Posted 3 January 2011 at 4:29 PM | Comments (3)
That’s the sound I’m making as my head slowly makes its way to the keyboard. I’m drained, with a capital D. For the past two-plus months, my angelic four month-old has decided he no longer needs to nap, at least not longer than twenty minutes. My sweet and gentle three year-old has decided he’s finally ready to enter the Terrible Twos and throws public tantrums every time we leave the apartment. So I feel trapped. Trapped at home, and trapped by motherhood.
I started thinking about my “prison” and chuckled when reimagining my living room to reflect my mental state. I could turn my prison into a prison! A glamorous one, of course, with wallpaper and patent leather.
I love the jail-bars wallpaper; the stiff daybed; the table lamp with a pendulum that I could stare at blankly all day; the tough-as-nails ottoman; the rug that looks like it could have been swiped from a page in my journal; the shuffling slippers, and the haunting photo of Alcatraz island that reminds me…
it could be a whole lot worse.