Vignettes from abroad

The women are finally alone. The children and the men have gone off somewhere. I didn’t care enough to question where as long as it meant the cries of kids and the energy of men would dissipate for a little while. The sun streams under the veranda and we four women sit in a horseshoe, either facing one another or the sea. I take a deep breath and ask them all how they bear it. Two are mothers and one is a stepmother. They all have tiny humans depending on them. It’s only been a couple of days but I’m already run ragged from the gaping want of children which, as far as I can tell, is never satiated. The desire, the need, the demands are a black hole and every hour the children want for something new: a drink, food, sweets, milkshakes, a toy, a boat ride, home, attention. They remind me of small, crazed animals, foaming at the mouth and rabid for more. No matter what you give them there is something else required. The women around me are all high-achieving, successful women. I can’t understand how they’ve managed to pull themselves up in the world while being tethered to a pit of screaming need by their children. The view in front of us is breathtaking. The waves lap on the shore. A couple of lovers walk past, lost in one another. Everything is perfect. I hear the children’s footsteps, thundering back to their mothers. I sigh. Everything was perfect. I brace myself for impact.

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