Loneliness together. Usually so speak about the unhappy relations between the man and the woman. And I here want to talk about myself and the child. Yes that there, I rather often want to talk about us. But this subject as it seems to me, is actual not only for us.
When we with the husband planned the birth of the kid, my main argument was “we (read - “I“) will be nevermore lonely“. And, really, worked - during pregnancy continuous presence of native, close and infinitely favourite being was felt constantly, gave pleasure, heat, feeling of happiness.But here the child was born
. Here we returned from maternity hospital. There are first days similar to one infinite work involving all hands remained behind, the husband came to work, grandmothers began to visit us once a week, and we with the son remained together. I will tell at once: finally together we remained when to the kid there was already the fourth month. A lot of things were already settled. Life became predictable again, I learned to cope with many technical problems. Gripes passed, seams ceased to hurt, I was accustomed together with the kid to cook food, to wash the floors, to go shopping.problems began
I here. Problems with me. Not that before childbirth I conducted some very eventful and people life. But the fact remains - before childbirth in my life there were many events and many people. Every day. If not travel, then trips to relatives and meetings with friends. If not work, then study in postgraduate study or at least occupations by yoga, if not real-life communication, then social networks. And suddenly everything was gone. That`s it “suddenly“. No, friends were not gone, parents too, I regularly called up to all, and even at least once a month to us there came guests. But all this there were rare episodes. And every minute before me there was a kid who as it seemed to me, constantly needed my attention. And who did not give any substantial answer to me.
my brain became empty and dried out. and I tried to be VKontakte with the child always when he is awake. And he, unfortunately, from the very first days slept badly... He looked at me and smiled, and I smiling in reply, dreamed only of how he will fall asleep, and I is banal I will go online or I will open the book. Any book! If only there something occurred. And in my life there was nothing. Anything new. The repeating actions, avtomatizm, the same toys and reactions. I called unloved relatives and talked “about anything“. If only to talk. I bought up new toys which not really - that pleased the son. If only it was more interesting to me “to play“ with it... I went to distant walks with the sleeping child if only to see something new. It is a shame to speak, but I even felt some satisfaction from the arising problems - small sores of the kid, for example. Because it brought a variety ours with it life. And restriction “to time for itself“ became the most difficult for me. But not that sense that I did not manage to take a bath or, perish the thought, to make manicure! I did not manage to be alone. It is simple to think, without feeling sense of guilt for the fact that I “am not engaged“ in the child is constant, I do not entertain him.
As can be assumed, the farther, the more son reacted to my state: slept worse, kept within for hours, it was overslept everyone an hour and a half at night, no more than three - five minutes could occupy itself, cried much. What became the culmination? It was not! We became just cleverer. And I, and - especially! - my son. He matures and grows. He is interested in something and interests me. He becomes awfully emotional, bright boy, with a rich mimicry, own inventions, jokes, counters. And I... I become myself. The person to whom it is interesting and not just it is boring. The person who wants, and not just has to. Which is really glad, but not just expresses “the put maternal feelings“. Which loves and we love. And still the person who knows that it is better to allow the kid ten minutes “is absolutely empty“ to throw out diapers from a box of a dresser and to read at this time chapter of the sentimental novel of Jane Austen, and then already to go together to play, draw and read the useful developing books, than ““ every minute to give all itself to the kid. The child undoubtedly needs mother. But for this purpose mother has to be.