I put BG to bed and walked outside to find Mr. MLACS…SMOKING A CIGARETTE.
This is basically the worst thing he can possibly do, as a morbidly obese cardio myopathy patient *with* veinous insufficiency.
I had flashbacks to the phone call telling us he needed to be admitted–Mr. MLACS broke down in the middle of Chipotle and my terrified pregnant ass had to keep it together. I remember sleeping in his hospital room at 32 weeks pregnant–terrified of losing my husband and raising my baby alone. And worrying about his fragile health was a huge source of anxiety for me and fueled my PPA.
How can he DO THIS to me?
Moreover, to HIS DAUGHTER?!!
It’s a HUGE betrayal and I’m beyond disgusted. You all know how hard I’ve been trying to help him get healthy. And I can’t even consider TTC until I feel like he’s taken responsibility for his health.
He swears it was only this week. But how can I trust him? And WHY NOW? It’s been nearly 3 years since he quit smoking and we’ve been through much worse, so it doesn’t make sense that he’d buckle under pressure now.
Has he been lying to me all this time??
He was the ONE person I thought I could count on.
And here I am, jumping through hoops to better my health, taking all these fertility supplements and feeling guilty for not starting Whole30 this month…
I just feel so… hopeless.
What do I do you guys? I don’t even know anymore.
Speaking of ways I feel like a failure as a wife and mom, here–let me list them:
- My daughter hits now. Not hard, but quite intentionally when she is angry/frustrated with me. Then she looks at me to see my reaction.
- I’ve tried saying ‘Oh no, I don’t like it when you do that’. Made her stop at first, but not anymore.
- She will hit/bat at other kids too and I have ZERO tolerance for this.
- Time-outs can be used at home. But what recourse do I have in public? I actually had to get up and leave a storytime the other day because BG kept hitting and shrieking. I was beyond mortified.
- Sometimes I can redirect her. But in the last couple of days I have found myself losing my temper and slapping her hand when she hits me. Then she cries. Then I feel a mixture of angry/sad/guilty.
- She doesn’t pull this sh*t with Mr. MLACS!
- I have also spanked her a couple times. I hate myself for that.
- Mr. MLACS has been working dawn until dusk for the last 2 weeks. Every day. Leaving me with a MOODY and DEMANDING toddler and a house that is in chaos and a life that is unsettled. With no reprieve. By 7pm I give no sh*ts what anybody in this house wants from me. He needs to get home by 5:30 before “nice mommy” clocks out and “b*tchy mommy” takes over.
- He was *supposed* to be home by 5pm and off on weekends. I feel screwed over because I was *perfectly fine* without him when we lived in my hometown (where everything was convenient and familiar). Supposedly this is temporary due to issues at work, but I’m side-eyeing the hell out of Mr. MLACS.
- I’m desperate for personal space. I have been so stressed and overstimulated and my nerves are shot–having a clingy toddler 24/7 (she even clings to me in her sleep) is maddening.
- Doing errands wipes me out because we are f*cking 40 minutes (by highway) from the nearest Target/Starbucks/Trader Joe’s/Whole Foods/etc. The traffic is hideous no matter what time of day. This f*cks with my anxiety.
- So we’ve established I’m constantly on the verge of having a meltdown. And so then when my patience has worn thin and my toddler melts down (for the 50th time that day), I melt down too. It’s pathetic.
- I don’t want to resent Mr. MLACS for my toddler being difficult, for my inability to deal with her like a rational adult, and for my life being in upheaval–but I do. He tries to be helpful. He comes home from long days and plays with BG and the puppy, and does the dishes or goes to the store or hangs pictures or whatever I need, without complaint. I feel guilty for being mad at him–it’s not like he’s avoiding coming home, he’s just swamped at work and it’s beating him up. And yet, I resent him. Because he’s been swamped at work for the past SIX YEARS and this move was supposed to be the end of it. I did everything in regards to dealing with our infertility. I f*cking conceived BG while he was 3,000 miles away in Canada. Dealt with being by myself through PPA/PPD and the most terrifying year of my life as a new mother. And I was fine. But he lured me down here on the promise of a different life and I was not prepared for him to abandon me–it doesn’t matter if it’s for work or a trip to Vegas. I’m burnt the f*ck out, I left my safe haven to come to a foreign place, and I need my f*cking husband by 5pm AND on weekends.
F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.
“There’s a special kind of healing that comes from giving to others what you desperately needed and couldn’t find yourself.” –Schrodinger’s Catbox
BOOM! This. Is. Everything.
I f*cking LOVE you Schrodinger–if you posted more my blog would probably become a stream of your reblogs ❤
Oh, my darlings. It’s been a long time. It’s a little intimidating, this blank screen. I’ve been meaning to write, been wanting to write. It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve just been, I don’t know, just… Living. And that’s good, right? Life has been all, you know, lifey. We got a puppy last November, a […]
via Mornings With My Wiener — Schrodinger’s Catbox