“A mother needs to know herself, to own up to the diverse, contradictory, often overwhelming feelings evoked by motherhood. It doesn’t matter whether she stays at home, goes out to work, is partnered or single. Only a mother who can face her own inner turbulence can make sense of her child’s. It’s only by accepting that at times you are a bad mother, that you can ever be a good mother.” [1]
I am running against the tide of people. Playing out on the millennium, the embankment, South London, the year 2000. All is hopeful. Me and my friend avoid the crush by scaling a metal fence, then we just smile and watch the revellers pass.
Naoise is at home unwell. The interruption of illness has lasted for two weeks. I work in-between the nursing. Trapped by the walls of the house, I stare at the screen and interact with friends via social media to remain sane. Endless TV cuddles, rainbows, bubbles popping, talking shallots, bowls of porridge. Suffocating love and care and attention. Wishing you well. Holding in the frustration as you clamp your mouth shut and for extra protection place your hand over your face to refuse the antibiotic syringe. The yellow school bus passes, cars whoosh, carrying people to work. We are stuck. Stuck in home space.