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.

What a Week!

Last weekend, I was gearing up for Munchkin's birthday. (And mine, three days before his.) We had decided to do away with the whole noisy party thing this year and take him out to lunch instead. After that, we thought, we'd take him to a nice store and let him pick out something he wanted as a birthday gift. He also wanted to give out some chocolates to his friends in the apartment building. That was fine too. And he'd agreed to my mum's suggestion that whatever might have been spent on his birthday party, we'd give away the amount to an orphanage.

On Sunday afternoon, the brat felt a little hot - to me, anyway. That evening, my mum came down with a mild case of food poisoning despite not having eaten anything that hadn't been cooked at home. Munchkin and I decided to spend the night with her. But by midnight, Munchkin was burning up. I took him to the doctor the next day who suspected it was a viral fever but hoped it could be contained without antibiotics. That evening, he had a temperature of 104.4F!! And he hates sponging. That was tough. From 7pm until midnight, we did everything to control the fever. Finally, nearing midnight, he agreed to the full-body sponging. This and a dose of Crocin helped bring down the fever to 101. Although the fever seemed to be under control by Wednesday evening, he coughed through the night, bringing back his fever.

In the meantime, my husband (DH), my mother and I all came down with the same thing. It hit Mum especially hard because she was just recovering from the food poisoning. DH is a bit of a hypochondriac so perhaps he was the worst hit. But he had the sense to visit a doctor right away. Mum and I, of course, are incorrigible, managing with home remedies and patience.

Poor Poppet spent his sixth birthday weak and hot and very, very cranky. And there was another trip to the doctor who finally started him on antibiotics. The fever had eased up by the next morning, but he was ultra-cranky by now and I'd reached the end of my tether. What with the sleepless nights, sore throat, incessant coughing, runny nose, a mopey-dopey DH, I just could not deal with his outrageous tantrums and blew my fuse twice. I'd also gone off my anti-dep meds. The whole thing did not go down well with my mother, of course.

Anyway, it's Sunday again, and while Poppet is up and about, happy and jumping, eating, I'm ready to collapse! DH is having an extended siesta (like yesterday) while I supervise Poppet. He's watching Jab We Met on TV right now and I'm having a tough time keeping him on the couch - as opposed to peering into the TV screen from point-blank range! Sigh.

At least his appetite is back. Like I keep telling myself: thank God life happens one day at a time.