Hope, Heartache and Her

Looking back at the chain of hope and heartaches it felt like an eternity, in reality it was just a few years. Somehow, with a marriage taped and glued back together, we still desperately hope for a child as by some miracle I make it past the 1st trimester with my 6th pregnancy.
 Mother has a few problems. The problem is that the people who served as her domestic staff and provided entertainment as emotional punch bags were now other wise engaged with their own troubles.
 I had been getting some shopping for them on and off and when visiting us, she had on occasion asked me to take her to the nearby supermarket, so she could swan around issuing commands, reach me that, get me some of those and can you go and look for... and I would push the trolley, bag up, load and unload like a personal shopper and when she had got all she wanted and I dared to say I needed to pop back to the freezers for one random item for myself, she would pull her face and say to hurry up then because she was worn out now and she wanted to get back. 

 Honestly it was switching her on and off, excited face and happy smile, I`m getting my shopping, woohoo, its all about me and then when she was done What ? you mean `YOU` want something, oh God hurry up then, scowling face like thunder. When I got pregnant I tried not to do any lifting, stretching etc and was hyper vigilant....after reaching linen down from the airing cupboard and bleeding the next day I was always worried my recurrent miscarriages were something I was causing myself {after all everything's my fault and I was forever guilty about everything and anything due to Mothers training} When shopping Husband would insist he push the trolley. One time when I was just a few weeks along she asked could she get just a few bits of shopping and I took her, she loaded up the trolley with quite a lot and it turned out to be a difficult one to steer. I struggled keeping it straight as we headed to the car and aware I was pulling myself about in the process I asked her to grab the end and help direct it, she was very unimpressed. When we got in the car, brave from my concern for my unborn baby, I told her I wouldn`t be able to take her shopping again while I was pregnant because I was worried about having another miscarriage. She barely replied and we drove back to her house in silence. With the help of a `panting for breath` Father I got her shopping inside to find her sitting in the lounge, chin in hand, sulky face. Honestly she looked like a spoiled child who had been told NO for the first time. I explained to Father the problem and he said he completely understood, which he was no doubt punished for later, I left with no goodbye from her.
 My Father`s health was steadily declining. He had a heart issue, stomach ulcers and chronic breathing problems from years of chain smoking, continually on and off antibiotics and steroids and a selection of inhalers to rival my Mother`s. My Mothers inhalers were taken spasmodically and used more as `poor me` props, her mild asthma well under control and never interfering with her shopping and bingo trips. Rather than being at her beck and call my Father was now in need of care himself. She constantly bemoaned the burden of her incapacitated Husband, doing the bear minimum for him and telling anyone who would listen that she was worn out.  
 And then there was me. Rather than have deep empathy for the distress caused by my seemingly endless miscarriages, the interest and support we received from friends and family during this dark time naturally triggered jealousy in her, my plight put me centre stage and she struggled to make it all about her and my Father was now a poor Enabler. She was often sullen and with drawn. He was now sleeping in the reclining sitting room chair as his coughing disturbed her at night. She had an electrician wire the SKY TV through to what was now her {and her`s alone} bedroom and so managed to keep him at arms length most of the time. She still though found a way to spread a little poison whenever possible.

When I got to about 6 months pregnant my Fathers birthday came around and fell on a weekend so we visited with his card and gift. As I am still working full time and resting as much as possible when at home, other half doing the more strenuous housework chores, this means that asking Mother over for jollies and afternoon teas and Sunday Roasts has come to an end as Dear Little Amanda`s welfare and far more importantly, that of the baby`s, is now more of a priority than my role in Mother`s entertainment schedule. Shes not taking it well. So we arrive at their house and things could not be more staged. She is notable by her absence, gone to Bingo, and he is sitting bolt upright in his chair, the room unusually tidy, clearly waiting for our visit and no doubt well versed in do`s and don`ts. He is stony faced and reluctantly accepts our gift, placing it to the side and leaving it unopened, perhaps to earn brownie points with her. It feels really awkward and he does his best to not to look at either of us sitting on the sofa trying to make conversation. If I had to hazard a guess I would say the fact our visit is about Him and not her and we would arrive bearing gifts, has been the final straw in triggering a rage, given she is already rapidly sliding down everyone's priority list. It really was a frosty visit, hard work to have the minimum of interaction, broken with many silences. After half an hour Husband is about to call time on it and shifts to the edge of the sofa ready to make a move when he at last, perhaps prompted by a stab of guilt, looks over at me, taking in my growing baby bump and says in a begrudging and resigned voice..."And how are you keepin Amanda ?" I answer in my usual generic way, let`s not show how much this is hurting me, my inner child whispering....he doesn`t care about us at all....." Oh you know, so far so good" , silence again so we say a brief goodbye and as I get outside I take in a gulp of fresh air, it feels like emotional freedom, being able to get in the car and drive away. 

 

Nicoletta Ceccoli

I get an odd sense though that I`m leaving my inner child behind, standing in the corner of the room, forever waiting to be worthy of a kind word and a moments attention. I cup my bump for comfort and my heart whispers...Please be still alive in there.