I am used to a messy house as I grew up in a home with my mother as the only parent who was often at home to manage four hyperactive children. As Mom went through the day-to-day responsibility of cooking meals, getting her children ready for school, helping us complete our assignments, among so many tasks, there were household chores that weren’t attended to immediately.
Washing clothes was one of them.
“The laundry can wait” was one of my Mom’s infamous lines until weeks passed and dirty clothes piled up like garbage in a dump site. That’s when she realized that my sister and I had to learn how to wash clothes. That means washing clothes by hands. The washing machine came later. We hanged all washed garments in the clothesline for them to air dry.
Never have I felt so close to my Mom and her experience as a homemaker as this stage in my life. Right now.
I’m still in rebellion against the idea that the career woman that I was is now stuck in a house, caring for a newborn with very little opportunity of out-of-the-house mobility because I don’t know how to drive and it’s difficult to find someone to take care of my newborn child while I am out for an hour to enjoy a quiet dinner.
Our house is a mess.
It’s embarrassing.
It’s revolting.
It’s not what I imagined our home to be.
But neither Jeff nor I can’t keep up with all the tasks. No matter how hard we try the entire day to finish this chore and that chore, there is always something that is unfinished at the end of the day.
And that’s frustrating.
I go to bed every night thinking of the chore that needs to be done the following day. I wake up the following day thinking about several other chores which are added to the list.
My Mom used to say that she’s been going around the house the entire day washing dishes, sweeping the floor, folding clothes, and yet nothing is ever done. She used to scream in frustration. I did not understand why she was like that.
Now I know. Now I know.
I get you Mom.
Totally.
In the midst of this mess, I am taking graduate studies in language and literacy education. I was completely delusional back in August when I decided to enrol this semester. I write my papers with my son, Nicholas, on my lap. I respond to emails with my daughter Antoinette screaming in the background wanting me to carry her. I work on my assignments on my tablet while breastfeeding Jeff Junior.
I am trying to make things work though and hopefully, this semester will end with me in one piece. With my sanity intact.
Several people call me Super Mom for doing all these but I am not writing this or sharing my experiences just because I want to generate praises or gain the admiration of people.
I am writing this for a self-serving reason and that is to battle depression. I have been open in the past about my bout with postpartum depression and this time is not an exception. The past month has been a struggle to get up to take a shower, get dressed, and even, eat. But I made it because of this blog. Somehow, the responsibility of keeping this site alive was the main reason I get up in the morning.
Sharing my experiences via this site is like unloading a heavy cargo from my container van. I face my laptop or begin typing on my tablet with a heavy, desperate feeling of hopelessness. Afterwards, after pouring my heart out with the help of words and sentences, I feel lighter and later on, empty. Not the creepy kind of empty, the good kind of empty as I let go of my frustrations and disappointments.
I am not where I want to be right now. I have a longing for something I cannot pinpoint at the moment. I am not actively searching for what the thing is because right now, I am thinking this may just be about homesickness, missing my homeland, the Philippines. Or this could be an aggregation of homesickness, crazy hormones, and fatigue.
Whatever it is, I have learned to accept that it is okay to let some of those chores go in exchange for two hours of movie night or a long hot shower. I have learned that the laundry can wait because my son needs to have me by his side because he has a fever and he feels horrible. I have learned that it is alright to have a messy house because my daughter needs a hug as she is having a hard time adjusting to the presence of the newborn.
So I am going to let some household chores slip. I will still feel bad about it but I won’t wallow in the feelings of inadequacy and self pity.
Tomorrow will be a better day to get the laundry done.
