Monthly Archives: September 2013

Motherhood Vs. Going Numb

I already know that I don’t think and feel the same ways as other people. I really wish I did. Sometimes I find myself going completely numb, I think it’s a coping mechanism, because feeling numb is better than the alternative. 

I get this way sometimes when I’m babysitting my niece. She’s teething, and she’s spoiled. When she’s here I can’t put her down. So there’s five hours where I can’t do anything, even go pee, without her going nuclear. If I put her down she screams. Lately she’s been inconsolable, you can give her teethers, try to feed her, walk with her, change her diaper. When there’s nothing you can do, you just listen to her scream. I go numb, instead of getting mad. 

My son is almost three. He’s been going to bed regularly on time since he was about one. Just last night he’s started this new thing where he screams until I go in there. When I ask what’s wrong, he says “Nothin.” I kiss him and walk out, and he screams again. I don’t like giving in to bad behavior, tantrums, crying. (Unless he honest to God needs something) So I let him cry. 

Last night I finally gave in and went into his room and lay on the floor for forty five minutes until he fell asleep. Today I was in there for forty minutes and he was still up. I don’t want that to be a habit, so I kissed him goodnight and left. He’s still screaming. He’s been in bed since eight thirty five, and it’s now ten twenty six, and he’s still crying. It doesn’t help that my husband keeps going in there. Now my husband is at work, and my son is screaming for dad. 

And I’ve gone numb again.

In my head, I’m banging my head on the wall, I’m punching windows to make my knuckles bleed, throwing things, screaming obscenities at the top of my lungs. It’s so hard not to do all those things right now. Going numb is the only way to keep them from happening. From hurting myself or someone else. From screaming. My husband has called it ‘checking out.’ I know he doesn’t like it, because if he’s home that means he’s the one who’s trying to fix the problems. Make the crying stop. I don’t think he understands my alternative. The alternative is seeing red, blood pounding in my ears, breaking things, and hurting myself. 

No picture for today’s post. There are no pictures for this. 


The Birthday Card

The Birthday Card

This card is perfect, because back when my husband would attend parties, he’d go by the alter ego Captain Awesome.
And he is pretty awesome.

Groceries? What’s that?

We’re not good grocery shoppers. We either go when we’re hungry and get EVERYTHING we see, or we just meander down the aisles of the grocery store wondering what the hell to buy. 

I’m not a bad cook by any means. And I like to cook for my family. But I don’t do it often, for one big reason. My husband and son won’t eat it. Then I’m sitting there eating alone, with more leftovers than I can eat before they turn green and fuzzy. We just don’t like the same foods. 

Today I decided to hell with it. I made a list, for realz! 



We decided since I was cooking stuff the hubs probably wouldn’t like, we invited his dad, step mom and little brother over for dinner.  These things stress me out like you wouldn’t believe. They’re coming into my home, eating my food, watching my behavior. I’m always worried about being judged. I’m from a tiny family, I can count everyone on two hands. There wasn’t a whole lot of gossip. But the husband’s family is HUGE, and prone to gossip. 

So I’m freaking out, I’m running out of time to get the chicken in the oven, and realize I grabbed the wrong cans of beans. There was a moment, there was swearing, and I almost punched the fridge, but I didn’t. Deep breaths, think. My husband offered to go to the store and get the right beans. And he called his dad and pushed dinner back a half hour. Sometimes, he’s so awesome. 

I made a heck of a good meal, everyone was happy. The house was clean, because my husband helped me clean it. I’m wondering why he’s building a pile of brownie points? But anyway I’m pretty sure there’s not going to be any gossip about me tomorrow. So I think it was a success. And I’m looking forward to making meals for the rest of the week. You know, because I had a list. Because, every time I make a list of dinners they get made. Every night. 

Not sure if you picked up on the sarcasm in my text. 

I made this, which is awesome. I didn’t get a picture of mine, I was in too much of a hurry to feed everyone. And I kinda feel like people think I’m weird for wanting to photograph my dinner. 
Click the pic to see the recipe!


A blog all you moms should read

A blog all you moms should read

This is a brilliant blog post from a woman who’s sick of seeing mothers compete for the title of ‘Super Mom.’ (Click the picture)

Moms are a super judgy bunch, (That’s not a word? It should be) and it’s senseless to judge each other because we don’t walk in their shoes. Our priorities are different. We have different strengths and weaknesses.

“We all have our own things, our gifts, and talents. We all have our own priorities. That they are different, doesn’t make them wrong. We all are making the best of our collective situations, but it doesn’t mean we have to be assholes to each other. ”

“Just be a good parent, love your kids, and do the best that you can. Quit being a jackass to those who don’t share your choices. “

If I had more self esteem…

I’m approaching my 30th birthday.

It’s an interesting feeling. Before my son was born, I didn’t look anywhere near thirty. People would put me between twenty and twenty five. (I was 27) I was tiny, a size three, and pretty cute if I do say so myself. I colored my hair, occasionally did makeup, kept up with eyebrow plucking and face fuzz removal and had a tiny waistline.

Now I’m twenty pounds heavier, and feel like I’ve aged ten years over the last two. I normally have bags under my eyes, and my grey hair shows because I don’t color anymore. I don’t spend much time primping, being a mom. I don’t like to diet, it makes me feel deprived and miserable, it adds stress that I don’t need in my life right now. So my waistline is NOT tiny anymore. I’m not horribly over weight, I’m in a healthy BMI range. But I’m not as slim as I was before.

Coming up on my 30th, has me thinking. I never looked my age, I always looked younger and fresh. I miss that. I miss spending time on me. I think it would be in my best interest to find the time again. I need to spend the extra couple of dollars on the nice shampoo. Keep the eyebrows plucked, and the face fuzz free. Even keeping the bikini line trimmed will make me feel sexier in my skin. I need to eat healthier, if not to lose wight, but to stay healthy. To feel comfortable in my clothes.

So I’m making a resolution. Not a new year’s resolution but a 30s resolution. Spend more time on me. Take pride in my appearance.

On my birthday, I’m going to get some new ear piercings. I’ve always told myself I couldn’t afford it, but I’m going to set money aside. And when we get taxes back in February, I’m getting myself a nice big tattoo. I have two already but they’re small and you can’t really see them. I’m getting one people can see. So people can see ‘she’s the kind of woman who has tattoos.’

I’m going to get a haircut, and have it colored. I’m thinking about bangs! *gasp*

I may be turning thirty, but I’m not turning in my young card just yet. Thirty isn’t old, no need to look or act like it is.

In a perfect world, where I had more self esteem, I’d have some of these things.


Surface piercings probably on the collarbone or sternum.

ImageRed hair and these bangs!


A nice big shoulder tattoo.

And I’d dress something like this;


Motherhood Vs. Adventures in Babysitting

I don’t know what I was thinking. Telling my sister in law that I’d babysit their baby when she went back to work. Well, I know what I was thinking, I just think it was a momentary lack of sanity. With my condition, how could I possibly think it was a good idea?

Some women are just born to raise a brood of kids. Handling more than one kid at a time comes naturally. Being nurturing, having all the right mothering instincts. It doesn’t come natural to me. I have to work at being affectionate more than other people do. And I get more easily irritated than those women who are natural born mothers. 

I love my son, and we’ve been thinking about having a second child. So I said I’d babysit, thinking it would be good practice, having a baby in the house. Good for us as caretakers, good for my son as a toddler. I knew it would be trying. 

With my emotions on edge, as they are with BPD, it’s more trying for me than it should be. When my son was an infant and he cried, there was still the overwhelming love for him, so I could push past the irritating wails. With my niece, as adorable as she is, it’s lacking the overwhelming love and the wails get to me faster than they did with my son. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great baby, well behaved and easy to take care of. But now she’s teething, and it’s a whole new story. 

We only have her for five hours a day. I keep telling myself, five hours. Get past it, then it’s done. A small blip in time. So far I’ve done well. Yesterday was the first difficult day. My husband is home for seven days then works seven days. He’s on his seven days off, and I feel like I should get a little more help. It’s almost like, this is my job, not his, so I need to do everything. Yesterday, I had to ask him to hold her so I could eat some lunch because I was feeling light headed. She wasn’t letting me put her down because she’s teething. I held her for a collective four hours yesterday. 

But why did I feel so guilty for asking him to hold her for five minutes? Because I feel like he doesn’t want to help me, because it’s my job and not his. Even though he encouraged it, because they’re paying me. (Very little, but it’s family) He wanted the extra cash, no matter how difficult it is for me to be around two kids for half of my day. But he doesn’t want to volunteer any help. 

Sigh. That’s getting into a whole new story for a whole new day. 

I’m hoping today goes better. Yesterday put me in a bad mood because of the teething, and the mood lasted all day. 

Hope today is better. That’s all I can do, hope. 

But the good news is that my son is really good with her. He doesn’t interact with a lot of other kids, but when he does he’s really good. I’m very proud of him.


Motherhood Vs. Anger

ImageOne of the lovely symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder is anger. I’d say of all my BPD symptoms, this is the one I have the hardest time managing. I get ridiculously angry for ridiculously stupid reasons. Women; think of it as having PMS, ALL the time. Men; imagine your favorite sports team losing, ALL the time. 

The smallest things set me off. I won’t know when, I won’t know how. At least with PMS you can see it coming a month away. “Okay, about twenty days from now I’m gonna be an angry bitch, so honey I apologize in advance.” No, I don’t think so. 

It seems to happen a few days at a time. I’ll be fine for several days, then for several days I’ll just be a fuse waiting to get lit. Today, my husband had a cough. When he coughed, I had to resist the urge to throw things at him. Every. Single. Time. Some things just grate on me on days like today. I have an unusually low tolerance for other people’s grievances and illnesses, so that doesn’t help on days like today, when coughing sends me into a bad place. I’ve read that this is a common BPD trait, and all along I Just thought it was something in me that I picked up from having a hypochondriac father. 

Today it came on a little slow. I was a little irritated to start off with. We had some friends over to play games, and we played a game I hate. They didn’t ask if we all wanted to play, they just said ‘this is what we’re playing, you’re either in or you’re out.’ So I played an irritating game where you’re a politician in the 1850s, you’re trying to gain favor of a bunch of Italian, German, English and Irish immigrants in various districts to win elections. Maybe I was just being a stick in the mud. I mean, who doesn’t want to be a nineteenth century politician and do all kinds of corrupt things to earn immigrant favor?

Anywho, I was a little irritated but nothing unmanageable. As the day wore on more and more things upset me. I kept it all in check, we had guests over and my son was home. By the time our guests left I just wanted to crawl in a hole and scream at the top of my lungs until I felt better. Then the coughing started. Every. Single. Time. He coughed and I’d have to close my eyes, take a deep breath, and keep my mouth shut. 

ImageI get mean when I’m angry. I yell, I say things that shouldn’t be said, I hurt people. When I say people I mean my husband. For the last few years he’s been the only one who sees this side of me. I used to blow up at friends and family. It cost a lot of friendships, so I changed my tactics. Avoid conflicts, keep things to myself, don’t even talk when I’m angry. But not with my husband. I can’t help it, I’m home 24/7 and he lives here too soo….. yea. I say things that I shouldn’t say, at least not in anger. He gets hurt, I feel terrible when I’ve cooled down. It’s just bad. 

I should look into anger management classes. But I’m not sure, would that help? Or does anger accompanied with BPD need to be treated differently? Lately I’ve just been trying harder to keep it under raps. Close eyes, deep breath, don’t speak. If I speak when I’m angry the bad stuff happens. After my son was born and the post postpartum depression hit I would scream a lot, and I don’t want to do it in front of my son.

I feel like it needs to get out. It’s festering in me, this anger. I don’t know what to do with it. Sometimes it gets so infected that I expel it through banging my head on the wall, or counter. I almost knocked myself out a few weeks ago, hitting my head on the counter. I hate to think how that COULD have turned out, my son and I were alone at the time. What if I’d have hurt myself terribly, and passed out. He’d be alone and scared for who knows how long. I don’t want that. It scares me to think it could happen. So I need an outlet. Hurting myself isn’t acceptable.

Most of the time, breathing works. Sometimes, not so much.

I feel guilty, and horrible. I feel like a horrible human being. When my son gets on my nerves. It’s not his fault. He’s just being a kid, and most of the time being adorable at it to boot. But if I’m in the right mood, no matter how cute he is, something will send me off. I don’t want him seeing that side of me. I don’t want to neglect him. I hate shutting the door and separating us because I’m worried I’ll yell at him or worse. I don’t want him to see me that way.

Go into the bathroom with the child safety knob so he can’t follow. Shut eyes. Deep breaths. Think. 

That’s not a childhood any kid should have. Angry mom, locking herself up in the bathroom. Heaven help him if he ever sees me hurt myself. This is not acceptable behavior. All I can do is try harder. 

I’m on an antidepressant. It’s not great, and doesn’t help with the anger. I was on Citalopram for years and the problem with that was that it took everything away from me. Sure I wasn’t depressed anymore, but I wasn’t anything else either. I wasn’t happy, content, sad. My cat could have died and I wouldn’t have cared. Everything was the same shade of gray. So I switched so I could feel something again. Unfortunately, I still get a lot of the bad too. One worked too well, one doesn’t work well enough. 

I need to see a real doctor, get a real medication for a real problem. This was just for the postpartum depression and honestly my obgyn doesn’t really know anything about these meds. But guess what, no insurance. No doctors for me, no good medication. 

So I just have to breathe.