I am not THAT kind of Mom

Over the last seven years and half, I have had to acknowledge and embrace my human nature and where I fail.  Why seven and half years?  What changed then?  Well, an amazing little girl was brought into this world after 28 hours of labor.  I did not get to hear her first cries or see her take her first breath.  I was unconscious.  Emergency C-sections happen that way.  I used to count that as my first failure to her.  I wasn’t there for her when she took her first breath in the cold, bright, harsh world.  I did not get to hold her and reassure her.  Two hours after her birth, I finally was awake enough to hold her.  I refused to let her go.  The nurses had to pry her from me when they had to go do check her over again because of the stress we both endured the last two hours of the labor.  I cried in joy every time I held her for the first two weeks after she was born.  I finally let go of that “failure” when I moved onto the next one.

Nineteen months later that amazing little girl was joined by a screaming red faced little boy.  Another “failure” here was I panicked.  I did NOT want to have a little boy.  I wanted two little girls.  Boys were alien to me.  I grew up with a sister and mostly girl cousins.  I KNEW that I was not going to have any idea how to handle a boy.  Then I held him.  None of the doubts mattered anymore.  This was my little boy.  Then he peed on me.  We were back to not understanding boys.  I am learning though.  He is a GREAT teacher.

Over the last almost eight years, those failures have been many and sometimes make me wonder “Who in the hell let me be a parent?”  However, some of those “failures” have made for great stories and growing experiences.

I am human.  I curse like a sailor.  I occasionally drink too much wine.  I am short tempered.  As I get older, I do not suffer fools.  I am selfish.  I am addicted to coffee.  Did I mention I curse like a sailor?

Both kids have learned their first “bad” words from Mama (as I am called).  They have busted them out at the most inopportune times (or most memorable).  Shit!  That is my FAVORITE cuss word.  It has many uses.  I am sure my kids know most of their uses and how to use it properly in almost all situations.  In fact, they have on occasion.  

By now, you may be wondering what I am getting at.  We as parents are always going to have failures.  We are human.  But, one thing I have learned this past six months, I cannot truly fail my children as long as I love them and give them my best.  My best may not be stellar and it is never award winning.  I am often frizzled.  I will never be one of those moms that has all her shit together.  I am ok with that.  My kids still get my best and they know without a doubt that they are my priority.  They KNOW that I love them to the moon and back.  They know that they are the greatest gifts God has and will ever give me.  I have quit comparing myself to the other mothers out there.  I don’t want to be super mom.  I just want to be Mom.

Every day, I tell my children sorry for something I have FUBAR’ed.  EVERYDAY!  The words “I’m so sorry” are not foreign to me and my children are used to hearing it from me.  I hope that by hearing me say those words to them, they do not see failure as a sign of weakness.  I hope they see it as part of being human.  They do not see the stumbles, trips, and falls they take as failure, but a chance to grow and learn.  I know that because they forgive me and let me grow every day, they have made me a better person.

What was that little white pill, again?

I have an addictive personality.  This does not mean that I am addicitve.  No, it means that I have urges everyday to give in to my demons and wallow in the booze or the pain pills.  So, imagine my joy after undergoing oral surgery that one of the pain pills is Vicodin.  That lovely little white pill that could take me to a happy place.  Have I taken the Vicodin since the surgery?  You bet I have.  I also have taken Advil 800.  Do I like taking the Vicodin?  Oh heck no!  I do not care for what it does to me.  I am flighty(more so than normal) and it rips my stomach up.   

Do I crave more than one of those pills during the day?  Oh yes.  I crave that happy floaty feeling.  It is the same one that I get from alcohol.  It takes me to a happy place where there is no pain and unicorns fart rainbows.  9 years ago, I would have willing took those pills and craved every minute of their rapture.  That was 9 years ago.  A lifetime.  That was when Tom and I were on the rocks.  That was before I had a daughter that makes my heart soar.  It was before I had a son that reminds me to smile and laugh.  That was before I really clued into what an amazing man I married.  It was before I clued into what marriage meant.  It was when I was still lost and struggling.  The pills would have made me the fun party girl.  It was the place that people liked me because I was fun.  It was before that time Tom and I were going to file for divorce.  It was a lifetime ago.

So, I did take the Vicodin at night when my mouth hurt so bad I was in tears.  I felt guilty with every pill I took.  I cried everytime I took the Vicodin.  I crawled into bed and wished the urges to disappear.  I crawled into bed feeling like the scum of the earth.  Tom found me in the kitchen having a stare down with the Vicodin bottle on night.  He said nothing.  He just gave me a hug.  A big hug.  He knew my inner turmoil.  He then said to me, "You're not that scared girl anymore.  You are a mom, wife, and strong woman.  That pill isn't going to win.  Take it so you can get some sleep and not be in pain."  He was and is right.  I am not the scared girl anymore.  Now, I am a scared woman.  But, I wasn't going to let the damned Vicodin and happy floaty feeling define me any longer.  I just wished I had figured that out the first time I had the blasted surgery.

Broken Hearts and Adulthood

One of the most hollow feelings as a person is to be forgotten by those that claim to love you.  However, this past year I have learned that is not the most hollow feeling.  One of the most gut wrenching and hollow feelings I have experienced is seeing your children being forgotten by family.  I am not talking about extended family such as great aunts and uncles.  No, it is seeing your children being forgotten by your siblings and your spouses' siblings.  Seeing your amazing kids forgotten by those that you made a point of remembering in the past.  I have cried myself sick and drank myself sick this past year over this.  As an adult, I can cope and deal with being forgotten by the charlatans that proclaim loudly what great family they are, how caring they are, and how unselfish they are.  These are the same people that have no use for me when I serve no purpose in their schemes.  But, this past year has had me witness the apathy that others have for me be reflected in how the do not interact with my children.  I guess that since I am not in their thoughts or register on any level of significance  my children do not exist.  It cause me great heartache.  I have no explanations for my kids except some adults are poopheads.  I saw my son's heart break and shatter into pieces this weekend because he noticed those that don't notice him.  All I could do is remind him of how amazing he is and that those that truly care about him, remembered him.  Those people were here for him, even if they could not physically be here (damn flu and traveling sports (I kid there)).  They remembered him.

This past weekend I told a family member, someone of my blood, that I divorce myself from them.  It stings like hell.  It is an open and gaping wound.  It is going to scar my soul.  I saw no other option.  I still see no other option.  It was like the story of the Ice Queen and the glass/ice shards, but I would not let those shards penetrate my children.  Those shards have frozen my heart to this person.  I am numb.  I am not apathetic though.  The opposite of love is apathy.  The ability to not care.  That is what has been shown to myself and my children.  However, I still feel the pain of caring.  There are days that I wish that I had the apathy.  But, I know that will never come.  Apathy is like a disease.  It is not isolated to one person or one topic.  It is all consuming and will eat your soul.  I can not afford that disease.  So, I divorced myself from someone that I have loved for as long as I can remember.  I divorced someone that was at one time my best friend.  I divorced myself from their apathy.

But, in the same breath, i was reminded over and over and over and over and over and over again by my sisters here in Butte, my other mom's here in Butte, and my own biological mother that I matter.  That my children matter.  That my husband matters.  It doesn't depend on your age, we all want and need to know that we mean something to others and to those we love.  We matter.  We are cared for.  I thank God for those that care for me and my children.

By the end of the weekend I still hurt.  I bawled last night.  But, I got up this morning knowing that my children are loved and so am I.  Heartbreaks come in many different shapes and sizes and forms.  Heartbreak can come from those that we have loved since childhood.  But, I hold fast to the knowledge that I matter to someone.  I am not forgotten.  I am not invisible.  I may never be visible to the one that I divorced, but there are others out there that give enough damn to see my children and myself.  I just hope those amazing people know how visible they are to me and how much they mean to me.  Those amazing sisters, moms, and husband matter to me and my children.