I want it all

In my attempts to overcome my postpartum depression (yes, I’m on that topic again, just for a change) I have considered at length why some mothers appear to accept their lot regarding raising children and simply get on with it, why some mothers love (almost) every minute of having children and why other mothers, like me, seem to struggle.

I loved the time at home with my first son, Harry, which is probably why I had a second so quickly. I love my second son William just as much, but not the time at home with them so much. Is it because I have two and it is harder work? Is it because I’ve been at home for over three years now? Is it the cumulative lack of sleep? The cumulative lack of interesting adult conversation? Is it because I have reached my emotional, if not practical limit as to the number of nappies I can change, meals I can prepare, broken nights I can tolerate, whining I can listen to (mine and others’ children) and tantrums I can stand? Have I just gone as far as I can with toddler groups, coffee mornings and playdates with mothers who I would otherwise have little in common with?

I also miss the person I was. I was independent, kinda groovy, with an interesting job. Like many twenty-something singles, I was also self-centred and used to doing my own thing. That has given way to someone who is more patient and loving and certainly more devoted and caring. I am also more bored, boring and, dare I say it, a little bit resentful. This affects me and my levels of happiness (but NOT how I look after my children, people).

If I wasn’t planning to have another baby I would seriously be thinking about going back to work part-time if I could bring myself to leave my children in someone else’s care. But I can’t do that. Either that or I would be thinking about the free time coming my way once the children are old enough for pre-school – I would consider it time off in lieu for the three years of hard labour I have done! Time off for good behaviour! Call it what you will, but I wouldn’t need to justify using those precious school hours to rest, recover and re-group. A cup of coffee without being interrupted! A telephone conversation without noises off! I could spend my days doing things that ended solely in exclamation marks!

Anyway, it is over three years since I had a career and interesting, well-paid, part time jobs are not exactly throwing themselves at me. And having another baby throws up a whole host of things I’d rather not think about: the endless days, the long nights, the feeding (hours and hours of feeding), the crying, the nappies, the repetitiveness of it all, mitigated only by the fact that I know IT DOES NOT LAST FOREVER. Despite all that I know I want another. Yes. I. am. insane.

So, let’s recap. I want it all: a great, well-paid job I can do from home while my obedient children run round my feet, tended to by a wonderful nanny whom they adore. I also know I can’t have it and therein lies my problem. I adore my children, tolerate being at home with them all the time, but loathe myself for thinking like this.

I love my children more than anything in the world. But I don’t always love who I’ve become.