To the frumpy mom I saw at the store five years ago…

2 01 2015

As always it’s been awhile since my last post. Happy New Year’s everyone! 2014 was a whirlwind of events. My family grew. Now we are plus one. I probably mentioned that previously in a past post. Let’s see… In 2014 I bought two more vehicles, had a baby (as I mentioned), put an addition on my house, we bought a rental property, and I started a new career (working from home). My husband also got a job that pays well. We also networked and many people.

As expected, I believe what impacted me most out of all those was motherhood. Not that I wasn’t a mother already. I spent a good few months riding an emotional roller coaster. Baby is doing well and is six months old now. Motherhood is not new to me but it has been a long time since I have done this. So long in fact, that I almost thought it would be a piece of cake the second time around. Many nights I have slept less than five or six hours. My life has turned into a constant barrage of never ending piles of laundry, wondering what’s for dinner, cleaning up after my husband and daughter, and bitching at them when they don’t clean up after themselves. What really pisses me off is that I don’t feel my efforts are appreciated, nor are they respected. This type of treatment from them makes me resentful and gives me an attitude towards them. I imagine myself at work. I miss my carefree stripper days. Don’t get me wrong — it’s not as if I didn’t have worries. I went into work with no money and was in the hole $60 when I walked through the door each night. But these are different worries. If I didn’t make the money I wanted to, I could always return the next day and try again. It’s not that way anymore. I stay home with the baby for various reasons: daycare costs, lack of good jobs within close proximity to my house, etc. Mostly because we can afford for me to and I want to spend the time with her that I didn’t get to spend with my 13 year old when she was a baby. People think my life is easy because I get the opportunity to stay home. I have heard many people insinuate that perhaps they thought I do nothing or don’t do enough. It aggravates me and I can’t help but suppress the urge to ask them what fucking business is it of theirs what I do all day? Who cares? Are you jealous because you don’t have someone providing for you? If you don’t, you should probably find a new husband. That’s what they are supposed to do! Then I have to listen to my husband tell me daily how my life is so easy and I should be more grateful. Ugh… My point is that even though I am staying at home, it comes with a price. It’s not free. It comes with aggravations, judgments of others, and I’m not going to lie — my husband kind of thinks I am his gopher now that I am home. I expect to do things like dishes, cooking, laundry, and taking care of the baby. It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect him to do that when I am home all day and he works. I feel resentful towards him for making me feel inadequate for not earning as much money as he is. I am probably not emotionally stable either. When confronted with these situations my thoughts go something like this:
“I could just leave and go back to stripping. It’s cold as hell up here anyways. What if I get down the road and regret what I have done later on in life? That’s not really a fair thing for me to do. I owe it to the baby to work things out with her dad. I am getting too old to be starting over. I will have to buy all new shit. Maybe all marriages have these issues. Maybe I am being a coward and running out the door prematurely. Is this normal? How do I know what normal is? I have never had a healthy relationship my whole life.” But I only get time to think about these things at night. During the day I am feeding the baby, changing the baby, cleaning up puke, putting the baby to sleep, cleaning, cooking, running errands, trying to get a shower while the baby is sleeping, doing laundry, paying bills, you get the idea. There are days I feel pulled in so many different directions. I now know what women mean when they say they have lost themselves. And this is not a pity party. I highly doubt my husband feels like he is found either when he works six or seven days a week so that I can stay home. My identity as a stripper is gone. I have become caretaker of everyone in the house yet have not been taking care of myself. I am constantly tired from lack of sleep, not eating right or making the right food choices when I do, and my weight is not coming off like I thought it would. I nursed at the beginning and it came off a little. I will be honest as much as it pains me. I am fat and it makes me so sad and miserable. I don’t feel pretty. I don’t feel like I have opportunities and the world is my oyster. I also know that the cause of this is not the kids. I feel drug down by the unappreciative tones, unspoken expectations over and above household duties, lack of regard for my efforts, and being brow beaten over and over about how grateful I should be, how he works seven days a week, and my lack of income or thereof. I daydream a lot. I often find myself seeking the right answers. Maybe I am just being a twit. I don’t fucking know. I wish I did. Who is to say what the right choice is or isn’t? I guess you never truly know until years after you’ve made your choice and are living with the outcome of those choices. I feel so mediocre. That’s something I haven’t felt before this point in my life. I always felt there was something out in the world for me. Now I just feel like fuck it. I’m fat. Why try? Why do anything? This is an awful way to feel. It’s yucky and discouraging. I know the negativity in my environment helps stoke that fire. It makes me feel better to get it out though. It festers inside me every minute of every day. Is this what life is? I once scoffed when I saw the unkempt mother at the grocery store with her hair a mess and unflattering clothes. I ridiculed the way she let herself go. I even thought I was better than her with my mac makeup, fuchsia streaks, bebe heels, perfect spray tan, pedicure, and Louis Vuitton purses. I was such a bitch. Maybe she too had given up her identity and lost herself and was just doing the best she could. Maybe she had mentally given up. Maybe she was so busy taking care of other people that she didn’t have time to work out, spray tan, or get a pedicure. Perhaps she felt beautiful once but now she looks in the mirror and her once clea, smooth skin is dry. She has a few wrinkles she didn’t have before and dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. She feels her ship has sailed and her best days are her yesterdays. Perhaps both her beauty and her soul have lost their luster. I’m sorry for judging you. You should have told me I would be you. Then maybe I wouldn’t have turned my nose up in disdain.


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