Author: Princess Ichigo

Mr Monday is an amazing boy. But his loving gentle side is covered with a thorny shrub.

Some have commented on the thorns of his soul. But I know, behind all that he is the best boy I do not deserve.

I sometimes look back and I feel wholly responsible. I was severely depressed during the pregnancy. I was put on high dose anti depressants. I’m sure those would have affected his development.

Post partum wasn’t easy either, and growing up as a toddler he has went through so much. (For courtesy purpose, I removed what I’ve wrote here on other individuals impact on him, but just know that Monday has went through a lot.)

There are so many things I wished I’ve done differently for him, if I ever could. But life isn’t a game, there’s no save point or a restart button.

If anyone is unhappy with my child, they should direct it to me, and not him. If he hadn’t had me as his mother, he probably would have been the most perfect child anyone would have met. But he had the short straw, he had no choice. He had me to be his mother.

In my eyes, both Monday and Tuesday are still, the most… Perfect soul… Whatever others may perceive.

I’m glad Lil Tuesday didn’t went through all that. To be fair I was on two max dose antidepressants when I carried her, but her life post partum was a lot better than Monday. Despite my 3months admission to the hospital when she was 4m, well she barely remembered anything. But for Mr Monday, whether he remembered it or not, I know it scarred him forever not to be able to see his mother for 3 whole months. I also took extra courses for mother’s empowerment when I had her. I was a different mother to both of them.

I will forever owe Monday. I will also forever owe Tuesday for the guilt I have for Monday.

I never thought that supervising would be such a mental drain. It’s actually more tiring than doing the work itself. It wasn’t just overseeing, but also racking your brain with answers to provide when it isn’t yourself who did the job.

I’m shattered. Yet I can’t sleep. My brain is melting, and my eyes are wide awake.

Is it me or can I now see a flying elephant?

Have you ever felt compassion fatigue?

Have you ever felt burnout?

Have you ever given advice to somebody who had no intention on improving their life or fix their problem?

What do you do?

I feel so stuck sometimes. How do you force a horse that doesn’t want to drink, even when you pull them the the edge of the river?

Shouldn’t people start taking accountability of their own lives?

Sigh. We can only listen. Listen to the perpetual cycle of their self inflicted misfortune.

But actually, are we the ones that are stuck? Or are they the ones who are stuck? Give them back the ball should we?

My parents flew over 5000miles to visit for sister’s graduation. They all stay at ours. Dad recently left to go back to work but mom would be around for another month.

Not going to lie, I was really nervous about the whole thing. I am, clearly unhappy with our living arrangements. Mojojo seems perfectly happy with our home looking like a storage facility, while me being me, I really want a home that screams comfort with as little clutter as possible. We have boxes of pokemon cards and other trading cards that he buys every week, he ran out of space in his own office and started putting them everywhere in Mr Monday’s room, living room, and children playroom. I’m so tired of putting away his purchases, sometimes I just break down and cry.

I guess my insecurity about my parents visit were actually stemming my own dissatisfaction. The temporary fencing I made for the backyard chickens enclosure broke down years ago. Despite Mojuju promising that he will out a proper fencing on, he never did.

The chickens are EVERYWHERE.

They shit EVERYWHERE.

I can’t say I hate it openly, because I had no choice really. This is how we live, and I don’t know any way to fix it.

A month before my parents arrive I was trying my best to declutter. I gave away many things to charity, some were able to be sole at menial price on online marketplace. But I was just so so so anxious. I was panicking and I swear my mental health were basically fading away. I even got a few panic attacks at one point.

I was so afraid of criticism, because I myself was criticising my home, my life. And mother and I has always been a little rocky. Things could be great, but then when I get flashbacks of how things were when I was a teen and she was unknowingly going through her own issues, I freak out.

Everything changed when my parents came.

My mom helped me with the kids. She never commented in anything negatively, she just tidied up everything for me. She cooked everyday and made breakfast for us and the kids.

Dad is even more legendary. He did wanted to paint the living room (which is still half painted as I asked Mojuju to help me move the TV console so I could complete the job and it has been 2 years since he promise me he’d do it). I didn’t want to make him do work, but unfortunately that did not work.

Instead of painting my hall, he went and drill, cement, erected posts and sturdy fence for the chickens. He jetwashed and deep cleaned all the patio and furniture. He even made a gate from scratch for me. He fixed the shower screen that has been lying on the floor for the past 3 years, and fixed the plumbing of the toilet.

There were nights I cried myself to sleep feeling overwhelmed with gratefulness. A part of me felt like wilting for being so useless. Why, I tried really hard to manage everything and yet in the end, I had to rely on my parents again.

When will I ever grow up and be fully independent?

Now I get a lunch box made my by mom everyday. All our bitter arguments in the past seemed so unreal. The kids love their company. I love their company too. My expectations of their visit is completely an opposite of reality.

I feel like that little kid again, in my dad’s arms, eating my mother’s cooking. I guess I just never grow up.