I am going to love me

Thanks to Karen over from WorkitMom, I'm making an effort to restart things a bit. It's been over a year since I last posted (and I only posted 4 times in 2009 sigh).

And it's weird the way things come together sometimes. A few days back, I was updating the blog I have on my son, writing about the vitrectomy he'd had last week - needed to tackle a macular pucker that had developed as a result of the Coats disease in his right eye. And surfed over to WorkitMom to read up on what other mothers were going through and coping with. Then Karen left a comment and I said to myself, I ought to restart the blog. And yesterday, the long-simmering troubles at home boiled over in a way I'd never have imagined. A few relationships have taken a fair amount of knocking and others have all but disintegrated. Unimaginable stuff happened, leaving me staring at the remains of my self-respect, my self-esteem and my theory that I had a more than a fair chance of coming out of this nightmare of a marriage with something of my being intact.

So it's back to the drawing board... sigh... well, actually, no. I have no intention of fighting any battles in this war any more. Ceasefires come and go, but the nightmare goes on forever. For me, there is no other way out. This is middle-class India we're talking about, where a woman who dares to walk out on an unreasonable spouse is punished by society (always, always), punished by the judicial system with respect to child custody and alimony (very often), and by her own family - parents, siblings (more often than you'd imagine). To make things interesting, you will have kids - especially boys - telling their mothers in some teenaged, hormone-surcharged rage, "No wonder Dad left you, you're a horrible woman."

But I digress... no more paralysis by analysis for me. I should put that up on my softboard at the office, at least. Or may be write it 10 times a day in a notebook, just to make sure my brain doesn't get ideas in the direction of self-pity.

For a change... I.am.going.to.love.me.

And at the risk of sounding cheesy and unoriginal, yes, I'm going to do it because I'm worth it. I'm worth a lot more than the s**t I get in return for back breaking toil and being somewhat true to my real self. Truth be told, I've no idea who I am anymore, because I've spent the past seven-odd years trying to be someone else, altering my behaviour to buy peace, bribe the spouse into a ceasefire, or just plain beg for some... what was it I wanted? Love? Respect? Acknowledgement, maybe?

I don't remember actually, and I don't care anymore. This is a new beginning. There are no counsellors involved, no outside help, no motivational speeches, no well-meaning friends, no self-help books. I've been see-sawing on this emotional rollercoaster for four years now and last night, I decided I was getting off the ride.

What am I going to do? I don't have a blueprint to a miracle solution. I'm going to take one day at a time (if you think that's a cliche, hang on and read the rest of the sentence) and every single day, I'm going to be true to myself. I am going to love myself. I am going to focus on me, what I've always wanted, MY dreams (trust me, I don't even have a real dream for myself because while I was growing up, I wasn't allowed to have any dreams, so it's an alien concept to me really), MY whims and fancies. I slave day in and day out and I get paid decently enough (enough to support a spouse and child and then save some) so I deserve to indulge in some whims and fancies every now and then.

I don't have the details - and given my irregularity in posting, I'm not even going to say 'watch this space' - but I am going to do some things for myself. No baby steps, but no giant leaps either. Yet remember, this is my road, my pace, my dreams my space.

The illusion fades once more

DH was back from his business trip on Sunday and for the next 24 hours, we got along. We actually got along. Simple conversations, smooth management of potentially-disastrous tantrums, cleaning the house...

Yesterday evening, the illusion shattered. I mentioned the trouble at my office in my last post. But I never expected DH to react to it the way he did. For starters, he looked like someone had hit him in the gut. And then he said I ought to quit right away instead of risking getting fired. Hello? Where did that come from? Here I am, trying to balance a thousand things good and bad (a lot of it bad) and trying to stay happy, or at least contended, and he looks like someone died! What's more, it's not even like he's never been handed the pink slip so it was the shock. (Er...did I mention, DH, that I do have a job and a lot of the fears stem from uncertainty at the firm so there's little I can do about that?)

He stayed morose for a couple of more hours, heightening my own anxiety. Then, I remembered my shrink's words and pulled myself together. Que sera sera. I'll cross the rickety bridge when it comes. Fortunately, DH logged into LinkedIn and proceeded to go berserk. I thought I was overdoing it, but I only have 30 connections built up over the past 6 months. He started two weeks back and crossed 100 yesterday. It's the whole Orkut thing all over again. Bad deja vu. But I digress.

His negative overreaction to the whole 'something-like-this-MIGHT-happen' scenario was bewildering at first, and rubbed off on me for a while. Then it was plain annoying. He knows his brainwashing works with the whole world and their uncle, but not with me. So why bother? Besides, this is MY career, good or bad or worse, but it is mine. Eventually, it just seemed silly the way he reacted and I was able to dismiss the whole thing and get along with life.

One little tinge of sadness remained: that illusion that we could actually get along for a while - like a regular couple - without something spoiling it, had broken. I know he can't handle stress very well. I know he's insecure. But just seeing the evidence of that brought a lot of weird feelings to the surface. Feelings I do not want to deal with because I don't know how to and whatever I do won't work unless he co-operates. So I have no choice but to leave it on the backburner for now. Ah well, there are other blessings life has to offer.

Excuse me, folks. I have a list to make...

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.

Sometimes, not caring is important

No, there isn't any great moral story or philosophy encrypted in the title. It's just that I've had enough. Really. Just stopped caring about the 101 things that used to get me worked up. I'm ill, exhausted and not in any condition to take any more crap from anyone. This probably sounds evil but it was great to watch DH struggling with heating his dinner in the microwave.

It's 9 pm and my son hasn't done his homework yet. He's got plenty pending from last week when he couldn't attend school because he was ill. But every time I've asked him to do it, he starts to whine and cry and whatnot. So I told him that he was 6 years old now and getting the homework done before he went to sleep was his responsibility.

Here's one thing I do care about. I know that if I don't cook something tomorrow, my husband is not going to pack himself a sandwich. His boss is in town, so they'll either go to some swanky place for lunch or he'll order something from some shady joint. Problem is, there's gastro-enteritis epidemic in the area where is office is. So I'll rustle up something in the morning. It's not going to satisfy him, but I honestly do not have the patience or the energy to roll out any more rotis. Health over happiness. This is a man whose life revolves around eating well and sleeping well (I have it straight from the horse's mouth - in black & white, too.) So a little discomfort will do him well. A little rest will do me a lot of good. And frankly, I need to reclaim my sanity.

I haven't done one thing from that list I posted a couple of days back. Also forgot to buy my lens solution today. So I'm going to be squinting at the monitor at work tomorrow unless I can buy a bottle on the way to office.

More evil thoughts later. There's a sandwich I need to enjoy.

On strike in the kitchen

I knew I would do something like this sooner or later! And I've done it today. As of tomorrow morning, I'm not cooking. I'll probably put together the Poppet's milk (mix Bournvita with hot milk and sugar) but that's about it, I think. I need a break from the whole good-wife routine in the mornings. I can't stress myself out like this every morning trying to think of what to make and having to make 12 rotis even though my back is killing me from standing up.

Either we all need to sleep at least an hour early (oh Munchkin, when will you start to sleep by 10.30 at least?) or my DH needs to GROW UP and fend for himself. True, he's better around the house than a lot of other Indian husbands, but seriously, not being able to pack his own lunch box after I've done all the cooking is just plain dumb. No more spoonfeeding. And he needs to NOT switch on the computer first thing in the morning. Damn you Orkut and Cricinfo!

The worst part is that he still brags - yes, openly brags - about how he can cook for himself. Really? Well, I'd like him to survive on his own cooking for a week at a stretch (no ordering-in allowed) and see him keep his sanity. He hasn't cooked anything more than an egg in years. So this is going to be worth watching. Seriously. How many vegetable sandwiches is he going to eat?

For the past 3 years, I've listened to him rant about how his doc says he shouldn't eat out and done my best to ensure that there is something home-made to eat at home. I've been taunted and insulted and riled for my pains and I've had enough! He's just gone back to work now, so let him get his own food, too. That may sound nasty but really, he needs to learn to cook what he expects me to cook all the time. Or he needs to grow up and ADMIT he's a lousy cook. Hey, he doesn't even have to please the kid with his cooking. My mother is only too happy to take care of all the brat's meals. And the brat will be just as happy too.

So now, DH, let the challenge begin!