Writing

Searchable

by Veronica Foale on September 22, 2009

in Children, Navelgazing, Writing

Somewhere, a bot trawls this site. Deeming it not spam, a little switch is flicked and suddenly I’m searchable. My name, linked to my writing, out there on the internet.

I imagine old school friends randomly Googling for me and pulling up this site. What would they think? But then, maybe I’m the only one who Googles for people to see what shows up.

I remind myself to breathe, this is what I wanted. A personal side of the professional me. A declaration that I am a writer. This is what I do, I write.

***

Sitting down at my laptop, I open my word document and sit down to write. Two sentences in, my daughter asks for food and my son gets himself stuck under the futon. I press save and sighing, I close my laptop. Working with the children around is impossible.

I put my computer away and grab some food. Laying down on the floor we all eat together. The children take turns clambering over me and soon I’m covered in sticky kisses and drool.

It’s not the work I’d intending on doing, but it’s my job nonetheless. I enjoy this as much as I enjoy the silence of writing.

***

Blearily I stumble out of bed, summoned by the baby’s cries. I trip over imaginary things as I walk into his bedroom and lift him up for a feed. He snuggles down into my arms and snuffles at my breast before settling in for a feed. His eyes shut almost instantly and I contort myself towards the nightlight to read my watch.

5.30am

I should stay awake and work while the children are sleeping.

I really should.

My head drops forwards and I doze lightly while he feeds. I’m still incredibly tired.

The baby snuffles and sighs deeply waking me up. His feed finished I put him back down and leave the room.

Stumbling again, I head back to bed. The warmth of my partner envelopes me as I snuggle into his back. He mumbles a little and then lets me rest my cold feet against his legs. He’s nice like that when he’s asleep. For a moment, I regret that I’m not working. Only for a moment though.

My pillows are soft and soon my feet will defrost. Giving into my need for more rest, I let sleep claim me.

Soon both children will be awake and I can attempt to work through breakfast.

Up until the point when they need me and I end up on the floor, covered in sticky kisses and drool.

Again.

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Peace

by Veronica Foale on September 17, 2009

in Writing

As the baby falls asleep I run myself a bath. The sound of the pump thrums against the faint gurgles he makes in his pram. I wonder if I’m setting him up for more sleep issues, letting him fall asleep where he will, then content myself with the thought at least he is falling asleep for me. even if it isn’t in his cot.

The bath finishes as Isaac closes his eyes. I hold my breath and quickly transfer him to his cot, swaddled and snuggled. He opens sleepy eyes to look at me and inside I panic. On the outside, I lift his blanket to his cheek and he snuggles down, content that he is safe. His eyes shut again and I turn and walk away.

Through the lounge room I walk, shedding clothes and layers of myself. The children are asleep, the curtains are shut. No one here to see except for me and Nathan. I think he watches me walk away, but I don’t turn around. I’m intent on my bath.

I flick my hair into a bun and turn the heater on. A quick check tells me that the water is the correct temperature.

It’s been a busy weekend I think as I slide under the warm water. Amy turned three, I cried until I couldn’t breathe and I had a good time. All rolled up in two days.

I cock my head to the side, listening for the sound of my children. Nothing. As it should be. I start to relax, even though I never stop listening.

It’s been a long time since I had a bath. I have to gauge pain against the possibility of my body temperature rising causing nausea and the nausea generally wins hands down. This time I have enough anti-nausea tablets to see me through a temperature rise and the pain is enough that I need to soak.

I open my book and start to read. The last time I read a book in the bath was when I was living with Nan. Memories assault me before I shut them out and absorb myself in my book.

Slowly the bath water cools.

As my feet start to get cold, I put my book down. I look around for the face washer I am certain I grabbed, only to find it sitting a few metres away. I grabbed it, I just didn’t leave it within reach. Stupid brain fog. In one swift movement I stand and water streams away. Goosebumps rise as I hurry to grab the face washer and my razor. With a breath of relief I sink myself back under the water, only to discover I’m still cold. I hesitate over running more hot water and then bring myself back to the present, where it’s my water and I’m the adult. I don’t need to ask permission as I turn on the tap.

It’s a struggle, my hands are not as strong as they used to be. I have to use two hands, despite me being the person to tighten them last. If Nathan turns them off I’ve no hope of getting them on again alone.

Warm again, I wash my face and then pick up my razor. I start at the bottom of my legs, shaving all the way up. I count bruises as I go. By the time I get to twenty, I give up. How many there are today doesn’t matter. New ones will just appear to replace the old.

My mind wanders as I finish behind one knee and I cut myself. I can never shave my legs without cutting myself these days. I sink my leg back under the water, not caring anymore about bits I might have missed. This bath is meant to be about relaxation, not counting my flaws.

I contemplate laying in the bath a little longer, but I can’t do it. Not now that I’ve shaved my legs. I stand and grab my towel. I walk out to the fireplace, ignoring the [tiny] mirror as I go. I’m relaxed. No need to stress myself out again with bad skin and bags under my eyes.

It’s warm in front of the fire as I dry myself and get dressed.

I must do this more often.

But knowing me, I won’t. Baths are a treat. A side effect of the huge amounts of rain we’ve been having, I can afford to waste the water to soak myself.

I give myself a shake to make sure everything is where it should be. My ankles have been slipping lately and they need a little wiggle to keep them in place. I stand in front of the fire for a few more moments before kissing Nathan and heading to bed with my book.

10 minutes later, Isaac wakes for his first feed of the night. But, such is life.

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