Here we go again

Nothing and no one prepares you for the mental and physical load that comes with parenthood.

You walk into it blindly unaware of how hard it will be to juggle the load with all the other responsibilities that life throws at you.

While I didn’t warm to the Netflix series Beef, last night I completely related to the rage that the lead character – played by Ali Wong – felt.

Beef showrunner Lee Sung Jin told The Atlantic recently: “There was something interesting to us as writers about someone who has so much chaos going on inside but [who’s] trying to cover that with as much calm and people-appeasing energy as possible.”

Let me tell you Lee, it’s not so interesting when you’re living it.

I was quite overwhelmed by the chaos and people appeasing last night.

Rage wasn’t the appropriate thing for me to feel as a result. At first I was panicked and distressed.

The youngest rang me in distress. She had been to the physio, who suspects a tendon in her thigh has detached from her hip bone.

Or something horrendous like that.

Competing in a three-minute speed routine at the State Skipping Championships with an injury has created major damage.

It was difficult to get the full story in between the tears and me being at the office rather than at the physio with her.

It is so bloody hard to parent effectively when you are working full time. A 17-year-old, while almost an adult, shouldn’t really be going to the physio on their own.

I wasn’t supposed to be in the office yesterday, but there was a training session I was told would be more effective to do in person. Yeah, nah, it wasn’t.

It meant I found myself sitting at my desk sending an email to the school, asking if the youngest could take herself home because she was in so much pain.

I got off the phone to her last night at about 5.30pm and spoke to my ex, then got back on the phone to her trying to piece together what was going on and how to deal with it. In between, I accidentally pressed the wrong button and called my ex sister in law for a millisecond and hung up.

She texted back to ask if it was a butt dial and I replied that, yes, it was a mistake because I was in a flurry trying to sort out the youngest’s leg injury.

My sister in law replied: “Are you at the hospital now? No need to reply if you are too busy.”

No. I wasn’t at the hospital.

I was at a whiskey tasting.

Awkward.

But I figured I might as well continue with my evening plans because the youngest was continuing with hers: dinner in the city with her grandparents, despite being in considerable pain.

As for the whiskey tasting, it was hosted by the Global Brand Ambassador, Woody Kane, who was so wonderfully passionate about his product and told many entertaining tales in his lovely Irish lilt.

I sat with two bottle shop owners, who were both called Con. We tried four The Busker Irish Whiskies together.

They were quite delicious, particularly the Single Grain. But I am the shameful type who prefers her whiskey in cocktails, so my favourite tipple of the evening was whichever one was in the Amaretto Sour at the beginning.

The tasting was held at a cool basement venue called Burrow Bar, below a Vietnamese restaurant called Cash Only Diner, which served the most delicious food to us during the event.

My heart wasn’t entirely in it though due to mother guilt, so when they declared there was an open bar after the tasting finished, I decided to head off. I said my goodbyes to Con and Con and caught the bus home to wait for the youngest.

I arrived to dog wee on the floor, rubbish overflowing from the bin and piles of dishes in the sink. The rage bubbled up in me again as I wearily tidied the apartment.

But the youngest was in fairly good spirits for someone in so much pain when she returned around 9pm. So that was a relief.

And now another hectic day begins, one that has started with the dogs scratching at the laundry door from 6am, demanding to be let out.

The youngest needs ultrasounds and x-rays today and again she will need to go by herself because I have an important meeting I need to attend.

It feels wrong and I am conflicted and enraged by my competing priorities (and the dogs bloody scratching and how much stuff goes awry).

The only way out is through. I will keep you posted.

Song of the day: Nazareth “Love hurts”