Today has been a weird day. I’m not sure if it’s a good day, a bad day, or a “meh” day. It’s kind of one of those easy days I mentioned a few blogs back. It’s 5pm and I’m getting a jumpstart on my blog today. Hoping I finish it before 9pm, but I’m not holding my breath.
I’m trying to link together all of my social media to cross-post and I came across my old tumblr account, that I haven’t used nor read since September 2016. I decided to read through some of my old posts. Thinking now that that wasn’t a very smart idea. I’m not sure if I’m experiencing a trigger or not–but I’m itching for a drink and a cigarette now.
I’ve experienced a lot of hell in the past few years; from manic and depressive episodes, to meeting my biological father to being abandoned by him once again (he never even met one of his grandchildren…), to losing both of Derrick’s grandparents to me losing Stephanie, our Nema, to having what we thought a dream home we’d rent and eventually purchase because who wants to move AGAIN, to suing our landlord for taking our money and leaving us in unsafe, unhealthy living conditions. And now it hits me; Stephanie will never meet Ivy. But I hope she’s watching over her. (I need a minute. Tears. And I need coffee to keep going).
So Derrick and I had a (fake, but hilarious) fight this morning. We started arguing PRIOR to the Coffee-Mug Gate of 2017. I woke up around 5, wide awake and ENGORGED as all hell and luckily Ivy was stirring about. I nursed the little bugger (almost drowning her, twice. Sorry kid, mom’s got huge boobs and when you activate the “Let Down” they’re like enormous water balloons and a thumbtack just pricked em–LET ‘ER BLOW! And said flooding commenced.) So, anyways, I nursed her on both sides, roughly 15 minutes total and she pulled off and so I decided to fire up the Lansinoh and suck out the rest (7 ounces more!) and while doing so, I nudged Derrick, who was trying to reposition himself for more sleep and said “Hey, I just nursed her and I gotta pump out this engorgement. The least you could do is change her diaper.” And whoa, did he get pissy and snap back with something about letting ME sleep in and I fired back with “Hey dude, I burn more energy, leaving me much more exhausted than you, by doing this” *gesturing to the boobs* He begrudgingly got up and proceeding to change the baby, leaving him the victim and me the victor! Hazah!
And when I took the Kiinde Twist to the kitchen to Sharpie on the date to throw it in the freezer, I decided to BE NICE and make the coffee for once before heading back to the room to clean up my pumping mess. Derrick conceded his grudge and brought me a mug of hot coffee…in a plain red mug (that I’m still using right now, for my 4th cuppa of the day, lol) and this is when Coffee-Mug Gate of 2017 started. (If you wanna read the funny exchange, look for the picture of the red mug in my Instagram feed here: Coffee-Mug Gate of 2017 ) My mom was in hysterics witnessing our psychological banter.
Late in the morning, my mom and I headed up to my favorite Thrift Shoppe and decided to blow my weeks allowance on stuff because (sad face) they’re closing their doors permanently. I bought clothes for the kids, a few clothes and decent heels for myself, a few knit hats and beanies for the winter (cause I look Fab-YOU-FUCKING-lous in knit hats come winter!), some scarfs (infinity nursing scarves FTW!) and a brand new baby cart cover for shopping carts (this brand specifically is like $60 for the set!) and a black bookshelf for my office and a desk chair for Derrick. I even picked up my mom’s items as a small thank you for all she’s been helping me with while at the house. (She’s a godsend!) I also bought her like 100 visors for her to “bedazzle” and decorate to sell on her Etsy account: Norma’s Etsy Shoppe)
God Lord, it’s now 10:00pm and I got caught up finishing and updating her Etsy account, nursing the baby thrice, watching Dirty Dancing on ABC (Fantastic job Abigail!) and ordering delivery to eat in bed, before I realize I still hadn’t posted a blog!
It feels good to be needed. I like to help. I’m a people pleaser–which can be a disease for people like me living with mental illness. We get caught in this vortex of helpfulness and before we know it, we’re down the rabbit hole and hours or days have passed, because we’ve done above and beyond what was asked from us. Like me; my mother just wanted an Etsy account…I took it a step or 100 further and organized, named and photographed ALL of her product and I’m uploading each set with personal descriptions and skew numbers, as well as made her an IG page, a Twitter profile, a Facebook Market page and an email address…and then I cross posted across all of my social media. I am exhausted, but I’m not done and it’ll bug me until I finish. So I have to upload all the images with descriptions and then start her advertising…
Ivy has a Pediatrician appointment tomorrow. I know she’s gained weight and I KNOW I’m producing fatty milk for her–my freezer is proof of that–but I am still insecure and worried that I’m not doing enough. She was born at 35 weeks and weighed a little over 6 pounds once the saline wore off, but everyone else says I spend too much time with her, so I’d be the last to recognize a drastic physical change in her. Maybe they’re right–they probably are. I just worry. A lot.
Tomorrow will be a better day. It may be a busier day than the last few (even though I just spent the last couple days at the National Innovative Community Conference–see my IG feed to the right for images —> ) I’m looking forward to the weekend. Which means there’s only about 3 weeks left of school and 5am alarms can be a thing of the past…until August, at least.
I’m trying to decide about which topics to write about daily, alongside my “daily happenings”…and I don’t want to come across as just another generic mommy blog. I am transparent and an open book that has no censorship or filter, so honesty IS my policy, for the sake of humanity–we don’t need anymore fakes running this world, so I promise to keep it real. Maybe I’ll write about sex and how it’s affected by both mental illness and having children and my constant paranoia about getting pregnant again, even though I’m on two forms of birth control AND Derrick had a vasectomy. Paranoid. All the time. At least it’ll make for a fun topic!
Thanks for stopping by–hope this post wasn’t too boring for ya.