I am the Storm

I'm not sure if I should be posting this here, it's sort of personal.

We are broke , search the couch for change to buy milk sort of broke. I didn't think we were going to be here again. It wasn't the supposed to be this way. But then no one ever plans on going broke and certainly not when they spent a year writing a business plan and securing funding for the business- the business that your husband went to graduate school for four year to do.

Where does this leave you but borrowing money from your parents again, to pay rent. Of course, this money comes with the rights. The ones where they can start telling you what you should be doing now. The ones that mean despite being 35 and despite the many hours on our own hashing out what went wrong and what we need to change, they are entitled to go through all of this again with the biting feel of parental disappointed, akin to being fifteen.

Your decisions are judged and everything you do is doubted. Bring into this a happy 2 year old who everyone loves. Suddenly he is the subject of scrutiny, is he speaking enough, does he eat the right things, what if he's sick can we care for him? You feel watched from afar, you try to give all the right information, the truth highlighting progress; both your's and the 2 year old. But it is difficult when most days are spent just getting between morning and bedtime. It's hard to make enough progress for people when you work at the speed of life and their expectations are at the speed of imagination. It's hard to explain how life can't be put aside to make things happen, how a crying son can't be left to later. Then there are the few minutes a day you used to have yourself can. Those few moments that are all you have left, except that someone else has a claim on them. All of this adds to the stress, the feelings, and to the life you are still living.

The feelings are so complicated you are almost 35 and you have a 2 year old who you are moving again for the 2nd time since he was born. There are days you can't look at his always happy face because it makes you cry. You know that he is witnessing all those things in your house that you swore against before you had a child. It makes you want to cry knowing that every time you correct him (no hitting, no ripping books) he cries a little longer and a little louder. You are afraid that you will ruin this happy child. But you are so tired and stressed that it is hard not to be frustrated in front of him, and even with him. It hurts more when you know how you want to be with him and haven't the energy to do it.

Instead you two take long walks-where you can think while he jumps from steps and later sleeps in the stroller- and play with puppets sometimes, which is easier than other games. Other days are good you get out and see friends (and their chickens) you make your meals together and draw together. On the good days there is some order to things there are games and naps. On those days it seems like it could stay that way, but you can't do it not with all the stresses in your life. Maybe the next morning, or the next, something will set off again and life will not fit. You will be in the playground too long or too short, the very favorite wooden spoon will be missing just as the sink is filled for playing. Then you will both be grumpy, because you won't get to play and I won't get a rest, especially when Baba is gone for eleven hours for work- leaving us without a car.

To be honest there are days that are worse- ones where I wake up a storm and nothing you or Baba does will make it better. My tears will flow. I will want to hide, and I will want to be the center of attention. I will stomp my feet and yell or I will curl in a ball and cry. On these days I ruin everything for everyone, even if the fight is inside of me it spills out around me. Baba needs to pick up the pieces of debris; the frightened child, the crumpled Mama. As the storm in me drifts I start to look for the possibilities. The next day will be delicate, all of us recovering from the storm but the next will be back to normal, until our stresses begin to rise again.