I Drink Because You Cry @idrinkbecauseyoucry-blog - Tumblr Blog

4 years

So, today is a tough day for me. This is the day that I lost my first child. It's a painful reminder, marked off in my calendar as a day where I'm just not available. It's one of the few days a year that I grant myself open permission to feel. It's a day where if I want to curl up in a ball and let misery take me, or I feel like pouring scotch on my cereal, or burying my face in a pint of ice cream until I push myself to the limit of my lactose intolerance- I allow it. It's one hurt that has never healed. I don't know if it will. I'm afraid it won't- that I'll always be searching for the thing that I can put all my love into. The second heart I grew the moment I found out about my baby- affectionately called "blob"- still lays wasted in my chest. My mothers heart sits there like an empty vessel; not growing or expanding. Not changing. Remaining empty. From time to time, I feel it flutter; like when I see a cute baby, or one of my partner's kids hugs me, or I have those rare moments where I entertain the notion of one day being a mother. These moments- these flutters- are fleeting. What follows is a moment where my throat closes over and I can't breathe. I fight back the tears and force my face to look like it's smiling. I don't think I have anyone fooled. My eyes are too wide and bright; my voice a little to cheerful. I try and emulate the exact people I want to throat punch with some frequency. Just to look like I'm coping. I've taken to telling myself it's impossible; that a baby just won't happen- just so I don't feel like I've missed something. So I stop feeling like I'm less of a woman, because the one thing women are "supposed to do" is one thing I can't seem to do. I know I tell myself constantly about all the things I could be doing and having and experiencing; but I'm honestly not sure anymore who I'm trying to convince. I'm not even sure what I actually want anymore. A reprieve from the guilt and the shame would be nice. K xx

#babies

Forgiveness

This is an open letter to the mother of my partner’s eldest child. Once, we were friends. Best friends. That stopped the day I followed my heart. Sometimes, I still miss her. Sometimes, she’s still the person I think to call when something happens… then I remember that she isn’t that person anymore. It’s taken a long time, but I no longer care that you will probably never forgive me…. But I forgive you. I forgive you for talking shit about me to our mutual friends. I’ve often felt isolated and alone, but thankfully I have other friends that you can’t touch. I forgive you for making me the villain. Someone needed to be. I forgive for saying hurtful things about me on social media. In this small town, that action alone damaged my reputation both personally and professionally. I forgive you for saying hurtful things about me in front of Child #1. I hate seeing the guilty look on their face every time they’re here and spending time with me, knowing they’re trying to reason out the horrible things they hear against what they see and feel when they’re here. I forgive you for showing so little respect for me, even though I know you know I’m the one that’s busted my arse - often well past the point of my capabilities- in order to provide for Your child while they’re here. I forgive you for your lack of civility and maturity. It hurts me every time, but I say nothing. I forgive you for the lies you’ve told about the situation between this family and your own. Now that I’m a part of it, I can tell you this; they are good people. They love your child equally to every other child in the family. They would bend over backwards and go to the ends of the earth for this kid. So would I. I forgive you for your lack of insight. Given our history, you know I have everyone’s best interests at heart and I could be a great help to you if you weren’t too stubborn to accept it. You will probably never find this, let alone read it. I have no way of getting this to you, but I needed to get it out of me. I don’t want to carry this inside me anymore.

On The Precipice...

As I write, I’m a woman on the edge.

On the edge of another birthday, that is.

In a mere few days, I’ll be 29. Older ladies reading this and dismissing me with a derisive snort and comments about how I’m still “so young” and “life hasn’t begun yet”- seriously, stop. I’ve been older than my years ever since I can remember; I’ve been through absolute hell and it shows in my face and body.

Don’t dismiss me yet.

Now, I admit that every year I face my birthday with a strong feeling of abject failure and disappointment. I’ve always been an over-achiever. My whole self-worth has been structured on being praised for achievements; being perfect is what I aspire to every day.

Naturally, I fall well short of perfect every day. Some days, it doesn’t bother me at all. Admittedly, these days are rare. Most days, the struggle for this impossible thing is enough to reduce me to tears if I let it. That’s how I’m feeling now, and I’ll explain why.

If I measure my success against goals achieved vs goals failed/ Incomplete / unattempted, I’ve achieved almost nothing I’ve set out to do: things have not gone according to plan.

By now, I’d hoped to have travelled the world, or at least extensively in my own backyard. I’d hoped to be married with at least one child, preferably two- a boy and a girl- with perfect manners and bright futures ahead of them. I wanted to be debt free and set up to retire early. I wanted a room filled with shoes, in a house that’s mine. I planned to be carefree; in a stable environment.

Right now- my future is full of uncertainty. I have made a massive lifestyle shift from city-living, independent single lady with needy cat to a fully cohabitational relationship with a long-term partner, which involves his children intermittently also. I’m in the process of studying to change my career- no more waxing buttholes; this girl is going to be saving lives.

Admittedly; I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. I haven’t been coping well with any of it. What bothers me most is that I’m not good at any of it- let alone even close to perfect.

I was always told I’d be a perfect mum/ mother figure. I’m not. I struggle with this most of all. Co-parenting other people’s children is tough. Most of the time I’m counting the hours until they go home. Some days, I can’t help but snap at the incessant babble. Hearing my own name a hundred times a minute makes me want to change my name so I can ignore it. Sometimes, even the sound of heavy breathing is enough to make me want to throat-punch an infant (let’s be clear- I could never actually do this; I’m just really frustrated).

Everyone says “oh, it’s different with your own kids”. I don’t know that I’m prepared to take that chance to find out. I can’t stand the thought of fucking up a child’s life because of my own parenting ineptitude. No one deserves that.

As for my other goals, my current strike rate is this: - I’ve never left the country. - I’ve never been married. I got close, but no cigar. Part of me is grateful, but the other part still wants it. - I’m up to my eyeballs in debt and will probably be working well into my 70’s. Hell- I’m even working on my birthday this year. - I still don’t have a room full of shoes.

I can’t help but feel that my 20s have been wasted. It’s like I’ve been playing snakes and ladders; but for every ladder, there are three snakes taking me back to the start.

My positive in all this self loathing misery is this; I am nothing if not a master of reinvention. Madonna has nothing on me. With a bit of luck, I may pull a rabbit out of a hat, and greet the big 3-0 with a flourish. The plan for this year is to aim low. That way; I will avoid misery next year.

#I hate birthdays

The Asshole "Parent"

So I've finally finished a perilous mission- the kids' rooms are finally clean and more or less presentable. First and foremost- I'm pissed. This isn't my job, but I've had to do it, because apparently I'm the only one in the whole house who can identify mess and deal with it. Secondly, I can't for the life of me understand how being in a room you can barely move in- let alone find anything in- is comfortable or even acceptable. Back in my day, if my room had looked like that, my mum would have whooped my ass! Third, how hard is it to use a goddamn laundry hamper?! I picked one up especially for kids 1 & 2 to put all their clothes in. I found their dirty/ once clean but now dirty because they left crap lying everywhere- except IN THE FUCKING HAMPER!!! I found clothes on the floor, shoved in the toy boxes, shoved under the bed and in the bed. In. The. Bed. Who the hell can sleep with an old, crusty, stinky sock in their bed?! I managed to extract a full basket and a half of laundry from their room. Laundry I've painstakingly rewashed, folded and left it in their room for them to put away. And they will be putting it away. I've also made good on my threat to throw out all their toys and stuff if their room wasn't clean... kind of. I've hidden it in kid #3's room for the time being. I want them to know I mean business. Boyfie thinks I've gone too far, but I disagree. If this makes me the Asshole Parent, I'll wear it. I've done much the same in kid #3's room. They are just as messy. They will also be made accountable. And god help them if I EVER have to do this again!

#assholeparent

Mum Sex

** Disclaimer- though this post is relating to an experience I've had while assisting my partner in co-parenting his kids, I in no way refer to myself as their mother; that's not my place. Since becoming domestic and settling down with my partner in a co-habitating relationship, I've experienced a new kind of sex... Mum sex. Mum sex is where you try and share a moment of physical intimacy with your partner before mum duties kick in, like doing it in the bathroom really quickly while the kids are watching a movie, or trying to be super quiet first thing in the morning so they don't wake up. I never imagined it would be hard to do. It gets pretty awkward to try and get the deed done when you're trying to be quiet and discreet and also not burn the chicken nuggets. It can feel a little impersonal sometimes- kind of like fucking a random in a club bathroom- but it's a means to an end until you can get time for the good stuff; the intimate, passionate sex. The kind that has more than a few brief moments of foreplay before swiftly and silently trying to do the nasty. That's not to say that there isn't passion in mum sex- the sense of urgency is a kind of passion in its own way- but it feels more like two teenagers trying to not get busted by their parents, as opposed to two adults who want to show their love and commitment to each other. Just an errant thought...

Pelvic floor workout

I've been struck down pretty consistently with pain in relation to my internal issues of late. My specialists have referred me on to a pain management clinic, which I visited today. I share this experience with you now... The consult itself was pretty normal- how long have you been in pain? What are you taking for the pain? What causes more pain? What makes it better? I had to be assessed for my flexibility and how my muscles work (apparently I'm pretty flexible for a porker, so that's something at least). I got to walk around and squat while getting poked and prodded like a lab rat. Then came the internal exam. My least favourite part. It doesn't matter that I've had about a million of them; they're still awkward and uncomfortable and not much fun. I had to contract and release my pelvic floor muscles while the doctor was poking around, asking if this or that hurt. Of course it hurts! It's not every day I basically get fisted in the name of medicine. The outcome of her exam is that apparently my muscles are abnormally strong and tight due to being in pain for over 10 years. I have to "down-train" my muscles, so they aren't so quick to tense up like some she-hulk in my pants. In order to down train the muscles, I get medical instruments called dialators. In laymans terms, it's a set of Russian nesting doll- like medical dildoes. Each one acts as a handle for the next one, as the all interlock. Normally, I'd be all for new toys, but these don't do anything fun. It would be nice if they made a set of these in pretty colours, or with a TENS machine built it. Something to make the clench and release exercises a bit less boring. My silent fear is that after all my years of wild monkey sex, what if these über-tight muscles are the only thing holding my insides in? What if I relax these muscles and all of a sudden have a prolapsed vagina, or something even more horrible I haven't imagined yet?! The second part of my treatment is a cream I have to apply every day to reduce my sensitivity and block the pain receptors. It's made out of a potent anti-depressant. If I was my vagina, I'd probably be depressed, too. My only hesitation about this part of the treatment is this- what if I feel nothing at all? Like even good feelings? I don't want that to happen at all!! I'll keep you updated with my progress! K xx

#damndevilvagina

Mother's Day

Mother's day is bittersweet. On the one hand, it's a beautiful celebration of the women that brought us all into the world. It's a day to thank them for their unconditional love and support and to show them just how much they mean to you. On the other hand, it's a reminder to women like me- women who hold their children in their hearts instead of in their arms- exactly what they are missing; those small arms wrapped around you. The tiny voice that says "happy mothers day mummy; I love you". The never ending stream of bath salts and hand drawn cards, telling you why you're the best mummy in the world. It's a day of being smashed with kid-spam on social media. This year, I spent mine surrounded by mums. This isn't a bad thing in and of itself. I am constantly in awe of these amazing, strong women, who raise these beautiful, wonderful, loving children singlehandedly, and still manage to keep their shit together (though they will often say that some days the line between sanity and a nervous breakdown is blurry). I know that, if it were me in that position, I would not cope. I don't have the strength to do it alone. I can barely handle ME on my own. The thought that broke me came when I was checking my diary and noticed that it is about two years since I lost my first child. In that moment, I imagined what it would be like to share mothers day with that child. The big kisses and endless hugs. The tiny voice telling me "I love you, mummy"... and it broke the wasted mothers heart that beats in my chest. I tried to keep the hurt inside me as I spent the day pampering and caring for my mum friend/s, but eventually it bubbled over... and I've never felt so equally envious and selfish at the same time. Selfish because here I was crying on their special (and incredibly well-deserved) day; envious because it's something I can't share in; and I probably never will. It was harder still when my ex acknowledged me and wished me a happy mothers day. It was a sweet gesture, but it wasn't without another pang of hurt. I thought I'd done my crying for the day, but the tears welled and spilled over again. Today, I feel numb. I have focused on other things to help me put my feelings in perspective. Writing this has helped some- even if I have eyeliner running down my cheeks. K xx

Miscarriage

This has been on my mind a lot recently. I was going to wait until the anniversary of my baby passing to share this experience with you, but now is as good a time as any, I suppose. Miscarriage is still something that gets talked about in whispers. It's almost a taboo. The staggering part is that 1 in 4 women will have a miscarriage at some point in their life; usually during the first trimester- and often they don't know they're pregnant. The statistics could be even higher, given that most women who are aware choose to remain silent and not report it. I don't blame them- I've been where they are. The grief is overwhelming. It stays with you. I remember the first one the clearest. I had the worst morning sickness imaginable. I was feeling a bit off from the moment I woke up, but I still forced myself to go to work. Once I got there, I lasted about an hour. One of the guys in my office was eating something and the smell affected me so bad that all I had time to do was reach for the bin under my desk and repeat my breakfast. I managed to make it to the bathroom when the second wave hit. My manager came in with my handbag and sent me home. The doctor gave me the rest of the week off. Now, I could eat when the sun went down, but during the day, I could eat nothing but crackers and water- just to have something to bring up. By the 5th day, I was so sick of this vomiting that I took myself to hospital, concerned there was something dangerously wrong. The blood tests came back and wouldn't you know it; I was pregnant. That moment changed my life. Once the words came out of the doctors mouth, my heart changed. The best way I can describe it is that I grew a second heart; one that was unfathomable in its enormity. The love in that heart was deep and endless; fiercely protective and more pure than I could ever put into words. In that moment, I knew a mothers love, like my mother before me. I saw the world differently that day. My partner was ecstatic. He picked me up from hospital and took care in getting me home, shielding me like bodyguards shield famous people from the paparazzi. Because I am high risk, I made immediate plans to visit my specialist. I got an appointment 5 days later. I laid down at home, wanting to make sure I followed the doctors advice to the letter; no heavy lifting and plenty of rest and relaxation. I remember being touched when my partner left for work the next day, kissing me goodbye, then kissing my tummy goodbye, too. Later that afternoon, I felt a sharp pain, and a desperate need to go to the bathroom. That's when I saw the blood. I got not even 2 days of knowing my baby. I rushed to the hospital to have them confirm what I already knew; that my baby was dying inside me and there was nothing I could do. They told me it was normal and that everything would be fine. I noted the look of compassion in my doctors eyes. They deal with this daily, and I appreciated that they regarded me with empathy. The following days were numb. I felt like this gaping void had opened up inside me. Both my hearts were utterly broken. I didn't want to move, I didn't want to leave my house. I never wanted to go outside again. I feared seeing another woman with her baby and breaking down into a teary mess on the sidewalk. I felt shame and guilt after the numbness subsided. Shame that my body couldn't bear this child, and guilt that my body was incapable. I think in a way my partner blamed me, too. These feelings are wrong, though they feel valid at the time. Nature takes its course. You can't fight nature. I've lost 3 more children since. Each time has been just as painful- both physically and emotionally. I've kind of given up hope that I will ever find someone to have children with, and that my mother's heart will lay wasted inside me. I know of plenty of other women who have experienced the same or similar. It unites us in our grief and our strength to persevere. Some are more vocal than others. I think being vocal helps. It helps with coping. If you are going through, or have gone through miscarriage- please remember that you are not alone. You don't have to be alone in your grief. Turn to your friends and your family. Use that support and love to see you through and make the pain bearable. Persevere. Grieve however long you need to, but don't give up. Kxx

Endometriosis Awareness

I thought I'd take the time to write about my personal experience with this disease, in the hopes of spreading awareness and also providing some very general information and advice on how to cope. Endometriosis is a disorder affecting the female reproductive system. The tissue that forms the lining of the uterus grows outside of it; commonly on and around the pelvic and abdominal organs. It is not - I repeat, IS NOT- some kind of nasty Sexually Transmitted Infection. Yes; I've had partners suggest this before. Yes; it was incredibly insulting. Yes; I took it upon myself to aggressively educate them. Current estimates say that one in ten women suffer from Endometriosis. This number could potentially be a lot higher; birth control often masks the symptoms. Not a lot is known about it. There has been no root caused determined, though family history will usually dictate if you have it. Common symptoms include: pain, abnormal bleeding, difficulty relaxing the muscles in the vaginal walls (this makes sex really uncomfortable), bloating, moodiness and tiredness. The amount of pain a sufferer feels is not necessarily in direct proportion to the severity of the endometriosis. This means that, even if you only have a little bit of endometriosis, you could still be in as much or more agony than an advanced sufferer. The only way to completely confirm of you have endometriosis is by way of laparoscopic surgery. Which figures about as much as it sucks. It's only a day surgery, but you will feel like you got hit by a truck for up to a week. For me, this condition has had a massive effect on my life, since being diagnosed at 19. The pain is always there in the background. Some days are easier than others. Most of the time I'm more or less fully functional and can go about life normally- until the fatigue sets in. Some days, the pain is so unbearable that every step I take feels like I'm being ripped in half. It affects sex a lot. With the inflammation comes a bit of swelling/ bloating; which leaves any woman feeling about as desirable as roadkill. The inflammation also causes the muscles in the vaginal walls to tighten; which makes doing the deed super hard. No matter how turned on you are, there's still discomfort. The pain is always worst at that dreaded "time of the month". It feels like you're trying to pass razor blades. The inflammation hits it's peak, as the body is trying to get rid of the excess growth both in utero and out. At this time, I'm usually so inflamed that my entire torso feels like it's burning up. From my boobs to my knees, if you touch me- I might literally kill you. The pain is usually somewhere between "being hung, drawn and quartered", and "having an intimate night in with Freddie Krueger". Have fun imagining that. If you have an experience like this almost every month, or know someone who does, urge them to get it checked out by a specialist. Visiting the gynecologist is never fun; they ofter have terrible bedside manner and cold hands. It's also often uncomfortable. But it could make things easier for you - the earlier you know, the better. One horrible side effect is fertility issues. I've personally suffered 4 miscarriages. I'm not the only one. So many women I know that suffer have either struggled to conceive, or religiously took birth control and masked their symptoms so long that, when they decided to start a family, it was even harder; or not possible at all. So now, some pro tips: - heat is your best friend. Hot packs, warm showers, hot water bottles, heated snuggies, electric blankets; get on that! - even though it's super-painful, try to move about as much as you can; the endorphins will make you less of a cranky bitch (maybe move around once your painkillers kick in). - chocolate is good, too! - be careful when taking painkillers; make sure you follow doctors orders (if necessary). A good mix is panadol (for the pain relief) and nurofen (for its anti-inflammatory properties). You can take two of each without them interfering with one another. Confirm with your doctor if this is okay for you. - If you're on the heavy duty stuff; make sure you let your boss know if you're working. Also, don't take them too close together, or you may get drowsy. - dress for comfort; not style. The last thing you want is extra pressure in the area. - if you ever experience any unexpected sharp, sudden onset of pain; go straight to the doctors or your local emergency room. Don't risk it! And some for the boys: - if your lady is in pain, ask her if there is anything you can do to help. Giving her a (very gentle) cuddle, reheating her heat pack, or bringing her a stash of chocolate will all be appreciated (and guarantee her gratitude later on). - if she's extra snappy, don't take it personally; it's not her- it's her hormones. - be patient and gentle with her during sex; if it starts to hurt her, make sure she's comfortable enough with you to communicate that. Please check out the following links for more information: https://jeanhailes.org.au/health-a-z/endometriosis http://www.endometriosisaustralia.org/ Good luck!

For the struggling mums..

My ex mother in law shared this; I thought you all could do with it too. To the mom hiding in her bathroom, needing peace for just one minute, as the tears roll down her cheeks.. To the mom who is so tired she feel likes she can't function anymore and would do anything to lay down and get the rest she needs... To the mom sitting in her car, alone, stuffing food in her face because she doesn’t want anyone else to see or know she eats that stuff… To the mom crying on the couch after she yelled at her kids for something little and is now feeling guilty and like she is unworthy… To the mom that is trying desperately to put those old jeans on because all she really wants is to look in the mirror and feel good about herself… To the mom that doesn’t want to leave the house because life is just too much to handle right now… To the mom that is calling out for pizza again because dinner just didn’t happen the way she wanted it to… To the mom that feels alone, whether in a room by herself or standing in a crowd... You are enough. You are important. You are worthy. This is a phase of life for us. This is a really really hard, challenging, crazy phase of life. In the end it will all be worth it. But for now it’s hard. And it's hard for so many of us in many different ways. We don't always talk about it, but it's hard and it's not just you. You are enough. You are doing your best. Those little eyes that look up at you - they think you are perfect. They think you are more than enough. Those little hands that reach out to hold you - they think you are the strongest. They think you can conquer the world. Those little mouths eating the food you gave them - they think that you are the best because their bellies are full. Those little hearts that reach out to touch yours - they don’t want anything more. They just want you. Because you are enough. You are more than enough, mama. You. Are. Amazing. 💙💚 - Anonymous -

The Baby Sibling

So, "Santa" got a very unusual request from kid #3 this Christmas just passed. They wanted a baby sibling; along with a puppy, a weasel ball, some shopkins and a soccer ball. This is how it went down: *kid #3 writes wish list for Santa and brings it to me* Me: Kid#3; does this say baby sibling?! *kid #3 nods and grins enthusiastically* Me: why would you ask Santa for that? Kid #3: because I don't want to be the only <gender> anymore. Me: *deer in headlights face * well, I'm sure Santa will get right on that! This exchange was said in front of my mother in law; who then shared her opinion. MIL: well, when you and boyfie have a baby, it will need to be a <gender>, because once my other daughter has her baby, my ratio of boys to girls will be thrown out, and I'll also have an uneven number. Me: sure; no worries- I'll just make that happen exactly like that... but what happens if I have twins, like you keep telling me I'm going to have? MIL: well; you'll have to have a pigeon pair, and an extra <gender> to make sure all is even. Gee; no pressure or anything! K xx

#babycrazy

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idrinkbecauseyoucry-blog

Sometimes it's the kids, sometimes this is me

My Subjects

Allow me to introduce my pseudo-blended family:

Boyfie- my partner. A constant source of comedic fodder. Wonderful cook. Terrible housekeeper.

Kid 1 - the eldest; I’m not supposed to have favourites, but I do. This kid. This one has suffered through some terrible shit to be a bright, energetic, capable and hilarious person.

Kid 2- the middle kid. Classic middle child; I should know, I am one. Beautiful, loving nature to the extreme of telling you so every 5 minutes. Always tries to pull focus to themselves. Obnoxiously loud - all the time. Sulks a lot. Never shuts up.

Kid 3 - AKA least favourite child. Spoiled little brat. Whines constantly. Is the apple of daddy’s eye. Gets away with everything because they get treated like a baby.

Asshole cat- my baggage coming into this relationship. She has a horrible personality and dislikes pretty much everyone that isn’t me (which is why I love her).

Asshole puppy- has a fetish for eating cat poo. Adorable, possibly retarded, but shits me to tears when she attacks the clothesline.

Smallish cat- the newest addition to the household. Cute, but likes to pee on things she shouldn’t.

You’ll hear about the rest of the characters on the periphery in due course, but these are the main players.

K xx

A Note From The Author...

This blog’s aim is to poke a little fun at the struggles every woman faces with co-parenting/ regular parenting.

I try to laugh at it so it doesn’t break me. This shit is fucking tough. I have no idea how full-time mums around the world raise their kids, have a career, not go completely nuts in the process and still have time for a life.

You guys are the real super-heroes!

K xx

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