This thing called Life...

Some days I feel like I am doing well. Other days I wonder what on earth I am playing at, and how long it's going to take before somebody notices that I'm doing everything wrong.

Some days the house is beautiful. I look at where I live and I feel happy. My yard is spacious and green and lush, the garden is lovely and my house is clean and tidy. My floor is spotless and the bathroom looks nice. Some days the washing up is done, the folding is put away and my washing machine motors away merrily. Some days I feel like I am winning in the constant battle against untidiness that seems to fill my life.

Other days the house is a pigsty. My garden is a mess and everything is dry and yellow and horrible. The lawn is overgrown and 'didn't we just mow it the other day?' The floor is filthy and I have to put on socks just so the anal OCD side of me doesn't burst into tears just because I am walking around feeling dirt gather on my bare feet. On those days nothing is clean and it is never going to get clean. There are just too many dishes piled up on the sink and the folding basket is overflowing. Those days cleaning is just too hard and there is no point anyway- it will all be dirty tomorrow. On those days days my family are the soul-sucking leeches that continually mess up everything, and they have no thought or appreciation of the fact that I spend my life cleaning up after them.

Some days with my child are good. She sleeps well and has long naps and is quite happy to play independently. She is cheerful and smiles at strangers and is obedient and well-behaved. We play together and I just adore her, and her smile seems to be everything in the world. Some days my child is so happy and I feel like I am doing a fantastic job as a mother. Some days I know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be and could not imagine going back to work and leaving her because I know that what I am doing is good and worthwhile.

Other days my child is a holy terror. She screams and hits and scratches and bites and is miserable and unhappy. On those days she does not sleep, eat or listen to a single word I say. Other days she whines and cries and follows me around moaning all day and I struggle to keep myself together until she finally goes to bed. Some nights it feels like I have hardly even touched my bed and I am literally a walking zombie. Some days I wonder what on earth I am doing as a parent and it is all I can do to stop myself from calling the nearest childcare centre, because even a trained monkey could do a better job as a mother than me.

Some days I am a good wife. My husband is happy and he comes home to a happy, smiling wife and child. Some days he has plenty of clean clothes to wear and a nice dinner to eat. Some days he is happy in his work and we communicate effectively like two grown-ups. Some days the love I feel for him is so great I can hardly contain it. Some days I feel like the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world.

Other days my husband comes home to a screaming banshee of a child and a wild-eyed, psychotic woman for a wife. He is unhappy in his job and has had a terrible day and all he wants to do is sit down and have a beer and watch some TV, but his wife makes unceasing, complicated demands on him until he feels ready to explode. Those days he comes home to a house that is in shambles, he has no clean clothes and there is nothing to eat and home certainly doesn't feel like a safe haven. Other days my husband is a negative, miserable unhappy man who I have no idea why I married. We have nothing in common and our level of communication is frighteningly similar to that of toddlers.

Some days I am glowing in pregnancy. I feel the movement of life within my tummy and am astounded at the life within me. Some days I feel like a beautiful picture of femininity and cannot wait to meet this baby. I have plenty of energy and feel like pregnancy is a wonderful experience.

Other days I am tired of being pregnant, and just plain old tired in general. I hurt everywhere and I feel unwell and am so sick of my body not being able to do the things I want it to. On those days the baby continually jumps on my bladder, or kicks me in the ribs and I am so uncomfortable. I wonder what kind of God could think that pregnancy or birth was a good idea and surely He could have designed things better? Other days I am terrified of going through labour again and cannot stop myself from thinking of everything that could go wrong. I do not want to have two children under two and have no idea how I am going to cope. I feel like huge, unattractive ball of yuck and just want to hide in my bedroom because nobody could possibly want to look at me.

Some days I am witty and intelligent. I write a post and receive many comments about it and feel encouraged like I really do have something valid to say. Some days the internet feels like a nice, friendly space and I am so grateful for the people I have met and gotten to know.

Other days I spend my life slaving away at the computer and neglect my life. Other bloggers and commenter are rude and stupid. Nobody ever says a single thing to me, or replies to any of my tweets or comments, so I may as well be invisible. Obviously I have nothing to offer the world and I cannot write for peanuts. Everyone else is better than me and I should just stop wasting my time and just get on with my life.

Some days life is easy and it works. Other days living can be the hardest thing in the world. Some days I feel like I've got it right, others I wonder how I could ever be so far wrong and I am glad that every day is not like that. I like that most days are a mix of both, not cry-yourself-to-sleep dreadful, nor dancing-on-clouds happy. I'm very grateful for some days, but on other days, the best thing that can be said is that the day is over.

Linking up with Glowless today because it's Friday!