I had a comment on my last post about me bitching and moaning too much. I'm sorry
some of you feel that way. My life has been crazier than normal since July. If I've been abnormally bitchy and moany since November 1st,
it's all Deb's fault. I'm trying to keep up with NaBloPoMo. We're supposed to post every single day during the month of November. At the end of the day, I'm exhausted and my brain is fried, so some things I may not have blogged about before, are getting blogged about this month.
My life isn't full of roses and rainbows. I don't blog about a lot of what goes on in my life, it's too overwhelming at times. I'm busy taking care of everyone but myself. I spend several hours a day in a car dropping off, picking up, or waiting for NYEBoy or K at college. I'm going through two tanks of gas a week, if that's any indication of how much I'm in the car driving. I'm trying to keep the house livable and the family happy. More often than not, I fail at both. I barely have time to blog. I haven't been able to work on ALIGab or selling on eBay because I don't have any time after I spend hours taking care of everyone and trying to help K study and not fail school.
I'm helping an illiterate 21 year old who isn't sure from day-to-day what she wants to do with her life. I spend hours upon hours helping her study for school, only for her to turn around and fail the tests because she doesn't retain anything. She doesn't know if the studying for a degree is going to be worth it. She thinks it might be better to work at Walmart or Cracker Barrel, because Math is too hard and she doesn't know how to write a five minute speech or use a computer. All of that this thanks to the fucking fabulous parenting job my parents have done. I have to listen to her babble about how she is in love with her ex who is only talking to her for naked pictures to wank off to while he's on his way to Iraq, but she's so stupid she doesn't realize it. She thinks she loves him. I have to watch her shitty parenting skills she learned from our parents be passed down to the most amazingly sweet, spunky 3 year old. I have get threats every other week from Thugboy talking about trying to take A away from K. So much so, that I am having to miss Thanksgiving with my family this year for fear of he won't let us leave safely from TN and I can't risk K being any more distracted for her exams over the next three weeks.
Taking care of A day-to-day has opened up my 5 years-in-the-making infertility wounds. Do you know what it's like to look into this little girl's eyes and want her future to be so fucking bright because she's smart and deserves it? It reaffirms my desire to be a mother every single fucking day. We won't be able to do treatments for a few more years yet, and it sucks. It really fucking sucks.
I also have to deal with my mostly unsupportive family watching from the sidelines, just waiting for us to crumble so they can yell "I TOLD YOU SO!" I have to deal with my father, who since A was born, has called me several times a week as we try to patch up a rocky relationship, but since K has moved in here, he's been an asshole towards NYEBoy and I. He went from wanting to help us help her, to telling us to take care of them ourselves.
I'm also having to worry about my own health. My lack of periods. My body aches. My hair is balding and falling out. I lost one of my only two back bottom chewing teeth. The recovery has been rough. I'm only averaging about 3 to 4 hours of sleep every night. I'm exhausted, but hoping it'll all be worth it in the end.
I wish I could offer more roses and rainbows for you all, but at this time, A is usually my only bright side and I just don't think it's fair to blog about her constantly when I know some infertile women read this blog. She may not be my own, but she brings me more joy and happiness than those dark lonely days did. Plus, if I blog about her constantly, it'll remind me of the deep desire I have to be a mother constantly.
Yes, I bitch a lot. Yes, I moan a lot. But fuck, it is what it is. It's my life, currently. This blog is my therapy. If I can't get it out, it'll cause me to go so crazy that I might need a padded room and strong drugs.
