A depressing realisation

I was stood at my kitchen sink, doing yet another round of washing up, the droning sound of my washing machine mixed with the fake cheesy cheeriness of the Cbeebies presenters echoing around my brain. The familiar pressure of a headache insistently demanded attention from behind my eyes, the craving for silence and sleep nagging away as my cleaning product dried out hands scrubbed at the dreaded scrambled egg cooking pot that housewives everywhere loath more than any other pot, plate or utensil in our endless cycle of cooking and cleaning.
A voice in the corner of my sleep deprived mind whispered cruelly…. I have become my mother.
I swatted the thought away but like an annoying buzzing housefly that seems to be attracted to your head more than anything else in the vicinity, it kept returning as I got on with my day.
No matter how much I swatted or where I moved or what I did to rid myself of this irritating thought fly it’s buzzing grew louder and louder until my entire brain was filled with this one depressing statement and the fact that it was true bothered me more than the, now screaming, words themselves.
I couldn’t help but compare, I think every woman at some point feels as though she has become her mother as she gets older and the responsibilities of life stamp down on the freedom and individuality of youth.
But the woman can usually combat the depression that inevitably follows this realisation by conjuring up memories of experiences and differences in her life that make her unique and separate from her mother and her mother’s life.
I can’t escape the fact that my life has followed my mother’s example almost to a tee!
I had my first child young, the relationship I was in broke down and I moved on to another relationship, just like my mother did, I had my second child at the exact same age, my mother had me, her second child!
Iv ended up with a man who is my father.
Another undeniable fact.
A lazy, selfish lier who’s personal hygiene is…… Monstrous.
I hate him.
As my mother hated my father.
I desperately want to free myself from this man but I find myself, without my implant, having agreed to try for another baby.
What am I doing?
My mother carried on in the ridiculousness of the marriage with my father for 25 years.
The thought fills me with utter dread but I have to say the thought of entering into another relationship and ending up with 3 children by 3 different men also fills me with an equal amount of dread.
I was never meant to be that girl, I was meant to get married and have a 1950’s esque picture perfect life and family, loving husband, adorable, well behaved children, white picket fence, the lot.
It didn’t work out.
I’m Ok with that, I really am, it wasn’t a realistic dream in this modern arsefart of a world.
But I certainly didn’t expect the life I find myself living to be quite so….. Miserable.
I don’t want alot from life, my dreams are now simple, I don’t need riches, cars, holidays, a big house full of expensive things (don’t get me wrong that would be lovely but I don’t need it) all I want from life is to be happy, to be loved, to be appreciated and not to have to shit myself everytime a brown envelope appears in my letter box.
Simple! yet so very very distant and seemingly far too much to ask from life!
I don’t want to live my mother’s life, I don’t want to only find the courage to leave the misery of a loveless resentment filled relationship after 25 years and a wasted youth with someone who makes me want to scream and fills me with desperate fantasies of running away.
I look around at all the happy families and I do wonder how many women are crying behind those smiles?
Am I the only one completely unsatisfied with the direction my life has taken me and find myself with a man who changed into someone I cannot stand the moment I became pregnant and he thought I couldn’t escape?!
How many women sit and cry when the visitors have left and the children are in bed?
How many women are desperate to leave their ungrateful, man child partners but fear the judgement that may come with it?
How many women live solely on the affection, cuddles and kisses they get from their little ones and are filled with a consuming fearful panic when thinking of the day their children leave home and they are left with no one to look after and love except a farting, burping, stinking pig of a man who completely takes them for granted?
Tell me, am I alone?
I don’t want to leave this having complained for the entirety of what I have written, I am incredibly grateful for things in my life that I am lucky enough to have.
The love of my children.
My babies bring love light and laughter into our home and I am so very very grateful to have them. To feel their little arms around my neck, the little kisses and hearing I love you mama makes everything seem Ok again.
Watching my beautiful children sleeping peacefully, their eyes moving behind their lids as they dream happy dreams of innocence and candy fills my heart to bursting with pure overwhelming love.
Quiet time.
I am grateful for the time I get to myself, after my children have been put to bed and my partner is still at work or out playing football.
The silence and peace that decends is simply wonderful.
Coffee and cigarettes.
It has to be said, I don’t know how I would make it through my day without caffeine and nicotine breaks dotted throughout.
Both are guilty pleasures which I know I should not indulge but a mother sacrifices so much for her family, I just can’t face giving up those two last little things that give me a lovely little excuse to spend five minutes on my own to prepare myself for the next hour or two of noise, toys and housework.
Last but not least, my home.
We spent time homeless and living off the charity of my family with no home of our own.
After a long battle, tears, despair and feelings of failure we finally moved in to our little home.
I will always, always be grateful to have a home of our own after living without it for so long.
The little things bring me joy and that joy makes them mean so much.