Extraordinary isn't it, you come back from a wonderful holiday and rather your dreams be filled with memories of sun and laughter you're climbing up a ladder and never getting beyond the second step. Left foot on the solid first rung as the right steps through the second back to the first and the left climbs and falls back down, right, left, right, left, over and over climbing failing climbing failing
Failing, failing, failing.
I am not failing my child. Not yet. A game of Monopoly yesterday afternoon, the meal he wanted cooked. Chatted to him at bath time, stroked his tired head as he went to bed. I am doing the mother thing, I am enjoying the mother thing, I love being a mother.
It's not enough.
To call your life a success, you have to have a partner or a job or a secure home. To call your life a success, you have to have all three. I have none of these things. As my birthday approaches, yet another birthday, none of them.
If parenting is tough, the external pressures and requirements of ones life are tougher. I don't have the will or the strength for it. I have to find the will and the strength.
It's one thing to fail your life, it's quite another to have your child tumble down with you.
Don't think about it.
Think about picnics. Of cheese and cucumber sandwiches, of Cava, of sky above and grass below.
Daydreams are better than nightmares.