I'm BAAAAAAAAACKKKKKKK. (Was that creepy? I was trying for creepy.) "Where the FUCK have you BEEN, Gookie?" I've been holed up at home not going the fuck anywhere, not doing the fuck anything...aside from keeping my children alive n' all. Sometimes being a mother is just the shits, man. Let me lay it down for ya.
So PC is finally starting to slim down a bit, still off the charts for height and weight but relatively proportionate for a 9 month old. I've turned into a fuckin' dirty hippie despite myself, I carry fuckin' EVCO in my purse for God's sakes, and I'm still breastfeeding. A few of my friends are surprised by this, so evidently even though it SEEMS like I'm surrounded by extended breast feeders, I'm actually not (not that I think 1 year is extended breastfeeding, but you're pickin' up what I'm puttin' down, right?). I've never enjoyed BFing (ok, here that is just WRONG - I've got to come up with another acronym for breast feeding, like, asap) like some moms and now even less.
I've got a beautiful family, a great job, wonderful friends...what's to be down about?! It's that age old question that moms suffering from Post Partum Shittiness (PPS, for short) have; it's the question that takes however much "mom-guilt" we ALREADY have on our shoulders and TRIPLES it. It is too much to bear. But the descent into the quaint town of BLAHsville is an insidious one. It started that I could never remember to take a list to the grocery store. So I never bought all the things we needed and too much of what we didn't need. So we ran out of stuff periodically. An anomaly, right? Then that shirt that Hubs wears every Friday wasn't clean by Thursday night. What? PC kept picking up bits of stuff off the floor which went straight into his mouth. Dinner became like this huge monster that reared its ugly head at 4pm every, single night and I lost the battle of What's For Dinner more often than ever before. It was like I was doing just enough. Just enough to get by but not enough to actually be on top of things. Actually, I don't think I was doing enough. Thank God for Hubs.
This act of motherhood is causing me to spiral into nonexistence. My body is here. It goes through the motions, albeit poorly, but I'm so not checked in. My long hiatus from blogging is due to the fact that I have to have PASSION to write and, man, it just ain't there. I don't want to complain of sadness or depression, I was just so BLAH. I have a stack of unread Food & Wine. I have a stack of unflipped US Weekly. I have a whole list of downloaded titles on my Kindle that haven't even been opened yet. My Christmas baking was underwhelming, to say the least. I don't even know where my crochet needles are. My bathtub, my beautiful, deep jacuzzi tub, has turned into a storage crate. I can't recall the last time I put a photo in a frame, and for God's sakes I have a beautiful infant and preschooler and a bazillion digital photos!!!
So I finally went to the doctor because, Whoa, dude, this is NOT just exhaustion/boredom/blahsville, this is NOT ME. Turns out my Vitamin D levels were shockingly low and there's some PPS issues going on as well. Being BLAH, in my case, WAS medical. And I have a sneaking suspicion that if I quit BFing (lol) that my hormones will even out even more...I hope. I dream of quitting BFing every day, but our Pediatrician (let's call him Dr. Awesome, because he IS) told me that there's some connection being found between offering more problematic foods (peanut butter) in the first year then BFing for a couple months after, was resulting in lower cases of food allergies later...so of course now my mom-guilt has me BFing for at least another two months...fuuuuuck.
But before I complain my way into a self-induced mom-guilt coma, I just wanted to be clear: I AM STILL ONE GRATEFUL, GRATEFUL
BITCH, and I know I am so blessed to Have. Yes, that sentence was
complete. To have anything. My loves, my friends, my home, my
clothing, my transportation, my warm water, my job, good mental health,
use of my limbs, vision, hearing, taste...Damn it, I am fucking grateful
to have a beating heart.
So yes, PPS is the stinky ass of a dying donkey who ate the shit that Shit shit, with gangrene in its lower intestine. It sucks. But for fucks
sake, life is so GOOD also. Our air is, like, a million times cleaner
than the poor bastards in China. My children are so healthy, it's
almost ridiculous. Hubs thinks I'm beautiful, like REALLY beautiful -
even with my gnarly morning breath and stinking of spoiled milk, and I
never EVER have to doubt that he loves me. Our mortgage and bills get
paid first so we don't worry about home and power outside of acts of
God. We don't live in a war zone. My children don't know fear. They
don't know hunger. They don't know want (the REAL wants).
I'll end with this: no matter how much your life sucks, someone else's life sucks worse. HAhahaha! That there is some uplifting shit just fer ya :)