It was a snowy afternoon and I was running around like crazy, you know, mom of three, always on the run. Except mornings as a mother are just the most intense experience of my life. The music from Home Alone plays in my head, on repeat, every morning. You know, the scene in the beginning when they wake up late for their trip? “WE SLEPT IN!!” Hopefully someone reading this will get it. If you do, that is legitimately the theme song of my every day.
So, typical crazy morning of two out of three of my kids wet their beds- goddammit- which meant I had to give them bathes. Again. Anyway, finally finished bathing them, getting all three their breakfast, complete with milk to drink, because I’m a health-freak nut, when my six-year-old spills his fucking milk. That was it! The straw that broke the G.D. camels back was a spilled cup of milk.
I know how that sounds. I don’t care. I don’t care that I wanted to scream and yell at a child because they cannot seem to grasp the concept of a cup (wanted to, not did, better not get your panties in a bunch), and I certainly don’t care that I made the poor kid clean up every drop. To me, it was the end of my shitty little existance, he may as well have set fire to my house for how I was feeling. I DON’T CARE.
So, now that you either completely hate me, or you want to call CPS on me, I should probably give you a little background info. I’ll divulge information about myself as I see fit to, but only to give insight to my craziness. Ok. Here goes…
Knocked up at 19, by a douchebag that I had just broken up with, finally, a week before finding out I was pregnant. Great. Big, Catholic family says “get married” and I was too cowardly to tell them to piss off. I was an hour late to my own wedding, but whatever, I could give it my best to provide that for my kid. Afterall, I did practice unsafe sex, pull out method is not a thing, and well, this was me in the bed I made. Douchebag became a drug addict, had to borrow money to feed my kids, and so I kicked him out, Noone will come in the way of what my children need, ever. A year prior, and one year into the two year long dark period, I had another child. Literally got knocked up the only time we ‘you know-ed’ the whole marriage. Fertile-Myrtle here, what can I say? Rebounded with a guy five years younger than me, it was a convenience relationship, got pregnantes again. The ex-doucher still hadn’t given me a divorce, so yeah, sinner, sinner, chicken dinner. Complicated pregnancy, premature baby, nine days later he passed away. Lost my shit, naturally, and “had” to fill that void, and purposely got pregnant with my Rainbow Baby. Relationship became abusive, stayed in like a idk dazed phase where I made excuses for it, and justified the actions, until one day he almost inadvertently hurt my child. I didn’t care that it wasn’t intentional, and was an accident, to have my kids in that situation woke me up. Enter in seven years of a medically diagnosed severe depression, medications, and just emptiness. I couldn’t accept the death of my child; but we’ll put a pin in that for now. Met great guy, had our ups and downs, and I can say that in the relationship department things are finally good there. We moved in together recently, so it’s been hard on us both to get used to it. But again, the poor bastard didn’t have any kids, and now is housing a crazy chick and her crazy children. Again, pinning that. Add in the fact that my eleven year old is severely autistic, nonverbal, with other health issues, and my six year old is just the spawn of satan. Well, I’m being dramatic, but he was diagnosed early with Opositional Defiance Disorder, and I’m sure you can tell what that’s like just by the name, but if not, educate yourself before you hate on me. I’ve added a link to aid in that. So yeah, my life has been a series of unfortunate events. Woe is me, and blah, blah, blah. In this time I’ve single-handedly alienate myself from my family and friends. Mostly on purpose because I legit did not give a fuck about anything.
Anyway, so life had been rough for like the three months prior to the milk incident. The boyfriend and I had been at each other’s throats, and the kids were just running shit, and my life was out of control. So. Hopefully you understand that me losing my shit over a spilled cup of milk wasn’t really about the poor kid spilling it. It was just the added frustration that did me in. But, within the thirty seconds of absolutely losing my shit (all to myself, not in front of the kids. I’m a bitch, not a monster), something happened. I died. That day when I was a sobbing mess while my kid was cleaning it, I died. But I was also reborn. Something in me just gave, and really snapped me to. I was PATHETIC! ANGRY ALL THE TIME! MAD AT GOD, MAD AT MYSELF, MAD AT THE FUCKING WORLD.
And that’s when one little thought crept into my mind. Is this really how I want to live my life? The answer was, still is, and will forever be: no. And from that day forward I’ve been changing. You know, being positive, and happy. Life has since thrown some really tough blows, but I am still happy. I’m getting back to the old me. The entertainer, the selfless one, the caregiver, the person with about huge heart. I may not come in about shiny “package”, I cuss like about trucker, I’m morbid, and I have a terrible sense of humor, but I’m starting to like me and my life again. This blog is going to serve as my journal through the rebirth process. I’m calling it the “Chronicles of a Midlife Crisis” cause I’m thirty two this year and it seems fitting. Hope y’all enjoy!