Was tired of the child. Young mother and ``Groundhog Day`` of a year of
This article - about an inner world of the woman who quite recently became mother. The world hidden from others eyes behind external, seeming quite safe “facade“. But quite often the confusion and a dissatisfaction reign in it instead of a cosiness and harmony.
it is simple
- Mother, mother! Kis - was turned sour! - the daughter one hand pulls me for a jeans trouser-leg, and another points to a huge whitish cat.
to It 1 year 3 months. It is very pretty, ridiculous, with chubby cheeks and open eyes.
Outside July. Hot. Godlessly the sun scorches. We live in the country with a minimum of conveniences, but with an oven - at the other end of the world from Moscow.Each our day is similar
to previous. And I already quietly hate this killing monotony, this grown hateful “mode“. And baitedly I look after to myself a strong tree on which could hang itself.
B nine rise. Breakfast. The porridge smeared on a table. Ware. Efforts on economy. Walk. Falling from height of own growth. Lunch. The soup spilled on a floor. Ware. Quiet time. Afternoon snack. The overturned glass with juice. Walk. The peeled knee. Dinner. Izgvazdanny bib. Ware. Games. The cone on a forehead. Bathing. Laying to sleep. Similarity of private life - the book or the TV. Plaintive pity to. Dream. And tomorrow all at first.
After a breakfast at us a traditional promenade - on a three-wheeled velosipedik on the only rural road. And I foreknow what it will be... Having hardly caught sight of us, to six - seven-year neighbour`s kids with a deafening rappberry will run towards. Dasha will joyfully lift to the sky the small handle as a sign of a greeting, and the children will jump around it, to lisp and embrace, for them it is a live doll.
Then we will come around on someone`s site for “communication on interests“. Interests at us with Dasha different. I every time should push the somewhere very far. Instead of serenely thumbing through a magazine, we will run on not mowed grass for a cat, to fall and rise, cry and laugh, to consider others toys, to try to play with more adult girls... And all this together. Without being separated for a second. Without moving away on a step.
- Mother, mother! Kis - was turned sour! - Dasha addresses me again. Knows - mother nearby.
Ya really I stand nearby. Attached by invisible, but very thick rope. As a nanny-goat to a peg. I can do anything - but only at rope length. So at all the desire I not in forces to share Dashin enthusiasm. Her eyes shine, in mine - hopelessness tears. Its world - is boundless and amazing. Wash - it is narrow and pulled out around.I watch
Ya at the shchekasty treasure and I do not feel happy at all. And I have practically everything that is necessary for the ordinary woman for happiness: the strong status of the married lady, the remarkable daughter, interesting work where, by the way, long ago were tired of waiting for me from the decree. At me is even where to take out the child for the summer - to this virgin solitude situated near Moscow. But I rejoice to nothing. I as a volcano, I throw up irritation.
Ya I live on a nature bosom, but to me does not gasp. There is not enough life! Communication, emotions, coquetry... I choke. I was tired. And even I know from what. I was tired of this thick rope which tightly a primotana to Dasha. And it is a shame to me to admit it even to himself.
We all the time together. As mother and the baby mammoth who caught her tail. My attention, my participation in Dashiny life is required every second. My “tail“ always feels breath and “trunk“ of a native cub. And already groans from infinite derganiye.
For some reason two more - three months ago similar sufferings were not. What I all the forces, both sincere, and physical, give to the child seemed absolutely natural and self-evident. What has happened? That changed? Why now I am so weighed by the existence concentrated on the daughter?
Still me is devoured by envy. To those mothers who find a consolation from cares of the child in cares of the child. Which do not need nothing else any more.Me - it is necessary for
. Much what is necessary - societies, impressions, a variety.“ Unequal“ lives. I aspire to it with all the heart and... I am ashamed of the low, not so maternal rushes.
Ya I live at all not as it would be desirable. But it is much worse to me because that in my brain a splinter the axiom sits: the real mother cannot test anything similar. The real mother as a horse in rustle, sees nothing around, except the little man and as the diver - the fanatic, is shipped in own motherhood.
... Claudia Vasilyevna, the grandmother of five-year-old Anechka and her brother Vanya joins our noisy party on the seasonal dacha. Vanya - here he, the fidget, gets under feet together with other malyshny. And Anechki is absent.
- Where your granddaughter? - I am surprised.
- Houses... Draws...the Answer I am struck with
. No - it is killed on the spot. Draws? One? Also does not go a tail for the granny? Also does not ask to esteem / play / dig a sand?
I should not watch it constantly? The five-year-old child, what - it is possible so just to provide here to itself and to go about the own business? I do not trust! For me it is space. Attracting, but inaccessible. Now I envy Claudia Vasilyevna. And in her face all that who is not smothered by a thick rope - a leash.
to me it is sad. In total for the same reasons. I am awful mother. Dreaming only of that the child grew up quicker.
... Exactly in three years after those country sufferings I appeared in a similar situation again. Our second kid - the boy Grisha - too grew about one year and three. And I had to remember to the smallest details the period in the life under the name “we with Tamara walk in couple“.
Continuous deja vu... July. Heat. The blinding sky. I with the son at the dacha. Already at our new dacha with all conveniences and without oven. And absolutely near Moscow. Dasha with our father departed to the sea. And we with juvenile Grishka to whom absolutely unhealthy southern sun, remained “on economy“. On beds with wild strawberry and cucumbers. Again life eye to eye. Practically without communication, impressions and the recovering variety. Again “mode“ and the rituals repeating day by day.
In Moscow I could not leave for weeks of our yard and feel all the same part of the huge city in which that “life“ rages. And at the dacha... At the dacha it seemed that I on the edge of the Universe, in its farthest corner where even the most mean starprobe vehicle does not reach. And meanwhile in the world so much occurs, so much, but without me!.
However, in three years I considerably grew wiser and already absolutely in a different way - is quieter and is positive - began to treat the closed country world behind a high fence and the image of mother for a baby mammoth. I was almost not irritated a derganiye for “tail“, circulation in single file a trace in a trace, a kovyryaniye in a sandbox and impossibility to escape out of circle limits around a peg. I understood: then, in many years when my son moves away from me and will live life, I will strongly regret that I did not appreciate time when he followed me on heels and was in me so in great need.