You know that feeling you get when you enter a room full of strange people, like at family gatherings?
Except you’re five, and you don’t know Aunt Louise who is grabbing your cheeks, and uncle Joe who is embracing you in a hug. Your body freezes while the room spins around you.
That’s what it’s like for me, every day. Living outside my body while the world just keeps fucking coming at me.
Ball after ball after ball…
My son started crawling earlier this month and I have never been so afraid in my entire life. How am I.. ME, OF ALL PEOPLE, supposed to take care of and protect this tiny human being? Supposed to watch his every move and make sure he doesn’t put his fingers in the sockets of my wall and eat the receipt that just fell on the floor, or the cap from my water bottle I misplaced. How am I supposed to do it all? And not beat myself up when he gets it?
I worry, but is it a love worry? I’m incapable.
Incapable of the only thing a woman is DESTINED to do. To love, and to nurture.
I see my friends taking selfies with their kids and meanwhile I have maybe 3. I’m going to watch him grow up, and I am going to have DIDDLY SQUAT, but the memories of me being hateful and secretly wishing but not wishing my son was in my life.
And yes. It’s inconvenient.
Yes, life threw a human sized wrench in the plans I thought I had.
But what I also counted on, was that feeling you’re supposed to get when they’re the best thing that has ever happened to you. Because I don’t know that feeling. I don’t feel like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and for that.. I don’t deserve him. He deserves a happy mom, one that is bursting at the seams when he giggles, and when he does something new.
Except, I’m not. I feel like I’m babysitting this really cute baby that I can never give back. That I can never give up on, or run away from.
I think that’s what scares me more than anything, is that I can’t just pick up and run away from my issues. I have to get up every single day and put a smile on because..
That’s the best I can fucking do right now.
If there was a switch that made me into this mother that I envision, God would I switch it. I would turn it on so quickly and not even flinch. Why am I working so hard, and at the same time not at all, to love this human that loves me unconditionally?
It’s not fair.
What is wrong with me that I am so mentally fucked up that I can’t just love. Something I’m infatuated with.
I love, love.
Maybe it has to do with the fact that my moms never loved me. She never showed me how to love. How to be a mother. Yet she did, twice before me. But that’s a story for another day.
It is what it is.
The daily struggle, of turn back or just keep trudging. Through the ever thickening mud of..