A preemptive hysterical fit

I have to spend 13 hours on a packed train with a baby very shortly. The baby is in a screamy mood.

I need time and space to finish my book and I do not have these things.

You know what, I wish my jaw would stop hurting. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK, JAW?

I’m tired of fretting as to what kind of a future our son is going to have. I mean, he won’t have a trust fund! What kind of parents are we?!

I’m tired of fighting.

I missed a deadline with a play because I am too tired and because I have writer’s block. My head feels as though it’s made of cotton wads.

I hadn’t noticed Caitlin Flanagan’s sexist, presumptuous article about Karen Owen and Duke last year – I was busy becoming a parent and such – but it has since been pointed out to me. The odd thing about Flanagan is that she would be a really good writer, if she were a little more brave and a little less of a snob. If she didn’t extrapolate her own anxieties unto others, but focused on why she has them in the first place. Still, I’m tired of the fact that people like her launch writing careers after “holding forth” at dinner parties and so on, while the rest of us have to bust our asses. The only reason why I bring this up, of course, is Flanagan’s own sneering contempt for women who must bust their asses.

I’m extremely tired of being told that I am a bad parent by the people who are closest to me. I’m tired of hearing that “the baby is not developing properly” when he’s developing nicely according to every single damn source I have read. So how about you keep your “helpful advice” to yourselves, bastards? Before you take an arrow to the knee, and such.

I miss sleep. I mean real sleep here. Not the fake bullshit that passes for sleep around here.

I’m tired of not having a proper home, one that at least feels like home. It doesn’t have to be fancy. I am not a very fancy person, no matter what rumours you may have heard. I would like a balcony onto some quiet dvor. And think that the real estate bubble in Moscow was and is a crime against humanity.

I’m tired of visas and work-permits and constantly feeling as though I am on the edge of some bureaucratic disaster.

Incidentally, I want to take a sledgehammer to Russian bureaucracy.

I’m tired of uncertainty and really wish my hair would style itself.

Hysterical gif is hysterical:

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6 thoughts on “A preemptive hysterical fit

  1. I want to come give you a hug. A big hug. And I hear you – I miss sleep too – it’s amazing how much I took it for granted before. Take care – I can tell you are an amazing mom just from your posts.

  2. Wow. I’m sorry you are having such a hard time. I guess your jaw hurts because you are clenching it to keep from screaming. My mother made my father move 20 miles to get away from my grandmothers who had been trying to take over her children.

    I don’t think I ever heard of Karen Flannagan, but she should read Jane Addams’ “Twenty Years at Hull House” to find out what it was really like for women in the old days (1900′s): sweatshops, tenements, child labor and drunk husbands, while the suburban ladies despaired over trying to keep a girl to cook and clean house. (The girls would rather work in factories where they could at least dress up after work and go to the dance halls to meet boys.)

    You’ve got to try some breathing meditation. Its the only thing I have found to help me in 40 years. :)

  3. I had exactly the same reaction to Flanagan’s article. As I remember, she starts out with a thing about her personal experience with weaselly Duke recruiters when she worked at a prep school. The article is really about her finding out what she already knew and, in some fairly obvious ways, not finding out anything that might spoil the picture. After all, it was perfectly framed when she got it.

    The message she got from the way she was discovered as writer seems to be that her perspective on things is Most Profound and Very Important — something a narcissist has no trouble taking to heart. So Karen Owens’ humiliation was a perfect opportunity for Kaitlin Flanagan to bask in her own conflicted emotions. As a writer she basks beautifully. But, blech!

    Her “wisdom” is kind of like the “wisdom” of the people worrying you about your baby. Your family has more of a stake and more of an excuse, I guess, but still, it’s really unhelpful. My wife had to struggle with the same kind of thing. Just believe in yourself as much as you can. You know what your baby needs, and you know what you need, and you’re both gonna be ok.

  4. Before our son was born, our friends told us: “You won’t have so much free time after the baby comes.” We would look at each other and ask “What free time?” After he was born, we said “Oh – *that* free time. The time we used to spend sleeping, eating, that sort of stuff…”

    Early parenthood is the time in your life when you can look at the love of your life through half-lidded eyes, say “I really want to sleep with you tonight,” and have you both mean it literally…

    (It does get better. People have even been known to voluntarily put themselves through it again.)

  5. Well, we made it. Not without adventure, but at least the baby was definitely not screamy. Now how to solve everything else on my List of Things To Freak Out About…

    And yep – I am told that it does get easier. I just need to believe in that right now, because simply knowing it logically doesn’t help nearly as much as it ought to.

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