Four months ago I wrote about waiting for Baby M to be born. I have attempted to write a couple of times since little Miss M joined our family, however I have struggled to finish an entry. The following entry has been started and restarted several times.
If I had written in the week following Baby M’s birth I might have been tempted to go into the gory details of labour and the physical (messy, uncomfortable, painful) reality of postpartum life. I am tempted to step outside of my comfort zone there and write about this another time; let me know in the comments if that is something you would like to read.
If I had completed the entry that I started when Miss M was four weeks old I would have gushed about what a “good place” I was in. I had had the best first month of life with a newborn possible. My husband took two weeks of paternity leave meaning that packing lunches was his responsibility and I could stay home during the morning and afternoon school run. It was lovely to have that peaceful time together with only Mr J and the baby at home. This was followed by two fairly enjoyable weeks of school holidays. Miss M slotted in seamlessly with her five older siblings; they loved her and bore no jealousy. All of the pressure was off. The “village” was kind to me; several people brought over meals for the family and treats for the kids. My mum folded lots of washing. Floating in an oxytocin-fuelled ‘love bubble’, I felt calm and capable managing my fourth baby. When Miss M and I gazed at one another, bittersweet tears fell from my eyes for how much I loved my baby, and for my sadness that she is my last. My mother told me that I was blessed to have such happy hormones.
Of course, reality brought me back to earth when my husband returned to work and school resumed. Packing lunches, having uniforms ready, getting six children (and myself) prepared for the day and delivering four of them to school by nine, then going out with a cranky three year old and a newborn in the afternoons, cooking dinner, making sure that the children were ready for their after school activities… It wasn’t terrible. It was just the new normal, and I adapted. Every bubble has to burst eventually.
I spent the next month trying to figure out how to get my baby to sleep during the day. She is content when napping in the Ergo but is not fond of the car or pram. Occasionally something clicks and she has a deep sleep in her bassinet, but it is not long before the metaphorical wheels fall off and I am back to baby wearing. As special as it is to have her so close, to look down and find her big blue eyes staring at me, to be able to kiss her sweet little head and breathe in her baby scent, to hear her sleepy sighs… constant baby wearing is physically draining, and it is difficult to get basic household tasks done. At some point, I stopped obsessing about getting Baby M to sleep and remembered that she will only be a little baby for a short time. Ah, reality acceptance! The constant theme of my life and inevitable conclusion at each of my counselling sessions!
The biggest cause of stress in my life is not my baby. It is not my children. It is not even my husband! The biggest cause of stress in my life at the moment is my messy house.
I feel trapped by our clutter. Suffocated by it. And when I think about how to reduce the clutter, I do not know where to start.
Earlier last term, with the children back at school and finally having back the energy that I had lacked during nine months of pregnancy, I thought it was finally time to declutter. I watched a show on Netflix called “Consumed” and was shocked by how overwhelmingly messy some of the houses were with stuff absolutely everywhere, and no clear spaces in sight, but what disheartened me most was how my home wasn’t far behind. I set to work in my kitchen first, thinking that the most utilised space should be the most organised. I managed to rearrange some cupboards and fill a box with a bag of unused bits and pieces, plus fill a bag with containers to return to people who had made us meals when Mr J was born (you read correctly, three and a half year old Mr J) . I chose to give away my food processor so that space could be made on the kitchen bench for our four-slice toaster. The task of sorting out the kitchen exhausted me. And two months later, a slowly growing pile of stuff which was started by the “give away and return” items sits next to the kitchen table. Like some kind of climbing weed, the pile now has claimed a chair, rendering that side of the kitchen unusable and it has set up camp on the table too. Where do I take these things to give away? When do I return these containers? I am so forgetful, I keep missing the opportunities.
Another day I went through the drawers of clothes in the girls’ room and filled three large bags to take to a charity bin. This task was constantly interrupted by feeding, settling and resettling Baby M. I should also mention that in the week where I had this sudden burst of cleaning energy, all of the children took turns to get sick and stay home from school. The girls repeatedly asked me to play with them and spend time with them, but I was determined to use whatever precious time I had to clean instead. One night I went to bed with a tidier kitchen but the rest of the house in disarray, and scrolling through Facebook I saw a post from another mother who also had had all of her children home sick that day. Her photos featured children with bright smiles playing a game of Monopoly and enjoying chicken soup. Clearly she had enjoyed the chance for quality time with her kids. I had resented mine.
I sobbed for about an hour, questioning what kind of mother I am when I constantly ignore my kids so that I can do the house work, yet never actually succeed in keeping a tidy house? My husband had no idea how to comfort me during this sudden identity crisis.
During my counselling session the following week, I discussed this scenario and expressed my desire to exchange my current house for a bigger house where I might have a chance at having some more space and setting up a play room for the kids. This would mean leaving our area as local rental prices are quite high. There is a train of thought which keeps looping around in my head and it goes like this: I want to move house so that I can live with less mess and I want to declutter so that I can prepare to move house but in order to move house I need to declutter but if I can significantly declutter then perhaps I can be content in my house…
My counsellor and I discussed the merits and disadvantages of this plan and came to the conclusion that with the challenges of a young catnapping baby and the support network that I benefit from in my current location, it would not be wise to move immediately. We agreed that I need to make peace with my current home (there you go, reality acceptance again!) and take practical, small steps towards reducing the mess. She also felt that watching shows like “Consumed” would not be good for my mental health at this time, as unlike in the show, there is no one about to remove rubbish for me, or a carpenter who will come in and build amazing new storage solutions.
Someday I truly hope to live in a home with clear spaces and organised cupboards; for the time being I am treading water, just trying to clothe and feed my family.
I don’t think that I ever will live in a perfectly tidy and organised home and I am not sure if I want to. While I resent the constant messes my children make, it also delights me when I walk past and see two little kindy girls setting up a concert with Barbie dolls all over their carpet or a school with their soft toys in their beds. I like the cubbies made from blankets, the dinosaurs poking out of drawers from a game of Jurassic Park. Seeing a child absolutely lost in constructing a space ship or a castle out of LEGO is wonderful. Some days I feel tempted to put an angry post on Facebook stating that the next person who gives my child a toy should also donate three hours of time for cleaning their bedroom, but then I am afraid of coming across as ungrateful for all of the lovely gifts my children have been given. I am not “anti-toy”, I just want the kids to be able to use and appreciate the toys that they already have. I see how children play with a new thing for one day and then it just becomes mess. Inevitably, most of my kids will go back to their regular favourites after the thrill of a new toy has faded; Mr E to his LEGO, and Miss L and Miss R to their Barbies and soft toys. Miss A doesn’t even play with toys. Mr J loves his trucks and diggers, but he has enough now.
With eight people living in a three bedroom house, we have reached maximum capacity and we simply cannot fit in any more stuff!
I shall leave the whinging there for today, and try to tackle that pile on the kitchen table before it is time to pick up the kids from school. Oh wait! The baby is awake again…
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