Black and Bitter

I've been having a hard time lately. I just don't want to do this anymore. I am ill-equipped to handle the day-to-day. I realized this the other day when Kris came to me with a very stressed out, just-thrown-up baby. She had worked herself up til she threw up and instantly I went into battle mode. I knew exactly how to calm her down, how to clean her up and how to make catastrophe become calm. I can do that. I can't do the normal stuff. I can't make mealtimes peaceful and laid back. I can't make boring toys fun. I can't do failed naps. I feel like I spent so much of Eleanor's life as her nurse, her doctor, her protecter, and now I am just her mum. I can feel controversy building as I write that... but let me clarify. There are many stay-at-home mums out there who are WAY more than "just mums", but I do not feel that I am one of them. I'm just not good at this. Maybe I would have been better if my kid didn't have cancer, but that's kind of a moot point now.

Kris has been incredibly tolerant as I fumble around in the dark. I've needed a couple of "mummy time-outs", which is really just a nice way of saying I ran away. I drove out towards the western communities and found myself at William Head Penitentiary. Oh, irony of ironies. I end up at an institution as I grasp at straws to keep my life together; as I pursue a deinstitutionalized life. But it's beautiful out there. It's the last stop before Vancouver Island gets raw and real and intimate with the Pacific Ocean. I pulled into Witty's Lagoon park and hiked around the Sitting Lady falls and all round the lagoon and down to the impossibly beautiful beach. I spent a lot of time down there, wandering across the mud flats, thinking how much my daughter and my husband would hate this place.

"It's too windy!" Eleanor would cry (but it would sound more like "whaaaaathebububpmaaaaathubthub").

"It's too cold/hot/sunny and too many people/bugs and not enough food/drinks/city" Kris would complain.

"But I moved back here to come to places like this. To get wet, sandy feet and have my hair blown back."

What am I doing here? Where am I going?

I've been living on the West Coast for 2+ years now, and I still haven't gone camping. I still haven't gone surfing. I've been snowboarding once. I don't do any of the things that I want to do. I JUST started running again. I struggle to meet new people. I'm awkward as F*** about Eleanor's disease. I don't have a job, I don't seem to have anything. Every time I open Facebook another one of Eleanor's cancer buddies is getting bad news. And my good friend's mum passed away from cancer. And my psychologist is moving out east. And I can't seem to make more babies. So much grrrrrrrrrrrrr...

"I don't want to play for you anymore
show me what you can do
tell me what are you here for
I want my old friends
I want my old face
I want my old mind
fuck this time and place

the butter melts out of habit
you know, the toast isn't even warm"

I eventually dragged myself away from the basking seals and soaring eagles and drove back to my family. Nothing much has changed, but I am trying to stay more positive. I am using exercise to exorcise my bad feelings out. I am talking to my doctor, to Eleanor's doctors and to my friends and family. I'm not actually going to leave the douchebags. For better or for worse, I'm deeply connected to each of them. I love my husband and my screechy baby and my impudent dog, even if they all drive me nuts. I know I'm doing it to myself. It's just really hard right now. I'm blue. My dad once told me that Churchill used to get depressed, and it followed him everywhere so he always referred to it as "the black dog". I don't know if that's true, but it's nice to have something Churchillian to say about feeling crummy, even if it doesn't perfectly exemplify the term, "Churchillian".

Eleanor is doing well enough, though. She has all but stopped eating over the past couple of weeks and has lost half a kilo. It doesn't bother anyone except me and Kris, but it sure does bother us a lot! She was putting on weight beautifully and this feels like a big step backwards. She is a million times more active than she was a month ago. She never stops moving and that plays a big part. And she is cutting new teeth so she is very careful about what goes in her mouth. After co-sleeping for the past 8 or 9 months, she is now sleeping in her own crib, in her own room. It was remarkably easy to transition her, and everyone is sleeping better. Well, until 5am when Atia and Eleanor get up for the day. She's still not talking or walking (Eleanor, not Atia), but she can pull herself up onto her knees now. Little by little, I guess. Her hormone levels continue to remain stable, normal, and that is the most important thing.

She is a stunning child. She is simply astounding, and I'm just living in her shadow.