Balancing Act Hit by a Bout of Vertigo

I've felt this building up for months. A point where all understanding, comprehension and the will to think clearly get sucked into some huge black hole, which for some inexplicable reason - instead of sucking you in - keeps you teetering on the edge with a dramatic view of the inferno within.

My body is a reflection of what has happened to me - I am bloated, inert not just physically, but in the mind too. I can feel the mindscape closing in on all sides, shrinking sometimes to the point where the only left is a cry for a miracle. The pressure yields a pain that is all too physical to ignore and extends to those around me because it contaminates anything - a vibe, a word, a raised eyebrow - that escapes out of me.

The offspring and the spouse are out - will be for a couple of hours - and I feel marginally better. Was it this solitude that I wanted? Solitude without the accompanying list of chores that must be completedby a working mom who spends 11 hours away from home five days a week. There's something not right there - you are neglecting your duties, says a sudden blip from somewhere near my liver. My nostrils flare in response - right, like you don't know that doing those duties to the best of my abilities is what got us here in the first place. What about ME? I try talking to the spouse and I'm loudly reminded of sins of ommissions and commissions past. Try saying it applies to us both so can't we start afresh and all I get is "I'm too tired for all this." I'm tired, too. "You do it because you can." - the legend of the supermom is alive and kicking.

...So there I was, the supermom who spent a fair fortune on a beach resort vacation 8 months back, only to return horrendously dissatisfied because the spouse and offspring spent the day either at the beach or at the pool and the evenings eating or in front of the TV. And I was left - like a useless appendage, albeit one with the credit card to pay for everything - to go and explore the world that existed outside the resort. I was keen because I had lived there for a few years, gone to school there and wanted to take the offspring for a quick stroll down memory lane.

We've never been the drinking types - one drink in three months, sometimes a year - but the spouse has now given it all up, so there was no question of sitting at the open air bar in that expensive resort and listen to the lounge singers. No, it was the usual in-front-of-the-tv evening - made worse by the fact that there was no other room to escape to, and my bid to read and ignore my depressing surroundings was constantly interrupted by the offspring's senseless jabbering (sometimes cute, but not always) and the spouse's constant"So what should we order? Will...be enough?" The two refused to go out and try the real cuisine of the wonderful place we were in - so much tastier than the 'internatinalized' (read: bland) fare at the resort, and cheaper, of course.

The spa seemed too expensive to try out and having never been on a holiday of this sort before, I didn't know how to plan it out right. So I just went with the flow. Which was frustrating and depressing together.

One night, we were having dinner at one of the restaurants and I saw some folks at other tables - talking about things other than food and 'this is a nice, place'!! My brain floated out to those tables, yearning to meet new people, talk to them about something I could take away - just talk to someone else. My heart was completely untethered, disgustingly salivating at the men and women around us, smiling and talking, completely relaxed. I took a few deep breaths, told myself to accept the situation and make the best of it - like I do with everything else in life. Three-quarters of me listened to that plea, breathed in some resolve and crushed the one-quarter that was still rebelling...

...Enough of the dreaming says that blip, now moved from near my liver to the pit of my stomach. You have to make lunch - it's past 12.30. You already gave the spouse an ultimatum to give you a menu and he has.

It's for next week, idiot.

So what - get off your fat behind and cook...you've been lazy all morning.

Do the apple-cinnamon muffins I baked in the morning look like nothing to you? And the mashed potatoes

The offspring won't eat it and you know that - why couldn't you put chocolate in the cake.

Right, like that would have guaranteed that it would have been gobbled up. He has more than enough chocolate anyway.

The mashed potatoes - what are they supposed to eat it with?

I don't know any more!! I don't know anything about anything related to food and their preferences. It's not preferences anyway - it's all about what they f****** FEEL like eating at any given point in time.

You need help. The blip has now moved to my throat and is threatening to strangle me.

I gulp ineffectively. As usual, the argument is going nowhere. Time to dig out that old prescription and see if I can't ring for back-up.

Not Mean, Just Me First For a While

Ever noticed how life gets thrown out of gear at the worst possible moment? The flat tire when you’re heading for an important job interview, the blinding migraine before a major presentation at work, the stain on your blouse/skirt/jacket that shows up five minutes before you’re due to meet your boss for your annual review.

Then there’s other, less earth-shattering stuff, but equally lethal in the long run. Like everybody in a family coming down with the worst case of flu in a decade. So you use up half your vacation days (goodbye, holiday on the beach, sniff), get low on energy and high on a short fuse. And when you think the worst is over, it isn’t.

The whole menu has to be radically changed for days because people in the family are still suffering from sore throats, upset stomachs and whatnot. And as the wife-and-mommy, you’re the primary caregiver (oh, how misleadingly sweet that sounds!) so you have to ensure that your family is taken care of. As for you, well, didn’t they call you Superwoman and try to disguise it as a compliment? So you can’t take a day off, not unless you stop caring altogether. This is really not possible because you are the primary caregiver and so you can’t stop caring – it goes with the territory of a working mom.

Take today’s example, for instance. I gave notice this morning to the DH, declaring I wasn’t cooking for the rest of the week. By the time I got to the office, I was contemplating extending that to the next one month. I simply cannot continue cooking the elaborate stuff that DH wants and expects. Not while I too am recovering from an illness. Managing a cranky six-year-old who’s just come through a debilitating fever and upset stomach at 7 am is hard enough without having to cook an elaborate meal, feeding the brat and getting him into the school bus on time and reaching the office by 9 am.

But husbands – especially spoilt brat husbands – have the devil’s own luck. There’s a gastro-enteritis outbreak in the part of town where his office is. So of course, he can’t eat out. So I’ll be making something everyday for quite some time. He may not like the quickies I put together. I don’t care. In fact, having to nuke his own dinner stressed him out enough to turn in early tonight. He’s already throwing temper tantrums at the thought of fending for himself. Ha! Let him.

Sometimes, you need to love yourself enough to stop putting everybody else ahed of yourself for a little while.