Margaret moved out today and I've just finished helping her shift her stuff over to her new flat. I've got a few hours spare until Polly moves in so I think I'll do some writing. I find that it often helps.
I don't find parenthood easy; I never did, I suppose it's got worse since my husband Roger left but writing about it helps. Seb's a lovely child, affectionate and lively but with the undercurrent of the possibility of him being autistic clouding it all. I don't think he is, the professionals are undecided so it's an uphill task of tests, observations and never-ending forms. People without children don't really understand the sheer amount of guilt which plagues the working woman these days even if, as I do, choose to work part-time, it's never quite good enough.
I suppose I could blame the media but that would be wrong so maybe peer pressure's to blame - who knows? I guess it depends on your background/where you live/your expectations in life etc but it's never easy and feeling an outsider's the worst thing of all. Even taking Seb to one of the local playgrounds is a complete nightmare at times, I find it difficult to communicate with other parents and appear stand-offish as a result, hiding behind my huge sunglasses in the summer and a hood in the winter. I also find it hard to relate to other people's children; my brother's brilliant at this because he's a real kid at heart but I can't quite find the right communication style. As for teenagers - they're a completely different breed, I can't bear the ones who race their bikes around the playground and/or play their music out loud on the top deck of the bus - who can?
Well, that feels better, a load off my mind. Having one child is also a bonus as we can form a tight family unit of two. I suppose Polly will make three, I can't imagine sharing a house with somebody I barely know but time will tell.
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