When you're single, you can have anything in the world. You can do anything in the world, you answer to yourself, and all of life's happiness...parties, education, careers, love, marriage...they're all yours, if you want them.
Of course, the older you are, the less socially acceptable it is to be single.
But when you're a single mom, it's easy to feel like the doors are...not quite as open to you as they once were. And the stigma that comes with...ack. yucky.
Speaking for myself, I seem to realize every day how much harder everything is when you're a mom. I do mean everything. You try taking a trip to the store alone, and then with a baby, and tell me which was easier.
Seeing your child grow and learn is the most wonderful joy in life. But anyone who tells you it's not exhausting, scary, lonely and very difficult is lying to you.
All of this should be common sense, right? I think it's a lot easier to understand these things conceptually than to find yourself living it. And I suddenly feel like I'm either one of two things; I'm a woman with a family, or I'm a plague.
Let me explain.
I imagine some people out there wouldn't mind a woman with a child at all. It's like insta-family. Just add water. Or something like that. The fact that The Boy is number one in my life wouldn't be a bad thing, it would be expected...and even highly respected.
On the other hand, some people would find out I have a son and run in the opposite direction. It's not part of anyone's fantasy...finding a woman with a kid or two, and marrying her. Or at least, if it was, I would be very surprised.
Gone are the dreams of being a stay at home mom forever. What are the chances of finding someone who would not only love and marry someone with a kid, but then support the both of them? I would actually like someone to calculate those odds for me.
I'm not trying to complain here. I couldn't love my son more if I tried, and becoming a mother is something I don't think anyone could ever regret. I have just been thinking about what I wanted before, and how differently things turned out.
Or maybe I'm thinking it might be me and my son alone together forever. Maybe...I'm thinking of all those people I might have been with, but who will probably never look at me the same way. And maybe that hurts a lot more than it should. But being a mother does change you, and your life forever.
And I guess it's time for me to start really dealing with that reality.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Coming Home
The year prior to creating this Blog, I did not write. Through getting pregnant, all of pregnancy, and the weeks just after giving birth, I didn't write at all.
In my life, writing has always been a constant. I have always been one to chronicle thoughts, feelings, events...perhaps afraid that if I didn't, I would forget the importance of the moments. But as much as writing has been part of my life, so has chaos. And in a feeble attempt to wean myself from narcissism (ha!), I decided that I would no longer afford myself the outlet.
See, I have a tendency to get caught up. Life is meant to be lived, but for me, life was meant to be felt. I needed to savor it. The moment I realized I was in love, the first kiss, the confusion, the scent of something and the flood of emotion it could recall...these things were dissected, distorted, drawn out and displayed in my writing. Not only did it become obsessive and intense, it became a huge bloody bore. And there is absolutely nothing like looking back at a piece of writing, and wondering why you were lying to yourself. There is also nothing like looking back and realizing that you don't like yourself very much.
If you want to find someone who is entirely too self-important, self-loathing and overly dramatic, look to a writer.
An ex of mine once forbid me to write. She said that it "allowed me to get too caught up in things, and not move forward or see the big picture." It took a bit of growing up to see that she was right. I was abusing a form of art, and when I realized that I was going to be responsible for another person's life, I decided that going without writing would force me to live it, learn it, and appreciate it. The last thing I wanted to do was drag it out, over analyze, kick around and become so wrapped up in myself that I would continue to always be "in" my head.
I think that this time without writing was very constructive for me. Every day is not a constant turmoil of emotion and sentiment and imagined importance...it's not a show, and I don't need to go to great lengths to make it beautiful.
My son's first smiles in the morning...that is beautiful. And it is every day. The feeling of accomplishment when I finish working out is every day. The flirty smiles and silly sounds during The Boy's bath time are exciting every single day. And it doesn't matter that during that one moment at 4am when I had gotten less than two hours of sleep all night, I felt like I was going to lose my mind. It doesn't matter that every day it gets both harder and easier. It doesn't matter that in some moments I don't understand my life, my decisions, or why I ever thought I could be a good mother. None of these things define my life.
It's those moments...the happy ones. The smiles, the cooing, singing songs and acting silly. I have them now, every day. And I have learned that they will be there, even if I don't write a two page essay about how that one moment reminded me of the importance of my job as a mother, or reminded me just how much it breaks my heart to love someone so much. I have learned to live it, and to appreciate it, every single day.
In my life, writing has always been a constant. I have always been one to chronicle thoughts, feelings, events...perhaps afraid that if I didn't, I would forget the importance of the moments. But as much as writing has been part of my life, so has chaos. And in a feeble attempt to wean myself from narcissism (ha!), I decided that I would no longer afford myself the outlet.
See, I have a tendency to get caught up. Life is meant to be lived, but for me, life was meant to be felt. I needed to savor it. The moment I realized I was in love, the first kiss, the confusion, the scent of something and the flood of emotion it could recall...these things were dissected, distorted, drawn out and displayed in my writing. Not only did it become obsessive and intense, it became a huge bloody bore. And there is absolutely nothing like looking back at a piece of writing, and wondering why you were lying to yourself. There is also nothing like looking back and realizing that you don't like yourself very much.
If you want to find someone who is entirely too self-important, self-loathing and overly dramatic, look to a writer.
An ex of mine once forbid me to write. She said that it "allowed me to get too caught up in things, and not move forward or see the big picture." It took a bit of growing up to see that she was right. I was abusing a form of art, and when I realized that I was going to be responsible for another person's life, I decided that going without writing would force me to live it, learn it, and appreciate it. The last thing I wanted to do was drag it out, over analyze, kick around and become so wrapped up in myself that I would continue to always be "in" my head.
I think that this time without writing was very constructive for me. Every day is not a constant turmoil of emotion and sentiment and imagined importance...it's not a show, and I don't need to go to great lengths to make it beautiful.
My son's first smiles in the morning...that is beautiful. And it is every day. The feeling of accomplishment when I finish working out is every day. The flirty smiles and silly sounds during The Boy's bath time are exciting every single day. And it doesn't matter that during that one moment at 4am when I had gotten less than two hours of sleep all night, I felt like I was going to lose my mind. It doesn't matter that every day it gets both harder and easier. It doesn't matter that in some moments I don't understand my life, my decisions, or why I ever thought I could be a good mother. None of these things define my life.
It's those moments...the happy ones. The smiles, the cooing, singing songs and acting silly. I have them now, every day. And I have learned that they will be there, even if I don't write a two page essay about how that one moment reminded me of the importance of my job as a mother, or reminded me just how much it breaks my heart to love someone so much. I have learned to live it, and to appreciate it, every single day.
Friday, January 29, 2010
What A Fixation
So today, Jen over at What The Blog? posted a rather explicit guest blog at The Heir To Blair. Funny how I should come across this now, after a detailed dream or two on the same subject.
So. Blowjobs. Giving head. Call it what you will, it's all the same. Chris Rock once said that there are two types of women; the ones who don't give head, and the ones who "love nothing more than to suck a cock." I'm not so sure this is true, but either way I fall neatly into the latter category...much to the pleasure of my few sexual conquests.
Before you do it, you hear so many things about oral pleasure. That it's awful. It tastes bad. Guys always try to gag you. It hurts your jaw. Those are just a few things I was told (also once had someone pop a ball of playdough in my mouth, then tell me that's what semen tastes like...yum). So when I first decided to try it, I went in expecting to come to the same conclusions. In all honesty, I don't even remember the guy's name for sure now (Adam, maybe?)...I was a young teenager, and wanted to make sure it wasn't someone who A) knew my friends or B) would stick around to want it again (I'm practical that way).
Like those parenthesis, don't I?
So Mr. What's-His-Face had absolutely no idea what my curious and inexperienced teenage mind was up to when he came over to...I don't know. Watch TV? Must have been something like that, because the TV was playing some mindless MTV drama when I quite suddenly decided to get on top of him and unzip his jeans. I can only imagine now what must have been going through his mind. Maybe "holy crap, she's easier than I thought!" or "what the hell is this crazy slut doing?". Or maybe something in between. But suffice it to say, this was not an activity that was discussed prior to execution.
And the execution was...lacking, shall we say? But enticing and enjoyable enough to spark an immediate desire to be good at this. No, not good. GREAT. I wanted to give great blowjobs.
It is not a destination, it is a journey. An on-your-knees, choking, gagging journey that, despite the fact that it may make me rather unusual, is a very consistent and arousing part of my personal fantasies. My dreams create vivid and intensely realistic images and sensations and no, I can't be blamed for this. I can't help that I want to do it.
Shall I regress to teenage years and tell myself that oral sex is not "real" sex? Tempting, but inaccurate. So for now, I fixate in my dreams.
Over. And over. And over....
So. Blowjobs. Giving head. Call it what you will, it's all the same. Chris Rock once said that there are two types of women; the ones who don't give head, and the ones who "love nothing more than to suck a cock." I'm not so sure this is true, but either way I fall neatly into the latter category...much to the pleasure of my few sexual conquests.
Before you do it, you hear so many things about oral pleasure. That it's awful. It tastes bad. Guys always try to gag you. It hurts your jaw. Those are just a few things I was told (also once had someone pop a ball of playdough in my mouth, then tell me that's what semen tastes like...yum). So when I first decided to try it, I went in expecting to come to the same conclusions. In all honesty, I don't even remember the guy's name for sure now (Adam, maybe?)...I was a young teenager, and wanted to make sure it wasn't someone who A) knew my friends or B) would stick around to want it again (I'm practical that way).
Like those parenthesis, don't I?
So Mr. What's-His-Face had absolutely no idea what my curious and inexperienced teenage mind was up to when he came over to...I don't know. Watch TV? Must have been something like that, because the TV was playing some mindless MTV drama when I quite suddenly decided to get on top of him and unzip his jeans. I can only imagine now what must have been going through his mind. Maybe "holy crap, she's easier than I thought!" or "what the hell is this crazy slut doing?". Or maybe something in between. But suffice it to say, this was not an activity that was discussed prior to execution.
And the execution was...lacking, shall we say? But enticing and enjoyable enough to spark an immediate desire to be good at this. No, not good. GREAT. I wanted to give great blowjobs.
It is not a destination, it is a journey. An on-your-knees, choking, gagging journey that, despite the fact that it may make me rather unusual, is a very consistent and arousing part of my personal fantasies. My dreams create vivid and intensely realistic images and sensations and no, I can't be blamed for this. I can't help that I want to do it.
Shall I regress to teenage years and tell myself that oral sex is not "real" sex? Tempting, but inaccurate. So for now, I fixate in my dreams.
Over. And over. And over....
Thursday, January 28, 2010
So Quickly, I Eat My Words
So that's being a new mom, eh? Things you said you wouldn't do, you find you must.
Just days ago, I was going off about my mother saying I need to let my son cry. No way, not my baby! He's too young, that's so wrong!
Well, folks...I take that back. My once happy baby turned into a screaming monster one day, and I was entirely baffled. They can't "manipulate" you until they're months old, right? Well, sorta. What they can do, is cry every time you put them down. Blue-in-the-face, soundless, straining screaming just because you thought "hey, my bladder is going to burst if I don't get to the bathroom RIGHT NOW," and dared to set them in the swing.
I'm not one to want to complain much about motherhood. After all, I am the one who decided to have a child. But after holding him, walking around constantly for days on end (because god forbid you want to sit down while holding him), I was at the end of my rope. I said "fuck this" and set him in the bouncer to scream.
And you know what? It only took him about two minutes to realize that the world was not going to end if I wasn't holding him. Then one funny song and dance from mommy, and the kid is actually smiling. It only takes one good smile from your baby for you to suddenly feel like the luckiest and best mommy in the whole world.
So, I'm basically saying I'm a jackass, and I will no longer throw away advice without proper consideration. Damn this new mom learning curve. And so I leave you with The Boy, picture proof that indeed, he is perfectly fine after a few minutes of screaming. Thank the Lord.
Just days ago, I was going off about my mother saying I need to let my son cry. No way, not my baby! He's too young, that's so wrong!
Well, folks...I take that back. My once happy baby turned into a screaming monster one day, and I was entirely baffled. They can't "manipulate" you until they're months old, right? Well, sorta. What they can do, is cry every time you put them down. Blue-in-the-face, soundless, straining screaming just because you thought "hey, my bladder is going to burst if I don't get to the bathroom RIGHT NOW," and dared to set them in the swing.
I'm not one to want to complain much about motherhood. After all, I am the one who decided to have a child. But after holding him, walking around constantly for days on end (because god forbid you want to sit down while holding him), I was at the end of my rope. I said "fuck this" and set him in the bouncer to scream.
And you know what? It only took him about two minutes to realize that the world was not going to end if I wasn't holding him. Then one funny song and dance from mommy, and the kid is actually smiling. It only takes one good smile from your baby for you to suddenly feel like the luckiest and best mommy in the whole world.
So, I'm basically saying I'm a jackass, and I will no longer throw away advice without proper consideration. Damn this new mom learning curve. And so I leave you with The Boy, picture proof that indeed, he is perfectly fine after a few minutes of screaming. Thank the Lord.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Sex Is My Frenimy
This is the conclusion I came to while talking to an especially put together friend of mine the other day. I told her that sex and I were really close once, then it stabbed me in the back, but I still really like it.
It is already abundantly clear that this will be an oversharing, not so witty post.
The last time I had sex, I got pregnant. It has been nearly a year since then. Being a single mom, I feel like I can no longer have any sex casually. That makes sense to me, because I'm not going to want my LO to see me as that type of woman. It also makes sense because I haven't respected myself enough to wait until someone really cared for or loved me. In all honesty, I didn't believe anyone would, so I said to hell with it, and had sex when I pleased, even when I knew I was not making a good decision.
I am bound and determined to change my behavior, but honestly...I miss the sexy time. Quite a bit, and I'm nowhere near a point where I trust myself to make the right decisions regarding sex OR relationships. So what's a girl to do?
I deeply wish that I had figured this all out before having a child. I can not be trusted to have a healthy relationship. I have never had one, so thinking that I can now, without any proof of having changed my thought process, my emotional stability, my goals and the way I view myself and others...well, that would be insane. And getting into a relationship without very serious consideration would be doing my son an incredible disservice. I don't want to be that type of mom.
Being alone is good for me, now. I have tons of work that I need to do on myself before I can be with anyone else. But how does one do this "work"? Are their guidelines? Is there a twelve-step program? Is there any concrete plan as to how to change your ways, or will being alone and focusing on myself and my son just...do the trick?
So many questions, absolutely no answers.
Can someone please give me some answers?
It is already abundantly clear that this will be an oversharing, not so witty post.
The last time I had sex, I got pregnant. It has been nearly a year since then. Being a single mom, I feel like I can no longer have any sex casually. That makes sense to me, because I'm not going to want my LO to see me as that type of woman. It also makes sense because I haven't respected myself enough to wait until someone really cared for or loved me. In all honesty, I didn't believe anyone would, so I said to hell with it, and had sex when I pleased, even when I knew I was not making a good decision.
I am bound and determined to change my behavior, but honestly...I miss the sexy time. Quite a bit, and I'm nowhere near a point where I trust myself to make the right decisions regarding sex OR relationships. So what's a girl to do?
I deeply wish that I had figured this all out before having a child. I can not be trusted to have a healthy relationship. I have never had one, so thinking that I can now, without any proof of having changed my thought process, my emotional stability, my goals and the way I view myself and others...well, that would be insane. And getting into a relationship without very serious consideration would be doing my son an incredible disservice. I don't want to be that type of mom.
Being alone is good for me, now. I have tons of work that I need to do on myself before I can be with anyone else. But how does one do this "work"? Are their guidelines? Is there a twelve-step program? Is there any concrete plan as to how to change your ways, or will being alone and focusing on myself and my son just...do the trick?
So many questions, absolutely no answers.
Can someone please give me some answers?
Monday, January 25, 2010
Jillian Michaels Is A Sadistic Whore
AS PICTURED HERE, TORTURING AN INNOCENT VICTIMBeing one trendy SOB, I have begun doing the 30 Day Shred...as many of the previously pregnant, currently fat women of the internet have before me. I can not help it, I am drawn to the wonderful dyke-tastic, ass kicking mess that is Jillian. You know you can't help it either. She is sexy in a butterface kinda way.
Any-who, the point here is that she wants to kill me. Me, and many others. This is the most divine murder plot in the history of murder plots. She is going to make us kill OURSELVES!
My skinny jeans are a dream to me now, and muffin-top my cruel reality. You all know what I'm talking about, don't lie. For twelve days I pushed through Level 1 of the workout. The first day, I was convinced that I would be on Level 1 for the entire 30 days. But today I soldiered on to Level 2. Not happily, guys...I had previewed it, and knew full well that this was complete murder-suicide. But when it comes to working out, I am mildly..okay, extremely obsessive. It is dangerous.
I am going to have to be honest..I have not lost a single pound. Not one. My diet is pretty great. Thanks to an eating disorder acquired in seventh grade, I am very aware of what I eat. Annnnd thanks to pregnancy and breastfeeding, I eat often. I've got all the tools for success here, so what gives?
Despite the growing rage I feel when stepping on the scale, I can deal. I may be 13lbs heavier than before pregnancy, but I am not at a bad weight. I will keep plugging away, because I can't do anything else. But I will talk back to my TV, like any other powerless victim of Jillian's cruelty.
To all the other 30DS ladies out there...push it out.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
My Mother Is My Husband
And no, this is not some sick-twisted lesbian/incest post.
You see, people...I live with my mom. I do this, because I am an irresponsible person who goes out and gets impregnated by idiot douchebags who do not want to be with me. Or something to that effect. And before you ask, yes I am disappointed in myself, and not proud of my decisions. But that is a whole separate post.
Now, because I live with my mom, I'm subjected to a whole lot more parenting than I would imagine the average grown person with a child is accustomed to. I understand that this comes with the territory. Being aloud to stay home with my son and potentially go back to school, without having to worry about rent/daycare/whatever, is a luxury that is not afforded to many, so I will try my best not to complain much.
The truth is, becoming a mother has given me a vast appreciation for my own mother, and the sacrifices she has made for me and my siblings. I often sit back and think about how wonderful and supportive she is, and can not for the life of me understand just HOW she did it all. She is amazing to me.
But living with her as a new mom leaves various openings for her to tell me how she would be "doing things differently." C'mon, he's two months old...it's not as if I'm teaching him to lie and steal. Because she's around for a lot of my parenting adventures, she gets to tell me that I'm not sleeping enough because I really need to learn to sleep with my baby, and sleep while breastfeeding, etc.
Excuse me for having a rational fear of sharing my bed with my baby, even with as much as I would like to be able to do this.
After being told repeatedly that I should "just ignore him" or "let him cry for a few minutes", I start to wonder what else she did with me or her FIVE other children that I don't approve of. Tummy sleeping is one of the things I refuse to let him do (until I can't keep him from rolling). We've already covered how I'm a neurotic, paranoid freak, so is it really a huge surprise that I don't want to do something with such blatant disregard for the fact that it's a SIDS risk? Nah, not so much.
Being a SAHM, and also a house"wife" to my own mother comes with an extra side of judgment. And while I count my blessings every single day for having her, and being able to live this fabulous life...I think maybe someday I might want a real husband who does not tell me that I am parenting the wrong way. Because this:
is the face of a child who's mother does not "just ignore him" or "let him cry." And I happen to like that face quite a bit.
You see, people...I live with my mom. I do this, because I am an irresponsible person who goes out and gets impregnated by idiot douchebags who do not want to be with me. Or something to that effect. And before you ask, yes I am disappointed in myself, and not proud of my decisions. But that is a whole separate post.
Now, because I live with my mom, I'm subjected to a whole lot more parenting than I would imagine the average grown person with a child is accustomed to. I understand that this comes with the territory. Being aloud to stay home with my son and potentially go back to school, without having to worry about rent/daycare/whatever, is a luxury that is not afforded to many, so I will try my best not to complain much.
The truth is, becoming a mother has given me a vast appreciation for my own mother, and the sacrifices she has made for me and my siblings. I often sit back and think about how wonderful and supportive she is, and can not for the life of me understand just HOW she did it all. She is amazing to me.
But living with her as a new mom leaves various openings for her to tell me how she would be "doing things differently." C'mon, he's two months old...it's not as if I'm teaching him to lie and steal. Because she's around for a lot of my parenting adventures, she gets to tell me that I'm not sleeping enough because I really need to learn to sleep with my baby, and sleep while breastfeeding, etc.
Excuse me for having a rational fear of sharing my bed with my baby, even with as much as I would like to be able to do this.
After being told repeatedly that I should "just ignore him" or "let him cry for a few minutes", I start to wonder what else she did with me or her FIVE other children that I don't approve of. Tummy sleeping is one of the things I refuse to let him do (until I can't keep him from rolling). We've already covered how I'm a neurotic, paranoid freak, so is it really a huge surprise that I don't want to do something with such blatant disregard for the fact that it's a SIDS risk? Nah, not so much.
Being a SAHM, and also a house"wife" to my own mother comes with an extra side of judgment. And while I count my blessings every single day for having her, and being able to live this fabulous life...I think maybe someday I might want a real husband who does not tell me that I am parenting the wrong way. Because this:
is the face of a child who's mother does not "just ignore him" or "let him cry." And I happen to like that face quite a bit.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Sweet dreams are not made of these
One thing about only sleeping 1-3hrs at a time, is that when you dream (if you dream), it's like some sort of drug trip. Dreams are random enough as it is. This isn't "oh we were in my house but it didn't look like my house but I knew it was and then you were there but you turned into my mom..." NO. That's normal dream stuff. This is like..."then I was running through a visual interpretation of each state of mind that you go through before you meet your imminent death." <---True story. Let me tell you, people, it's extremely organized.
This morning, The Boy decided to sleep for two hours straight (which I have come to appreciate). So of course I lay him down, then lay down myself and holy crap! Suddenly I'm at my bachelorette party (did I mention I am SINGLE? Never married), and my mom and friends are trying to get me to lay in some bed while some sexy-slender-stripper-oh-my-god (female)rubs all over me (think under-water dance type slow motion). And I think "oh this is awesome" and the it hits me! BAM! OMG! Am I getting married to a man, or a woman (see: sexuality confusion)?!
You see, internet, this is a real-life question. I have only been in love with one person (a woman) but sexy-time with men = hawt and simple (and leads to baby. Enter The Boy). After crazy unhealthy relationships with women I have been thinking..ah! I like men! I want to get married! I want a traditional life! Then I see a sexy lady and I'm like...damn it. And so it goes.
Now while this is admittedly effed up, it is the reality of my sexuality, so deal.
Back in dream-land I find that I am indeed marrying a woman, and cue me running away because oh shit she's pregnant and resembles my ex and this all is bad. And this is me:
Now I sit here wondering...does this mean something?! But if so, what?!
Then I realize that it means I am sleep deprived, confused, scared and lonely/horny. All things I could have told you in normal waking life.
Any of you other mommies out there having a wack-ass time when it comes to dreams?
*note to self: stop assuming you have followers. This is only your second post*
This morning, The Boy decided to sleep for two hours straight (which I have come to appreciate). So of course I lay him down, then lay down myself and holy crap! Suddenly I'm at my bachelorette party (did I mention I am SINGLE? Never married), and my mom and friends are trying to get me to lay in some bed while some sexy-slender-stripper-oh-my-god (female)rubs all over me (think under-water dance type slow motion). And I think "oh this is awesome" and the it hits me! BAM! OMG! Am I getting married to a man, or a woman (see: sexuality confusion)?!
You see, internet, this is a real-life question. I have only been in love with one person (a woman) but sexy-time with men = hawt and simple (and leads to baby. Enter The Boy). After crazy unhealthy relationships with women I have been thinking..ah! I like men! I want to get married! I want a traditional life! Then I see a sexy lady and I'm like...damn it. And so it goes.
Now while this is admittedly effed up, it is the reality of my sexuality, so deal.
Back in dream-land I find that I am indeed marrying a woman, and cue me running away because oh shit she's pregnant and resembles my ex and this all is bad. And this is me:
Now I sit here wondering...does this mean something?! But if so, what?!
Then I realize that it means I am sleep deprived, confused, scared and lonely/horny. All things I could have told you in normal waking life.
Any of you other mommies out there having a wack-ass time when it comes to dreams?
*note to self: stop assuming you have followers. This is only your second post*
Sleepless in...well, whatever.
Oh the joys of Post Partum Anxiety. Or anxiety in general. Anyways, who cares because the point is, I'm awake. The boy is sleeping in his crib (less than ten feet away) equipped with an Angelcare monitor that is currently emitting little ticking noises, letting me know that yes, my son is breathing.
For now.
Yes, that is what goes through my mind. Never mind the fact that he has none of the SIDS risks (besides being male and born in the fall). Never mind that the Dr. Sears website says that "99.99% of babies put down to sleep wake up just fine". Because I must obsess. Give me something to obsess about, and I will do it. The more horrific, the better.
When I was pregnant, I freaked about movement. Like, woke up in the middle of the night, poked at the belly, wouldn't go to sleep until I felt the baby move. I bought a fetal doppler to aid in my relentless worrying, going so far as to take it to work (along with the handy monster-sized tub of vaseline), and use it at my desk if I got especially freaked.
Now before you go say "oh, she's crazy" or "what a wackjob" or any of the other things this behavior has inspired, let me tell you...bad things do happen. Every day. Horrible things, and I can not for the life of me stop my mind from going there.
So I sit here late at night, googling "what to do if baby stops breathing" and other such nonsense. And I want so badly to not even think of it. I want to be one of those parents who say that the thought "crossed their mind occasionally" and that they "just pushed it away." But here's the thing...I'm not wired that way.
If I could rely on having health insurance, I would really be looking for help right now. I have enough issues to need full-time therapy, but since I'm not going to be covered by my work (once they figure out I'm not coming back from maternity leave), I am just sitting here hoping I can work through things on my own.
Until I figure out how to do this, here I will sit...obsessing about horrible things happening to the people I love the most.
*slams head into desk*
For now.
Yes, that is what goes through my mind. Never mind the fact that he has none of the SIDS risks (besides being male and born in the fall). Never mind that the Dr. Sears website says that "99.99% of babies put down to sleep wake up just fine". Because I must obsess. Give me something to obsess about, and I will do it. The more horrific, the better.
When I was pregnant, I freaked about movement. Like, woke up in the middle of the night, poked at the belly, wouldn't go to sleep until I felt the baby move. I bought a fetal doppler to aid in my relentless worrying, going so far as to take it to work (along with the handy monster-sized tub of vaseline), and use it at my desk if I got especially freaked.
Now before you go say "oh, she's crazy" or "what a wackjob" or any of the other things this behavior has inspired, let me tell you...bad things do happen. Every day. Horrible things, and I can not for the life of me stop my mind from going there.
So I sit here late at night, googling "what to do if baby stops breathing" and other such nonsense. And I want so badly to not even think of it. I want to be one of those parents who say that the thought "crossed their mind occasionally" and that they "just pushed it away." But here's the thing...I'm not wired that way.
If I could rely on having health insurance, I would really be looking for help right now. I have enough issues to need full-time therapy, but since I'm not going to be covered by my work (once they figure out I'm not coming back from maternity leave), I am just sitting here hoping I can work through things on my own.
Until I figure out how to do this, here I will sit...obsessing about horrible things happening to the people I love the most.
*slams head into desk*
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