Crazy How The World Goes Round

Last night was an emotional roller coaster, which makes sense following the week we had. At 8 p.m., my tattooed momma Skye texted that she was at the tattoo shop and needed to get inked RIGHT NOW. Just the day before, she lost her lifelong friend Hill to a fast-moving cancerous brain tumor that ravaged her body within a month of diagnosis. I cried when she sent the message that Hill had passed away in ICU surrounded by her friends cheering her on to the sounds of dubstep. Hill was only 19. So I spent a couple hours sitting by Skye's side listening to stories while a beautiful traditional rose was etched into her skin with the date of Hill's death: 10-26-11. At the same time, my husband was calling my phone, which was tucked in my jacket pocket on the floor, trying desperately to get in touch with me. His lifelong friend Brian had posted his goodbyes online, having hit rock bottom after losing his job, his girlfriend, and contact with his only son. So I rushed home so K could rescue his friend from ending his life. At 1 a.m. with no word, I finally fell asleep.

This morning, Brian was alive and awake, playing with my babies when I woke. And the thank you message from Skye let me know that part of her was able to heal with that rose on her arm, and I was able to be there to witness it.

Best of Both Worlds

This morning I had a job interview. Going in, there were no expectations because it was my first interview in almost two years. I'd done my research, though, and it was apparent from the company's website that they were something I wanted to be a part of... and thankfully, they liked me, too! "We like weird people," Jill said. "I don't know if that's good or not." Well, Jill, that's good. :)

In going back to work, I already know the days spent here with my babies are going to be better than before. Having just three days a week, 8 hours a day, for a break from the monotony of laundry, diapers and time-outs will be an amazing opportunity for me to have the best of both worlds. My children will get the love they should receive, and my self-esteem will benefit from putting my mind into work I can be proud of. I'm nervous, but it's time... It's exciting.

Irreparable damage

My son is sleeping on the couch in my bedroom and I can hear him making a scared, whining sound like he is having a bad dream. He wakes almost nightly thee days with bad dreams about monsters or his monkey lovies attacking him. Thing is, I can't help but think that the reason for this is me.

As a mother, my behavior should be a model of what I hope he will grow up to be, but I think over the past six months some of my actions have caused irreparable psychological damage to my baby, my son, my firstborn. I hate myself just thinking about it so I take prescribed pills to numb my feelings to avoid the anger and out-of-control feelings. My beautiful, funny, silly amazing son is afraid of his mother. He's afraid of me. It is humiliating to think about.. even to type.

I could try to pinpoint the problem, say my anger started when Star Girl was about 3 months old and wouldn't stop crying no matter what I did. As she wailed uncontrollably, unconsolable, I shouted at him to be quiet because my brain couldn't handle all that noise. I slapped his hand and smacked his butt way more than I would ever like to remember. The look on my face must have been the most frightening thing for him to see... his mother, the one who's supposed to love and comfort him always, was screaming at him to shut up like she hated him. And at 3, he should never know that feeling. He doesn't know what hate is. Just that mommy's face looked mean. I could say it's because he's tongue-tied, which creates tremendous frustration in our daily communication, and we spend every waking moment together because I stay at home. He throws himself to the floor or throws toys when he isn't understood, and he learned that from me. He is learning my anger. But the "when" doesn't really matter.

There are times I think they would be better off without me there, that I hate myself so much I'd rather hurt myself than to ever hurt them. It am ashamed of how mean I am and how badly i treat them when I get angry. What if I were to hurt him so badly in a stupid blind rage that he is permanently injured? How could I live with myself? Thankfully whatever runs my depression has never pushed me that far. My husband does not know these feelings; he is not here to live them with us day to day when he is at work, and the last thing he needs to worry about is that his wife, the mother of his children, is going to hurt them or herself.

My son is my moon, and I am teaching him the wrong thing. I need to be better, be stronger, be more kind, more loving. I have learned to walk away if i feel angry, I am learning to breathe more. I am trying every day, every single moment, not to raise my voice, not to get angry, to be patient, to hold him more, to kiss his sweet face. I don't know how to reverse the damage that my behavior has caused on him the past eight months, but I am going to use love to try.

Bad Mom Syndrome

There are some days I wonder of I am cut out to be a mom. Although I know in my heart that my two babies ARE my heart, there are too many moments in our daily life that make me question myself... And it turns into Bad Mom Syndrome, where my kids hate me and I hate myself for my behavior as a mother.

I keep telling myself it's the age, this is a phase, this too shall pass. And I know it will, but right now, almost-10-month-old Miss Attitude is attached to my side like a leech, sucking out my energy, and all of my stress ends up being taken out on my poor 3-year-old son, who doesn't deserve it. I yell more than I like, more than I ever thought I would.

I struggle with depression, stemming back to early high school, and my mind contradicts itself about the medication. When I am on my antidepressants, I'm numb and unable to feel the lows and highs of the emotions of special moments that occur daily. When I'm only on my anti-anxiety medication, the peaks and valleys are dangerous to my children.

I am ashamed of some of the ugly statements made to my son when he's being a normal rambunctious boy. I'm embarrassed by the way I have handled situations where something small sets me into a rage, where he is my target.

Every day, I hate myself for feeling out of control. To have your firstborn, who is supposed to be able to trust his mommy to calm him, cower at the sound of your voice when I move toward him brings me to tears. At times, it makes me believe suicide would be a better thing for them so that I don't cause major irreversible damage to them. However, I know that isn't the answer.

I'm still trying to figure that one out.

Silence.

It must be nap time in our house, because it's quiet. After three years, sometimes I forget how precious the sound of silence is.