My son pronounces “clock” “c*ck”, as in penile. So anywhere we go, which is EVERYWHERE we go, he’s all, “C*CK! C*CK!”. People look at me like I am a horrible mother.

Not hilarious:

One of the medications I am on is giving me serious mood swings and making me so, so, so touchy and irritable. Even more so than what is normal for me. I have got to find the time to call the doctor on monday to see about what we can do. I cannot live like this and feel so sorry for tele-hubby.

I wore earrings tonight for the first time in months. I wear the sensitive ears kind with no nickel in them but my ears always have some sort of itchy reaction that is driving me crazy.

Why is it that I am the physically smaller person in my partnership yet I am the one who has to carry a 50lb diaper bag around with me everywhere we go? I am SO over that and so is my left shoulder and right side of my neck. I am in serious pain this evening.

Every time I think about needing to go to the doctor to address my medications and or pains all I can think about it how it’s going to disrupt my husbands schedule to take off work to stay with the kids so I can go. Then I never make the appointment. I really, really, really have to call on Monday, or Tuesday. But what if I have to have surgery or am put on some silly sort of restriction that is completely ridiculous because I never get to rest

Laundry.

Cleaning.

How am I going to make it through the week. It’s sunday night, tomorrow will be Monday and this means five days of complete responsibility of two, dear, darling little souls. It fucking stresses me out. I feel like my oldest loathes me because I’ve run out of ways to entertain him. Like I’m failing. But he’s funny and we laugh a lot together, read, assemble, lego, story time, etc.

My littlest is my joy. She’s so sweet and cuddly and wants nothing but the basics and I’m able to provide that for her.

I fear I am never, ever, ever going to be able to get it out of my head that things are FAIR. Life is fair. Things are equal. People in partnerships share responsibilities 50/50. Yeah? Well, if you believe that bullshit you’re pulling the wool over your eyes and you’ve got a sheep to sell me.

This thought of fairness and the unjustness of life has been bugging me since the beginning. From the time I saw that all Barbies had blond hair and I was brunette. They were preferred blond. This is a stupid comparison but I felt it worth typing out.

I want to go back to work. Even if it’s just part time at a clothing store. There is a mall a mile from our house and a store I’d like to work at is hiring. Here’s the problem. We are planning on going to NC for Thanksgiving and if I’m working retail it will most likely be mandatory that I work black friday. So what do I do?

I told my husband that I was going to wake up at 5:45am tomorrow and start C25K. He laughed. It hurt although he laughs for good reason. It will be impossible to get out of bed that early….for me anyway. I know I could do it if I didn’t have a baby to get up with in the middle of the night. I have to figure something out though. I have to start some exercise routine. It is the only thing that helps me, along with an antidepressant, with my depression. I feel myself slipping away every day. Most likely I will start hitting the gym after my oldest babe goes to bed. It’s not desirable to work out that late in the day BUT it’ll have to do.

Is it any wonder my self esteem is at an all time low?

I allowed myself to be disappointed again by someone I thought I had accepted as nothing but a disappointment but sadly I didn’t learn my lesson and now I am wounded within (again).

I would be okay with that.

God, that song grates on my nerves and it’s just so cliché. Like I just know that somewhere a mullet headed, tan, leather faced idiot wearing plaid cut offs gets excited to hear that melody when it comes on even though he’s heard it his whole life. He never questioned it, why the hell they always play that stupid song by Lynyrd Skynyrd even though the band has like, a million other BETTER songs. But he sings along, knows all the words (who doesn’t, right? It’s been forced down our throats since we were born)and reminisces about good old days with the good old boys while drinking a Budweiser.

I don’t begrudge anyone if they really do love that song but if you’re under age of 40, really, does anyone really like that song or am I just being a bitch?

Don’t answer that.

I don’t really know where I was going with this or what my point was just that the other day that song came on the radio and I was instantly irritated. I started thinking of how many times in my life I have probably heard it and I became more and more incensed.

All words used to describe me by friends, colleagues (when I once worked).

Yeah, I know, right?

I think a lot of friends would be surprised to know that deep down, if I am honest, I mean really, really honest, I am an angry person. Not bitter, but angry. I feel like if someone is described as bitter they are hell-bent on warning others of their misfortunes; by that definition, I am NOT bitter. Angry.

Perhaps a little cynical.

Definitely manic.

I am feeling manic, a little crazy, for the past 2 weeks. I’ve noticed I have started about 5 different projects and am unable to focus on anything or complete anything even if it’s something as simple as a load of laundry.

I have 4 books I am reading right now. 3 are on childhood development/psychology and a fiction book called “The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ” by Philip Pullman. It is laughable that I am even checking books out at this point. I mean I have a 7 week old and a 2 year old and no time to even eat, take a shower (save for this) and here I am thinking I am going to read 4 books in a two week period. RIGHT.

I miss my old life sometimes. The one where I sat in bed and painted my nails while I read magazines and watched the Bravo TV channel while nursing a hangover. Really though, I think, was it all that glamorous after all? No. I was still angry inside.

That’s the point. I want to know WHY I am angry, short tempered. Better yet WHY I hide it so well. Even better, how do I get RID of it. I know I have issues in the past that need to be dealt with. I’d love to go through therapy again and really work on that, fix myself.

I started giving a fuck about what I was writing. I started caring what other people thought of what I was writing. So I started writing the way I thought I 28-year-old mother and wife should write. Coincidently, my writing suffered. Suffered? I mean it SUCKED. It wasn’t me. Well, it was me but it was the me I thought people wanted me to be.

I started blocking the stream of rawness that poured from my head, into my heart, down into my fingertips where I typed it out.

It sucked.

I’ve been enduring a 2 year writers block. Now I have a lot to say.

It’s all good for a little while.

My husband thinks my anxiety and depression are due to not having a plan, not knowing what my future will be. Only now I know that I will ALWAYS be a mother and it’s throwing me for a loop. He tells me it doesn’t mean I can’t still do the things I wanted to do, it’ll just be more challenging but that we can always find a way.

I’m amazed by you, day in and day out, with the world sitting on your shoulders. Yet you never make me feel less important. I don’t know how it’s possible you can do all you do and still be so calm, mellow, happy.

I knew that when I wanted to get married I wanted a man that would take charge and take care (of me). Say what you will about that statement but I grew up with a family that struggled with everything. I’ve already learned how to take care of myself by myself and quite frankly I’m not very good at it.

I have everything I want: The house, the car, the baby, the executive husband, the stay at home mom status and now I’m like…now what. I don’t know what my next step is but there has to be more for me. An occupation, a business, a book? I don’t know.

I feel disconnected from the world. I really miss home. Tulsa. The place I should be to live and stay and raise more babies. We’ll return one day I just know it. If not there, somewhere within a driving distance from my Mom. I refuse to have any more children until we move home or closer to home to me.