Sometimes I feel pretty squeamish about the fact that I am not sure how much I want to “be” a good person and how much I want to pretend I am a good person so I can model it for my children. I want them to have the option of being good people or effective monsters if they choose.

That’s an interesting thought process. I don’t want to decide for them how they end up. I want to give them the opportunity.

I honestly feel like “being good” was not an option for me when I was young if I wanted to survive. If I had striven harder for being good I would have cooperated more. I would have fought less. And I’d be dead.

So I don’t want to force my children into the model of always doing as they are told. I want them to know how to choose. I want them to have a strong sense of their own internal compass for right and wrong and I want them to do their best to do right according to their own metrics.

Shit like giving money to homeless people. That isn’t something that I feel “Everyone Must Do To Be Good.” That’s not how it occurs in my brain at all. *I* was homeless for years and people helped me. People helped *me* not die. *I* owe paying that help forward. I have extra. My life is freakishly blessed. If *I* don’t hand $5 to anyone who asks me then I am betraying the child I once was.

That’s not about a universal sense of right or wrong or being good or being bad. It is about me playing the other part of the role I used to play. Because I can. Because in this life if you receive it is also good to give.

But different people receive different things. Not everyone is morally or spiritually obligated to have the same role as me.

How does goodness fit into that?

I do actually perceive myself as a generous person. I do perceive myself as a kind person.

But goodness is just a bridge too far.

I ain’t nice, but I strive for kindness all the time. Kindness is not always nice. Kindness is sometimes brutal. Kindness is telling my best friend she needs to change because this outfit sucks on her instead of saying something nice about it being an interesting pattern.

On a completely different note… my body has gone through some kind of intense reset lately. I cannot remember when I last had diarrhea. I’ve had solid stool for weeks. Even postpartum it never got liquid again. It was soft and easy to produce… but not diarrhea. I am pretty sure this is the longest period in my life when I have had solid stools. Apparently we are doing a fantastic job of nailing my nutritional needs plus lowering my stress levels. I’m really impressed. I didn’t know my body was capable of doing this well.

It’s exciting to me.

My sleep is all over the place. Meaning I’m not sleeping very well or very deeply. I’m absolutely terrified that I am going to be responsible for killing my baby. I don’t think that is going to happen but the terror is there. So I don’t sleep well because I check her over and over and over all night long. We do follow safe sleep practices. I’m not medicating at night. I’m not doing risky stuff with my baby. But SIDS is an absolutely terrifying boogeyman. Sometimes you do everything right and your baby still dies. So I don’t sleep much in the hopes that if her breathing pauses for some reason of immaturity I will be there to poke her back into action.

I’ll sleep when she’s more sturdy.

I am so so so grateful I don’t have to drive or have a job right now.

My hat is off to the mamas who have to go back to work already. You are strong, powerful, and loving. Your kid is lucky to have your protection in every form you give it. You are teaching your kids stuff I am not teaching mine and your kids are lucky.

I do wish my country viewed the long term mental health of everyone who breeds as important and provided longer maternity/paternity leave. A low stress time period of adapting to being a parent would be better for everyone.

One lady in my online due date club had to go back to work nine days postpartum. She’s the bread winner for her family and her job won’t let her take more time off. She has cried a lot about how sad she is to leave her baby, but it is necessary for the survival of her family. I believe it is wrong that our country does this to people but I don’t have even 1 oz of judgment for her. She’s surviving and coping in an unfair situation.

Mamas usually (not always) do their best. It is really sad when circumstances control the fact that their best is probably not what is truly best for their family. I don’t blame the mothers. I blame our fucked up culture.

When your choice is between feeding and housing your family or bonding with your new infant… that’s not a choice. That’s evil.

*We* choose to allow that to be the way our culture works. We elect politicians who keep it true.

Someone Noah grew up with has a baby just a couple of months older than our new one. Their baby was diagnosed with liver cancer.

There is no fair. There is no amount of paranoia that can actually keep my children safe. It’s luck of the draw and life is so unfair there are no words to adequately express how unfair it all is. I mourn for their family and pray that such a fate does not strike my children. Because nothing I do or don’t do will actually influence that kind of health. It’ll happen or it won’t.

Being a parent is terrifying.

In this exact moment I feel like I have passed some sort of… I don’t know a line in the sand. Some level of development. I’ve reached some sort of change.

I know that I will again feel like I want to die at some point. But in this moment I feel like there is so much need for my presence that I hope I will never again feel like I “should” die because in this moment I am capable of seeing how untrue that will be for the rest of my life. From here on out my death is going to absolutely devastate several people. There is no chance that my death is a positive thing ever again.

When I die it will cause more pain than it will relieve. I don’t believe that has been true for most of my life. It would have been a selfish act, always, but I don’t think it would have hurt people the way it would now. And for most of my life I have been in so much more pain than I am now. My physical pain comes and goes and sometimes spikes much higher than it was when I was a child but the physical pain has never really been the problem. The emotional pain is what I have struggled to bear.

I don’t know why this daughter feels like such a tipping point to me. She is not more important, valued, or loved than her sister or sibling.

But there are four fucking people who would absolutely never be ok again if I killed myself.

I am not really ok after my father and brother killed themselves. It doesn’t hurt like it would hurt my kids… I had different relationships. But if I still feel the amount of pain I feel in relation to their deaths I can barely imagine what it would do to my kids. It would scar their souls until they died.

I can see that so clearly. My oldest daughter has been clingy and loving and so wonderful lately. She’s having big feelings about the transition to having another baby and she is needing a lot of snuggling and chats about life and change. She’s not trying to regress. She is trying to affirm her own importance in my heart.

My children continue to feel glad that when we go out and it’s chilly, I will still give them my warm layers so that I can shiver and they can feel better. Even though I told you to bring something or I’d let you suffer for your own silliness. I never really do though. If I have warmth to share I will give it. Because you are my externalized beating heart and I want you to be ok. I will be ok enough with what I have left. I have survived so much worse. But you feeling uncomfortable is enough for me to try and fix it. Because you are my love. How could I look at you and make a choice to let you feel uncomfortable when it is so easy for me to fix?

You are my everything. My reason for living and striving and trying.

I need you. I love you.

And now my family has brought me back donuts. Time to go!