Moonshine in a Gold Cup

Chasing it so far that my stocking is torn and my breath is ragged.

I doused nearby lilies in the scant amount of kerosene that remained in my pocket.

The trees lit up with deep purple electricity in judgement.

For a moment my mind rolled past my object of desire.

I could smell it’s tracks beyond the crackling moisture.

Focus reaffirmed it’s grip on my legs and I ran.

Until I could no longer see the crest of either mountain. I ran.

And all at once, sitting upon an old wooden fence, there it was.

Machinery blasted nearby somewhere but it did not flinch from the sound.

It winked and beckoned me close.

Knowing my goal, it beckoned me anyways.

It took my hand and without knowing why, red infringing on my mind,

I snatched it back and ran in horror. 

Belief In Pizza

This postpartum thing is kicking my ass.

With my first son two years ago I spent the first two weeks of his life really hating him. Wondering why I wanted a child, what is the point?? I don’t know him, he has no personality he’s just this entity that cries non-stop, eats and pees and poos. I was getting zero sleep. Why would I like him?

So I was frustrated that I felt like I had completely ruined my life. It’s all that misconception that as soon as your child is born you have this immediate and all consuming motherly love for them. Uhh lies. Thank you for that, you uber maternal freaks. Your people are making my people feel like terrible human beings for not being like you. “How can you not love your child??” you ask. Because I’m honest, and I didn’t.

Now I’ve come to terms that that’s completely normal. Because at about two weeks old, he started to grow on me. I saw a person, a personality and the way you would any other time in your life, I fell in love. And when you’re in love, you don’t mind sacrificing  everything. You even enjoy it. And now at two years old, he’s the love of my life.

Holy hell but THIS time? I’m three months into my postpartum period and I’m crippled by depression. A dark room is my new hang out spot but unlike the times you surrender to a bad mood or feeling of melancholy, this feeling I cannot control AT all. I love my second baby, no problem with that. This time, I just don’t really like myself.

I have no clue what to do other than try my best to take care of my kids and order a pizza.

The Selfish Person’s Struggle With Kids

If you’re selfish, I suggest you don’t have kids. If you are going through a selfish phase, wait until you don’t care so much about yourself, THEN have kids.

I’m not entirely sure I’m selfish but I’m pretty sure this is the diagnosis I keep going back to upon a self evaluation. And I have kids.

*WARNING* THE FOLLOWING MAY OFFEND MANY BLOGGERS.

I am not now, nor am I ever going to be one of those damn mommy bloggers. I love my kids but I am not going to talk about them every second of every day. No thank you. Post your cute “I’m the perfect mom who has laundry problems ha ha ha” I just will not be doing the same.

So anyways… the problem with being selfish and having kids is, there is this constant war within yourself. You love your kids more than you love yourself and you’re constantly angry at the world about it. As screwed up as it is, I miss being able to be self destructive. You constantly feel trapped into living a better life and thriving and providing. When you’re selfish, there is no pressure when it’s just you. But the pressure when you have children, holy moses on fire. It’s this intense mom guilt of, I’m too selfish to be a “good” mom. They deserve better…

Right now, much to my utter embarrassment, I’m trying to cope with some postpartum depression. I’d rather be the raving lunatic I normally am then be lumped in with a bunch of weepy moms that hate their kids. I’m not like that, I love my kids but just happen to be in the post partum period and I…. well I like dark rooms a lot right now. And even with this, some chemical, hormonal monster I can’t control, I feel guilty. Are my kids suffering some huge life altering trauma by me taking (selfishly so) some time to mope in my dark room watching the complete third season of ER? Peter Benton is the worst developed character since 90’s television by the way.

I see these stroller moms who cocoon their kids in bubble wrap, who all waited until their late 30s or early 40s to have children, well adjusted and not at all selfish. They live for their children. And I’m fairly certain, or at least it’s my belief that they suffer no inner cat fight of priorities. They let go of their selfish ways. And it’s all so easy. They can worry about the damn laundry and not about their mental health and competency as a bearer of human lives.

So I really would suggest, crazy or not, don’t have kids if you’re selfish. The worst part is you love them so damn much you wish you weren’t selfish at all. But you’ll turn, slowly and agonizingly into a selfless mom or dad. Skip the agony people.