The feeling of resentment

Every day I set my alarm to a time that has a 4 at the start of it, a time that many would still consider to be night time.  I get myself ready for work, enjoy 5 minutes of peace and quiet as I drink a coffee and then I do some chores or catch up on work emails before its time to wake up my daughter.  I enter the toddler’s den and as she stirs and roles back over she grumbles “get out of my room mummy”, I sometimes wonder if she really is a 2 year old and dread to think what the teenage years might be like.  I then commence the 15 minute battle to get her out of bed and into clothes, often one item of PJ’s remain on underneath clothing as I have learnt to pick my battles, pony tails and shoes can wait until day care when the bear has fully awoken from her hibernation.  We drive to day care, at times still often in the dark, I give in and let her watch Peppa Pig on my phone.  As I leave her at day care I get a severe case of the mummy guilt, every single time, even though I know she loves it there, is well cared for and is happy.  I still hate walking away from her, abandoning her and going to work.

I go to work, power through as much as I possibly can in the hours that I am there, for I don’t have the luxury of being able to stay back, I have a little person waiting for me to pick her up at the end of the day, waiting for her mummy to return and give her a hug.  I squeeze in a gym session during my lunch break, this is usually my only chance at me time for the day, my colleagues may see it as a fitness obsession, for me I see it as my sanity.  I race out of the office each day, feeling guilty that I have left before my team and my co-workers, I drive to day care and am greeted by a huge smile and hugs from my gorgeous little girl, again I feel a pang of guilt that she has been there so long.  We then get to drive home in peak hour traffic, concentrating on driving whilst keeping the toddler entertained so to avoid melt down mode.

When we walk in the door each evening, it’s dinner, bath and bed time routine, there is no time for fun and play.  On a good night this is easy, we chat as she eats and has her bath, we cuddle over bed time stories and we kiss each other goodnight.  On a bad night the bedtime routine is full of screams and tears and can at times last hours, on these nights I feel frustrated, I’m all alone and these can be the longest and loneliest nights.  I feel guilty that I want her to go to sleep because I still have a million things to do, dishes, laundry, more work and I don’t want to be up all night, I need sleep too.

The next day we start this all over again, this is my week, this is my life.  I find myself multiple times a day feeling resentful towards the other parent, the one that tells me that they are as much of a mum as I am.  The one that is absent all week, that goes to work, does their own thing and then comes along on the weekends and gets to have the fun times.  The one that says they miss out on so much but doesn’t do anything about it, the one that never messages to ask how their daughter is. The one that doesn’t worry about going to work and getting the dreaded childcare phone call to pick up a sick child, the one that doesn’t have to go about day to day life caring for themselves as well as a young child.  The one that doesn’t contribute financially to the care and wellbeing of their own child, the one that calls me selfish yet continuously puts themselves and their needs ahead of their child’s.  The one that believes that being a good parent is just about having fun, that routine isn’t important.  The one that chooses to hate the mother of their child, rather than being mature and having a co-parenting relationship that enables the best care for their child.  I allow myself to feel so anxious every time  receive a text message from him, for I fear that every conversation results in some form of conflict, I'm too scared to have any form of discussion about the care of our daughter. I have come to fear the conflict so much that I choose to avoid it and find instead I start a war inside myself, every day angry and resentful. I hate that I allow myself to feel this way.

This is my life, every day I provide my daughter with the best possible care that I can, I face the attack of the mummy guilt on a daily, sometimes hourly basis.  I provide routine and discipline, I don’t get the luxury of always being the fun parent, I do the hard work all week with no support, only for someone else to come along and take away my opportunities for quality fun times.  I hope that one day my daughter is old enough to realise that being a good parent is more than just providing fun times, it’s providing care and support every single day, emotionally and financially.  It’s about having fun, providing education, teaching right from wrong, being strong at times and not giving into the toddler demands, even though sometimes it would be far easier.