14 MONTHS OF SHIT

Well. First, I would like to say “thank you” to all of you who have asked when and encouraged me to start writing again. The last 14 months have been pretty difficult and hearing that you miss the blog and reading what I have to say, really means so much.

Now. Where the fuck have I been? To be honest, I don’t really know. I’ve been surviving and have truly felt like my world and mental state have been so negative that I would save everyone from my pity party. It started last Spring with some health concerns within my family. By health concerns, I mean a trip to the ER, endless doctor’s appointments and specialists and MRIs and CT Scans only for everyone to say “maybe it was just a virus”. Just a virus? We have reached our deductible in a matter of weeks for “maybe a virus?” And while the money spent is definitely impactful and a huge stressor, what about the time, energy and angst that comes with health concerns?!? On the upside, everyone seems to be in good health some many months later so, hopefully it’s over, but then again, the “diagnosis” included the word “maybe” which means it is always in the back of my mind.

We do that right? As moms? Even if it’s not concerning our children, we now have some kind of switch that makes us hyper-aware, concerned and maybe overly cautious of anything that could POSSIBLY have an impact on our family. I don’t think I’m the first to say this and doubt I’ll be the last, but it’s annoying. Really fucking annoying. And, it seems to me, that it’s really the moms that develop this ability to go crazy over something that hasn’t even happened yet and may never happen.

Anyway, the summer was pretty good other than my husband’s rigorous travel schedule had him out of town and often across the country ever other week. Oddly enough, the weeks he is gone, are still sometimes easier than the weeks he is home. This is not to say he isn’t helpful, because he really is, but it does tend to be easier with no one else to consider when it comes to dinner requests, opinions, mood, etc; however, please don’t misunderstand, it is still only you. You will be the one caretaker, meal maker, bath giver and everything else regardless of the day you’ve had or how you feel or how big of assholes your kids are being. So, when I say it’s “easier”, keep in mind, I’m comparing it to when he gets home and, since he’s been gone for a week, he’s now “fun dad” while I’m only the person who managed to keep them alive the last week. That said, I’m going to need everyone to give recognition to any single parent they may know because it’s not even close to easy. Also, a word of advice to the traveling spouse: we know it sucks sleeping on a hard hotel bed and living out of a suitcase, but you did get a week of only feeding and caring for yourself while watching all of the violent, criminal, R-rated or trash TV you wanted. Please keep that in mind before walking into your home to find your unshowered and disheveled spouse eating PB&J crust off your kids plate while going back for a box o’ wine refill, to complain about being remotely tired or missing eating a home cooked meal. This took a minute to learn in my house, but I think someone is catching on after a couple “discussions” when I was probably borderline psychotic.

Now, here is where it gets fun. In September, our dog ate a corn cob. I know this because after projectile vomiting all over our house for a couple days, the X-ray actually showed a corn cob that was lodged between her large and small intestines. Our sweet, Penny, had that removed on a Monday. On Tuesday, I felt like life was too boring planning kid’s birthday parties and preparing for my busy season at work that I thought we could really use a little more chaos in our life. So, the next day, I slipped on a bathroom floor and landed on my left knee cap breaking my patella in half. Wait. There’s more. If that wasn’t bad enough, that Thursday, I was reminded how uncoordinated I am when I lost lost my balance on crutches and landed on my right wrist, shattering it in multiple places. I think it’s safe to say that I had a bad week. Actually, a really shit week and I was in the worst pain of my life, all while trying to figure out how to take care of the responsibilities I had previously attempted to manage as an intact, able-bodied individual. I had surgery on both areas that Friday and then it was physical therapy and doctor’s appointments and so much more. Fortunately, I have amazing people surrounding me who were always offering to help, however they could and whenever I’d ask. Ask- HA! As moms, when do we ask? When do we reach out to someone and say we need help or an extra set of hands or anything that may remotely inconvenience someone else? We don’t, which is what makes us so superhuman but, also, so very stubborn. Nine months later, I’m still practicing asking for and accepting help.

Then, you all know the drill… Halloween and birthdays and anniversary and Thanksgiving and Christmas and and and and and AND… it never. fucking. stops. So, if you are like me, you finally hit a wall. Not literally, because I can’t take breaking another bone, but you do tap out. I was done. I wanted to run away and not for the day, but for days, maybe weeks, but how could that happen? I have all of these roles to fill. I have so much to do and that list, regardless of my mental state, has not lessened. Really, with all of the additional appointments and limited mobility, the list was longer. The longer the list, the less patience and sanity I possessed. I had now reached a point where I almost felt numb. Was I depressed? Well. Obviously. I was depressed, stressed, exhausted, frustrated and still in terrible pain which only added to my already shit mood. Oddly enough, this did not add to my work performance or my marital bliss.

All I wanted was to be left alone. I wanted to have pity parties and not need to smile or pretend. I wanted to be the bitch that I was (or innately am) without having to portray anything else. I fantasized about the days when I only had to worry about myself and if I didn’t want to see or speak to anyone, I didn’t have to. I also fantasized about saying exactly what I thought, out loud. All. The. Time. Some of you may think I already do this, but let me tell you: what you see, on a daily basis, is usually a controlled version of myself. Scary, I know. Let me also add that the miserable, wet winter we had, did not help anything or anyone around me. So I ask, why is it when my husband has a cold he can lock himself in a room for days but when I am about to lose my fucking mind in my broken body, I have to put my big girl panties on and deal with it? Let’s not get shit twisted. I didn’t necessarily deal with any of it well, but, I’m happy to report, that all those in my household are still alive, well and only a little worse off. Fuck. Maybe they are a lot worse off but only time and thousands of dollars in therapy will really be able to tell us that. Yep. There it is- one more thing to feel guilty about.

Anyway, now I’m here and trying to get back into some routine with a less cynical view of life. I’ve debated whether or not I wanted to write about all this. I don’t mean the circumstances, because everyone has shit, right? Mine is no worse than yours and yours is no worse than the next, but it’s the way we handle it and I’ll tell you, it was not my finest display. It’s not just the depression (which I have experienced in the past with postpartum), it’s the feeling that you’re stuck and it will never get better. It’s all of this while trying to juggle the expectations you (and society) put on yourself. Eventually, all of the Facebook and Instagram posts of what appear to be happy and perfect families make you want to poke your eyes out with toothpicks (or maybe that was just me).

Finally, I was able to catch my breath. I reminded myself that after you took that picture you posted, your kid probably talked back to you or smacked their sibling or had a tantrum. Hell, maybe you had a tantrum and your kids were smiling because they feared what would happen if they didn’t. Please note: I really do admire this quality. The fear. It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. You know, when you look sideways at your kid and they can somehow, suddenly read your mind. It’s an art. Perhaps we’ll explore this in the future.

So, in conclusion, this was to say, I’m coming back. It’s a work in progress, but then again, so is life. “One day at a time” isn’t just for addicts. It’s for all of us and it’s a good reminder to take time to appreciate the amazing moments and also, to know that the sun goes down and the liquor store is still open on the really shit days too.