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Project initiated by Eva Fiume

On Being a Mother

I never really know if I wake up from a nap or an actual night of sleep anymore. Every thirty minutes my semi sleep is disturbed by the shrill cry of my newborn.

Mechanically I get up to pick it up, give it some love, some milk and an extensive cradle. Once the baby falls asleep I can put it back down in the crib and let myself fall back in a state of half consciousness ...

I never really know if I wake up from a nap or an actual night of sleep anymore. Every thirty minutes my semi sleep is disturbed by the shrill cry of my newborn.

The thought of tidying up the house and planning dinner before my partner gets back home crosses my mind before exhaustion inevitably takes over my body. I sit in the armchair next to the crib and start contemplating my past mistakes. I remember being convinced marrying rich would help me have a career and only bitterness is left by the daily fantasy of eventually fucking them over in the name of class war. I remember the dreamful character of the life my partner pictured before the baby arrived. I start playing seven differences while wondering why I let conservative propaganda and extensive conversations with my relatives and in laws get in my head to the point where my life ended where I swore it never would. As I keep on spiralling I feel my body getting heavier and I start falling back in a state of half consciousness ...

I never really know if I wake up from a nap or an actual night of sleep anymore. Every thirty minutes my semi sleep is disturbed by the shrill cry of my newborn.

I pick up the baby and when breast feeding I vaguely remember dreaming of leaving. Not forever, just a few days away from here. No one will be screaming in my ears, no one will be hung to my boobs, no one will puke on me. It would heal my relation with my past self and strengthen the link between my partner and the baby. I would join the Ibiza trip my friends planned and finally have a hot girl summer again. I would spend the week emptying my partner’s credit card and on day two I’ll find myself guilty of adultery. While I’ll be away they’ll bring into our home their colleague with whom they’ve been maintaining a platonic yet sexually ambiguous relationship since my 2nd trimester. On day three we’ll both be guilty of adultery but he emotionally cheated so I still have something to hold against him. I start seeing myself putting this plan in action but my daydream is interrupted by the baby shitting himself. I clean the baby while pushing away a strongly needed crash out. Once the baby is cleaned and changed I put it back in the crib and take my phone to hate on the bitches of #momtok while letting the tiredness take control of myself. I start falling back in a state of half consciousness ...

I never really know if I wake up from a nap or an actual night of sleep anymore. Every thirty minutes my semi sleep is disturbed by the shrill cry of my newborn.

Mechanically I get up to pick it up, give it some love, some milk and an extensive cradle. Once the baby falls asleep I can put it back down in the crib. The apartment is soothingly silent, the feeling of powerlessness is replaced by intense relief. I take advantage of being conscious and aware during this moment and open my computer.

How to deal with having a newborn

Adjusting to life with a new baby: 15 practical tips

Why do I hate being a mother

I hate being a mother : r/offmychest - Reddit

How long can you leave a baby unsupervised

Is it safe to leave my 6mo unattended for 5-10 minutes?

Do women who left their families regret

Children who grew up without a mother

Motherless Sons: The Impact of Loss - Psychology Today

Boys raised without a mother or maternal care may struggle with social skills. Without a maternally caring role model, boys may have ...

The baby wakes up before I finish my belated study on motherhood. I’m torn between leaving the country and throwing my personal nightmare in the dumpster. I get up to take it in my arms and once again I find myself giving it love as if it was my natural duty to care for a stranger.

I put the baby down and finally decide to go outside for 5 minutes. It’s 7:30 PM and I’m alive again. The shrill cry left place to the sound of cars, bike bells, and terrasses filled with groups of people enjoying the early summer days and start up companies’s after work parties. I‘ve been yearning for this life for the past eight months and my dream is finally at hand reach. Children who grew up without a mother overall turned out just fine.

It’s 7:45 PM. I retrace my steps to get to the apartment complex we live in. After three deep breaths I type the code to enter the building, take myself to the elevator enter my key and push the top floor button. On the way up my anxiety is growing and the only question in my mind is how did I dare procreate. I open the door, take the baby out of its crib and feed it. I put love island on the TV while having my baby sucking to me like a parasite. After twenty minutes of losing ownership over my own body I gently tap its back until puke is left on my t-shirt. I decide to bring the crib in the living room and let myself fall in the couch, I quickly go back in a state of half consciousness ...

I never really know if I wake up from a nap or an actual night of sleep anymore. Every thirty minutes my semi sleep is disturbed by the shrill cry of my newborn.

I look over my shoulder and my partner is sleeping in the bedroom.

Once again I leave the apartment.

This time the city is hovered by a heavy silence sometimes interrupted by people trying to make it back from the club and a few Ubers for those who gave up on walking. I go by the night shop and buy a pack of Camel yellow and a lighter. I take the first puff and it feels great, I haven’t felt this free since I decided to keep the baby. I text my child free friend and she responds, she meets me in the park down the street of my apartment complex and offers me a BuzzBall.It’s women owned so I say yes. I end up chugging the whole thing and the wonders of movement activated memory offers me a glimpse into my past life. After quickly catching up on her three ongoing situationships and her new gig I can’t help but voicing jealousy of her situation. This comment was followed by a silence that felt like forever and she breaks it abruptly by asking if that’s why I’m outside at four in the morning. After yet another very long silence during which I try to find a way to gather my thoughts in a socially acceptable manner. I ask her if hating my baby makes me a bad mother.

My partner calls but I don’t answer. I let out another sight. She looks like she’s out of options for me. She finally asks why I don’t leave, why I stay with a shit spouse, why don’t I just ask for divorce, take half of their wealth, the country house and make the child their responsibilty.

Somehow I’ve never felt so seen.

She takes me back home. When we arrive my partner is awake and they’re taking care of the baby. She briefly says hi and we go to the bedroom. Once privacy is found, we let ourselves fall in the bed. We are looking at each other and I share my thoughts on the Ibiza trip which were responded to with her filling my head with dreams of starting over in Cuba. She goes on picturing our new life while I let myself go back in a state of half consciousness ...

On Being Employed

I’ll wake up every morning dreading the fateful moment when I will muster enough strength to

get up,

shower,

and have breakfast

(overnight oatmeal with fruits and tea on the side).

I will leave for work and like other members of the workforce I will take the metro; I will avoid at all costs thinking about the prison my office job became and instead I’ll focus on my upcoming trip I get to take with my 5 weeks of paid leave (my pay is not that good but Flixbus is super cheap anyway), I’ll think about what I’ll do this weekend, probably clean my apartment, do my laundry, have a self care moment and hopefully I’ll manage to gather enough socialness to have a drink with a few colleagues. I leave the metro, walk for a bit and finally get to work.

When I arrive I chitchat my colleagues and flirt with my work husband because a little flirting never hurt anyone. I’ll finally get working and I’ll take a break when the smokers in my department go outside. I stopped smoking but I still like it when the breeze bring their smoke in my face. I’ll get home at the same time everyday and will keep on contemplating the flatness of my life. I’m still a graphic designer but not as a freelancer anymore. Because I needed money for my 1500€ rent, my insurance, my phone bill, my food and my travels. I’ll have a driver licence but I won’t use it because gas is too expensive and my car broke down anyway (enhance the metro for work, I don’t care so much for ecology). I’ll start shoplifting again because my salary was too low and I’m not ready to take all the fun out of my life just yet. I’ll spend most of my evenings reminiscing the exact moment my hand grabbed the salmon to hide it in my bag while my brain was still questioning whether it was reasonable to buy it or not, and every time I’ll rewind to the moment I leave the store I’ll remember the adrenaline kicking when I smiled at the security and the overwhelming pride I felt when the sound of the salmon slapping the countertop closed my successful mission.

On Being in Love

Today I peacefully woke up a couple minutes before my alarm went off. For once I’m ready for my travel day so instead of getting up to frenetically clean my apartment and pack my bags for the trip I can just relax and scroll on instagram. I snooze my 8:00 alarm a couple of times and after 36 minutes of enabling my braincells I come to the conclusion I’ll have plenty of time to increase my screen time during my ten hours Flixbus trip to London.

I start my day with a self-care moment,

I hop in the shower,

Wash my hair,

Conditon,

Exfoliate,

Wash,

Shave,

Hydrate,

Wash the excess product out of my hair.

I finish by giving myself a pedi just in case a foot fetish business is started during the coming week and once I’m done gaining capital I pack my toiletries for the trip. After a few hours of filling the time by downloading movies and checking the route to make sure I got the date and time right I’m ready to start my journey.

The bus leaves from Amsterdam on time and the trip goes according to the plan I memorised up until we reached Calais where the bus stops for fifteen minutes before an announcement informs us an accident occurred involving the tunnel joining France and the UK. Thankfully Instead of staying stuck in the North of France with nowhere to go we are taken to the port. After getting our visas and passport checked we get in the ferry and I slowly lose my co-passengers as we enter the commercial part. I buy a duty free pack of cigarettes, take a lighter, my phone and ask the family sitting next to the bar if they can keep an eye on my bag. I exit and walk around the ferry in hope to find a spot where I can be somewhat hidden from the marine wind and after two minutes of wandering I find a corner by a window where I can catch enough privacy from the wind to light my cigarette. After a short moment of struggle to find the best angle where enough gas comes out of the lighter and the smallest amount of wind goes against it I finally light my cigarette. I finally start relaxing while hearing a muffled voice talking about the dangers of smoking, I glance inside and see a child staring at me.

My 29th birthday is coming in a couple of days and I can't help but to think about the call I'll receive from my parents.

They'll start by wishing me happy birthday.

They will then tell me they received a letter for me from the French government.

I never do so the appearance of this letter might raise some concerns.

I will start rewinding all the times I edged tax fraud as my mom starts reading the letter.

« Your fertility window is closing… »

She will keep on reading the letter advising me to freeze my eggs while i’m biologically peaking and after an extensive joke session about the state of my life I'll hang up. The call will be over which will be my call for a yearly recap. I’m still not rich nor famous. I have no job, no partner, no stable housing contract, no stable job contract and being faced to the look of an allegedly innocent child when showcasing questionable behaviours is a reaffirmation that the prospect of being responsible for an infant still turns my stomach around. The wind is too cold and hard and I can’t take the feeling of being spiked on every exposed parts of my body anymore so I go back inside before reaching half of my cigarette.

I still have a few hours of travelling left so I decide to use it wisely and imagine what my life would be like with a rich spouse. I can’t say I’ve ever fed into conservative propaganda but a money driven marriage feels like a nice option right now.

I won’t travel with Flixbus anymore.

I will require an allowance, (a salary).

I’ll ask for new boobs,

a car,

a country house,

and I’ll threaten him with divorce (no prenup) when he refuses to finance my indebted independent publishing house.

I’ll be the evil woman he claimed he wanted and stubbornly reject his love if it doesn’t come with a check;

and given this is my time to dream I decide to not concern myself with the thought that marrying rich comes with the despair caused by an unhappy, loveless, passionless, monotonous marriage constantly hovered by problematic power dynamics and the pending risk of my source of income turning on me.