You probably meant it as a joke, but the tone of your voice suggested otherwise.
I had an excruciatingly bad day. Thomas was more than I could handle, and my pain reached it's peak today. My hips feel like they're going to pop out of their joints, and my back... If I could reach back and rip the muscles out, I would.
I dragged our boy up the stairs and all but tossed him in his crib with his bottle and bunnies. I tucked him in tightly and stormed out of the room and slammed the door.
And proceeded to cry for the next three hours on the floor next to our bed. I felt guilt, I felt overwhelmed. And most of all, I was in so much pain, and there was nothing I could do.
So I sat. And I cried into my hands, trying to muffle myself as much as possible.
Nothing got done. I didn't even turn on the monitor. 3 hours passed and I finally dragged myself to my feet and left the room to gather our child and hurry out the door to run some errands after a rushed lunch.
I stopped at the daycare to drop off Tom's registration. Getting in and out of the car was agony, and as I walked, I had to keep my knees together. Browsing the grocery store was worse. At one point, I was sure i was going to throw up in the bread section. I rested my head on the shelf long enough to catch someone's attention.
After reassuring that I'm fine, just pregnant, I hurried off to join my mom.
I eventually got a call from Thomas's therapist. And it was great news. She'll give us the referral we need to get the subsidy for daycare. Without it, daycare would cost $1000. I can make alot happen, but an extra 1000 is just not one of those things. But her agreeing to help me did a 180 for my mood. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.
But then I got home. I shared the news with you, while you laid on your side and browsed your laptop. I also told you that my medication must not be working right now, because all I've done is cry today.
I'm sure you meant it as a joke as you glanced at me and said, "Maybe now you can get things done."
But it hurt.
It hurt almost as much as my hips as I slowly stood from the couch and limped to the kitchen, where I proceeded to cry quietly as I put together Tom's dinner.
It hurt almost as much as the realization that dawned on me when i was alone in our bathroom with that pocket knife in my hand, staring at myself in the mirror, cradling my swollen belly with my other hand.
The realization that for the first time since I've been pregnant, I actually wanted to disappear. To die. A fleeting thought, quickly overwhelmed by the guilt that followed immediately after.
What pregnant mother would want to kill herself? I must not be a very good mother...
I looked down to the knife as I sat on the edge of the tub, crying. I wanted to vent, so badly, but I wouldn't. Because I am a good mother, despite my thoughts, and my anger, and my depression.
And this baby in me is a fighter.
But you were right.
I accomplish nothing each day. The dishes pile up, the toys are left out. I hate you coming home to an unkept house, but my pain ties me to a chair. My exhaustion steals away my motivation, and I'm left with nothing but bitter guilt.
And when Tom goes to daycare, this probably won't change. Not because I don't want it to, or from lack of trying. But I hurt so badly, and it gets worse with each day that this babe is in me. And you don't see that...
You just see me
And it hurts.
· Fri Jun 15, 2018 @ 10:34pm · 0 Comments