Last night was, without a doubt, rough. Personally, I think panic attacks are completely overrated, but that’s just me. I don’t happen to enjoy the “oh-my-god-I-can’t-breath-what-the-fuck-am-I-gonna-do??” moments that tend to surround motherhood, which then are closely followed by mommy guilt. Seriously, it was awful.
For an almost two year old, Caitlin hasn’t had many instances of falling. I can only think of three actually in which there was mass amounts of crying; once when she was an infant and she rolled off the bed when Chris was watching her while I was in the shower and didn’t realize she rolled, once when she fell out of her swing because Chris didn’t strap her in or snap the tray in all the way, both of those she was rather young, an infant-ish age.
The final time was when we first moved in this house and she fell down a couple (not the entire flight) of the stairs on her way down. Yes, there have been bumps and scraps here and there, but those are the only ones I’ve ever actually been present to care for her afterwords. She’s never been seriously hurt, the falls just scare her more than anything while she does get maybe a slight bump.
But last night was completely different and it terrified me…
I have had it. Seriously, I’ve just had it. Yesterday was the final straw.
I’ve mentioned the troubles with my insurance company before. In the (not even full) year we’ve been with them they have lost faxes, called my husband a liar, lied about sending paperwork to the appropriate sectors to get claims fixed and so on. That is just the issues we’ve had on the phone with them. They also don’t cover shit.
They don’t cover the any of the cost of Chris’ Concerta, which is why he had to switch to Ritalin. And the insurance, as it turns out, doesn’t cover much of that one either. So he opted to stop taking it all together. And if you’re married to someone with adult-ADHD, you know how difficult it can be…I mean, you can only take being cut off mid-sentence to talk about something else so many times!
That’s a whole ‘nother story however. A story for when I’m about to divorce him.
Pua’s back. Tell a friend. Guess who’s back, guess who’s back, guess who’s back….
Yes, yes indeed. And boy does it feel good. I just had to take a little hiatus and get my head screwed on and wiggle myself into feeling normal. That hasn’t happened yet, but I haven’t been drinking heavily, so it evens out, right?
Just kidding about the drinking part.
I mean, I don’t drink heavily.
All the time.
So what’s good in the hood, ‘yo? I would just like to give a HUGE thank you to all of you out there in Twitterverse and Blogsphere who have sent me the lovely emails checking in on me throughout the weeks and giving me your love and “miss yous” and for checking back EVERY DAY to see if I’ve written anything and keeping this alive. Thank you. It means the world. If I could bake a dozen of cookies for all of you, I would, but that’s a lot of batter.
I am sitting on the small green couch, cross-legged, with my fingers covering my eyes.
I take a deep breath and begin to count…
I can hear it then. Footsteps and giggles as she attempts to find a hiding space. I hear her run through the kitchen, socked feet padding against the linoleum. Stop. Clatter. Splash. And then more running. Socked feet pounding hard against carpet. Jumping. Running. Giggling.
You know what sucks? Chris working two jobs. I’m pretty sure we’re both in agreement that it sucks pretty bad for both of us. For him, because most weeks, he is working 7 days a week, and on the weekdays he works 16 hour days. For me, because when we agreed he would get a second job, I (graciously) agreed to relinquish him from all house hold duties. That means every diaper change, every early morning wake up, every bath time, every bag of garbage, dish, what have you, is all me. Every household chore is my sole responsibility. Not that he did much, to be honest, but I have agreed to stop nagging him to do any of those things. And I can successfully say, I don’t even ask him ONCE to do those things anymore. I give him the CHOICE if he wants to change a diaper, since he only sees the kids for a few minutes every morning and it seems like it would be a small bonding opportunity, but he graciously declines.
So, last night I was complaining that *someone* in my house ate my spare bedtime Reese’s cup. Now, normally, I’m not a huge Reese’s fan, but over the last 26 weeks I’ve had at least 3 packages a day and if you touch my goddamn Reese’s cups, by God I will cut you.
So anyway, Reese’s cups. So my spare bedtime Reese’s cup went missing and I kept asking Chris “Did you eat it??” And he insisted that, no, in fact he did not eat it. He didn’t even know I had one, although it had only been sitting on the kitchen table since Tuesday, and I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if Caitlin got a hold of it…so I posted on Facebook someone stole my candy…
I am now positive there is someone living in our attic eating my candy and I am FREAKED OUT. Just wanna give him a big ole thanks…I really need to go refresh my deodorant, but I’m too scared to go back there now without Chris being home. I do not care if it was fake. I do not want to hear your explanations. There is something up with crap going missing in this house and that is the best solution. I really don’t think a ghost wants my bedtime Reese’s. There is someone living in my attic. So I will sit here in my stinky hormone and 90 degree weather induced sweat until he gets here in an hour and a half. And then I will beg him to inspect the attic thoroughly after I make him watch said video.
First, I would like to extend an apology to the creepy man I believe to be living in my attic. I blamed you for my missing Reese’s, when in fact, it was in my car. And I’m sure you’ll read this because when you do come out the attic, I’m sure you also use my laptop. Why wouldn’t you, considering it just sits on the arm of the couch all day and night turned on with no password protection. But I swear to god if my husband has to fix it because you put a shit ton of spyware and crap from all your nonsensical downloading, I will go up there and kill you.
So now, when I accidentally download something I probably shouldn’t have, I can blame the man I believe to be living in my attic. And Chris won’t be mad at me, instead he’ll be mad at him, because I specifically told him not to do that.
When I was younger, I always imagined changing the world somehow. I wanted to make people feel okay and smile, I wanted to be a comedian. I wanted to save lives, I wanted to be a doctor or nurse. I wanted to make people safer at night, I wanted to be a cop, firefighter, or Marine. I wanted to help people learn about the world, I wanted to be a teacher or scientist. I wanted to take people somewhere else in their mind, I wanted to be a writer, artist, or musician.
But then, I grew up. I got married. I became a mother. And I began seeing everything I ever wanted to do, fade away. I always wanted to be a mother, but I wanted to be more than a mother. I still wanted to change the world, but doing it all was so hard, I didn’t know if I ever could. I was just me.
It’s a hard thing to realize that everything you wanted to be as a child will never happen. To begin to lose your identity of who you once were in a blaze of being called “so-and-so’s wife” and knowing as time goes, you’ll only be the wife or the mother of someone. You are no longer you. And I’m sure that’s where a lot of PPD comes from, realizing that your dreams of who you will be will no longer come true, because you are no longer who you once were anymore.
Every child inherits something from their parents. Like, in my family, my sister, oldest brother and myself all inherited my mother’s highly…volatile emotions (don’t any of you deny it). It’s not a bad thing, we are just…more likely to interpret something incorrectly and take offense to it. It happens. My other two brothers received my dad’s level-headedness or ability to disguise their feelings as “rational thinking”. Something else I got from my mom, other than my stunning good looks? Her horrible feet.
My mom’s feet are really terrible. Her toenails don’t grow in any sort of healthy way, which often causes ingrown toenails. Her pinky toe is also really weird and, like, has almost no toenail at all. I have the spitting images of my mother’s feet. I’m not sure if any of my other siblings have this issue, but if I had to place money on one, it’d be my middle brother, and the oldest brother would be my second choice. But I’m sure they don’t have the pinky toe thing, which I, unfortunately, do. Which brings about something else I got from my dad. He’s a picker.
Last night, in one word, sucked. And now, I’m completely racked with guilt. Caitlin has her first official “sickness.” I’m not sure what it is, probably just a cold, but it sucks. She has her daddy’s sinus’ so runny noses, hayfever and the such were a common occurrence last Spring when she was a newborn, and this year it hasn’t been horrible luckily. But this was is different. She has an actual fever. Not high enough for me to justify wasting our doctor’s time knowing there won’t be much they are willing to do, but high enough for her to feel miserable. Which causes me to feel miserable. And the lack of food I’ve eaten in a two day span causes me to feel even more miserable. She’s never had a bad fever before that wasn’t caused by vaccinations, so this was slightly off-putting to me. Her body just feels like it’s on fire at times. I’m trying to keep the house cool so she can be comfortable, but I always remember how cold I get when I’m sick, and I huddle to myself to keep warm. So, I’m kind of at a loss as how to tell if she’s comfortable temperature wise or not. Right now, the fever seems to have gone down significantly, but I did give her some medicine so she would feel okay enough to eat a little breakfast. But I know in a couple of hours it will wear off and once again she’ll be burning up and feeling horrible.