I'm not the first person to take on parenthood full time, alone. And I'm not the first person to write about it, nor am I the first to admit it sucks and I am certainly not the first to say Id rather be drunk. But I am still going to write this, because I have to. It's not something I can share with my parents, and all of my close friends are just finishing their finals for this semester and are at home celebrating the Holidays without me.
So I am sat here, with my Absolut and my unlit cigarette. (because yeah, yeah, yeah, I go outside.) The vodka has already thinned my blood significantly enough to let this come out easy.
I'm a good mother. He's only two, so the proof is few and far between. Reliable proof is a little hard to share, as they are receipts, warm clothing, and a stocked pantry full of his favorite items to digest which is really just about anything edible. The snuggles and HEY MOMMY!'s and the empty candy wrappers from bribing him to poop in the potty shaped like Elmo can work too. For Christ's sake, the child knows what a rhombus is. He is two! A rhombus! TWO!
But I am exhausted. I'm not cut out to be a mom, I never was. I don't know how to get there. In high school, I was dubbed the girl who would marry last and never reproduce. And wouldn't you know, I was the first for both. I'm tired, and hungry, and I savor every moment I have when he is sleeping. There are times when I cry because Id rather be out being 21. There are times when I cry because that tantrum he threw in Wal-Mart? I had to deal with it by myself, and I had to leave my cart full of groceries stranded in aisle 6 so I could take him home hoping his screeching didn't bother anyone. There are times I kneel beside his bed while he sleeps, and I ask him to forgive me for wishing I was elsewhere. I cry when I have to spend my gas money on diapers. I cry when he hugs me with all the love he has inside of him. I cry when he asks for daddy. I cry when I see a family on an outing, and I wonder why I can't have that.
My car is in the shop. It's fixed and ready for pickup, but I used the $1400 for his presents and a tree and lights to hang. He deserves it. He's such a sweet, innocent baby who wants nothing but a hotwheels car and a block of cheese. I cave and I crumble, I spend too much and I leave nothing for me. I long for a night alone, a glass of wine, a blunt, a paycheck that is for me. I am honest. It isn't fair, I didn't sign up for this alone. But here I am, me and my love, and the blue eyed child sleeping in mommy's bed dreaming about Dora or that red haired chick from the Fresh Beat Band. Eventually the vodka wears off and I am left with a heavy heart and an empty bottle. Eventually I will get over this, I tell myself.
But my sweet angel, I will never leave you. I know taking care of myself is important, but I can wait. I am all yours.