I am just going to admit that yes, I write a lot about my struggles
as a mother, which might suggest that yes, this is pretty much a Mommy
blog...which is consistent with most things about my life, totally the
opposite of what I want.
I had a meltdown today in
response to my daughter's meltdown. I threw her pacifier out of the
moving car when it failed to keep her from screaming at me about
whatever it was she wanted. I yelled. I cursed. I cried. I detoured to a
nearby playground to get her to walk out her frustration (and to do the
same for myself) and she refused. So I walked off and paced the tennis
courts. When I decided that my "walk it off" idea wouldn't work, I drove
us home.
I am so tired. She's only two. I am not going to make it if things continue the way they have.
I
felt this way a few years ago when I reached a similar frustrated
boiling point with my Mom. I had tried everything I could think of to
interact and engage her, and everything was met with her treating me
like she hated me. The worst period of her treating me like shit were
during my pregnancy. She was so mean-spirited, and it seemed like no
noticed or cared. Until the day I stormed out of the house after a
particularly nasty exchange when I asked her to allow me to do something
and she refused. My brother must have overheard, and finally came
upstairs, but as far as I'm concerned, his concern was for my Mom and
not much for me.
That's pretty much how I feel all the
time during this Toddlersaurus phase (and honestly, since I was six
months pregnant). No one gives much of a shit about me.
I do all of the heavy lifting, but if she
has an unusual bruise on her leg, the entire world has to come to a stop
to determine if we need to spend the night in the ER. When I was
swollen and retaining fluid during her first month (steadily pumping
myself with vitamins and bleeding and everything else to breastfeed and
just adjust to everything), I was sent to the doctor (not taken, but
sent on my own). Her discomfort is met with concern. Mine is met with
indifference.
I fucking hate everybody right now. EVERYBODY.
I
hate my Mother for being sick. I hate my Dad for being helpless. I hate
my brothers for being men. I hate my sister in law for being so
distant. I hate my other in-laws for living in New York. I hate my
friends for never offering to do anything for me or my daughter. I hate
how motherhood has isolated me. I hate my husband, period.
And
I hate myself for not being the person I had hoped to be. I hate that
the only way I can express myself is through writing that no one ever
reads. I hate that I won't publish this (on BBW where I started writing this) because I am chicken shit and am
more nervous of people judging me. I hate that the anxiety of not
wanting to be judged has made it nearly impossible for me to ask for
help.
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