The term “hitting the wall” is a sporting term and is caused by the depletion of glycogen stores in the liver and muscles, which manifests itself by precipitous fatigue and loss of energy. Or, if you like your terms explained in Plain English, it’s when athletes, and marathon runners in particular, go all wobbly and look like they’ve had a night out on the grog. Which you know they haven’t because they’re wearing running shorts and a singlet with a number safety-pinned to it, and they’d look pretty silly in a bar wearing that get up.
Now, running a marathon is something I know with complete certainty that I will never, ever do. Quite frankly, I can’t be bothered running to the letterbox, let alone for 42kms. But, this stretch of single parenthood I will forever consider my marathon.
The start was pretty rocky. It took a good 6 weeks for the three of us to get through the emotional hurdle of the OH’s temporary relocation and establish a routine. This part was characterised by undisciplined behaviour and emotional outbursts. This was not restricted solely to the children.
But we hit our stride and life grew easier. It seemed quite normal to have your life partner living on the other side of the planet, which just goes to show that you can get used to anything, doesn’t it?
Then there was the exciting bit. The reunion. The holiday. The second airport farewell.
Then there was the crappy bit. Singapore. And crappy is a very apt word but for your sake I won’t go into details.
Then there’s this end bit. I expected us just to slot back into the routine we had established, but what I have found is that the kids have gone back to the emotional state they were in in the first 6 weeks. Tears, tantrums, fights. I imagine that this may be what happens to some kids when their parents divorce and they have access visits with a parent. Which gives me one more reason on a fairly lengthy list as to why I hope that doesn’t happen to my family.
I feel like I’m about to hit the wall. It’s like I’m in the home stretch where I’ve entered the stadium and the roar of the crowd is in my ears, but I’m staring to weave all over the track.
But we are nearly there. I’m hoping that just as my knees are about to buckle and the weight of these four months drags me to the ground, my wonderful husband will swoop down and lift up the burden and we can continue sharing the load right until we reach the finish line.