Motherhood Uncensored

Terrible day

I found her sobbing outside the elevators on the 1st floor of the medical building, dressed in purple scrubs and fake crocs clutching her lunch bag as tears rolled down her face.

The people waiting for the elevator stared somberly at the up and down lights as if to move them more quickly in their direction.

They all knew. An entire floor of OB offices.

A mom with a little girl in her stroller looked at me as I walked closer. Our eyes met and we connected in our own helplessness. "She said she'll be okay" she whispered. You could tell she didn't believe her.

Either did I.

The woman was unmoved by the crowds exiting and entering the elevators as I sat down next to her. I offered her water and help, and told her my name. I tried to engage her in conversation to see what was wrong.

I could barely understand what she said, but I just sat there anyway until she assured me that she didn't need anything. That she'd be fine.

The mom returned, telling me that she had alerted the doctor's office. I sat for a little longer, hoping someone would come out to offer her tissues or at least walk her to her car.

And then I put my hand on her shoulder and walked away, trying hard not to remember sitting in the hallway of my own OB's office, watching staff and patients pass me by as I not so quietly sobbed on my own terrible day.

Flask of hope

I had my first drink as a sophomore in college, delayed mostly by the all too present reminders of my alcoholic father. And since then, I've been an extremely controlled social drinker.

In fact, I can count the times I've been drunk on my one hand.

So when I decided to kick the booze for the entire month of January, I didn't really think too much of it. A little post-holiday detox would do my liver and let's face it, my ass, a lot of good.

Plus, I've cut out booze for a total of 27 months (give or take a few days for those third trimester weak moments). Heck, I even ate nothing but a combination of five foods in one form or another for an entire year.

I can resist the glass of wine with dinner. The beer during Monday night football. The weird rum "with whatever kid's juice I have laying around" drink.

Suddenly, the list went on, and I realized I had become a bit more than a social drinker.

I didn't think much of it, really, until about a week into January when I felt like my body was screaming and I wanted to rip a Bud Light out of my husband's hands.

I'm quite aware that I've got addictive tendencies, which makes doing anything in moderation quite a challenge for me.  

It's great for the 30 Day Shred.

And work.

But other parts of life that require moderation require a bit more of an effort.

So either I drink when I want and how I want because I CAN DRINK DAMNIT.

Or I don't do it at all.

And when it functions as a drug for me, and not as just an excellent pairing with a pasta dish, I had to wonder if I just shouldn't do it.

And so I did, well, save a few days in Puerto Rico when I sucked down a few mojitos and couple of free Margaritas (Embassy Suites Free Happy Hour FTW!), for the entire month of January.

Wouldn't you know that life was better. Sleep was better. Sex was BETTER.

Ahem.

*****

I've watched motherhood take a lot of victims - good women, awesome marriages - drowned without any chance of resuscitation. Even good swimmers, some extra prepared with lessons and life jackets, can't stay afloat when they're tossed into freezing cold water.

That's not the case for all of us.

The water is warmer, or we're fortunate to have someone toss us a lifeline and pull us in, even if it's by our hair.

But others aren't as lucky, and they grasp at what they can to keep their heads afloat.

*****

The first time I stood up to my father, he took away my car. He grabbed the keys away from me as I screamed in his face about the time he was too drunk to pick me up from youth group and left me there mortified trying to explain to my boyfriend why were were still sitting there 45 minutes after it was over.

The time he broke into our basement after being taken away by the police and screamed at us into the wee hours of the morning about how my sister's death was my mom's fault.

I raised my hand at him and he flinched. "Are you afraid I'm going to hit you?" I asked. "How does it feel?" I remember saying, my heart racing out of my chest.

He laughed, staring at the keys in his hand. "You have nothing now," he said to me. "You'll end up alone. Miserable."

*****

Life was never hard enough for me to drink.

And then I had a kid, and got married again, and attempted to be married with kids.

That's the short story.

And all that shit is pretty fucking hard.

I don't think I have a problem. But I also know I just don't do moderation well.

So instead of risk it, I'm going to enjoy the bliss and heartache of being present in my own daily existence. And I'm filling my flask with nothing else but hope.

For my kids, for my husband, and for my dad.

Victory

I was Quinlan's age when the relationship with my dad started taking a turn for the worse. It was just after  my 5th birthday when he held me in a choke hold up against a brick wall at a train station for talking too much.

Thus continued years of drinking and yelling. Hitting sometimes. Fearing always. And enough to make me quite certain that I did not want to have kids.

I did not want to risk carrying on that legacy.

So when I got pregnant with Quinlan, I vowed it would never be like it was for me.

It could never be like it was for me.

There are days when I yell. I've had a few mother beast moments that I still find it hard to forget.

And lately, with what's been a combination of weird hormones, a month long withdrawl from sugar and booze, and my husband's travel schedule, I've been scraping by, shoveling dried fruit and black tea down my gullet and trying not to scare my kids with a mix of irritable snaps and crying spells.

Hell, I was even crying on the treadmill after catching the tail end of "The Express," in particular when he wins the Heisman Trophy.

There is something so powerful about the idea of beating the odds and winning. The standing ovation, that public experience of victory, is something that few of us, and certainly not me, experience.

I admit that I was envious of that feeling, now realizing that I'll probably never be winning that Academy Award I used to dream about as a kid.

But then I realized that we all have those moments in our lives. Granted they don't involve amazing performances on a football field or in a blockbuster movie, but we all have victories to celebrate.

And so when he accepted his trophy, I accepted mine.

A victory in breaking the cycle. And starting a new legacy for my kids.

I may not be perfect. But I'm aware. And that's more than half the battle.