I Never Have to Stop and Think

I never have to stop and think. Really. I'm always thinking. Usually about all the wrong things, but I am thinking. It's getting myself to stop thinking that's the hard part -- and it shows.

My son, however, never thinks. I swear. He doesn't. Sure, he's 8, and he's still a little kid really, but he acts as if he hasn't got a single brain cell in his head, let alone one he's actually making use of. Sometimes I think there must be something desperately wrong with him -- some sort of mental defect... But then he goes and says something so infinitely intelligent that I know he's in full working order. Like the other day. He says to the BF on the way to pick me up from work: 'What are the numbers on the houses for?' If you stop and think about it, thats actually a rather deep question. Instead of just following the herd and accepting that houses are supposed to have numbers on them, he actually wanted to know the reason for it. But ask him to tell you what the one page story he read 30 seconds ago was about, and all he can say is "I don't know."

Its actually making things really hard on me and the BF. We're at the point where we don't know what to do. I mean, how do you teach a child to want to understand a story? No one had to teach me... I just wanted to know what happened. I wanted to know more than just what happened. I wanted to know who the characters were, and what they were feeling, and why... I always loved reading and stories. If I read something, not only could I tell you what it was about, but I could recite it for you almost verbatim (semi photographic memory... it's picky about what it photographs, and what it doesn't, as well as being a relatively bad photographer -- severed heads and the like).

I also can't seem to get him to recognize the passage of time. We gave him a clock... But he doesn't seem to have made any sense of what the thing actually is, or why he should care.

And he "forgets" everything we ask him to do, or acts shocked when he has to do something that he's done at the same time every day for months -- like going to pick me up from work, like they do every day.

I have a feeling that most of this behavior is just him distancing him from the world around him. The lack of care he got with his dad is telling. The fact that he's now being asked to be responsible for some of the things in his life (like actually doing his homework himself, instead of having someone feed him the answers, and cutting his own finger nails when they get too long, and washing his own body instead of having mommy do it). That he always thought Mom's house was for playing games and having fun, except now that he lives there full time, it's not anymore. He's adjusting. And not really doing it very well.

The BF has been a saint about it, being the positive male role-model the kiddo needs, picking him up from school, making sure homework gets done, etc., etc., a million times etc. I, on the other hand, haven't been adjusting well at all either.

I'm one of those people that needs peace and quiet (from people that is -- I can't live without the TV or stereo or both on all the time). I need to be alone, to have low stress environments, to not have to share my personal space if I don't want to. Having my son more than the every other weekend I used to have him has taken away my space. It's taken away my time. It's taken away who and what I am, at my core, because I'm not allowed to be that person any more.

I can't help thinking of myself as a horrible Mom because I resent the fact that I can't do what I want, when I want anymore. Eventhough I know these are feelings that every mother has at least once in their lives, if not every day. I feel bad that I don't want to spend every waking moment with my child. I feel bad that sometimes I wish I could have just left him with his dad until the end of time (especially bad about that, given how bad things were at his dad's). I feel bad that sometimes I cry because I just want my life back. Eventhough I know these are things that every mother thinks and feels at some point, you can tell me that what I'm feeling is completely normal until you're blue in the face, it's not going to change the guilt I feel for feeling that way.

Growing up, all I ever saw were TV shows and movies that showed moms who, no matter what, always felt only love for their children. Mom's who didn't want their children to move out of the house, mom's who didn't want to go back to work because they wanted to stay home with their kids, mom's who fought to have their children with them full time, mom's who worked 3 jobs and walked away from a social life to raise their children. And I was brainwashed to believe that feeling anything other than the purest, most unconditional, love for your children every second of every day was bad, that it wasn't normal, that only junkies and alcoholics and crazy people didn't dote on their children the way the Cleavers or the Bradys did.

But isn't it normal to want to be treated like the woman that you've always been, instead of just the mom that you are right now?

I want to be able to sleep naked on hot summer nights again. I want to be able to moan as loud as I want when I get off. I want to be able to just lay in bed all day on a weekend, with no one and nothing but my favorite books. I want to be able to stay home sick from work and actually be able to rest. I want to watch horror movies before 9 o'clock at night. I want to get drunk when I get home from a bad day at work. I want to have conversations about art and literature and philosophy without having to stop and explain that I am NOT talking about a video game.

I want.
I want.
I want.

*sigh*

I've got another 10 years left... If I'm lucky... But then it will be too late. Won't it.