Children Cryin' & Coffee

I'm just a mom (scratch that). I am a woman. Hmmm? A partially insane woman; who decided to marry a nerdy man-child & bring forth 5 of his spawn unto the world!

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Hello old friend. #writing #novel #book #writer #crime #thriller #spine #chapter20 #childrencryinncoffee #imissthis #coffee #coffeetime

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Started on a new book this afternoon. Thankfully, Ivy slept allowing me to make it through the first chapter. So far it's pretty interesting and encouraging. #bigmagic #elizabethgilbert #creativelivingbeyondfear #book #booklover #latetothegame

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Literally the most relatable thing I've read. 💚 #postpartum #postpartumdepression #ppd #scarymommy #moms #mom #mother #mothers #newmom #momlife #yourenotalone

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Happy Father's Day to our Superman! The greatest dad in the world! I couldn't have picked a better man to raise 5 little people with! Your hard work and integrity make you an amazing man and even better father. Enjoy sleeping in while we make your breakfast! And we hope you have fun at Home Depot later. #happyfathersday #amazingdad #dad #5kids #childrencryinncoffee

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Seriously. I shouldn't be allowed to Facebook while intoxicated. I made quite a few questionable choices via social media last night. Spent the morning clearing that shit up. #facebook #messanger #friendrequest #whatdidido #whydididothat #block #unblock #reblock #maitais #ohmy #socialmediaundertheinfluence #childrencryinncoffee

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Alcohol Was Invented by the Gods...for Parents

Today it's finally clicked for me, why there's so many memes and posts dedicated to Moms and their love of wine, or alcohol in general.

I am tired. I am chronically bitchy and irritable and stuck within 4 walls with 5 kids. Their personalities are as wildly varied as their ages; from newborn to teenager and I don't know how to parent each of them individually. You'd think, after being a mother for nearly 14 years, I'd be a veteran, I'd have this shit pat down.

Sure, being a SAHM is one of the toughest jobs a parent can have, and true, it can be rewarding, but at the same time it can be psychologically damaging. The constant arguing, bribing, negotiating, demanding...and that's all AFTER the civil conversations. My issues vary amongst the kiddos too; one refuses to do her chores correctly or just doesn't do them, another half-asses them and I have to go 'round and clean up what they supposedly cleaned and the other 2 just refuse to do their ACTUAL chores in favor of doing the easy things that'll earn them points on their chore chart. My oldest is lazy, which, I wish if I were as lazy as her, I wish I could be as thin as her. My son, though he is INCREDIBLY helpful and always asking me if I need anything; has a habit of forgetting to do things, things that are specifically spelled out in his chore folder. Then the little girls; they throw each other under the bus for playing rather than cleaning and they get distracted by EVERYTHING.

I didn't grow up as spoiled as my kids are. I didn't have Wifi and Social media. I didn't have smartphones, tablets, a DS, a PS4/PS3/PS2/Wii and Rockband equipment. I didn't have huge flatscreens with cartoons and DVR'ed episodes of the shows I loved. It took nearly a decade and a half before I had my own room; I almost always bunked with my little sister who's about 7 years my junior and we clashed all the time. I didn't have a bike, or rollerblades, or all the fun outdoor toys. And I sure as hell didn't have a huge 50x30 sized playroom FULL of hundreds of thousands of dollars of the coolest, most requested toys. I had books and paper to write on and had to ask permission to walk to the local library, where I'd spend hours of my free time.

And all I ask these kids to do is help out and keep their rooms clean. And even with their help; I STILL have a a lot to do daily myself. Laundry, especially the laundry, with 7 people, it's never ending. The bulk of my days are spent loading laundry to wash, starting the dryer, nursing a baby, folding laundry, putting it away, starting another load, drying another and nursing a baby again. And sprinkled in between those hours are dusting, making beds, straightening up, fixing the couch, picking random shit up off the floor, going through the always-present mountain of mail and school paperwork and bills. I wash the dishes and then wash the baby's accessories and by then someone needs to be nursed again. And I'm expected to not only find time to READ a book, but write 2 myself, as well as maintain a blog AND do my school studies? No wonder my blood is at least 50% caffeine.

Maybe having my mother move in would be a good idea, but after a long and thorough conversation with her and Derrick and the kids. Because sometimes her harping on my kids is far more of a hindrance to me than helpful. And I don't want my kids resenting me the way I did my mom for the longest time. But maybe her being here would allow me to focus on school like I should, and she could help me with a few of my chores when I'm busy with the baby--but I wouldn't blur the line between grandma and housekeeper. I hate being treated like a housekeeper, so I wouldn't do that to my mom. And who knows, maybe it'll be easier this time because my sister and her kids aren't here. It was a bitch trying to maintain this house with the three of them here, because she was lazier than Evelyn, didn't pay rent and ate up all my food and towards the end, I easily dropped a hundred or two on packs of cigarettes for her. WTF she was so stressed about beats me, if anything I could've used the $200 worth of cigarettes for my anxiety and stress, let alone poor Derrick who was keep all of us afloat.

But then another part of me worries about having my mom here. I become of two minds when she's around. She's the last parent I have left; after my dad choosing to not be a part of my life and Stephanie dying, so I try to maintain a relationship with my mom, because she's technically all I have left. But when she's here and she's either yelling at my kids or berating them to me; she doesn't recognize the repetitive exhaustion on my face from being tired of hearing the same "you're not a good enough mother and if these were my kids..." speeches. And at the same time, I'm so used to her yelling and berating from my childhood that I either ignore it or I tend to harp along with her to my kids. And I'm both a stressed out 32 year old mother of 5 who can't get her kids to listen, and she's grateful for the help...and then I'm also that 11 year old again, who's trying her hardest to be an Honor Roll student and keep a clean house just to "please" my mother.

Why the fuck do I do that?

And then she has the habit of making it worse by talking on and on about her workouts at Curves and how she's using this new weightloss pill and that weightloss pill and how these WorkIt Wraps are a Godsend and blah, blah, blah. And I'm like TRYING to get my mental and emotional shit in order so I can work on my physical appearance, but to literally have EVERY conversation stream from my kids' inabilities to clean properly to how I need to lose weight since she has, is really fucking damaging to my psyche.

And after I'm stressed out from trying to man my house, do chores, be a dairy-cow for a baby on demand, and try to parent my other 4 kids whom are capable of cleaning and following directions, to being a cook who's responsible for at least 2 meals a day, to dealing with guilt trips from my mom and her not respecting my mental boundaries with my grandfather and her constant pressuring to FORGIVE him so he can see my kids, to her bitching about my kids to me making me feel like a shit mother, to her going on and on about diets and pills and wraps and Curves and then her transition to shit about Keyre and then somehow she's bitching about Robert and the shit he took from her, to me needing to nurse again and swap the laundry again, then arguing with the kids about why their rooms aren't clean and it's 20 minutes till bedtime and showers need to be taken and there's more laundry and I'm counting down the minutes until Derrick gets home, so I can clock out...but then guilt hits and rather than "clock out" I make a drink and I UNLOAD all my stress of the day onto him.

I don't expect him to fix everything; but I married a smart man and damn; all this shit every day makes me hella indecisive and I'm left between a rock and a hard place.

I am struggling at this parenting thing.

I am struggling at this being an adult woman thing.

I am struggling at this being a wife thing.

Now that it's summer, I'm hoping like hell it'll get a bit easier. Done, for now, are the 5am alarms. So no morning madness rushing while sleep-deprived. I can nurse at 4am and go back to bed if Ivy allows me to. Hopefully I can finally tend to the personal goal list I made myself. I want to go to the gym and at least run on the treadmill for 30 minutes a day; listening to music, not newborn screams or little girls fighting over their Troll hairbrush. I'd like some help with the laundry; I don't mind washing and drying, but can someone else at least fold? And I don't mind doing the dishes; if someone else puts them away.

These kids have so many expectations this summer; from trips to the Great Wolf Lodge, Seaworld, the beach and hella activities...and my expectations? A clean house in case company comes over, where I'm not rushing to clean an hour before their expected to arrive and I'm a fucking bloody sweaty mess when they get here and I can't relax. I want time to READ an actual book. And yes, I expect a fucking getaway with my husband this summer, without the kids, because I am with them ALL THE TIME and he works so fucking hard to provide for us that he deserves to PLAY with some of his money, not just WORK all the damn time. 6 to sometimes 7 days a week, sometimes pulling 36 hour shifts, as a driver is fucking deadly for him. I am truly paranoid about it--but he does it to pay for the internet, the food, the electronics, a fresh supply of art and craft shit and so many other things the kids don't fathom.

Today is one of those days; where as soon as Derrick left for work, the baby became inconsolable and nothing I did calmed her down, until 3 hours later, I think she passed out due to exhaustion and screaming. The AC is still broke and it's over a 100 degrees here. I am pouring buckets while sitting here typing this AND I'm sippin' on an icy drink. The girls (ALL of them) haven't cleaned their rooms and I made the mistake of gifting Evelyn back her iPhone yesterday, in agreement that she'd keep her room clean--that worked out gleefully (sarcasm). Maverick is the only one who did his chores without asking AND he asked me if I needed anything else. There's still laundry, even though I've already done 6 loads today. But the garage is like a sauna and I'm trying to avoid it at all costs; but I tore our bed apart, to wash the sheets and blankets in Dreft...so I have to tend to the laundry whether or not I actually want to.

So I get it, moms who enjoy their wine. Except I need something with a higher proof.

But I can't get drunk or even buzzed, because I REFUSE to dip into my freezer stash of breast milk. That is SOLELY for when Derrick and I go away to Costa Rica later this summer and I am NOT fucking up my supply!

So I'm sippin' on my weak ass Mai Tai that's far more juice than rums and I say CHEERS to all the SAHP that are dealing with similar shit, just a different day. We'll figure this out eventually. And hopefully they'll clean up their fire hazard of a bedroom before they actually become fire hazards. Cheers!  

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

This kid right here man; she's an old soul. She may be only 13, but she's talked me down from many a ledge. She stumbled upon a notepad where I wrote/scribbled 20 something pages of depressive racing thoughts and she read it. :/ At first I told her that she shouldn't be reading it and I took it away. But then I decided, rather than hide that part of me; I'd be honest and answer any questions she might have...which led to the birth of a 2 hour deep conversation that ended with "I don't curse like a sailor. I enunciate my sentences, like the fucking lady I am." Conversations that start with tears and end with laughter are the best. And I love that I can be myself around my kiddo. She'd make a great therapist one day...if the whole veterinarian thing doesn't work out. #lazyassteenager makes for #goodtherapist #likeafuckinglady #sheswisebeyondheryears #amitoblame #thismakesmefeellikeagoodmom until she #forgetstocleanherroom #scotchsessions #ineedadrink after that soul cleansing.

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Finally put a large ass #Keurig in my office. #worthit #writersfuel #coffee #keepwriting #childrencryinncoffee

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Is Love a Priority?

Priorities.

How do we get these right? Do we ever get them correct? And how do we prioritize; as a woman? As a wife? As a mom? A human being? Which is the correct one and if we must do them all, which of the priorities is the priority?

I'd like to say I wake up every morning, grab my coffee and prioritize the day in my head or on paper. But I don't I usually have a laundry list, a to do list, an events calendar and a running calendar, as well as an agenda constantly looping through my mind.

Before I met Derrick; I was always a Type A personality. I believed in order, organization and had a plan, well, many plans.

I wanted to finish school, graduate, join the Air Force and go to college and somewhere after that I prioritized marriage and kids mixed in with a fantastic career that utilized both my smarts and my Type A personality.

Then I fell in love and priorities shifted. A lot. Everything I had planned was wiped off the table and a new, uncharted path was laid before me. I dropped out of school and didn't even remember what the Air Force was. It was late night conversations about dreams and hopes and making out until my whole face was either raw or numb. A spontaneous engagement moved things along a lot quicker than I anticipated. I moved away from home and got a job working at a fast food restaurant. I didn't even have my driver's license. But I was in love.

My dream of a big wedding with all my friends and family was traded in for a ceremony with the Justice of the Peace and all 7 of Derrick's college friends as our witnesses. I didn't even have one person on my side there. I wore a simple $10 clearance dress from Old Navy and ate rice and beans for my wedding dinner feast. I didn't have a first dance or even a wedding cake. I didn't have a wedding night, nor a honeymoon. But I was in love.

Motherhood sprung on me as if I were a ripe little lamb and it was a ferocious lion. I wasn't ready for it. My husband was throat deep in college and working and I stayed home, running from the bed to the toilet 50 times a day with horrible morning sickness. I was lonely and depressed, living a whole state away from the people I knew, trying to navigate a new marriage and now parenthood. And I was doing it alone--until my mom or grandparents mailed me a calling card in the mail and I'd finally be able to call and race everything across a 15 minute short phone call and prayed they'd give me solace before the operator cut in and told me my card amount was up. I got another job; working at a sandwich shoppe across from ASU and it pained my heart every time a happy college student busily strolled in for a working lunch and I watched that dream fizzle away too. But I was in love.

I reached my breaking point when my oldest was about 6 months old and I gave Derrick and ultimatum; move us back to California or we were over. I'm sure he still resents me for taking him away from his art school, his friends, his stay-up-until 3 am-playing-video-game friends and everything he built in Tempe. I knew I was depressed and I had tried to get help; but no one told me what Postpartum Depression was, they just said I needed antidepressants and I'd be fine. I wasn't fine. But I was in love.

We somehow moved back to Arizona once again when I gave birth to our second child and life hadn't changed much for me. Derrick had all his buddies from high school around and even some of the weasels tried to get me to sleep with them. One even tried to rape me once. I wish that would've been handled differently, and though I was upset, I stayed and I dealt with it; continuing to live and work in that tiny ass city where word spreads quickly and I became even more depressed. But I was in love.

When I found out I was pregnant with my third, I was so depressed I contemplated an abortion. I was in my very early 20's, in a tiny apartment, with 2, soon to be 3 kids, no job, no schooling and living in a town where my in-laws hated me and I had no friends. I tried my damnedest to befriend my husband's friend's spouses, but they just weren't my cup of tea. Signs of Bipolar Disorder were manifesting, but I still wasn't even diagnosed with depression at this point. We moved to a bigger house on the river and I got a job working reception at the front desk of where we lived. But I was lonely and depressed. Derrick was working a lot; mostly nights at Denny's and he had this bond with the women he worked with and I was always jealous. One even professed her undying love for Derrick and how she wanted him to be her daughters dad and all kinds of shit. I was dying inside; a mother of 3, struggling, and this woman was telling me that she was going to take my children's father away from them, to build a family with him. I began to act out. I drank almost daily. I smoked. I skinny-dipped with one of Derrick's co-workers and two strange men we just met. I began having affairs. I was acting immature and childish, to MAKE Derrick finally notice just how lonely and depressed I was. And rather than working on it like mature adults; he began making plans to visit his ex-girlfriend, the model. I wanted to leave. But I was in love.

I don't know how we survived him being injured and nearly dying and me being so depressed I was suicidal and self-harming, but we did. When he lost his job and mine wasn't enough to keep the bills afloat, we moved back to California, this time moving in with my grandparents. That was...not awesome. Seven of us in a broke down, run down, shanty shack of a house with the five of us cramped in one bedroom. Derrick eventually found another job and we moved out as soon as we could and within a year, I was pregnant again. It wasn't until that year that I finally spoke with specialists that told me I had a rare allergy that allowed me to become pregnant more easily when I'm taking birth control and that really screwed with my mind. I was 28, with 4 kids. In a tiny 2 bedroom apartment. But I was in love.

When Stephanie died, a piece of me went with her and I don't know how I've been able to survive since. She was my ONLY person. She talked me down from so much. I don't know how it's been two years without her and I haven't self-harmed once, not to say I haven't wanted too. Not to say I haven't tried. I try to talk to Derrick the way I talked to her. I tried to talk to my therapist and psychiatrist the way I talked to her. Nothing. I could relax around her and NEVER feel judgment. I'm afraid of hurting Derrick, so I filter myself when we talk. And with my doctors, well, I'm afraid they'll have me committed and take my kids away if I'm honest with them, so I censor myself or I make sure I word things in a way that make me appear "more stable" than I actually am. I keep my appointments. I tend to my children. I clean my house. I see my doctors. I'm (am now) taking my medication. I wanna leave. I don't. We fight and I want to leave him and kids. But I'm in love.

I read and read and read and listen to so many different sides and view points on priorities these days; on the news, in magazines, in books, on blogs, podcasts, vlogs, and I'm always left confused. When did my priorities shift? When did I no longer make my own list? I'm not even on my list. I have one version in my ear and in my head telling me that I MUST keep a clean house and it must be pristine because I am a SAHM and that's my job: clean house. Healthy kids. That's it. Then there's others telling me; don't worry so much about the house; spend time with your kids making memories; take them to events, craft with them, take them on expensive vacations so they have things to share. Then there's another voice telling me that my husband should be my priority because he works the hardest. He makes the income. He's gone all day. He provides; so keep his castle clean, make sure his laundry for work is fresh, keep his magazines in the bathroom, don't complain about his gaming because that's his outlet. Stock the fridge with beer because he deserves it. And I do that. Because I'm in love.

And then there's the feminist-ic viewpoint. Make myself the priority. Break glass ceilings. Venture out. Demand a tribe. Join the resistance. And I can't because I feel like I am denying my husband of a wife and my children of a mother. And yet, I sit here, thoroughly unhappy, listening to a wailing baby in her mamaRoo, who wants to nurse again, even though I've already nursed her twice while trying to write this. My older kids are disappointed I said no to dessert. They think I'm being mean. Truth is; no one is doing their chores and honestly, I haven't been grocery shopping and I really don't want to go. There was barely enough chicken to feed the kids dinner, so I came in here to write while they eat. And I'm saving yesterday's leftovers for my husband because he's worked all day and still has to work again tonight, so he deserves a meal more than me. Because I'm in love.

I can't look in a mirror without being disappointed. Both physically and mentally. I am a hard person to love, even for myself. I can honestly say I do not love myself. I love my husband and my children and I'd do anything to make them happy. But for the love of all things, I cannot bring myself to love myself. I argue with myself a lot too. I talk myself out of a lot of things too. I miss running; but I know the baby will need nursing, so I can't be too far away--and I can't take her along because a month later, my stroller is still broken in the garage. I was supposed to go on a bike ride today with Maverick, but Derrick had to work, so I had to cancel those plans. I wanna relax and read a book but either the baby cries or I'm just so dead tired, reading ANYTHING puts me to sleep. And even though I am tired, I force myself to stay awake when Derrick comes home because he's been gone all day and I want to show him my appreciation for him working so hard. I feel bad that I zone out sometimes when he talks about his day; but I am just so tired from the lists that keep repeating in my head. Beating me for all the things I didn't get to. So I sit, awake, listening to him, watching the shows he likes in bed, because I'm in love.

And this is my worry. When the kids all grow up and move out and have lives and priorities of their own, and it's just me and Derrick left behind, will he still be my priority? Am I actually in love or am I prioritizing love because that's what a wife is supposed to do and honestly, because I'm terrified of ending up like my mom. Do I love him out of guilt; he's a great dad, a great provider, a decent tech guy and from what I witness, a good friend to his friends, and I am constantly reminded how I'm the lucky one to get such a good one? Is he not lucky to have me? Am I a priority for him? Or is he just working his ass off to provide for his kids, so he's nothing like his father? Are we actually in a happy marriage, or are we terrified of doing anything else because we see how the outcome was for our predecessors? If we didn't have all these kids, can we actually say we're still together because we're in love?

We hear and read the stories all the time, about the parents that are super hopeful about their kids growing up and moving out, and how they're excited to be "empty nesters" and they can go out and travel and rediscover each other. Is that a myth? Or are those future plans just a hopeful priority? It really isn't fair to say I have to wait and see. I don't want to "rediscover" my husband later. I might not like him and I know he won't like me. I am no where near the girl I was when I was 16 and hopeful. I am tired and worn and constantly telling myself that "Lots of women get their shit together by 40" and that I'll lose the weight, and my tits will perk back up and all these kegels are actually doing something. And then the kids move out. And the house is quiet. And empty. And it's just me, him, and his Playstation55 or some shit. Will the resentment and loneliness I've experienced for all these decades going to eat us alive? I won't be bombarded with a constant list of remembering to wash work uniforms and PE clothes, and who has what papers signed for school, and tracing ABC's and 123's before dinner, or scheduling doctors appointments and planning events and activities and trips between Girl Scouts and play dates. Then what? Go back to school? Why? I missed my opportunity to enjoy getting an education with a youthful and sponge-worthy mind. Too old for the Air Force and even if I wasn't, I'm nowhere near in shape. And sex isn't even a priority anymore. So that's rarely talked about either. I've been a mom for a decade and a half. I have nothing interesting to say. And even if I did have something interesting to talk about, and I've tagged Derrick in it to have him read it so we can talk about it later, he ignores it and I ignore him ignoring it and he sips a beer and I mind my coffee and cigarette and we do this until bed time because we're in love.

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

My Dad Walked Away, Why Can't I?

I've been surviving on fumes the last few days and it's getting frustrating and I'm building a resentment. I'm worried about my mental health and it seems like no one cares, so I'm wondering why I should. I haven't taken any of my medications for the last week and if anyone's noticed, no one is saying anything. And this is where the resentment is building. My husband just worked the last 16 out of 24 hours and he is now in bed, sleeping, at 1pm, after arriving home at around 10am.

And lucky me, I just got a 90 minute break while writing because Ivy decided to scream from her MamaRoo and I had to stop and feed her again, even though she just nursed 45 minutes before. And of course Derrick gets up and I'm torn between guilt because I want him to sleep and resentment because of course he wants to sweep in and be the hero, suddenly, when I've been tired for days--but Ivy wants me, or she wanted my breasts at least.

But at least when I was done nursing her I could put her down and go eat. But even eating is pissing me off lately. I've gained 12 pounds in the last month and I don't know what to do about it. I work the hardest in this house to have the best and healthiest diet; vegetables, fruit, lean meats, nuts, seeds, non-dairy products, whatever I can eat to help with my supply AND be healthy for not just Ivy, but me too. And yet, I'm gaining weight. And fucking Derrick doesn't even have to try and he still looks like he's barely 20 and never had a kid. I look like I'm a tired obese, 45 year old woman, who's definitely birthed a half dozen or more kids. And I'm fucking tired, but it doesn't matter.

I can't remember the last time I had a conversation with someone who wasn't being generic; including my husband. It's funny; when people (my family) come over to visit and they strike up a conversation with Derrick, they always ask him how he is, how he's feeling, how work is treating him and they stir up this bravada in him to be more confident, work harder, ask for more pay, more hours, whatever. They ask about his artwork and what he's drawing lately and his new games, even though they don't understand them. Wanna know the conversation I get? Weight. The kids. And how my house is a mess because I don't know how to get on my kids to do a better job. I'm constantly reminded that I am a fat, lazy mom. Which makes my anxieties worse; because rather than relaxing, I'm more motivated to clean, straighten up, talk about the newest health trend and how even though I'm exhausted all the time, I'm trying to lose the weight. My husband can just grab a beer, or whatever and not think twice. I have to think about the calories, the carbs and the sugar. I usually get so upset about it, I self sabotage.

I haven't been sleeping well, nor taking my medications correctly, but no one asks me. The kids constant ask Derrick, "Dad, does your back hurt?" "Daddy, are you tired?" "Daddy do you have to work today?" "Dad does your shoulder hurt?"

Where's my concern? I hurt. I'm in pain. I'm exhausted.

I've been seeing things--literally--a tall, white man in my shower, spiders and snakes and a vicious wolf in the kids' room. I told all of this to Derrick. The conversation didn't even last 5 minutes. He asked to watch Jeopardy, but while I lay there, half pissed off at an ignored conversation, half pissed off that he was paying more attention to his phone than the show he just asked me to watch with him. I roll over and go to bed.

I've been dealing with thoughts of self-harm and suicide and even running away. I don't feel wanted or needed. I don't feel pursued or active affection. Derrick hadn't realized it'd been probably close to a year since he bought me flowers, until I made a snide remark and rather than him wanting to surprise his wife, he buys flowers the next morning out of guilt and I display them (happily) on Instagram--even though there was no geneuity. But I have to display this facade of a happy marriage because if I don't I'm reminded that all the negativity associated with it is my fault; I'm choosing to be negative, unhappy, displeased, I'm making something out of it. A bill comes up, we're short to pay it this week, because I was adamant to have oysters. We're short on gas money, I shouldn't have went and spent that $30 at NYX. We need more diapers, toilet paper and dish soap, but I was hoping to make new mom-friends and wasted $50 and the only new thing I ended up with was a virus. (Thanks lady who was sick and yet HAD to come ride in our carpool AND sit right next to me at the table, coughing on me all night, whining about her "cold", ya should've stayed home and NOT put me at risk to bring home this illness to my newborn).

I can't do anything about anything for the next few weeks, as we're fucking broke as hell. I can't "escape". I can't go get Starbucks, or walk through Target. I can't go to play dates. I can't even go to a DBSA meeting. The NAMI meeting was this morning, but Derrick got home late and we really don't have the gas money for me to drive across town anyway. I have no one to talk to---because the conversation is either ignored, dismissed or changed. That and I think my own family is full of stigmatic bullshit. They claim they understand my mental illness and how dangerous it could be...bullshit. If they cared about my mental well-being and me working my ass of to avoid PPP, they'd have an open dialogue with me about everything. We would talk about my stressors, insecurities and anxieties and not fall asleep or become distracted or just drop the subject. I'M NOT SLEEPING AND I'M FUCKING SEEING THINGS AND MY HUSBAND CARES MORE ABOUT HIS SHOULDER HURTING AND HIS SLEEP.

The last time I had a Mixed State of both Depression and Mania---I tucked the baby into bed, made sure everyone else was asleep and I got blackout drunk and mutilated my body. You'd think my husband would care about that NOT happening again; but the conversation always comes back around to making ME feel guilty because he has to work--which yeah, he does have to work to provide for the family he helped create--but his responsibilities don't stop there.

Why isn't my sleep a priority? And the guilt of watching him try to stay awake while holding the baby and nodding off or mid snore while his eyes are open, don't help me to relax. And trying to nap with him when he got home from work because I haven't slept either, but the baby woke up, so I had to get up. I had to demand my sleep at 4am Friday morning because I'd spent the previous 36 hours up and awake, feeding a baby nearly EVERY 30 minutes and so when Derrick shoved my shoulder to wake up and nurse her, I snapped and he walked his ass to the fridge to warm her some expressed breastmilk.

I'm the one with the diagnosed, medication-needed-for-stability, mental illness, but me being "okay" isn't a priority. The kids and my family all worry about Derrick all the time; how's he sleeping with a new baby, is he drowsy while driving, does his back and shoulder hurt, how'd his x-rays come out, when does he see the PM doctor, blah blah blah---of course I build a resentment. My mom thinks the band-aid of her watching the baby while I take ONE one hour nap is supposed to "cure" me. I live with Schizoaffective Disorder--my number one medication IS sleep. I'm pushing the envelope and walking the line daily. Fantasizing about both sleep and death. Derrick gets all the sympathy, let him truly run the entire household and then I won't be here to even complain about the sympathy.

I'm so tired of looking in the mirror and hating what I see--a tired, worn out, grouchy bitch. Honestly, I am a bitch--Derrick's bosses say so, but rather than do anything about it, he kisses their ass because their opinions are actually worth something. I think about leaving all the time, and I KNOW if I spoke up about that to either Derrick or my mom, I'd have it thrown in my face that I'm being spoiled. And it's not even about having things my way, it is about FEELING like I am an important part of this family and actually want to be treated like a priority and not a fucking afterthought. I am, as a mother, expected to be a juggler of many balls; it's an expectation of me. Derrick is solely expected to be the breadwinner and head of household. That's it. Do you know how many different hats I wear and the only "rewards" I am rewarded with is adult conversations with my mom--conversations about losing weight, gaining weight, a new waist cincher, new diet pills, OR I am constantly reminded how my kids don't clean right, don't straighten right, don't do this right and I don't get on them enough. I just wanna leave.

But I know everyone will side with Derrick, even and especially my family--because I am "beyond lucky" to have a man like Derrick in my life and I should feel grateful and not have any complaints. The dude takes the time to learn all the special moves of his characters in all his video games; does he even know the name NOT THE BOOK, but the name of the author of my favorite book, nope.

And I keep making the mistake, like a hyper puppy, of TRYING to have a relationship with him; I tag him in articles or blogs I've read and found relatable and would like to discuss with him and I'm literally seen him swipe away the notification and ignore the tag and continue his game playing. I buy him books and they collect dust. Grant my books collect dust too, because I can't really juggle a book with pages that need turning and use my hands to keep my huge breasts off of Ivy's tiny nostrils while nursing her. And I'm so fucking exhausted, that one paragraph makes my eyes blink. But Derrick can spend 4 hours playing a video game.

The priorities in this house and so out of whack and I hate that I'm wavering at the edge of cliff; hanging on just for June 21 because that's my psychiatrist appointment. I can't rely on DBSA meetings because Derrick's fucked up schedule, or I'm just too exhausted, or there's no gas money. And I've been waiting and waiting for the CARES Program to call me back about finding me a new therapist, but nothing yet. SO I sit here, trying to hold on, talking myself down because no one else will, reminding myself that the 21st isn't too far away--but even when the 21st is here, what difference will that make? I don't see any changes within this household on the horizon at all. And that's really heartbreaking.

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

How fitting that @derricktheartist #Birthday falls on #NationalBestFriendDay Happy Birthday to my best friend, partner in crime, my best drinking buddy, my rock, my soft place to land, the amazing father to our children, my husband, Derrick. #HappyBirthday babe--I love you!

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

I gotta be at mediation in about an hour and I haven't even gotten dressed yet---someone wanted a last minute feeding and cuddle and I'm not one to say no to her. #shesmilesinhersleep #cuddles #momlife #innorush #love #babies #babycuddles #childrencryinncoffee

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Feeling sick. Need some Vitamin Sea. 🌊 🌊 🌊🌊🌊

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

I sneak away for a much needed #momshower and come back to this on my laptop in my office--to this! Thanks #lazyteenager @theotakufox955 #covfefe #childrencryinncoffee 👶🏻 😭 ☕️ (at Covfefe)

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Exactly.

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Momming; it's not for the faint of heart

Parenting while living with Borderline Personality Disorder is probably the hardest thing I've done in my life; more so than labour & delivery, seriously. No one warns you and tells you just how heartbreaking and paranoia-inducing BPD is while you're a parent. Most people think of bratty teenagers who scream threats of suicide and self harm are the faces of BPD. They are, but they're one of MANY faces of it. My face is another; a lonely, desperate-for-attention, desperate-for-a-friend, mother of 5, who's been married to her best friend for 14 years.

And it's so much more than the anxieties of being judged by other parents, because that's the normal anxiety a first-time and maybe even a second-time mother experiences at the park or even the preschool, where the better-than-you0in-every-possible-way mommies, stand there are judge you and don't offer an opening to the conversation for your opinion. What I'm talking about is being a 5th time mom; who had only 5 immediate family members and no friends show up to her baby shower, so the paranoia kicks in. I'm talking about being the mom who has more than 3 kids in the same school and not one person knows who you are, despite having paid for PTA fees, volunteering and bringing in the goods (cupcakes) for the kids to share since it's your little one's birthday. I'm talking about scrolling through social media; being jealous of these amazing (on screen) mothers, who seem to have it all together and #humblebrag about their awesome #momtribe and we're sitting over here like; "I'll take ONE friend who gets me--I don't NEED a tribe." It's the moms like me with such a loving openness of acceptance because we've been so lonely for the longest time, that we "stand up for the little guys" in hopes that someone will witness our advocacy and WANT to befriend us. But that hope fizzles out way too quick.

It's hard being a medicated mom. Because you're not really mending your heartache or loneliness, you're kind of putting a band-aid on a wound that needs stitches. I take medications that "numb" me from the constant feeling of strong emotions. And I take them day and night. But there are afternoons like today--when the mood stabilizers wear off a bit too soon and I'm left with the sad, pathetic realization that my life will never be what I hoped it would be and suicidal ideation comes into play. You brain starts thinking you'll never be good enough. If they didn't like you at 19, why would they at 32? They didn't get you when you have 1 kid, so why does you having 5 kids supposedly make you somehow appealing, it doesn't.

I keep thinking there's more to this life of mine than waking around the clock to breastfeed, change diapers, make the bed, wash and fold the laundry, plan meals, shop for meals, cook the meals, clean up, shower and go to bed, just to do it all over again.

But I'm wrong. Or at least my brain has me thinking I'm wrong.

And it's hard to reach out to people about this sort of thing because there are only a few standard replies, you've got the "Oh, you have friends, don't be so negative." or "You're being so over-dramatic, quit being a crybaby." or the "You just have to get out and make yourself have friends."

None of these replies are helpful when you have mental illness. You can't just turn the paranoia off. You can't just blink away anxieties and concerns and worries.

I can't remember the last time I had a conversation that didn't pertain to the kids or some crude, sexual remark from my always-horny husband.

I just wanna meet like minded friends, who either have kids or don't, but don't' judge me for being 32 and a mother of 5. I wanna sit up and talk about the planet and the government and women's rights and so many other things, over a beer or three and just be chill and still like and respect each other afterwards, even if our opinions don't mesh.

And having to explain triggers SUCKS when trying to make new friends.

It seems like everyone is pro-weed, pro-smoking pot these days and I just can't. It's too triggering for me; and rather than people respecting me enough to understand or learn WHY marijuana is a trigger to me, they cut ties and I'm once again screwed in the friends-department.

I feel like when I meet someone new, I have to immediately apologize for who I am. I hate that. Even right now, I am struggling with whether or not I should delete this post, because it's embarrassing. But I wanna keep going to show how a BPD mind works.

And every time I feel rejected, I have to FIGHT with my entire being, against self-harm. Some people don't even realize the type of pain they're inflicting when they either say the wrong thing or don't say anything at all.

For example; a few weeks ago, this mommy group I am trying to become comfortable with, is hosting a MNO (Mom's Night Out) without the kids, to a stand-up comic series at the Irvine Spectrum. There was talk about carpooling, which would have been fantastic because Derrick works and needs the SUV and I wouldn't be back in time to pick him up, so carpooling would've worked perfectly. Except when the lady hosting the carpooling updated that we all needed to meet at her house at 4 to leave together....which negated the who carpooling thing. I replied that this wouldn't work for me and that reply went ignored for DAYS, WEEKS and when I finally replied to my own reply about getting a rental car and driving myself, SUDDENLY they replied about how someone could've picked me up and brought me. But rather than being short and rude with my reply, I just said "No worries, it'll give this stressed out mama of 5 an excuse to blare her music without hesitation." While on the inside I was sobbing and wondering if I could hide a cut on my inner thigh since Derrick and I haven't been having sex that often, maybe it'd go unnoticed.

And I can't blame them. For not liking me. When the ONLY examples of Borderline Personality Disorder are two insane movies "Thirteen" and "Fatal Attraction", which neither help my case when it comes to inviting people to be my friend.

So I sit here, depressed, lonely, crying and crying more because Ivy is crying while I asked Evelyn to hold her just so I could write this, while drinking my second beer because clearly I suck at handling emotions. And really, all I want to do is go to bed before my brain makes this worse for me.

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

I've been with her all day; but there's no way in hell I'd say I wasted a day. Isn't it funny how the older we become, the more wisdom we receive from children? Slow down, rest, savor your food and cuddles, laugh, Play and sleep. When I was a mom in my teens and twenties; I horribly listened to the advice that babies sleep 16+ hours a day, so your house can be immaculate and you can cook every meal. Bwahahahahahaha. Sure a clean house is important and nourishing foods are well and good, but they don't have to happen right now. Being 32 and a new mom again has opened my eyes to so many things I missed at 19, 22, 25 & 28. Patience is a helluva drug. 👌🏻❤️👶🏻😭☕️ #momlife #slowdown #savorit #theyreonlylittleonce #theygrowupfast #motherhood #newmom #newmoms #newmommy #moments #kidsandwisdom #kids #babies #baby #worthit #soworthit #parenthood #parenting #mom #moms #mothering #motherhood #thisisparenting #childrencryinncoffee