I have all the words. They swirl. They dart this way and they dart that.
They want to be written. They want to be read. I stare at the lined page but I cannot bring them to life.
Slept in. Headache. Parker slept with us and I am left with his sweet scent on my pillow when Mr.Kypo takes him downstairs, allowing me to sleep. Mr.Kypo needs sleep too. He selflessly gets up. He creeps down the stairs. Not long later, Lotus comes in and kisses me, turns and creeps down following them.
I have longed for Parker to sleep through the night. My body aches and craves for rest. How ironic, this week he has started sleeping through and I am missing our time in the hours of the morning feeding him in his rocking chair, our warm bodies close. I miss when Mr.Kypo would feed him during the night and I lay in our bed on his pillow with inhaling his smell speaking gratitude that I picked him to be the Dada of our babes.
I exploded with pure frustration. I yelled, I was mean, I felt remorse, I felt guilt, I felt shame. Deep shame. It was heavy. Viscous words spoken that could not be erased. I apologised. I reasoned with him why I was so frustrated and how I need him to listen to me. He accepted my apology. Did he accept it because he knew I really meant it or did he accept it because I am his Mama and the unconditional love he has for me?
It is days later and I am still thinking about it. I can see his face when I yelled at him. He is not thinking about it at all. He sees me with the same loving eyes. The first woman he fell in love with and speaks such sweet words. I make another promise with myself that when that fury is in the pit of my stomach, I won’t lash out. I won’t snap at anyone. This time I will recognise and keep.
“Mama, they don’t have the size you are after in that style’, she said to me in front of the change-room door with all her innocence. It is just a number to her with no meaning.
Suddenly, my stomach felt ill. Self-love dissolved and self-hate made a strong appearance. I feel confused. My eyes filled with tears as I saw my reflection in the mirror. I start to loathe my appearance. I wipe the tears, compose myself knowing my daughter is on the other side of the door and I don’t want her to ever have the same relationship with her body as I have with mine.
You can read my last entry here.
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