Sometimes your decisions are not yours to make ….

So last night Kennith asked me what was wrong.

He noticed I just was not “there” – and he wanted me to explain to him why I was feeling a bit down/low/removed.

I answered that I really do not know, but I might have lied.

It was not a hard lie, it was more of an untruth, as I had not allowed myself the time and space to really think about why I was feeling to “just not there.”

About two weeks ago Kennith and I had a conversation.  We really need to stop having conversations in the kitchen.  They just never go well.  When ever we have a conversation with a fluorescent light above our heads, it normally ends in my crying or me being really angry.

Kitchen = not great places if someone starts with “we need to talk…”

Without dragging it out, as only I can do, the short of it is that Kennith wants me to stop with any ideas/further motion that surround surrogacy/adoption/fourth child or anything that can be related to these issues – in a nutshell – as some would say.

I stood there and took congnisense of what he was saying and really nothing he said could be argued against with logic.

However that did not make me feel any better.

I immediately started to feel like an insolent six year old who was being told off by her father and being warned that behavior in this regard would not be further tolerated.

Kennith however was very calm – some may say calculated – and stated his facts cleanly and without emotion – some may say coldly.  His case was crystal clear “there is no benefit to us as a family unit, and the risks are too large” so cease and desist.  Okay, he did not actually say cease and desist, but you get the gist.

I was immediately angry/disappointed/crushed/emotionally bereft – in equal and immeasurable quantities – that what I wanted to do was being controlled/stopped by someone else when I felt totally different.  (listen we can labour the point of the family unit and how we are all one and all the crap later ….)

I realized that there was no point in making a further case for any of these issues, as Kennith had already made up his mind.  His were logical reasons while mine were purely emotional.

He had not made up his mind in a rash moment of anger, or because the day had been a bad one.  He had given it thought, and weighed the issues up and decided that he wanted to tell me how he felt – and decided that the kitchen was a good place and the timing was just right.

Unfortunately it was a bit (well very actually) too crushing for me and I was unable to respond in an effective or emotionally mature manner.

When I feel “attacked” or “under threat” I immediately start to “baton down my hatches,” so to speak – and retreat into myself.  I chose to say as little as possible, because I felt I was screaming inside and that never translates well in adult conversation.

I know that nothing will be gained by swearing and screaming and fighting against the decision.

I know that nothing will be gained by drafting a funky presentation using Photoshop and PowerPoint to dazzle him.

I know there is nothing to be gained by falling on the floor and begging and pleading whilst I hold on to his pant’s leg and cry in a loud whining voice.

There is nothing to be gained.

There is nothing to be gained no matter what I do.

There is nothing to be gained so I feel ineffective, useless and just a little bit (very) crushed.

There is nothing to be gained so I feel resentful and angry and hurt.

I realise that my reaction is probably not the most mature.

I realise that my reaction will only further alienate Kennith.

I realise that there is nothing to be gained from feeling like I do, and by not just getting over it.  But there is nothing to be gained.

I realise all of this, but I still feel like ..

I am just not ready to hear the no, when in actual fact it is resounding, I am not ready to give up, but I must or I will drive myself to distraction, and hate Kennith for it.  I am angry that I do not get to make this decision by myself (insert angry six year old girl stamping her foot here).  I am angry, I am hurt, I am disappointed, I am angry, I am so very very angry, I am so very very hurt…

Will I recover?  Of course, don’t we all recover eventually given enough time.

How long do I need?  Not sure, really not sure today, but tomorrow or next week is another day, but I am just one of those that do not bounce back quickly ….

Some plans just do not work …

I took my youngest daughter along to a crèche this week.

I want to enroll her in January/February, but there have been some instances this year when our nanny was not available and I was put into what would only be called a stressful situation because I did not have a Plan B.

I get very stressed without a Plan B through F.

I opted to investigate Plan B which was to look at a crèche and maybe take her every Wednesday.  I figured she would get used to it, I would get used to it, and I would have a fall back plan in the event of something happening.

All seems like a good plan. Isabelle has been there once when I needed them as a Plan B and it was okay.

This week I decided to start the every Wednesday thing.

I already got anxious on Tuesday during the day.  Tuesday night I was feeling quite edgy.  Wednesday morning I was thinking this is not a good idea, but decided to put my head down and just get on with it – wearing my big girl panties and all.

Wednesday morning arrived, I got her ready.  But my heart really was not into it.

I kept thinking that I really do not want to be doing this – I really do not want to do this.  But I convinced myself that I need to act like an adult and just get on with it, and she would be fine.

Got her to the class – I was still really not happy with the idea.

I sat with her on the mat.  It was breakfast time so a little chaotic and there were all these babies and these two helpers were trying to do breakfast.  Shoveling drippy runny porridge into a group of babies is not my idea of a good time, and clearly did not fill them with the joy of life either.

The thing that disturbed me the most – and there were several things that disturbed me. There was a little girl who was at that point where she could crawl on her tummy but could only go backwards.

So she had gone backwards and was now stuck in a corner.  She was very sweet in her pink onesie, but sort of stuck there.  No one was helping her out of the corner as they were busy with the other kids.  She swung between crying sadly and smiling at me – it was torture to watch.

There was another little baby who was on her tummy, and could not roll over  – and she was also getting a bit distressed, and no one was helping her.

I sat on the mat with Isabelle – more for my comfort than hers – and looked out at all of this.  The more I sat there, the more distressed I got.

At one point I started to pat Isabelle’s hand.  I think I needed someone to pat my hand and tell me that it was going to be alright, because it really wasn’t.

I looked at what to me looked like baby-daycare-hell and then I thought “okay I need to leave her..”

I picked up my key, and stood up.  Then she looked at me, her eyebrow got a little crease, she looked at me, pulled her toy-doggy closer to her chest, and pushed her thumb further into her mouth.

I said “love you foofy-noof” and made to leave …. Isabelle looked at this, looked over at the other kids, looked back at me and then the crease in her forehead deepened.

I backed away further.  She assessed her surroundings, and sucked her thumb harder.

I got the to the gate and clicked it open – her eyes darted to me –now fully assessing exactly what was happening and put her head back and released the silent scream.

It’s that scream of anguish before the god-awful blood curdling scream that you know is coming.

And I left ….

The entire day I kept telling myself that this was a hugely shit idea and I need to go back and get her.  Then my other voice-of-reasoning  told me she is fine, and not to worry.  She will make friends and I will arrive and realise I over reacted and she had a great old day.

In the late afternoon  they combine the children that are left in the baby class with the children who are in the toddler class.  They move the babies over to the toddler class as both groups get really small.

When I got there, Isabelle was lying on the green mat by herself with tears streaming out of her eyes and down her cheeks – she was sobbing … all alone …. on the green flipp’n mat.

The first thing I noticed (beside her being alone, on her back, on the green mat, and crying her eyes out) was that her little toy dog – which is like her Linus blanket – was in another room.

Isabelle needs this little dog to comfort herself.  When ever she is distressed she rubs the little doggy’s ear, sucks her thumb and then feels better.  It is her little thing, and I had explained this to the class teacher.

So there my poop was all alone, crying her eyes out and no doggy in site.

The helper/assistant/satan’s maid servant returned to collect the last baby and then left the room, without so much as a backward glance at me or my destroyed child – no comment or mention that the day clearly was a shocker.

I scooped up my lump of sobbing flesh, gave her doggy to her, put all her stuff into her bag and left the crèche.

They can keep my damn money.  There is no way I will be darkening their door again. Isabelle can remain at home with Pepe and she can remain at home next year too – fek this as a plan.

I do not care if Pepe is off ill or otherwise detained.  I will just take time off work, but there is no way I am putting her into that school.

Kennith ever the economist said “well, you will save yourself +R1 300.00 per month” – then he realized that money saving was not quite the motivation here and quickly added “she is fine at home and also has the company of the other two kids in the afternoon, she will be fine, leave her at home.”

So that is that then – I am officially shelving any ideas to get her into a pre-school/crèche/caring facility and will leave her at home with Pepe indefinitely.

I do not recall being this traumatized when I took the other two to school, but I can honestly say I was totally distraught and I hate crechés/day care for babies.

Right now I am not ready for her to go to school and well that is pretty much that then … and because I am the mommy I get to make this decision, so yay for me!

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