My alter-ego is a sapper. A sapper is a term I have learned from Mr G. Apparently in sporting teams it's the label given to those members who seem to sap the life out of the team, the game and, well, life itself. Now I certainly haven't experienced that from playing sport but I know what it means. We have all encountered someone who despite their best efforts is so negative that it is hard to remain remotely upbeat and sustain the will to live in their presence.
Anyway. I bring this up because I recently burst into tears and explained to Mr G that I'm not coping very well. Now, fear not, lovely readers because this mini melt-down was not of the 'call-in-professional-help' variety; just a routine 'a-good-cry-will-do-me-good' moment. They're about a quarterly occurrence so it's not the first time Mr G has lent me his ears and shoulders for an emotional detox.
Ostensibly the large trigger was that we are in the process of moving. Our lease is up soon so we've embarked upon that life-affirming journey of finding a rental property in one of the world's tightest residential markets. Good times. Just juggling the basic criteria of budget and proximity to our work places and Miss I's lovely new daycare centre is proving a tough ask*. And that's before we commence the unbearable act of actually packing. And unpacking. Argh.
It's undoubtedly a biggie as far as life's little logistics go but the impending move was not the only reason for my tears. My life is quite busy. Not in an I'm really important and have to rush from meeting to social function to pilates to the beautician to my next social engagement and have weekends booked up for the next three years way. Just busy in terms of juggling home and work with a toddler. Mr G is as devoted as husbands and fathers come but he also works long, odd, rostered hours that he doesn't control. It means he works many weekends and nights which means I do a lot of solo parenting rather than the team approach I favour.
Doing this for a few months whilst feeling sub-optimal due to the lovely baby I'm sprouting has taken a toll. So it was time for tears. I set about explaining to Mr G how frazzled I am and how things are suffering; for one thing I'm not feeding Miss I enough vegetables; I'm already proving unfit to mother our unborn child because occasionally for a few hours I forget that I am actually carrying a child and I ate feta cheese because I didn't realise it was on the contraband food list; the house isn't organised enough; I don't earn enough money; I'm tired a lot and haven't been exercising and the list went on.
As I rattled off my long list of concerns I realised how silly they sounded but in the privacy of my own head I hadn't been vetting the veracity of my feedback. A good way into my detox Mr G made an astute diagnosis. A sapper with some form of Tourette's had taken up residence in my head: only providing angry and negative feedback in aggressive bursts. I actually laughed out loud because we seem to talk about sappers a bit and when he put it like that it was so true. In real life I would really, really, dislike my alter ego.
So I agreed to evict the sapper with no notice. There is plenty going on at the moment – between finding a new home, navigating the trials of toddlerhood, growing a baby, work, my blog and everything in between – the last thing I need is a sapper in my head of all places. I woke up the next morning and felt a few hundred kilos lighter. Sometimes tears and a little laughter do a world of good. The same cannot be said for sappers.
*Irritatingly for the purpose of this blog's timeliness since writing this, we have found a gem and moved in. This is, however, a stellar development for the purpose of my real life. Yay!
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