I am working too much. And I have to interrupt my frantic working to yell at other people to do their work. And when I’m working I’m getting yelled at because I am not performing enough happiness while I work.
Today is shit.
I am pissed. This has not involved rest for me. I needed rest really badly. But my kids decided that instead I get to spend all day on academics. If I don’t spend all this time on academics they will fall further behind and EC is already in “catch up” mode so falling further behind isn’t ok.
Catching up was the plan. But they lied about their progress for a quarter of a year and that was a time period where they should have been busting ass. They will be caught up soon. But I am going to be on duty until they are caught up. That sucks. I really needed rest. Oh well.
And we are in one of those developmental “disequilibrium” times. Which pretty much means my kids are squirrely as fuck, arguing over everything, and not being good about being responsible for their bodies in general. It is normal, appropriate, and developmental. Honestly it is probably part of why they tried lying like this.
But I told EC that she is now on her third chance. If she ever lies to me about academics again we are done home schooling. This is a privilege, not a right. If I permit her to lie to me and slack off like this… I am harming her. I am neglecting her. I will not neglect my children. If you need to be in school so someone else can ride your ass… fine. We can do that.
But I think Stanford is right that she is going to develop emotional problems. And that’s going to be her burden to bear in life and not mine. I can’t make this easy enough for you that you never have to try and do work. Just…. no.
The food is good. I feel upset and alienated so I can’t tell if people are being work-nice or actually nice so mostly I’m just not talking to anyone. Because I feel bad in myself about myself.
I feel so incredibly disappointed and angry. I feel absolutely devastated that the only way I can have any kind of vacation is if I schedule it without my kids.
That feels so bad.
Because if my kids are included they will find ways to wreck my day.
EC is absolutely capable of doing 6 pages of math in 4 hours. Most of this trip it has been more like 1 page in 3 hours because she is pissy she is being forced to work.
This sucks so much. I am so upset.
And nooooooooooooooooooo medication.
What a great vacation.
It is not helping in any way shape or form that the first flight to get here was full of verbal abuse from strangers. I was called all manner of awful names. A bitch told me I was a moo cow who should be back in my pen. There was this asshole who spent the entire flight going through offensive stereotypes trying to get a reaction. He didn’t shut the fuck up. Noah and the kids slept through it. I had to stay awake to be able to react to the baby stirring instantly. That sucked.
So I’m kinda hating people and feeling hostile and angry.
I have some really big feelings about appearance stuff right now.
And that’s not getting into the group of hispanic men in the airport who spent a lot of time ranting about how people like my family are ruining the world. I can’t say they are wrong.
I feel like dog shit.
Ok. I’m in a cafe with music I like playing. I have my braces on. I need to be home in 90 minutes. Let’s see if I can defrag my brain.
I had a great therapy session today. We talked about the difference between PTSD and autism and how my various issues are compounding on one another. We went through which of my choices they were responding to last week (yes they were in fact biting their tongue to not say WHY ARE YOU MAKING BAD CHOICES) and why I am making them.
They are worried about Malaysia because a melt down there could have bigger consequences than in many other locations. That is a valid fear. But I have pretty good reason to think that I’m at risk if I melt down in a lot of places and I don’t honestly think Malaysia will be harder than a lot of other places. I believe that I will keep a lot more to myself. I will have to go rest faster because the consequences are extreme for a fuck up.
Why am I going? Because Noah was invited! How often is he going to be invited to a Muslim country? Probably not that often and I want to find out what it feels like in my bones. I want to taste the air and meet all the wonderful people who are living full and complete lives that don’t resemble lives I already know about.
The lack of medication is going to be hard. Sarah says I should get Prilosec and she’s not wrong.
But bigger than that trip is how we live our lives over the next few years. Sarah points out that I’m doing this thing where I completely deprioritize myself and I have done so while breastfeeding before. My shrink was adamant that my experience of decentering myself and my needs is absolutely board standard for breastfeeding parents. This hormonal soup is hard. But this is going to stay true for another few years and I need to manage my big kids. I can’t treat them like they are as important as an infant. Well… importance doesn’t feel like the right word. Their wants aren’t urgent. Their needs can be somewhat delayed without a problem. They are old enough that we should start having times when they come second or third and that’s healthy and appropriate.
It’s not healthy nor appropriate for me to always come in fourth or fifth place.
I am proposing a basic change to our schedule. I want to request that we all have one hour off in the afternoon without screens or the right to ask anyone for anything. No snuggling. No questions. Unless you are bleeding, figure it out for yourself for one hour. My big kids are 8 & 10. This is absolutely appropriate.
Also, we are talking about mixing up the order of our day a bit. Noah is not getting enough uninterrupted time to be creative. That’s a problem. I absolutely understand how hard it is to be creative when you are interrupted every 15 minutes for bullshit. His job requires near constant creativity. It’s not ok that we are acting like we don’t get to set boundaries with the kids. This is an extreme over correction.
I am proposing that I take over breakfast again and Noah work in the evenings after dinner and he gets to sleep in. That after dinner time is a great window for the kids getting predictable screen time (if they get their chores done) in a way that allows me to rest when I’m most tired. Noah is more of a night person and he likes those evening hours for creativity. My best creative hours are 4-8am. We are very different people.
I feel like we have been flailing and failing to create the structure that allows the kids to know what to do and when. I’m tired of having to be a jerk to get them off of the screen in the middle of the day. If they get the screen at 2pm, I am usually getting nasty to get them off for dinner around 6. Sometimes they tell me they don’t need to eat. That’s not good.
I am really struggling with how much my kids blow me off unless I get nasty and throw a tantrum. Everything short of that is worth ignoring.
I am not ok with this dynamic. It means I get to be an abusive bully or I get to be abused. Both suck.
I don’t want to abuse anyone. I need to learn ways to defend myself without being nasty and the last two weeks I have *sucked*
I am having a hard time setting boundaries all over the place and part of it is how worn out I feel. I feel like I’ve been massaged with a cheese grater. That’s not a great feeling. I’m exhausted. Taking care of a baby is draining as fuck. The whole first year is hard. I could seriously use a night of sleep and I am not going to get one for months. That’s hard to contemplate. My body has needs and those needs are not going to be met for months.
How do I find space for that? How do I find space to be gentle with myself as I cope with being pushed well past bearing? How do I find space to be nice to the most important people in my life?
How do I stop feeling hatred because I am so far past capacity I have nothing but hate left. That is the worst feeling.
I never want to hate my loves. But frankly, when I feel like I’m losing my mind… I do. I hate the whole world. I hate every person who wants me to think or interact or work. I get so tired and empty.
And filling my bucket feels so hard these days. I don’t even know what I need. I need time. I need to feel interesting. I need to feel like I have potential and worth and value. Not from working.
That’s so hard.
What kind of worth do I want?
I know I spend so much time on advice forums because I want my shitty ass life to help someone else have a better life. Not that my life is currently shitty. Past tense. I want to feel like the experiences and wisdom I have are valuable. Not because I serve you. Because it is wonderful that people exist who share what they know with the world.
I want to feel like I am more than a mommy/wife appliance. I want to be something that impacts other people. That is a big part of filling my bucket. I adore my family–don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to stop home schooling. I don’t want more space from Noah. I want to have a self outside of them the way Noah gets to but my available hours for such an existence is so small.
I need to take my writing more seriously and I feel like I have danced around that for years. I am so afraid of trying to be an authority about anything. I actively hide from being allowed to be authority.
Sometimes I wonder if my kids are disrespectful in the ways they are because they are learning from me that I’m not really worthy of respect. I sure act like that. But I don’t know. They are their own people and sometimes their behavior really sucks. Because they are people. Because they are kids. I don’t think they suck extra hard or anything. They are very normal. And I need to teach them how to treat me and I’m sucking at that.
This is tied into appearance stuff. I have to care more about how I look because I have to show people how to treat me. That’s so hard. I have been asked to leave businesses because I didn’t look good enough to be a customer. I’ve had the police called on me because I looked like a vagrant on the road trip. I am not imagining it that I ping a lot of “icki person” buttons for people and quite a lot of people are innately programmed to be mean to people they perceive as lower than them. It’s absolutely normal. And hateful. And cruel.
I remember when D told me years ago that if I don’t want people to be mean to me for looking bad then I had better do the work to look better.
The unstated implication there is I deserve the mistreatment if I don’t jump through hoops to be “pretty enough”. That feels degrading. I feel angry about this situation. But my anger doesn’t do me any good and it doesn’t change the fact that the world is full of abusive monsters.
This weekend someone told me that she thinks that something isn’t abuse if it is common/normal. I accept that she has this perspective. I wildly disagree. I used to know a woman who is part of a very specific culture. In her culture people with mental illness are to be entirely shunned so they don’t hurt the rest of the tribe. Guess what? That’s abuse.
If your community thinks it is ok for you to die because you aren’t good enough that’s abuse. Ableism is pretty standard in this country. It’s abusive. It’s normal for doctors to provide shittier health care to black women in this country. It’s abuse.
A great many traditional parenting practices are completely fucked up. I’m not going to get into them. Because shit I don’t want to argue. This is my opinion. You are allowed to have yours.
I need to create more space between me and my family so that I get to exist. Or I am not going to be able to be a healthy member of this family and that will mean that I have to go.
Ok. Time to create space.
The video game stuff. Ugh. Ok. So. When I say that video games are triggering what I mean is that when the topic comes up I am instantly full body flooded with adrenaline. I want to fight. I want to hit. I want to scream. I want you to get the fuck away from me before I hurt you. My early experiences with video games often revolved around people hurting me if I wanted to play. My body learned that this experience, this hobby, are not safe for me. Could I unlearn this reaction? Probably. With time, effort, and a lot of EMDR therapy.
Do you know what I don’t fucking care to pay for a bunch of therapy to fix?
My issues with video games. Therapy is expensive as shit. I can’t manage to fix everything.
When people are sitting around discussing their video games in a completely chill way I spend my time fantasizing about head butting them so that I can break their nose.
It’s not fun to be in my head through this process. Feeling this nasty, this angry, this much need to FIGHT hurts me. I feel sick.
It’s not fair for me to have to go up and down this roller coaster just because someone else wants to have fun. That’s not ok. So I finally said that I need that to be a boundary entirely. The kids are trying. EC asked me if she has done ok in the last few days and I told her yes.
My kids do want to be considerate. They just don’t always succeed. They are kids.
I need to teach them. And being a nasty bully isn’t the way.
And it also isn’t ok for me to have to beat myself in the head in order to accept what is happening me. That is also not ok.
I am so intensely triggered. I’m pretty sure the whole fucking weekend is going to turn into video game talk. So I’m going to spend the party in my bedroom.
I am not capable of being this upset and feeling this bad and pretending I’m happy and having a good time.
Hey, know how I have that habit of throwing myself into situations with strangers? Ha. Uhhhh yeah. So I’ve been throwing most of my hand spoons into forums for a while here. I’m at a sort of pause point in therapy and there’s some stuff I’m working through that I don’t feel comfortable writing about here. So I’ve been writing in a private forum there and getting to know folks.
We are going on an adventure together. Looks like in the first weekend of November I’ll be running off to Colorado.
So Malaysia Oct 15-30. Dad is visiting Nov 1-2. I’m flying out on the 2nd to go to Colorado to see these fascinating folks.
I’m just kind of flabbergasted at my life right now. I’m trying to be nice in the limbo period leading up to the excitement.
My life is an awesome life. I am blessed beyond on all possibility of deserving it. But I get it anyway. Nyah.
If I am honest and I talk about the fact that I feel like I am out of healthy coping methods and I want to hurt myself…
someone is going to reach out to tell me that they can’t read my blog anymore because they just can’t with that bullshit.
It’s someone different every year.
Dude. You never have to read this. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. eVar.
You also don’t have to tell me that you are out of patience with me not having the spoons to cope in ways you want to read about.
I’m pretty sure that everyone who reads this knows I have issues with control. Selling the house is hard on a number of levels. I have put so much physical and emotional labor into this space. It’s complicated because I never wanted to live here… but I grew where I was planted.
I was willing to accept half a million dollars below market value so that I could visit my art in the future and I could feel appreciated for having made these cool things.
My friend came over yesterday and told me that their intention is to paint over the whole house. I think they will keep the tile in the bathroom, but I got the impression that even the trees might be painted over.
I felt like I was punched in the gut.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
I can’t devalue how much of my body and life went into this house. I can’t fuck my family financially so you can erase me.
They are going to paint over it with a nice cream.
A nice cream.
I mean, that’s a lovely thing to want. But you can pay market value for wanting that. Market value in my neighborhood starts at $1.2 million, not $750,000. Shitty condos in my area are selling for more than $750,000.
I am cannot subsidize your dreams at the expense of all of my own. Accepting that much less money means Noah will have to wait longer to retire and one of our biggest stated reasons for selling the house is so that Noah can retire earlier.
No.
I can’t accept that offer. I will hate myself until the day I die for accepting that my work here was worth so little money in the scheme of what things are worth in this valley.
The house was a nice cream when I moved in. (Not really. It was a crappy white. But what-fucking-ever.)
No.
I can’t subsidize that. I can’t. It would be violent erasure of myself for me to accept that. It would be accepting that I only deserve to get the actual money I’ve already paid back and my improvements are worthless.
No.
That’s… no.
Apparently my price to be erased is higher than that.
Sunday was rough for me. Something came up that requires me to set boundaries in ways that make me feel wildly uncomfortable. It maxed out my bandwidth for all boundaries and the day turned into a sobfest as I tried to borrow future spoons to cope.
I’m having this weird feeling of pride because I’m connecting the links in the chain rather quickly for me. There was a thing that genuinely deserves upset and a boundary response like dropping the portcullis. A thing big enough that I’m arranging for adult supervision of the boundary discussion. I need help.
Ok I had to walk around weeping for a day before I could cope with it… but that’s not a long time for me. I’m happy with myself.
On a completely different lighter more hilarious topic. I had a conversation with the kids yesterday about masturbation.
It started out with the word mastication, which I love. I explained how much I love using the word masticate when I talk to teenagers because it is close to the word masturbation and they always twitch in funny ways. My kids laughed as if they got why it was funny… then said “Uhhh what is masturbation?”
I’VE TOLD YOU BEFORE.
I said, “It’s sex with yourself. It’s when you touch your private parts in a private setting.”
“Ohhhhhhhh, that. Oh of course I do that.”
Then my children proceeded to tell me about when they (separately) take the opportunity to go in a room with a locked door for a while. I tried so hard not to blush or look awkward or bug out my eyes. I said, “It sounds like you have figured out how you want to handle this.” The kids nodded and smiled peacefully.
We did not get into any other specifics. I’m good with knowing that you know how to arrange privacy and you know to wash your hands afterwards.
My work here is done. For now.
I’m not sure what happened yesterday but I fell in a hormonal pit. The day was lovely for the first two hours I was awake before everyone else. Then I feel like I just did everything wrong.
I am really struggling with how much of my time I spend telling people no or monitoring behavior and saying it isn’t good enough. I’m a fucking bitch and no one is going to like me.
Fuck. I don’t even like me when I spend this much of my day telling people that their behavior is unacceptable.
Even when the behavior is completely and totally inappropriate and is stepping very close to the line of being abuse.
I feel like shit. I want to hurt myself very badly. I want the reminder that no one gives a shit about my stupid opinion. I’m just a stupid bitch.
Fuck. I am spinning out on that word. I’m trying not to. I’m sorry P.
Bitch isn’t it. I’m trying not to say it. I don’t want to flip myself out more.
I am struggling in this moment to see how any of my boundary setting is good. I feel like I should go behind a shut door and shut the fuck up because nobody is any of my fucking business. Stop being such a control freak you stupid, horrible bitch.
Saying no to some of this stuff is skirting too close to stuff from my childhood. This is freaking me out.
Today my not quite 8 week old baby will be on public transit going to San Francisco for the first time. This is… kinda early for this much people exposure but I feel like I’m about to yank all my hair because I’m too pent up. I need out of my god damn house.
We are going to see Sarah. Because she wants to see us and coming down to us all the time is a pain. Sharing the load is fair.
I joined a “stop yelling at your kids” support thread on the parenting forum. I’m taking too much cranky out on my big kids and it needs to stop.
My moods are bouncing like whoa. I’m really happy and I’m really irritable and snappish. I’m afraid I am too much for everyone and that means I deserve nothing.
Come on brain, pick a god damn track already.
I am waking up in a horrible mood. I’m just fucking livid. Nothing big happened. I’m just pissed. This sucks.
Because I have to ask Sarah or Noah things about my older children, let me write down that the day before she turned five weeks old YC started laughing in her sleep. She isn’t social smiling or laughing yet, it’s still a reflex. But it’s really sweet.
In other news… I think we are in a growth spurt. She’s nursing constantly but pulling off my nipple to yell at me that she wants to nurse. No she doesn’t have a soiled diaper. No she doesn’t need to burp. No she doesn’t seem to want anything else but boy howdy is she so darned mad that I am not giving her boobie. When she has my nipple in her mouth.
I quit.
No I don’t. I have years of this shit ahead of me again. But I am slightly frustrated. Given how frothy green her poop is… I suspect she’s being lazy about hind milk and not wanting to draw hard to get it. She wants to switch back and forth to whichever boob is flowing more easily and that’s not good for her. I need to get tough and force her to fully drain a boob before moving on. Do you know how hard it is to try and enforce boundaries with a god damn newborn?! They cry and my resolve melts like butter on a hot griddle. Ok! Whatever you want! Yes dear! I live to serve!
I don’t feel so bad about telling a six or seven month old they need to fully drain a side before moving on. It’s just easier to be stern with a child who can hold their own head up. Being strict with someone who can’t even see you when you sit 3′ away…
That shit takes a lot more resolve than I have. Oh god. I’ll do anything. Just don’t die you tiny fragile thing, There is no such thing as spoiling you. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll pay as much attention to you as you want.
Just tell me, love.
She is nursing as I type. It’s late for us. She’s been having a hard time with lying down in bed for the past couple of nights. She’ll go to sleep in the carrier while we walk. She’ll sleep on the Boppy while I sit in the living room. But the bed just pisses her off. I’m not sure why.
It’s not even because she wants to be on me because for half the night or more in bed she sleeps slung across my chest because nothing else is acceptable.
I had a moment earlier today where I had a chance to crush MC’s spirit or not. I managed to not do so. *pat self on back* MC kinda… lost their grip on YC today. The baby slid off of MC’s legs while they were on the couch. The baby didn’t actually land on the floor because between MC having lightning fast reflexes where they lifted their legs to cushion the fall and me lurching forward to catch the baby… she didn’t even hit her head on the floor. But there was a good second or two where I felt complete panic.
My instant response was to scream that they don’t need to hold the baby again any time soon. As I watched tears well up in their eyes I realized I did that wrong. I fairly immediately tried to take it back. “No. That was the wrong thing for me to say. I’m so sorry. That’s not the right response for you or for her. I was scared and I over reacted. Ok. How about if you sit on the floor to hold her. She is getting very squirmy and that’s scary and dangerous. Both your dad and I have dropped babies. I don’t need to act like you did a worse thing. I’m sorry I screamed. That was wrong of me. Let me help you hold her safely.”
I have absolutely no desire to convince them that a mistake means you are out of chances. That is the wrong way to handle it.
I’m screaming more than I have in years. It’s reflexive. It’s a combination of my nerves feeling like they are being run over a cheese grater (baby screaming is so hard) and sleep deprivation. The last three or four nights have been every two hour wake ups and I’m weary. These reasons are not an excuse and they do not justify me losing control of my volume. I’m trying and failing to keep my shit together.
It’s not even that I’m saying that much mean shit. It’s that I’m saying things like “I can’t hear you” at ridiculous volumes. I’m really struggling with the screaming. And feeling touched out.
I went and got ear plugs for tonight’s fussy period. My head hurts so much. I wouldn’t trade this for the world… it’s hard but worth it. Getting through this together helps build our bond. Yes I will stay with you through the hard parts.
I’m alternating between feeling like I’m doing a good job because I’m asking Noah and the big kids to help me with stuff and I feel like I’m a horrible person because I’m so lazy and demanding, I just can’t win.
H’okay. That’s a very poopy diaper I need to change. Whoo.
I have said for ten years that any amount of labor time under 24 hours would be easy. I was right! 21 hours were fine.
First: this could not possibly have gone so well without our wonderfully kind friend who moved in for a week so that when I had a full day of contractions and they petered out I had no extra stress about feeling guilty about prodromal labor. I got to ride the waves and take whatever experience. It was a gift. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
My official labor got going around 8:30am on Monday. My contractions built in intensity and regularity all day. I went in around 7pm because my contractions were about 5 minutes apart and a minute long and consistently more than 10/hour. Mostly I was fretful because she had slowed her moving down and I was worried. It’s so hard not being able to see if the baby inside of you is ok.
I got to the hospital 3cm dilated (which isn’t that much and they could have sent me home) and 90% effaced with a bulging water sack. They wanted me to stay. Around 10:30ish they started Pitocin. The epidural was started around 11. Then I went to sleep. I was checked at some point. I was woken up/checked again around 4. During the 4am check the doctor accidentally broke my water bag because whoops it was in the way. At first she said 8cm. Then a minute later she declared me complete and instantly there were six extra people, lots of lights, and a whole bunch of beeping machines.
When my water was broken my blood pressure and her heart rate dropped dramatically. I was put on oxygen instantly. They started IV meds to support the baby.
Between 4:30ish and 5 I was in position and they started encouraging me towards pushing. Another moment of intense gratitude: my friend’s mom came to the hospital with us around 10pm. She was there talking and being supportive whenever I needed her. Her voice did sound above the crowd to give encouragement and feedback.
I might actually send out thank you cards. I’m really in awe of how people showed up for me.
The nurses also did a good job of giving feedback and support. But Ma’s voice was louder and more insistent.
Noah did a wonderful job of supporting me this time. He kept his face soft and loving the whole time. No grimacing at my pain. Well done, fantastic husband.
Ze baby emerged at 5:28am. I didn’t tear or get a skid mark or nothing. I am shocked by how relatively comfortable my external genitalia feel. I’m sore but it’s not bad. Internally the continued contractions to get my uterus back to size suuuuuuuuuuck. And why don’t I take 400mg of Ibuprofen three times a day and I wont have pain, right?! Oh man.
Several folks, including the lactation consultant, asked me about my THC usage. We clarified that I don’t smoke it basically at all (inhaling it is one of the most dangerous steps–we know there are problems from breathing smoke) and I went into details about why I use it and what I have replaced with it and why my medical team thinks this is the best choice for me. I was rather stunned by the extent of support I received. Most folks were like, “You are clearly very educated on this topic and you are making the best choice for your body. Alright. Excellent.” My pain management doctor telling me that my next line is Oxycontin and Ativan really helps. No one wants me on those meds. Definitely not when I’m breeding/feeding a kid.
I didn’t find out till we got home that one pediatrician had a judgy conversation with Noah about my THC when I was out of the room. I’m tempted to follow up on that because it might be a HIPAA violation for her to discuss my medication without me present and that kind of bugs me. What if I had been using birth control behind my husband’s back and she just wanted to mention that it might impact my baby and I am going to go home and get in trouble? You don’t report on other peoples medical care when they are not present. That shit’s not cool.
What if my husband didn’t approve but it was still the best mediation option and now he is going to make my life a living hell? That’s very realistic.
Anyway.
The baby feels slightly more fragile to me than my previous kids. Specifically: she’s having trouble with reflux. Her first whole night of life I barely slept because she would spit up, fill her mouth with fluid, and be unable to do anything about it. She couldn’t move her head to let it fall out and she couldn’t swallow it. So I spent a lot of time flipping her over and clearing her mouth. The lactation consultant agreed that putting her in the bassinet would be stupid. She needed to be up against my body with me paranoid and watching her. It was a festive/non-restful/wonderful night. Oh, I sent Noah home so he could sleep because otherwise we would both be exhausted and useless.
8:30am-5:30am. 21 hours. It was great. The first day of hospital recovery was lovely.
She was 20.5″ long (so .5″ shorter than the two older kids) and 8lbs 9oz. So heavier than both siblings, who were 8lbs and 8lbs 4 oz. I am steadily gaining 4ish oz per kid and that’s a great time to stop. Ha.
It took us till 1pm to secure check out because the hospital kind of wanted me to stay an extra night. But I got shifted from the maternity section to the pediatrics section and I kind of fell out of the “we will pay a lot of attention to you” rotation and that was difficult for me. I didn’t feel good about calling my nurse all the time to get the same care I had previously gotten for existing. So I didn’t drink or eat almost at all the second day in the hospital because she wasn’t offering anymore.
That was suboptimal. I came home and scarfed a big bag of salami because I needed protein before I killed someone.
Our friend went home last night. Her dog was experiencing a lot of stress from the new rules with a baby. My house had already been hard because there were more rules than usual and it was just not fair to keep cracking down on her. I am so so so so so so grateful my friend stayed as long as she did. The dog’s behavior was great. She never did anything inappropriate. She was just done with the restrictions. I would have flipped out long before she did. Such a good girl.
I tried to tell Noah to watch the baby and let me sleep in between nursing last night. Ha. That uhhh… didn’t work very well. He did a 7.5 hour shift and I probably got 1.5-2 hours of sleep. Sigh. It’ll be ok. I will sleep today.
It is fascinating to me how excited and complete I feel. I am so happy I get to learn about this wonderful daughter. She gets cold! Like me! She shivers a lot. She needs a fair bit of bundling in our frigid California weather. Ha. I really can’t tell who she looks like yet. She looks like a whole new person and it is so neato. She’s beautiful and I feel completely overwhelmed with gratitude that I get to keep her and take care of her. She is my responsibility. I am allowed to love her with my whole heart.
I can’t express what that means to me.
I don’t feel sad about wanting more children. I feel like I am at my limit emotionally and physically. This is my family. This is what I want/wanted. In the future I will have the spoons to foster, but I don’t think I will ever take on a baby again. This is my journey.
I feel so lucky.
Big kids are ecstatic. They are snuggling her and talking to her and trying to learn how to be helpful. It will be a process and I’m glad to be on it with them.
I get to have two daughters and a non-binary kid. I get to have a husband who thinks I am the best thing since sliced bread. I get to have friends who show up to help me and support me through complications and challenges. I get to have a home I am allowed to alter and be safe in however I want. I get to have healthy meat and vegetables every day so that my body achieves a level of functioning I didn’t believe possible for me.
I can’t believe this is my life. I am one of the luckiest people ever born. I have so much. I am so grateful.
I am glad I am still alive for this feeling.
Ze baby has already had 8, maybe 9 poopy diapers and 2 or 3 wet diapers. I’m getting confused already. This is a great sign though. Her digestion is working. Her kidneys are starting to function as we hoped. We have a pediatrician check up in about 6 hours.
This is going as well as something can go. I am eternally grateful.
Random note: to the best of my knowledge my child is the only person in the entire world with her legal first/last name combo. I will do my best to never put it on the internet for her. That will happen when she chooses.
It’s ok to spend labor talking about how hard it is that your cunt has a lot of scar tissue. It’s not ok to yell at everyone in the delivery room about the scars.
I’m in a weird spot. There’s a lot in my head. Talking about it seems like I will only create more problems. If I talk about how I am feeling I will cry. I spend too much time reading how people believe that folks only cry to be manipulative bastards. People only express emotions because they are controlling, manipulative bastards.
But why don’t you negotiate more to get your needs met? But do it without emotion. Without any way of indicating how you feel because otherwise you are bad.
I can’t talk about my needs without talking about my feelings and my feelings make me bad. Which feels an awful lot in my head like me having needs is bad.
And so it goes.
I want to cuss everyone in the world out right now. Not necessarily because they deserve it. Because I’m angry. Because I’m fucking sick of everything about me being wrong.
I was fucking born wrong. Needing the kinds of help I have needed in this life has been wrong. My responses to things are wrong.
How dare I talk about feeling suicidal. Other people don’t want to read that shit. Why can’t I be more entertaining.
Why don’t I lay down flatter and take more shit.
Why don’t I conform more.
Why don’t I comply with a smile as if what other people want is just so awesome.
Because fuck you. That’s why.
There are few phrases that Noah can utter that make me twitch more than “market forces”. I’m not nice to him about this.
Whenever he says this, no matter what the context or conversation, I am instantly in the mindset of “Oh great the rich white man who was set up from birth to be one of the most successful people of his generation is going to lecture the white trash whore on our relative values. Great.”
I don’t think that is what Noah means when he says it. But that’s what my brain does and it makes it very difficult to hear the conversation. I know this is a me problem.
It doesn’t matter how much basic value or truth there might be in the conversation he might be bringing up. It doesn’t matter how neutrally he means it. He might be talking about something 100% removed from me or my life and I’m still… stuck.
This is going to have to move to the “work on it” list but I don’t know how to get past this twitch. I don’t know how to get past the basic fact that I view him as having just about endless value and I am worth nothing.
Goodness gracious my life has a theme lately. What is privacy? Who deserves it? Under what circumstances? When are you allowed to keep secrets from people?
I fucked up. Or more appropriately, EC’s therapist fucked up and I was the recipient of the fuck up. We (me, Noah, and FMC’s therapist) have done a great job of teaching FMC that they don’t need to share a single word that is told in therapy if they don’t want to. Apparently we have not delivered that message with sufficient force to EC. I feel super bad. EC’s therapist asked me to check in at the end of the last appointment so we could discuss appointment regularity over the next few months.
She turned to EC a few times and said, “Is it ok for me to share with your mom what you said today?” barely paused for EC to say “Uhhhh I guess” then told me stuff EC had said. EC told me she felt like she had no choice but to say yes.
Fuck. That’s not ok. We fucked up. That’s a really big fail. Oh no.
I clarified on the way home, “So when you got silly and distracting… was that your way of trying to say no?” She said, “I do that when I’m trying to block out the conversation because I don’t like it and I don’t want to hear it.”
I said, “Baby… it would work better if you said “I’m very uncomfortable with this topic and don’t want you to talk about it. We would both stop.”
“You would?”
“Yes. We are there to support you and if what we are doing is a problem instead of support then we need to change what we are doing. You are allowed to say no or stop at any point and we have to respect it.”
“But she asked in a way that didn’t feel like I could say no.”
Oh we screwed up. The whole conversation home was about how EC is not my doll she’s my child. I don’t get to know all of her thoughts or feelings or experiences. I get to know what she chooses to share with me. I am not entitled to know more than she wants to share.
I immediately wrote her shrink an email when we got home and explained that we screwed up and we need to never do that to EC again. Next time when there is a check in about appointment regularity the conversation should go a lot more like, “EC is getting a lot out of therapy. She feels it is important to continue every two weeks.”
I don’t need to know the words she is sharing. That’s not my business.
I hope we haven’t damaged EC’s trust in her therapist with this fuck up.
I reminded both of my kids that therapists are legally obligated to break confidentiality for three reasons: sexual abuse, self harm, or harming others. Outside of that… it’s not my business if you want to spend all of your therapy talking about pickles or friends or me or books. You use your time to get support how you need support. I don’t need to know about it. It’s not my business.
I feel really bad. That’s such a big fail.
To be fair, the stuff the therapist repeated was softball stuff explaining problems I already knew existed but that doesn’t make it ok.
Then as we were coming home yesterday EC was reflecting on how some people like her more than others. She’s getting old enough that being in the same room as other kids doesn’t mean it will work out for play or feel like friendship. Sometimes she clicks with people and sometimes she doesn’t. She didn’t click yesterday and she was feeling bad about it. So on the ride home she was thinking about the people she has clicked with. Her face was crumbling in the back seat.
Me being me, I was all, “Hey wait. You are having feelings. You are thinking about something. I think you are thinking about a person… maybe more than one… and you are sad…. do you want to talk about it?”
She proceeded to tell me that I wouldn’t understand because I’ve never had to deal with losing someone who was important to me.
PEOPLE. I HAVE SUCCEEDED AT KEEPING MY WHINING OFF STAGE. THIS IS A FUCKING MIRACLE. I ALMOST FELL OUT OF MY SEAT LAUGHING.
I told her that in fact I’ve written hundreds of thousands of words about how much it hurts to lose people who are important to you so maybe I might understand a bit better than she thinks.
We talked for a while. When we got home she asked if we could cuddle on the couch and she could cry about the kids she won’t see again who liked her so much.
When she was feeling a bit better I said, “Hey. You know how you are scared that I’m going to have Lightning and never pay attention to you again? Did you notice how you can’t even have a sad facial expression for a few minutes without me pouncing on it to ask what is wrong? Do you really think I’m going to stop paying attention to you?”
She smiled in this blissed out way. She said, “I love how you love me” and she melted into me with perfect trust.
I may not own you. But I care about you. That isn’t going to stop.
I tell her that my goal is to earn a friendship with her when she’s a grown up. I don’t deserve it just by existing. She will get to decide if she enjoys my company and she wants to be my friend. She doesn’t have to take care of me, ever. She doesn’t owe me information she doesn’t want to share. She doesn’t have to tell me about herself.
It’s only if she wants to.
And I fail to earn it… that’s my problem.
The kids are so elated to be back. They had such a good visit.
Hopefully I’ll be able to not cry as they talk about how wonderful their family is.
I feel like such a pathetic, petty asshole.
It occurs to me this morning that it would be a lot easier for me emotionally if I were mad at Person X for not supplying me with Y help. That would be something I could unpack and deal with and rationalize and figure out why it was not a good thing.
What I have instead feels like a weird amalgamation of feeling sad that my mother never wanted to take care of me the way a mother should with feeling sad that I can contribute to communities for years and never feel like part of them.
I often think sadly that I would be in a much better position to just take care of all of my own needs if I stopped helping other people so much. If I didn’t drive so far to help people who are falling down in their lives. If I didn’t go clean peoples houses. If I didn’t sit and spend hours helping other people process their emotions. I’d have more to give myself and I don’t think I would feel such an emptiness.
But giving to other people is a lot of how I buy my right to be alive. Not because they care. Because I have to perceive me as having something to give.
This is a problem.
I’m genuinely not mad at Sarah or Taylor or Michelle or or or or or. All of my friends are busy. They are doing things they must do. None of them are short changing me. No one is neglecting me or failing to give me what they should.
Folks like Rose continue to show up in ways that blow my mind. I’m going to spend about a thousand dollars total on baby gear (mostly diapers cause they ain’t cheap) and supplies because she gave me everything else. That was fantastically kind and generous of her. The babysitters mama sends me a text message and we have a 10 minute or so conversation every other week. I’m not completely ignored. Some folks check in periodically over IM. It’s not that I have nothing and no one.
The universe does give to me. I don’t want to make it sound like I get noooooooooooothing. That’s bullshit and not true.
The problem is that I spend a lot of time in my head not being able to talk about most of the things I’m thinking and that feels isolating and alienating and bad.
I’m rarely alone. I have a lovely family and I have good friends. I know it isn’t fair that I complain so much. I know that a lot of people have it worse than me.
My massage therapist told me that when I feel sorry for myself I should just focus on how much better I have it than other people. Uhm. I have never found that to help me even a little. “Other people suffer! Awesome that means I can’t.”
Yeah it doesn’t go like that.
This is part of why I feel so much shame about ever asking for any kind of support. I don’t deserve it because I already have it better than a lot of people.
People were telling me that when I was homeless and starving though. It’s true of my life now… but people have been saying it to me so long and through so much suffering that it doesn’t mean to me what it does to other people.
It is hard feeling like if I can’t get my thoughts and feelings to conform to what other people think I should be thinking and feeling that I should eliminate myself so that people don’t have to deal with me.
I am too much trouble. I’m not worth the effort.