Dylan woke up early this morning, and he was incredibly grumpy. I was feeling all heavily pregnant and sorry for myself, especially since Martin gave me a long to-do list, it's grocery shopping day, and it's laundry day, which means multiple trips up and down the stairs. I was tired and short with Dylan and pretty much a mean mommy all around.
Now for a little background info...
I don't know if I've mentioned my neighbor, Georgina. George has twins girls, Phoebe and Eliza, who are just a few weeks younger than Dylan. We've become friends since she moved in, and I really like her. We're the same age and get along really well. Her partner, Mark, left her and the girls about 6 weeks ago, and she's been struggling a lot. Managing, but struggling. She's come over a few times to visit, and I've gone over there, and we've talked a little bit about him leaving and how she's coping.
Today, as I was sitting in the dining room having lunch with Dylan, I heard some really loud noises coming from her house. It sounded like screaming, hysterical crying, and things hitting the wall. I debated for the whole meal what I should do. I wondered if Mark had come over and they were having a fight, and I didn't want to intrude. But I hadn't heard the girls crying at all, and I got pretty concerned. So I did something that was really hard for me to do--especially in England where people don't involve themselves unless invited. After lunch, I took Dylan over to see her.
George was in an awful state. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, mascara running down her face and sobbing. Worse, she was alone. There was no fight--she just lost it. The girls were fine, playing in the front room and watching CBeebies, but George was NOT fine. Turns out, Mark came over on Saturday to visit the girls and they got in a fight then. She found out that he's already started seeing someone else, and that he's been saying terrible things about her to all their mutual friends.
She wasn't going to let me in. I know it. But I pushed my way in her door anyway to see if there was anything I could do. I felt so useless--all I could do was hug her and tell her that she would be ok--that she wasn't alone. She just kept saying it over and over again, that she felt so alone and didn't even want to go on. I tried to tell her what a great job she was doing of taking care of the girls on her own. I tried to help. All I can do is hope that some of it was sinking in.
I had been there for about 20 minutes when George's mum came over. She had calmed down quite a bit by then--not sure if she had already called her, but she was sure welcome. I left then so she could be with her mother and they could talk.
When Dylan and I came home, I found that my bad mood had disappeared. I paused for a minute and gave my son big cuddles against my huge pregnant belly and said a silent prayer of thanks for my husband and son and expected arrival. Someone always has it worse than you do--no matter what--and I am so blessed to have all that I do. I'm not going to take it for granted for quite some time!
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