The Nuggets lost 2 nights in a row. So much for cheering me up.
Saturday morning began with LB asking when her daddy was going to pick her up. I told her he and Blondie were busy this weekend but she would get to see him next Friday.
She then proceeded to sit in her room all morning and brush her My Little Pony’s hair. Couldn’t convince her to get dressed. Couldn’t convince her to eat breakfast. Every time I asked her to do something she replied with “I will in a second.” Then she ignored my request. She dumped her entire box of 96 crayons out and strategically placed them through out the living room. I will probably find crayons in random places for the next year and a half.
Sunday began the same way, with “Is daddy picking me up today?”
In the last week, Miss Independent has been replaced with “I can’t do it.” While getting dressed, she intentionally kicks off her pants right before she pulls them up, screaming in frustration. She puts both feet in one pant leg and cries. She throws herself on the floor and bemoans her failure.
I don’t know if I’m noticing these things just because her teachers pointed out some behavioral issues during her PT conference, or if they’ve always been there and being a Pisces, I’m an expert at denial.
I’ve been so caught up with my Scorpio infatuation, its easy for me to extend the rose-colored vision to every part of my life, including my daughter’s. Maybe I should wake the F*** up already and focus on being a better mother. My kid is hurting. She’s confused. She’s angry. I need to help her deal with it.
At the same time, the Scorpios aren’t my boyfriends. I can’t lean on them when I go through rough times. They aren’t there to help ME deal with MY anger, & confusion. When I turn to Chivman for comfort, its my own fault when I don’t get that. He’s my part-time lover and my full-time friend, nothing more. It’s not his job to pat me on the back and tell me everything is ok. When I start to expect that, I get myself hurt.
I managed to get LB out the door by Sunday afternoon and take her to the park. I sat by the river, while my kiddo threw pebbles into the water. I ran my fingers over the warm stones and suddenly gripped one, chucking it as hard as I could into the river. It made a satisfying PLUNK, and I threw another, larger one.
LB began to mimic my actions, even the angry little grunts I was emitting after I released the stone into the air. She got to the point where she was lifting boulders, carrying them to the edge and soaking herself as she let them hit the water. I was so caught up in my cathartic stone throwing that I didn’t realize that maybe it wasn’t a good idea for her to her to see me deal with my own anger by violently flinging rocks.
Later that night, I sat in front of my computer, trying to force myself to write more on my screenplay. I managed to get one page out before I gave up and went to bed, trying not to think about Chivman’s touch and how much I wanted it right then.
I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to blend “single” and “motherhood” together. I’m still trying to morph into a hot, young thing every other weekend, and come monday morning, assume the Mommy position. I put my single face on then wash it off. Why can’t I just be a Mom AND single at the same time? What is wrong with me?
I can’t seem to kill this “YOU MUST CHOOSE” stigma that’s in my brain. It’s either a man or a child who deserves my attention. For some reason I’m convinced I can’t focus on both without taking away from the other.
I don’t know how to get over that.