Wednesday, January 28, 2015

What do you do all day?

Note: This post was originally posted in another space where I was contributing. I wanted to share it here though. Keep all my writing in one easy access point :)

People love to speculate exactly what it is that I do all day. Not my husband, of course….. Because he’s smarter than that. But I think people so easily assume that I just sit around doing nothing. That that’s what stay at home moms do. 
Well, I’ll tell ya…… Sometimes that’s true. At least it feels that way. 
I clean an hour a day. That’s pretty much it. The rest is spent with the kids. Learning, playing, homeschool, reading, exploring, meals, blowing bubbles, potty training the dog….. Which we seem to be failing at miserably. You get the point. 
To an onlooker it probably actually does look like I’m not doing much with my time. But I like to think I am doing one of the most important jobs in the world. 
Raising my kids. 
I am just fortunate enough to do it full time and want to. But most moms do it. Most dads do it. Whether we work or stay home, choose a career or give it up, we raise our kids. 
Sometimes at the end of the day though I wonder “what did I actually accomplish?” Because it can feel so small. I’m a workaholic by nature and I miss that feeling of accomplishment I would feel at the end of a hard day at work. Sometimes in parenthood that reward for hard work isn’t as evident at the end of the day. Sometimes it takes years to see the strides you’ve made. 
Days where the house is a little dirty and your hair is a mess. When the dishes are piled in the sink and you’re still wearing the same shirt as the day before. Your husband comes home and asks you how your day went and all you can really throw out is that your oldest learned to use the potty. 
That’s right, your kid took a shit on the toilet. 
You didn’t do anything else. Not a goddamn thing but the kid made an offering to the porcelain gods for the first time. 
So yeah, maybe the dishes aren’t done, honey. But I taught a human to poop! 
Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Friday, January 23, 2015

The Bitch is Back

Wanting to die is a lot like wanting to delete your Facebook account. You're usually just fed up with the emotions. People posting stupid shit. Your cousin keeps posting heartwarming bubbly meme's all over your feed and you are about ready to smack a bitch. Mostly you just want to check out because the bullshit meter says you're all filled up for a good decade.

The thing about deleting Facebook is, it's easy. But we rarely think about the consequences in the heat of the moment. You are just scrolling through one day and it's all "fuck this shit" and you delete the hell out of that motherfucker. Sometimes it takes a few hours and other times it takes a few weeks before you realize how damn convenient Facebook can be. It's really damn hard to mail aunt Terri pictures of the kiddos when two weeks ago you could have just messaged them to her.

Shit.

We don't ever really think about how the shit will hit the fan if we die. I doubt aunt Terri will be getting any fucking pictures AT ALL, I'll say that much.

I don't want to die. I am not suicidal. But I do think about it sometimes. In a "will this pain ever freaking go away" sort of way.  But I imagine that is something we all do, right? Don't say no..... you'll totally destroy my argument.

Wait, what argument?

I have plenty to live for. I am still in a place where I can imagine that dying will really fucking suck. I don't want to die..... I just FEEL like I am dying. I'm too tough to actually want to give up so easy but damn, it feels like I have freaking cancer or something. Or a parasite eating my guts. Ew.

I've been in that place before though. I know I am no where near that because I have been there. I suppose that should be comforting?

It's hope. And that's what I am holding on to right now. Hope that someday this pain will subside. The way it always has in the past. These emotions tend to undulate. I know now that this is bipolar. There's comfort in naming the devil. He's a lot fucking easier to yell at and cast out when the motherfucker has a damn name.

And he messed with the wrong bitch.

{Disclaimer: I reiterate, I am NOT suicidal. I am just rambling. Something I sort of do. If anything, this is some dark humor up in here. Please don't send the cops to my house and destroy my family's damn day over a blog post.} 

Monday, October 20, 2014

I'm not dead yet.

July 21st. That's the last time I wrote on this blog. 3 month hiatus. In 10 years of blogging I don't think I've ever gone that long. 

It's not that I don't have time. I have plenty. I'm just not...... Here? I was diagnosed with postpartum anxiety and depression which turned into a bipolar diagnoses. The world has been spiraling and I'm just trying to hang on. 

I'm not doing too well. :/ 

Retail therapy has become my drug of choice which has been a bit of a financial burden. That only makes this depression seat a whole lot deeper. Most days I just plug through with nothing to look forward to other than getting back into my bed at night. 

The last two weeks have been the worst I think. I'm weaning off of zoloft because I managed to gain 30lbs and my doctor is kinda pissed about it. She's an angry little woman. Oh, add a very serious vitamin D deficiency to the mix. One that almost got me hospitalized. 

Bipolar. Postpartum hormones. Vitamin d deficiency. Weight gain. 

I'm a hot mess. 

But although I feel miserable and don't want anything to do with blogging anytime soon I know I HAVE to. Because this is the stuff that matters. The grit and the dirty stuff. That's what I write about. Maybe to help me. Maybe to help someone else. All these maybes and no certainties and I think writing that shit out of my head will help me make sense of it all. 

So it may get a little dark and dangerous up in this bitch. I'll try to sprinkle cute baby pics around a bit to break up the Tim Burton vibes. 

And heaven knows I can never really get rid of this witty sarcasm.