Mummy darling?

I'm not too sure what brings me here tonight. Perhaps it's a mixture of happiness tampered by sadness brought over by useless guilt. If doing some Sliema shopping is wrong then that's my crime for the weekend. Guilt, it will never ever leave me. Guilt for shopping, guilt for eating dessert, guilt for blowing a lot on shoes. And owing to all of this, I can safely say that teacher do not necessarily make good parents. I shouldn't feel guilty for liking my brightly painted nails. I shouldn't have felt guilty for being 6 years old and staring into the eyes of a woman who told me she was my mother and that I was so bad that she didn't want to live anymore. Rather she'd scream and say she wanted God to take her. Of course God never took her, and I don't blame him, He probably didn't want her. I was 6, that was my crime. I was a quiet little girl, very much into books, really trying not to upset the queen bee. But I guess I still did. Because I was a child who would knock something down once in a blue moon. I was happy keeping out of her way, but no, she'd take my books from me. Why? I would love to say because she was evil, but she wasn't. She probably had the most enormous post-natal depression which she never admitted to and which to this day still stands. I tell myself that I had a happy childhood, and my dad made sure I did. I cannot fault him, he was my rock. He never wanted to die because of me, rather he'd stroke my hair and tell me I was the most beautiful flower in the meadow. Really. But I saw too much pain, and I was too young for that. My mother having a physically handicapped brother never helped. He was a gem, he was the uncle I could talk to for ages. But then my mother felt guilty that it was him not her who got handicapped. More guilt. And more transferal of guilt and pain. Onto me, because I was so odd. Girls played with dollies, I just wanted to grow up fast so that She could never get her hands on me again. Yes, she could get physical. Where was 179 at the time? And I finally grew up and of course she cannot lay her hands on me now, I'd crush the 50kg bee in an instant. I really would. And I made sure I became the exact opposite. Calmer, smilier, less angry, without the foreboding look in the eyes. I have tried. And the question in the mind of that six year old girl remains. How could a teddy like my dad marry my mum? I still ask the same question. If she wasn't well because of the sudden two babies at once, why didn't she ask for help? Why make me feel guilty? After all, it was her ovary getting fertilised, and probably getting pleasured in the process. Maybe twins come about during a massive orgasm, so there she should have kissed my feet. They call it a multiple birth, perhaps it's coming from a multiple orgasm. And now of course there is no mother/daughter bond. I have never been shopping with my mum, and it's not bound to happen anytime soon. I don't want to die a martyr. So she says, look at all the other women side by side by their mum. And I say, yes sure, that's because they have another mum. Yet I don't hate her. I still feel sorry for that six year old who never knew what kind of mother tantrum she'd wake up to. But I feel sorry for my mother, because she never worked through her own anger and guilt, becoming stoically puritan in the process. Life is for living and it doesn't hurt for us to enjoy it sometimes. We needn't be in pain all the time to feel good. Not everything is sinful. And the troubles we come across are not out fault. Even if they were, what is guilt going to solve. So she still managed to ruin my shopping today although I kept a brave face and did it anyway. She still pulls up that dirty trump card, but no mum, people have not left this world because of me. Perhaps they had a choice and perhaps they didn't, but it's still not my fault. My mum and I will never see eye to eye. Our eyes are not the same. And I'm thankful. Perhaps we were both myopic, but I decided to put eyeglasses on. She just kept living in her myopic world, never seeing straight. It was her choice. But not her right. Because once you are a parent then you have a duty to start seeing straight. Oh well, I've survived to tell the tale.

Kittens and genetics

I am up having spent the night engaged in some extra marvellous impossible dreaming. I loved the dream, got disgruntled to find it was just a dream. I had kittens in my dream. Loads of them, black and tiger kittens. It was so fab. They were all running around and I was just looking at them in awe, just like a proud mum looks at her baby for the first time when he's fresh outta the oven. To be honest, I'm not sure I could have coped with all those kittens. But I so wanted to, feline creatures are so very perfect. At least I think so. Dogs are beautiful too, I don't keep two huge malamutes just for the sake of having them. They have their own rough way of playing and tumbling about. But felines do it for me. They are perfect. So some dream therapy now, self inflicted. Why all those kittens, and why did I feel so happy? I don't want to go down the path of the broody female. I really am not, or perhaps I think I'm not and my subconscience sometimes gets the better of me? I truly don't know. All I can say is that when I was a little girl and other little girls were dreaming of getting married in white and having children, I wasn't. It was actually a very hard concept for me to understand. I was dreaming of no white wedding, and I thought to myself that perhaps I could get away without babies. Not because babies have anything hateful. Of course not. But the world is so riddled with strife, I am not about to produce an innocent human being who will have to face the tough life. It's been tough for me, and if it were half as tough enough for my baby, then I'd feel so guilty. Because there is so much I don't know about genetics. I know that we inherit so many things. I've even inherited the way my nail bed is and the way my nails grow and it's been a good thing. I've inherited the fat gene, and that's not been such a good thing. Perhaps I have also inherited the love for art, it is so intrinsic it is sometimes scary. I've inherited the way my temper flares up once a year. I do not look like anybody in my family but I am so convinced I'm theirs. Because of all these things. But one thing I'm not certain of. Do we inherit memory? If we pass on so much to our offsprings, then couldn't memory be one of them? I know not if I have inherited memory. All I know is that if my baby had to inherit the memory of the bush I have had to entangle, then there is no way I am inflicting that on my own blood. I sometimes look at people who have a pink card at Polyclinics, on the odd days when I have to go because it's so late and doctors are not available. I think they have pink cards because they have a lot of children, because every female bearing this pink card always has a lot of children in tow. And they're not all very well kept unfortunately. I get no card, I pay my way, because I have nothing in tow except for the faithful Mister. But then I am more than happy to keep him instead to the grubby pink card. Pity the kittens were just in the dream though.