mountain out of a mole hill. I can’t help the way I feel. Motherhood is the best thing I’ve ever done, it brings me so much happiness I can’t tell you. It is also very full on, it’s hard and it’s exhausting at times.
I find myself getting cross, getting frustrated, getting angry even. More with myself than anyone else. Cross, frustrated and angry that I’m not enjoying every single minute with the children, that I don’t always love changing nappies, and making meals and cleaning up, and stepping on cars and drawing round our hands for the 20th time already that day. I find myself getting cross that I don’t get any time to myself, cross that everyone round me has hobbies and gets a break apart from me. I’m cross that I get cross about these things.
I don’t even know what I would do with the hour if I got it! I don’t even deserve it. My husband works really really hard, he slogs his guts out for us and here I am grumbling that I never get an hour to myself. He truly deserves the break, when he goes to play golf or to the driving range he is getting the respite that he desperately needs. I can’t tell you how much he needs it. He comes home from work exhausted, just at the worst part of our day. The time when the children are starting to get cranky and tired and really just want to go to bed. He doesn’t get the best times, the morning cuddles, the silly games, the craft times and the laughter. I owe it to him and the children to get stronger, to suck it up and to stop whining.
God I sound like a whinger! Like an ungrateful, whinging minnie. Like I don’t value everything I have. Like I am looking for sympathy, I’m not. I’m just venting, it’s one of those occasions when a good vent is as good as a rest!