Wanting to be alone but hating it, or, 25 days without the Kid.

As you guys may have noticed if you follow me on Instagram (if not, shame on you!) the Kid is in New Zealand with his Dad. Yes, this did result in some shameless #instaselfpity but seriously, who could blame me.

Since the Kids conception I have never been away from him for longer than 3 nights, so every time the idea of him going to New Zealand came up my stomach would tie up in knots and I just ignored the whole thing.

Yup, what was I expecting you think?! Having a Kid with a guy from New Zealand and him never going to see that side of the family? Quite selfish I know. So eventually I got over myself, tickets were booked and a date was looming.

Now all you guys with children know about the overwhelming urge for them to just leave you alone. Those of you without kids probably have the same urge actually.

Anyway, I spent a lot of the last 4 years wishing to be alone, to have one minute to think without “mama” in my ear, to go to the toilet without the Kid standing right behind the door demanding to know what I am doing. I mean, seriously!

So, I comforted myself with the idea that I would have some time to myself. No rushing home to make dinners. No bedtime struggles. No endless vacuuming up rice cracker crumbs and sticky jam fingers on everything. Basically 25 days of me.. I even thought I might go out, out!

Well, let me tell you, 25 days of me alone, is no feast. Not At All!

It started out alright. I slept a lot! Apparently getting up at 05:00 for about 2 years in a row left me pretty tired. So I slept and slept and then worked and worked. Until the second weekend in. Theoretically the weekend I could start reliving my 20’s. I woke up with the most excruciating pain in my right arm.

It was the right arm, so the whole heart attack alarm thing I’ve got going on only sounded very lightly in the back of my mind. The Doctor confirmed my heart was fine but I had a trapped nerve in my shoulder (tension much!). Just take paracetamol and it will go away eventually.

Me having to take painkillers is quite a problem but I did after some wild OCD rituals, to no avail. In the end my Mum had to pick me up and take me “home” because I could not even go to the toilet by myself.. so much for finally going in peace right.

Side note, this is when it sucks being Single! (blog up about that soonish.)

The third weekend I actually went “out” to an expo opening, which was a feat because my anxiety was getting higher and higher. Turns out me being very busy with the Kid is a great thing since it keeps me from thinking about things like “oh my God, that white fluff in the air (pollen) might be very bad for me!”.

On Sunday when the excruciating pain hit my left arm to fuck with my mind a bit further I got myself in such a state I had to go see my sister to actually take my Paracetamol. Told you, me alone.. crazy.

So, now I am two nights away from the Kid coming back and the anxiety actually became manageable over the last week and I did that by myself (almost). Finding peace of mind I mean.

However, it does make me wonder how much I put on the Kid, am I too dependent on him? Are all parents like this? Is it fair to need him this much when actually it is him who needs to rely on me?

Anyone any ideas on this one? I got a comment box below especially for it.

Two more nights until I can start wishing to be alone again. I cannot wait!!