Oh no, oh no, oh no. I’m in my refuge. My studio. My heart aches, a tear wells in my left eye when I think of this place as that place, a safe place, my place, me and me alone. Jack and Fiona are taking their nap. We went to Early Start this morning. Once again I went through all the questions and answers with myself, “should we go? Stay home? Are they sick? Are they contagious?” I think I’m going to stop asking myself that because I’ve noticed parents bringing their kids to school and the gym who are totally snotty, obviously sick. When I picked Fiona and Jack up, Fiona had just finished her lunch and I heard that sound, the explosion from the butt sound. I took her to change her diaper and it was definitely ria. Jack needed me three times last night, “MAMA MAMA MAMA” his nose won’t stop running and he’s drooling like crazy. I’ve been sad and depressed being pulled in so many directions, not enough for anyones needs to be met, I’ve begun to question my sanity again. Do I have what my mom had? Does it get worse with age? Am I crazy? But when I get in here and start working, start painting, I feel completely sane. Should I take drugs to get through the rest of my life? Hahaha! Maybe.
People always tell me, “I wanted twins” “I always wished I had twins” or “I want twins” They think it is easier, even people who have had twins always tell me it’s easier/gets easier. It’s not true for me. The reason is not the much harder physical work load, it’s the inability to ever really be with one baby, developing a bond, a relationship. Hugging and cuddling, being close. It’s not possible when they are both around because neither one will stand for it. The one not being given attention cries and whines. It’s super stressful and sad. Today someone said it only “lasts eighteen more years.” That made me even sadder because I felt them both slip away at that very moment, missing everything about their babyhood and childhood because there’s not enough of me. I love them both so much. I wish I had more time with each of them, but as hard as I try it feels like it turns us all into crazy people. It’s like when you have two dogs, the work and behavioral problems increase by a lot, not just double. And I find myself hoping they take an extra-long nap, just so I can have a few more minutes to get it together.
I know I’ll survive this, And so will Jack and Fiona. We’ll all be fine. There are solutions to all these things, but I can’t help how I feel. I catch myself thinking “I’m a bad person” for feeling this way, then I say to myself “no you’re not, you’re normal” I don’t know which ones true anymore. I feel bad about feeling those ways. Maybe I am crazy?