I have, as you may have noticed, been away. If you haven't, you should have, and that's all I'm going on to say on that head. Of course, I've been commenting on the odd post and replying to a mail or two, but by and large, I was not, er, available for the last ten days because I was... how do I put it? Sort of suicidal with large doses of homicidal and a strong helping of paranoid thrown in to make it more fun.
Since then, though, the son and heir (to what? My doll collection?) has had a vaccination, plucked a bug out of empty air while his system was low, and is still quite sick. (I'm sorry, Dipali, I really haven't been taking in calls in a while, except from my mum, to whine about life in general. Was not up to levels necessary for polite society.) So what with all this -- and work, because I do work, remember? -- I've been a little out of it.
It's all been too much. No maid, V being of sporadic use in the household, a cranky/whiny/feverish Bhablet, me having picked up a milder version of the bug. This morning I was this close to ending it all. Not that I'm sure how one does that, because I sure as hell ain't slitting my wrists, no thank you, it hurts! But you know what I mean, I'm sure. V is of immense help when he wants to be; catch being he hasn't wanted, until these last two days.
Anyway, what with late night fantasies over wet dream songs on the FM -- excuse me, The Bhablet's up -- he's asleep, but now I've lost the thread. Whatever. Wasn't very important. I'm in a flippant sort of mood. I was desperately down last week and eventually texted E for help. Her reply's been sinking in all day. She's right, and is saying the sort of thing I'd say in her place. But the life I'm living is, well, the life I'm living. So I take the apologies in the form they come. Not the form I hoped they'd be, but then, nor was my acceptance as I'd hoped it to be. Probably it wasn't the way V wanted it to be either. Are things back to normal between us? Well, no, not entirely, but at least you can live in the flat now. The way things were, either he or I was running away as soon as we could.
Life's a bitch, some weeks. The fuckingest bitch except that there isn't any of that either.
In all this, the feeling I've had since Feb is growing stronger. I turn to Rahul in my moments of need. That is, trying to give him the most 'normal' atmosphere I can often helps me calm down and do what I should instead of what I want to do (i.e. murder his father). And he, he can be such a very special child. I had a bad attack of the baby blues after he was born. I think it was a carry on of the pregnancy depression and it stayed for months. Back then, when I would feed him and sit there softly crying out of sheer misery, he, tiny, wee Bhablet that he was, would stop feeding, look up at me; sometimes he'd brush me with his fists; he often smiled at me, or put out a hand and it was such a comforting thing. I'm talking of a two-month baby here. But he was old enough to know that when somebody is sad, you comfort them first and everything else can follow. He's done it ever since. As he grew older he'd try to ignore my tears, but he would stay by my side, try not to leave me alone. In turn, I realised that I was upsetting him, so I tried to cry less.
On Tuesday morning, things being especially rocky between Vicky and me, I was standing helplessly by the doorway wondering what to do when two little hands -- such strength in them -- came around my legs and I found myself being hugged. I've seen him, a child who cannot sit still for two consecutive seconds, and I'm not exaggerating, sit quietly in V's lap for minutes altogether when V is down.
He's such a little person and I'm so wary of burdening him with my sorrows. I haven't been able to stop the fights in front of him, but I'm trying my hardest to not ever run V down to him. Even when I want to, I really want to, and once or twice I have, I always apologise afterwards and tell him I didn't mean what I said, that I said it in anger. He may be only eighteen months old but I'll bet you whatever you want me to that he understands every word I say. (Chooses to disregard most of it, but he definitely understands it.) Where does he get his wisdom? I don't want him to grow up early and learn to deal with fractious parents. But even as I say that, another part of me says, yes, try to conquer your weaknesses, but we all have the parents we do. My own folks gave me a tough time growing up and I show the scars in my own parenting, but I believe I'm also a richer, tougher, more adaptable person because of it all.
I love him so much, and with this love is a growing respect. It's funny how I'm learning to adapt to living with not just one other person, but two.
In his illness I've taken to doing the one thing I always resisted -- holding him in my arms and walking the floor just to soothe him. He holds me so tight. I feel the strength in his skinny little arms and I return the pressure and pray as deeply as I can for the strength to not ever lean on him, to let him go do what he must, to watch him fall and not stop him even though I can.
This is not a post with a point, you know? Just missed blogging, but hey, all I can talk about it is my son. Such a special little boy. I never say it, but I think he knows I think it.