Thursday, 27 September 2007
Yesterday as i sat in yet another playground, on yet another brown bench, and watched screaming, laughing children run around like spastic chickens, I thought to myself, "I am invisible." It's true. Just like Alison Moyet sang in the 80's "Invisible...I feel like i'm invisible..."
No matter that i was wearing tight dark denim Levi's skinny jeans, or had trendy blond highlights woven through my rat's nest of a hairdo, or was sporting cool light-blue perspex shades. For all intents and purposes, by the simple fact that I was sitting on a bench watching my child play on a chilly sunny autumn afternoon, that rendered me obsolete as a 'player' (a 'player' being one who has purpose, ambition and objective in life, and goes out into that big bad world and makes things happen).
I can't even get my 10 month old and my 3 year old to eat their breakfast, let alone change the world. I consider it an achievement if one of them doesn't fall down the stairs or I can coax a random vegetable through tightly pursed lips. I bypassed 'lame-o' a loooooong time ago and unlike the truly mad i am fully aware of how far i have fallen.
I suppose i sound sorry for myself, and I would be lying if i didn't admit to occasionally giving into self-indulgent bouts of pity for myself. Those tend to be the times that I daydream about my 'other self' living an 'other life'. (This self is dressed to the nines in designer wear, flying around the world in a private jet, running a hugely successful company and busy being...well, a 'player'.)
The truth is that i 'want it all'. I am greedy. I want cute adorable babies to cuddle, a fabulous career, a husband who adores me and a million friends to tell me how great i am and indulge in too many bottles of vino when the times get tough. As it stands, from my lone set-up in domestic siberia, i'd be hard-pressed to fill a single church pew if i died tomorrow.
It wouldn't matter that i have one of the best collections of lipglosses ever, or that i can name and sing virtually any song from the 80's without exception (by the way can someone reinstate that gameshow 'Name That Tune,' so that i can win a million dollars and stop this incessant blogging and just buy an island somewhere and reside lazily and luxuriously for the rest of my days?...)
Nope, I would just be 'another-mother' who hit the dust and who's sole purpose in life was to procreate and purchase (we'll get into my insane love for fashion and clothes and shopping at a later date - not now).
Egg has just come up to me and said,
"Mama, something BAD has happened in my pants."
I'll say it's bad. It smells like something died in his pants. This is his third 'accident' of the day and it's only 10:30am. Doesn't bode well, especially given that he starts nursury school on Monday. Oh yeah - and there's also that matter of how i'm going to disguise this wee little 'problem' of ours (Egg's totally regressed in the toilet department this past week) tomorrow morning at 11:15am when the school visitor arrives to assess Egg.Typical my luck that it falls smack in the middle of his regular morning 'poo poo' time slot.
Now i wonder, will it be smeared on the carpet, flung over the bannister, or merely deposited like a love offerring in front of her? Whatever happens it's a pretty safe bet that it ain't going to be in the toilet. No sirree.