I’ve got no desire to spend any time with Moo at the moment. I’d much rather sit by myself, preferably wrapped in a quilt, perhaps with faceless 2D Twitter people for company. Fulfilling her basic needs feels like a mammoth task right now. I’ll take her to the toilet, prepare her lunch, let her sit on my lap when she desires, but even those things are exhausting.
I don’t want to play, or read books, or draw. I just want to sit. Sit and zone out of the reality that feels overwhelming to me. I wish I could leave her to it and hide upstairs all day, but unfortunately children come to harm if you don’t keep your eye on them, and social services don’t look too kindly on mothers that can’t be bothered to look after the kids that didn’t choose to be born into this life.
I feel enormous guilt at times. When she climbs onto my lap and cuddles in close, scrunching her little face up like she does. It’s like a punch in the heart. How could I possibly not want to spend any time with this beautiful girl? I treat her with such disregard, yet she has nothing but love for me.
There are families desperate for children to love and relish and make the focus of their entire world. And here I am, wishing I was anywhere else. She doesn’t deserve a life like this.
This morning she asked where we were going today. She guessed a few places and when I told her that we were staying in she looked so disappointed. And that’s me, doing that to her. Disappointing her, failing her. She doesn’t understand post natal depression and the lethargy and frustration that come with it. All she sees is her mum, like a zombie, disengaged and vacant. I wonder how long it’ll be before she realises that I’m not the loving, caring, self sacrificing mother that she wants, needs and deserves?