cry

I cried tonight. Like I haven't cried in a long, long, long time.
Why? Because the dog shat (yup, made up word) on my living room floor.

Thank fuck Bubba was there because I fell apart. Right there on my
hands and knees, bleach wipes in my hand, everything just shattered.
Even when Bubba took over from the disgusting chore of picking up the
nasty, stinky piles and sent me away, I couldn't stop crying. I fell apart in front of my children. All three of them. And I cried hard and loud for a long time.

Upside to this - I'm hoping that Bizzy now thinks that pooping on the floor makes momma REALLY sad and she'll actually get her butt on that potty!

Those kids brought me water, and pillows, and nuggles (that's a blankie in Bizzian) and endless cuddles and Aaron was this big, strong rock. He held me really tight while I cried and cried and babbled on and on about things your children should never, ever hear. There was a role reversal between Bubba and me, it's not one I'm comfortable with but, at that moment, right then, I had no choice but to show my weak, broken, desperately empty side.

Upside...? I'm not sure it's completely bad for your kids see the human side of you - instead of always seeing the Super Human side. However, it's not something I'm going to be making a habit of. Ever.

It's the things I said while I had no control over myself that are giving me that uneasy feeling now.

*****

On my first page, when I posted those gawd awful pictures of my room, I said I was happy. And sometimes I am. When I wrote that first page, I was empowered by the Rosie the Riveter "we can do it" stance and I was holding firm. At that time, I had a plan, I knew what needed to be done and, with a little pull from everyone else, it was totally doable.
But there's one of the problems - that pull I was talking about - that all important assurance that yes, we are a team, has yet again, been very hard to find for ME, even though It's always expected FROM me.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I do that a lot.

Happy. That's where I was. I was at happy... Or I was, for a few days, happy. Happy and exited at the prospect of change for the better.

I shouldn't feel the need to confirm this. But I do, so...

My children make me happy. Even when I can't move even one step to the left without tripping over a grumpy, whining baby while I'm juggling 27 separate
chores. There is always a moment in my day that they make me belly laugh. There is always a moment in the day when I look at each of them and I love them so much that I can actually feel my heart grow in my chest. They make me happy.

Kaleb and I definitely have some work to do to make our relationship good again, but I love him and I'm happy and proud to be his wife. And the times in between the fights and the work and the juggle, I find a happiness with him that's on a
separate level to anything else in the world.

So, with all this happiness, why was I holding on to my own Son so tightly tonight and crying like a baby?

Because I am not happy. Me. I am not happy. I am not.

And I think that I deserve to be.

Before the husband and the kids, I was a person. I was a child. I
don't really remember NOT being a mom - why would I? I was seventeen when I became momma.
The years before I was seventeen are not full to the brim of cherished, happy, skipping merrily through the meadows memories and I definitely hadn't had the time or the basic life experiences to become a woman although, like so many people, I had no real choice but to become old beyond my years.

But Sara the woman, the one who disappeared under responsibilities, needs to be able to grow. Sara the woman wants to bring her family with her, but she wants to feel like she has as much of a place in the home we have made as Sara the mom and Sara the wife and Sara the daughter.

And I feel like Sara the woman is in a fight for her life.

And I'm really scared because I'm so tired and deflated by it all that I think we might be loosing.