because i'm not one to shy away from the truth, i've got to be completely honest here. i am freaking out. freaking out. despite the fact that i'm a few days away from being 9 flipping months pregnant, the world in which we live has been a ridiculously exhausting, emotionally challenging, mind bending rollercoaster. and, frankly, i'm freaking over it. i've done a damn good job of keeping the peace, keeping a smile on my face, keeping up a happy demeanor for everyone to make sure that our world is stable and normal. however, i have reached the end of my rope. my breaking point is here, and i am broken.
i'm having a baby in a month. a baby. a beautiful baby girl. i love her. i adore her. i can't wait to meet her. and i am completely unprepared for her. completely. unprepared. and i'm pissed off about it. i have no room for her. no space for her. not a single drawer for her. she will live in my room. her belongings will be minimal and stored in a tupperware container that can be easily removed from sight in the event that someone wants to see our house in the very unlikely chance that they may make an offer. i have not a single stuffed animal for her. not a single blankie for her. not a single idea for a nursery or something that i would hang on a wall for her, something that i would give her one day, many years from now, to let her know how excited i was for her arrival. how prepared i was for her.
this house. this freaking house has been on the market for 5 months. 5 months ago, cleaning and perfecting things weren't such a challenge. 5 months later, the case is not the same. i'm tired. i hurt. i'm sick of making things perfect in the unlikely event that today will be the day that someone actually wants to buy this pain in my ass. and with each passing day, there seems to be less room for the things in our family. there's less room. and there's less appreciation for how much i am required to do to maintain the dwindling amount of space that we have. i should be going through the attic, finding things for the baby. if i could fit in the attic, i'd have no room for the crap i need to pull out. i should be going through all of our things, the kids rooms, the closets, packing up the non-essentials. i should be minimizing the stuff that we have now, perhaps putting it into storage to make the house appear more spacious and less full... i wish i had the energy and patience and time to do this stuff. i should have some help to accomplish these goals. i should. i wish it were important to someone other than me.
i also have two other children to take care of. ella and summit need me now, maybe more than ever. their world is about to be turned upside freaking down, and they know it. i can tell that they're nervous. i can tell that they are having some internal stuff with everything that is going on. there is a lot of pressure for them to deal with that, having a mommy who is tired and stressed out, a home on the market, and a life that is not so easy. it's not fair for them, and i'm so anxious for them.
so, what would i expect to be happening? i don't know. but, i know i'm tired. i know i'm sick of putting on a happy face all the time. i am sick of doing it all on my own. i am too far invested in the selling of this house to turn back now. too far. and there's not enough space for us as it is. we have to get this over with. we have to. we have a baby coming. i'm torn up about the fact that she'll have her first baby things in a damn tupperware container. that sucks. sucks. sucks. it breaks my heart. i should have prepared better. this house should have been sold before she was conceived. i should have known better.
on top of all of this, matt wants me to drive two and a half hours to asheville to see bob weir tomorrow night. seriously. i need to buy a baby swing, and he wants to spend money on a concert? seriously? he expects me to go hang out at a show with a bunch of wasted hippies. me, stone sober and huge, trying to protect my belly from stumbling drunks, and completely exhausted? seriously? does that sound like fun for me right now? thanks for the consideration. i'll sit this one out.
and then there's my mother. she's worried about me. she doesn't know what's wrong. for real? how can she NOT know what's wrong? how do women NOT understand instinctively what may be going on with another woman, specifically their daughters? matt wants me to call her to let her know i'm okay. uh...no. i won't. because i'm not okay. sorry if she's worried, but i've got a little more to think about than if my mom is concerned about me. if she wants to stop worrying, i have a few suggestions. i'm sick and tired of basically doing all this by myself.
while i'm certain that many people would not ever think of posting something so raw and un-pretty, i really couldn't think of anything else to write. i suppose i could follow the age-old advice of "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." i suppose, but i didn't. i think it's okay, even good, to rant. women are expected to be perfect and beautiful and have it all together all the time. and, that's just not fair. it's not acceptable. life can be quite a bitch, and women letting it be known that their worlds are too heavy doesn't make them failures. it doesn't make them bitches. it makes them honest.
the end.
i'm having a baby in a month. a baby. a beautiful baby girl. i love her. i adore her. i can't wait to meet her. and i am completely unprepared for her. completely. unprepared. and i'm pissed off about it. i have no room for her. no space for her. not a single drawer for her. she will live in my room. her belongings will be minimal and stored in a tupperware container that can be easily removed from sight in the event that someone wants to see our house in the very unlikely chance that they may make an offer. i have not a single stuffed animal for her. not a single blankie for her. not a single idea for a nursery or something that i would hang on a wall for her, something that i would give her one day, many years from now, to let her know how excited i was for her arrival. how prepared i was for her.
this house. this freaking house has been on the market for 5 months. 5 months ago, cleaning and perfecting things weren't such a challenge. 5 months later, the case is not the same. i'm tired. i hurt. i'm sick of making things perfect in the unlikely event that today will be the day that someone actually wants to buy this pain in my ass. and with each passing day, there seems to be less room for the things in our family. there's less room. and there's less appreciation for how much i am required to do to maintain the dwindling amount of space that we have. i should be going through the attic, finding things for the baby. if i could fit in the attic, i'd have no room for the crap i need to pull out. i should be going through all of our things, the kids rooms, the closets, packing up the non-essentials. i should be minimizing the stuff that we have now, perhaps putting it into storage to make the house appear more spacious and less full... i wish i had the energy and patience and time to do this stuff. i should have some help to accomplish these goals. i should. i wish it were important to someone other than me.
i also have two other children to take care of. ella and summit need me now, maybe more than ever. their world is about to be turned upside freaking down, and they know it. i can tell that they're nervous. i can tell that they are having some internal stuff with everything that is going on. there is a lot of pressure for them to deal with that, having a mommy who is tired and stressed out, a home on the market, and a life that is not so easy. it's not fair for them, and i'm so anxious for them.
so, what would i expect to be happening? i don't know. but, i know i'm tired. i know i'm sick of putting on a happy face all the time. i am sick of doing it all on my own. i am too far invested in the selling of this house to turn back now. too far. and there's not enough space for us as it is. we have to get this over with. we have to. we have a baby coming. i'm torn up about the fact that she'll have her first baby things in a damn tupperware container. that sucks. sucks. sucks. it breaks my heart. i should have prepared better. this house should have been sold before she was conceived. i should have known better.
on top of all of this, matt wants me to drive two and a half hours to asheville to see bob weir tomorrow night. seriously. i need to buy a baby swing, and he wants to spend money on a concert? seriously? he expects me to go hang out at a show with a bunch of wasted hippies. me, stone sober and huge, trying to protect my belly from stumbling drunks, and completely exhausted? seriously? does that sound like fun for me right now? thanks for the consideration. i'll sit this one out.
and then there's my mother. she's worried about me. she doesn't know what's wrong. for real? how can she NOT know what's wrong? how do women NOT understand instinctively what may be going on with another woman, specifically their daughters? matt wants me to call her to let her know i'm okay. uh...no. i won't. because i'm not okay. sorry if she's worried, but i've got a little more to think about than if my mom is concerned about me. if she wants to stop worrying, i have a few suggestions. i'm sick and tired of basically doing all this by myself.
while i'm certain that many people would not ever think of posting something so raw and un-pretty, i really couldn't think of anything else to write. i suppose i could follow the age-old advice of "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." i suppose, but i didn't. i think it's okay, even good, to rant. women are expected to be perfect and beautiful and have it all together all the time. and, that's just not fair. it's not acceptable. life can be quite a bitch, and women letting it be known that their worlds are too heavy doesn't make them failures. it doesn't make them bitches. it makes them honest.
the end.
Mary you are beautiful even in your frustration. I'm literally a couple of miles away, so please let me know if you need some muscle. Also, I have boxes and boxes of girl clothes you are welcome to pillage, as I am going to consign them otherwise. I'll text you about it. And I have read your other posts - your gratitude post was sweet and amazing - but I wanted to comment on this one, as a woman who has weathered the art of trying to keep a smile on my face while practicing acceptance, and sometimes not meeting that goal. The beautiful thing about airing the frustration is it allows the sun to shine in on it. :) Love ya!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Julie. I think it's appropriate and necessary to vent. Women already have to keep their bodies in spanx. I don't think it's good to keep our emotions in them, too. xo
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