Things I Think About - Babyin' Ain't Easy
Well, been a while since I've done one of these, and so much has been going on in background this summer, this one's bound to be disjointed.
How am I, you may ask?
Still figuring that one out myself, to be honest.
The most looming response would be skinny as fuck.
Biopsy from endoscopy turned up micro colitis, and I'm currently on a round of steroids. Fun fun fun.
I am scary skinny, you guys. Been noticing my energy waning and increasing shakes all summer. Haven't talked much about the current treatment, cause the last one (in APRIL!) was so damn anti-climactic. Supposed to notice a difference within a few weeks, so here goes. In the meantime, getting a bead on side effects, which are less impairing than the round of antibiotics for the other thing they treated. Definitely shaky, definitely still an epic insomniac. Fairly positive spirits, but good god do steroids make me cry easily. So rolling with that, at the moment.
But beyond the physical health stuff, my intense bout of post-partum last fall paired with losing the job last spring was full of fun identity crisis stuff, as well as being a kick in the ass for me to start deciding what happens with my life next.
Timing is weird, as always, but makes a ton of sense now that our family is complete and we've survived the most intense parts of the baby phase. That was the part, guys. The part I've been PTSD about because of my family history.
It quite literally took me six years of marriage to come to peace with the idea of having babies of my own, and the installation plan was an intense ride. Such is life, especially mine. I have this bizarrely long history of things suddenly all bottoming out at once, and I don't typically deal with the major instances well.
I fucking hate the unknown. I've been through enough dark bullshit that I would rather have the blunt fucking truth in my face so I can deal with that fucker than sit there fucking questioning what happens next. Plus, my imagination does me no favors. I imagine worse than reality a good 70% of the time.
And well, isn't that the pregnancy and baby ride in a nutshell? Sit and wait patiently and until they have something they can tell you? Goddamn it that's hard.
So, I did a ton of fucking work on myself to feel I was even capable of sitting still with a baby without being a basket case that would fuck the whole thing up.
My father suffers from suicidal depression.
I am the oldest and I watched when that flip switched and he fucking bailed on us and never came back. The kicker is, he never left the damn house so the rest of us could move on, he just made us all watch him kill himself slowly and shit on every damn thing we ever, EVER, cared about. Fucker's still dying slowly and taking up all my mother's time now.
The biggest issue I had to take on in my 20s was repression. Both of myself and of all the damn secrets that go with keeping up appearances. At that time, I was pretty damn sure I didn't trust ANYone enough to have a baby and think they would do a damn thing to help with any of the heavy lifting. And I knew doing that stuff alone would make me batshit.
My baby sister was born when I was 13, just before my family relocated a second time, after dad finished radio broadcasting school. When he got that job, we moved to a very isolated and cruel small town, and dad left us all home with the baby and no car most of the time. I barely remember actually spending time with him after that.
A year or two later my mother had a horrible miscarriage at the five month mark, and the way she was treated... Well, I've ranted on that one before and can gladly do it again for anyone at any point.
By the time I left that house, I was terrified of ever being stuck home alone. I was convinced I was completely invisible and inconsequential. And I knew that the moment I moved out and did things my way, I had no back up.
Even if my mom had the time and energy, my family has not a damn thing but debt.
College was all on me. And any damn person who tries to tell me they put themselves through college while also having an education fund to subsidize or a parent paying for their damn car or apartment can suck it and shut the fuck up.
I've been looking for home of my own ever since. And I'm weird one. I don't have an agenda for my life. Just stuff I'm interested and things that are important to me.
Most important to me is change. I need to know things are changing and will continue to change, good or bad. I was stuck living in someone else's suicidal rut my entire teenage life. I fucking won't do that again.
And that includes my own...
Last fall was eye opening for me. When my depression kicks in, and boy does it at times, I've always found myself fantasizing about running away. Pretty sure I've got some wanderer to me, cause the open road just calls sometimes.
Well, for the first time last fall, that out of running away stopped being a comfort. I have babies now. I can never run away again. The very idea of running away from those girls made me realize I would end up killing myself if I did that.
Which made me come to terms with the fucking fact that I don't have fucking depression, I deal with my father's fucking suicidal depression, which is some scary ass shit. I had very cleverly hidden that fact from myself as running away because I hate him for not loving me enough to want to live....
Ain't that a kicker for ya?
Now, as intense as all that damn shit sounds and actually is, the moment I put those pieces together I got my ass in therapy and have been figuring it out.
Those who have known me a long time remember how vehement I used to be about no kids.
Pretty sure now I was doing my best to protect myself and them. But the truth is, I fucking love kids. I fucking love my siblings, and the kids I used to babysit, and the kids from the daycare, and the kids I nannied for.
It's the babies that scared me. They are helpless and innocent, and sorry, fucking boring. I mean, so cute, yes. But if it's hard for you to sit and be at peace with yourself? Some little thing doing the same thing over and over, while being demanding of all attention and energy, with an attention span of 15 minutes? That's a big deal and a hard thing to do.
I remember at 13 fighting the urge to shake the baby and shout "just tell me what you want".
But you guys, when they talk. That threshold is transformative for me. I fucking love that shit.
Now, I'm the kind of person who does my best not to be mindful and make a scene just because my shit is all over the place. I fail spectacularly at times, but I do my best... I've been quiet about my girls because I don't want to bitch about my own issues that aren't their fault. And as hard as every damn hour of the baby chaos can be, those girls are also the highlight of every day. That's why even when I'm quiet, I post their pictures. That's my happy for the day cause I don't feel like being that guy doing the bitching.
Yeah, my shit is freaking hard to deal with sometimes. But you guys, I know what's going on all around me. I know the hard things people have had to deal with for the people they love. I am so fucking lucky and I know it.
I also know I took a big risk on myself by creating a family with TJ, despite all the shit I lived through before him. I'm really fucking glad I did.
The biggest lesson I learned from my father is that words are bullshit most of the time.
You want to really know someone? Watch what they do. Especially over time. Especially when those times are fucking hard.
I know what selfless love looks like. I can spot people who are willing to do big, hard things because they love someone. I like those people. And when I meet a dude willing to do that for their child, well shit.
I really wanted one of those when I was little. My girls are fucking lucky.
Me too.
How am I, you may ask?
Still figuring that one out myself, to be honest.
The most looming response would be skinny as fuck.
Biopsy from endoscopy turned up micro colitis, and I'm currently on a round of steroids. Fun fun fun.
I am scary skinny, you guys. Been noticing my energy waning and increasing shakes all summer. Haven't talked much about the current treatment, cause the last one (in APRIL!) was so damn anti-climactic. Supposed to notice a difference within a few weeks, so here goes. In the meantime, getting a bead on side effects, which are less impairing than the round of antibiotics for the other thing they treated. Definitely shaky, definitely still an epic insomniac. Fairly positive spirits, but good god do steroids make me cry easily. So rolling with that, at the moment.
But beyond the physical health stuff, my intense bout of post-partum last fall paired with losing the job last spring was full of fun identity crisis stuff, as well as being a kick in the ass for me to start deciding what happens with my life next.
Timing is weird, as always, but makes a ton of sense now that our family is complete and we've survived the most intense parts of the baby phase. That was the part, guys. The part I've been PTSD about because of my family history.
It quite literally took me six years of marriage to come to peace with the idea of having babies of my own, and the installation plan was an intense ride. Such is life, especially mine. I have this bizarrely long history of things suddenly all bottoming out at once, and I don't typically deal with the major instances well.
I fucking hate the unknown. I've been through enough dark bullshit that I would rather have the blunt fucking truth in my face so I can deal with that fucker than sit there fucking questioning what happens next. Plus, my imagination does me no favors. I imagine worse than reality a good 70% of the time.
And well, isn't that the pregnancy and baby ride in a nutshell? Sit and wait patiently and until they have something they can tell you? Goddamn it that's hard.
So, I did a ton of fucking work on myself to feel I was even capable of sitting still with a baby without being a basket case that would fuck the whole thing up.
My father suffers from suicidal depression.
I am the oldest and I watched when that flip switched and he fucking bailed on us and never came back. The kicker is, he never left the damn house so the rest of us could move on, he just made us all watch him kill himself slowly and shit on every damn thing we ever, EVER, cared about. Fucker's still dying slowly and taking up all my mother's time now.
The biggest issue I had to take on in my 20s was repression. Both of myself and of all the damn secrets that go with keeping up appearances. At that time, I was pretty damn sure I didn't trust ANYone enough to have a baby and think they would do a damn thing to help with any of the heavy lifting. And I knew doing that stuff alone would make me batshit.
My baby sister was born when I was 13, just before my family relocated a second time, after dad finished radio broadcasting school. When he got that job, we moved to a very isolated and cruel small town, and dad left us all home with the baby and no car most of the time. I barely remember actually spending time with him after that.
A year or two later my mother had a horrible miscarriage at the five month mark, and the way she was treated... Well, I've ranted on that one before and can gladly do it again for anyone at any point.
By the time I left that house, I was terrified of ever being stuck home alone. I was convinced I was completely invisible and inconsequential. And I knew that the moment I moved out and did things my way, I had no back up.
Even if my mom had the time and energy, my family has not a damn thing but debt.
College was all on me. And any damn person who tries to tell me they put themselves through college while also having an education fund to subsidize or a parent paying for their damn car or apartment can suck it and shut the fuck up.
I've been looking for home of my own ever since. And I'm weird one. I don't have an agenda for my life. Just stuff I'm interested and things that are important to me.
Most important to me is change. I need to know things are changing and will continue to change, good or bad. I was stuck living in someone else's suicidal rut my entire teenage life. I fucking won't do that again.
And that includes my own...
Last fall was eye opening for me. When my depression kicks in, and boy does it at times, I've always found myself fantasizing about running away. Pretty sure I've got some wanderer to me, cause the open road just calls sometimes.
Well, for the first time last fall, that out of running away stopped being a comfort. I have babies now. I can never run away again. The very idea of running away from those girls made me realize I would end up killing myself if I did that.
Which made me come to terms with the fucking fact that I don't have fucking depression, I deal with my father's fucking suicidal depression, which is some scary ass shit. I had very cleverly hidden that fact from myself as running away because I hate him for not loving me enough to want to live....
Ain't that a kicker for ya?
Now, as intense as all that damn shit sounds and actually is, the moment I put those pieces together I got my ass in therapy and have been figuring it out.
Those who have known me a long time remember how vehement I used to be about no kids.
Pretty sure now I was doing my best to protect myself and them. But the truth is, I fucking love kids. I fucking love my siblings, and the kids I used to babysit, and the kids from the daycare, and the kids I nannied for.
It's the babies that scared me. They are helpless and innocent, and sorry, fucking boring. I mean, so cute, yes. But if it's hard for you to sit and be at peace with yourself? Some little thing doing the same thing over and over, while being demanding of all attention and energy, with an attention span of 15 minutes? That's a big deal and a hard thing to do.
I remember at 13 fighting the urge to shake the baby and shout "just tell me what you want".
But you guys, when they talk. That threshold is transformative for me. I fucking love that shit.
Now, I'm the kind of person who does my best not to be mindful and make a scene just because my shit is all over the place. I fail spectacularly at times, but I do my best... I've been quiet about my girls because I don't want to bitch about my own issues that aren't their fault. And as hard as every damn hour of the baby chaos can be, those girls are also the highlight of every day. That's why even when I'm quiet, I post their pictures. That's my happy for the day cause I don't feel like being that guy doing the bitching.
Yeah, my shit is freaking hard to deal with sometimes. But you guys, I know what's going on all around me. I know the hard things people have had to deal with for the people they love. I am so fucking lucky and I know it.
I also know I took a big risk on myself by creating a family with TJ, despite all the shit I lived through before him. I'm really fucking glad I did.
The biggest lesson I learned from my father is that words are bullshit most of the time.
You want to really know someone? Watch what they do. Especially over time. Especially when those times are fucking hard.
I know what selfless love looks like. I can spot people who are willing to do big, hard things because they love someone. I like those people. And when I meet a dude willing to do that for their child, well shit.
I really wanted one of those when I was little. My girls are fucking lucky.
Me too.