My marathon
NS April 17th, 2009
“I’m all touched out.”
I never knew what that phrase meant until I became a mother of two. “Touched out?” I thought; “What in the heck does that mean? How can you have a negative psychological reaction to merely being touched by your children, in mostly loving and gentle ways? Surely, even if you ARE feeling a little physically overextended by the kids, the feeling wouldn’t spill over to others.” Right?
Wrong.
Some days my body feels like a sacrificial lamb at the altar of motherhood: tugged, pressed against, pulled, pushed, pinched, hugged, rubbed, kissed, held, scratched, slapped, kneaded, spilled on, climbed up, trod on, rolled over and bulldozed. I’ve constantly got a baby either on my breast, on my hip or in my lap and a toddler demanding every ounce of strength and attention I have left. At the end of a particularly hard, draining day, I actually feel sore. Sore and deflated, my body mimicking the numbness of defeat in my spirit.
On days where I’ve been touched out, I can’t stand for the cat to come near me once the kids are asleep. I will share my lap and hand with no one. On days where I’ve been touched out, I can only look in the vague direction of my husband, afraid my sad, clouded eyes will catch a glint in his, my unfortunate response to run away in horror at the thought of an intimate embrace. On days when I’ve been touched out, I can’t even bear the weight of clothes on my skin or my hair on my neck. I have this desire to be weightless and bare and free.
I’ve had a shit day. My sorrow hangs heavy like smog on my chest as I uncork the wine and pour a glass of respite. I tuck my tired legs underneath me and wait solemnly and silently for dinner to materialize, trying to clear my mind of the day’s parenting horrors. The tantrums, the tears, the shouting, the anger…most of it from me. My logical and rational mind acknowledges that these days happen to the best of us but my heart thuds like a stone to the dull beat of failure. I am hard on myself, I know, but the physical remnants of the day haunt me, ever-present reminders of how fucking hard this gig is and how, more than anything, it has fundamentally changed the way I view myself, the way I view the world and how I process and feel things. It is a bittersweet pain that I will never be able to properly articulate and it starts at my tensed-up toes and ends at my watering eyes.
I suppose it you look at mothering like a marathon, a lot of the same rules apply — stretch before beginning, go slowly at first, set a pace, push yourself a little but know your limitations, rest when necessary, and cool down at the end. Now, I’m no runner but I’ve heard and read enough about the experience to draw parallels. A true runner talks about not knowing why they get up and do it every morning when every fiber of their being is screaming “Stay in bed, you fool!”
I’ve experienced that.
The dedicated marathon trainee talks about lacing up her trainers and setting out at dawn, despite the pain that will inevitably settle into her limbs; how after awhile that pain turns to a dull burn and then a rush of adrenaline and then a super-charged feeling of soaring and contentment, the rush she gets from achieving something that incorporates all the senses and only makes sense because it doesn’t make sense at all.
I get that now.
So in preparation for tomorrow’s run, I will drain my glass, have a few hours of bodily autonomy and then, when The Noble Baby wakes, the invasion will start anew. But this time, after an evening of reprieve and (hopefully) a few hours sleep, I will gaze down at my cherub and murmur devotion in his ear as he clings to me and gives me that milk-drunk half smile.
And that will be enough to get me to the starting line again.
- Parenting 101 , Squish Squish
- Comments(8)
It IS a marathon, but I’m sure you will win it in the end, so just keep working through the pain (and make sure to grunt and yell and grimace and cry when necessary. No need to let others get the impression that it’s a piece of cake).
Well written. I love the analogy. As much as every mother hopes to never lose her composure she inevitably will. We can only hope that once our children are grown they can have a bit of understanding for just how hard parenting really is and forgive us for being human. You are a good mother. Never forget that.
I felt like that every day for nearly 2 years straight and I only have one child! You’re doing great – to be able to articulate your thoughts in such a real and creative way. I still can’t do that
. A toast – to marathon Mamas everywhere – may we reach the finish line before the wine runs out!!
I just remember my Mom saying she felt like she yelled at us all the time (with 6 kids, she probably was-as each of us I am sure had our turn). But I told her that I thought it was funny that I never remembered her yelling at us. I guess we somehow knew it was just part of the plan, how parents warn us to keep us safe, teach us right from wrong, teach us to behave and get along with others, and mostly to get our attention at a particular moment as we were running wildly through early childhood. As kids grow older the “yelling” is replaced by a conversation or discussion, as kids are able to grasp other concepts. As you know, I feel like my Mom should be nominated for sainthood. You are normal, you are sane, you are a mother! (and a darn good one).
Love to all of you.
I will share this story with you. We were raised in a 2 bedroom, 1 bath house. I was the last to leave the nest.
My Mom awoke from a deep sleep, needing to get to the bathroom in the worst way. As she dashed into the bathroom, there was my Dad on the throne and his comment “the kids are all gone and I still can’t have 5 minutes alone”.
I wrote a really long comment on this, but it appears to have disappeared into the ether. Can’t remember what I said, now. But I totally understand the ‘touched out’ thing, especially at the moment. Rosemary really does not understand the need to calm her climbing on me and jumping on me down at the moment, because there’s a baby inside. Occasionally, she does lean down and shout ‘Sorry, baby!’ at my tummy, but usually she just says ‘I won’t hurt my baby,’ then proceeds to jump onto my belly.
The marathon analogy is very good. Hope you’ve managed to put your trainers on again and cross the pain threshold!
Just a note to clarify my response. Your writing was about being touched out. I, on the other hand, was just commenting on how difficult it is to be a parent but as the kids get older it becomes less demanding physically and mentally.
Could have written this!!! So well written, and so honest. Loving how you stated “how fucking hard this gig is” – so so so true. As a runner, and a mommy, I swear I don’t know how I do it most days. And when you said how motherhood has changed how you view yourself – I couldn’t have said it better. You hit it right on the nose for me, we are so much harder on ourselves once we have offspring for some reason. Sounds like you’re doing a fabulous job, so keep the wine flowing and your optimistic perspective on each new day in check
I don’t know much about motherhood, but I know what you’re talking about here. My boy can be SOO needy. Now that I’m at home for more time with him, there are definitely days like this. Today for example, I just…. well, I was touched out.