Rus Articles Journal

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.

Unmotherly feelings

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.

Give to
holiday from... the child

“Something to me is so sad

today... The son aches all day, cries, climbs on hands and clings to clothes. And I have no forces. I was tired. The husband came from work and makes a dinner, the child sits in a stool with a plate of potato, and I hanged over the computer and I try to find though some business which will allow me not to feel like the sloven, the bad hostess, the disgusting wife and mother. But something badly turns out...

A still I want to come to work. Very much I want... But I cannot afford it: then I will hate myself. Already again I look for the nurse on the Internet and I am not able to afford it to find. Conflict of interests, conflict of persons: mothers in me and me in mother.

Every day I wake up and I think “it is necessary!“. And sometimes even it turns out to pretend that “it is not necessary, and I so want“. But actually I want nothing for a long time: neither to clean up, nor to erase, nor to feed the son, nor to walk with him...

Give me holiday from care of the child, and?“

is a diary entry of mine the Internet - the girlfriend Alexa. It is cry from the heart of the person, emaciated everyday routine and round-the-clock “sitting“ with the child. Desired child, favourite.

Alexa is remarkable mother. I read it to record every day, and every day I see how touchingly she cares for the boy. But even the most remarkable mothers have failures.


As all - ambiguously arranged life. Both person, and his consciousness. When the motherhood turns into a fenny bog, you stick in it, slowly plunging on a bottom. There is a wish to jump out, take a sip fresh air. But sometimes - here the paradox - the is more than opportunity to be chosen, the more air, the it is less and less desire again to dive into a native bog.

Here another public the Internet - record (for clear reasons I do not tell the name of her author):

“Since the birth of the child all my household cares were undertaken by my mother and the nurse. Now daughters are nearly one and a half years. Lived with it in the country, in the same place and the nurse with us in the summer. It with the girl walked in the morning, and I slept. With a dream at us it was always bad, the child awakes me at night each 2 hours, and rise somehow was smoothly displaced recently by 5 in the morning.

Returned from giving - mother began to take away the girl for the weekend to herself, two more days a week with it are engaged the nurse, at mother of the house too. I respectively sleep and I do the things.

And so, the more the help, the less I want to be engaged with the child. Waited for days off earlier as god-send, now I wait for these days on everyday life even stronger. And every time when the child with me, I dream only of that this day ended quicker. I do not want to be engaged with the child, I want to sleep only. And in the mornings in general I want to die.


those days when the girl is taken away, I feel similarity of happiness and when it comes back in the evening, there occurs “the small death“. Apparently, also breaks the husband, only he at least sleeps and goes to work.

What to do how to cope with this mood? Now I want only that the child left me alone, but I understand that IT now forever and rest will not be any more. How to be?“

What you would advise? And as if treated similar revelations? Were terrified? Sympathized?

For many the behavior of the author and its feeling will seem to

wildness. But also is and there will be much those to whom the described situation is very close and clear.

I will not give to

Ya estimates. And I will just tell:“ In life there is everyone, but very often happens quite so - the less at you affairs, the laziness is stronger. The more often you stay idle, the more you are dissatisfied with life. And the less you are engaged in the child, the less there is a wish to do it. An organism, consciousness - everything weans. The Toy Store stops being habitual and native, requirements and desires of the kid - easily guessed, and behavior - clear“.

For this reason is so often said now about what to feel as the parent, “to catch a wave“, to learn to derive pleasure from communication with the child, it is possible to feel a high from interaction with the world of the little man only, being with it in continuous contact, through that life “eye to eye“. Despite all its difficulties, costs and failures.

Ya understood it not at once. If foreknew - there would be no that painful period when I, pining with monotony and suffering that “life passes by“, wanted to escape from “baby mammoth“. And a remorse would not be too. And feelings of bitterness. And regrets. Alas.

From the book “the Kid. Mother`s happiness“