Mummies and Sunshine

By some twisted fate, does mommy burnout come once a year?  I am truly being paid a visit by the Burnout MUMMY.  And I certainly want to swaddle myself in those bandages so no one would see the decaying body and ask her to please do this for her or him, right now.  Can someone please bundle me up, ship me in a box, and take me to Egypt?  Is the sun a brilliant white there?  Or release me down some beach where I can spend hours floating, drown out the noise underwater. I have been junking on Vitamin D, my substitute for sunshine.  My dose of sunshine. I need one whole day out in the sun.  Perhaps two. By my lonesome.  Yes, my lonesome. Without the kids and husband in tow.  So I no longer have to worry about things.  So I can forget schedules and milk and not give a damn. So I do not have to brood over what’s on the table or in their heads. I want to plop myself on the sand and grin silly.  Be away without a care in the world, but have the world caring for me.
I wish there was one day in the year when you could chose to un-mother or un-wife yourself.  An un-Mother-Wife’s Day.  I know I sound like a grump but really, who needs Mother’s Day or Valentines (well, our flower shop does.) I’m not desperate for chocolates or flowers, or dinner where everyone’s at their best to please the mommy-wife.  I vote for a day to be myself for 24 hours. I know.  Myself is a Mother and Wife.  But that’s exactly what I am hankering for.  One full day of me, without the honor of being mother and wife.
I realize as I am writing this just how terrible this Burnout Mummy has snared me.  But honestly, everyone has been visited by the Burnout Mummy.  I believe that there is no mother in the world that did not wish for the Sphinx or the Siren, (Stepford wives especially,) even if that wish has been buried in the pyramids or the sea, as a deep dark secret.  There is always that day, that hour, those few minutes, when, having just packed the bags for school, kissed the little ones goodbye, given that big smile, clucked like a Mother Hen and tidied up your hen house, that you dreamed, you were a swaddled up nice and cozy, inside the box, that casket that wishes to be shipped to Eqypt or dropped down the ocean floor.


    1. oysteronahalfshell

      Thank you Monica! The blues come and go. Oh well. But then the coming and going, that’s what makes it so sweet (or not.) Haha! Yes I remember you. I’ve posted about Indigo Baby quite a few times. Denise is now a friend, we took the Childhood Devt. Course together. Thanks again!

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