All of Me, Part 1

I believe that a person’s heart is made up of a lot of different compartments. New compartments get added while old ones wither away or are filled with a new person’s love. We have as many compartments as we need for all the different loves in our lives. Sometimes there will be a compartment filled with the love for one person, alone. And sometimes that person goes away and that piece of your heart gets permanently broken. And sometimes a compartment that is filled to bursting with love for someone doesn’t get broken but maybe bruised, or maybe it’s so full that you don’t even know how to handle it. This is what it’s like when you have a child. When Baby Girl was born I looked down at her newborn self sleeping and l literally felt that new, strong piece of my heart just fill up and up and up until it took my breath away. This is what it is to love something so completely that you think it might kill you.

Baby Girl has turned into a very, very, SASSY six year old. She doesn’t have the best of respect for her elders. She can’t hear you when you tell her to do things (apparently). She likes to argue. Incessantly. And whine. And beg. And cry. There are many, many wonderful, lovely things about her but I can’t remember most of them right now.

Right now, at this very moment, she has been happily (my happiness) given over to her Daddy’s care for a few days while he visits relatives in Arkansas. Because this Momma is completely done. I am done with the screaming, the crying, the arguing, the talking over me, the ignoring my requests and everything, oh everything else. The not going to sleep, the not getting out of the tub, the not doing her homework…. all the NOT’s.

That compartment of my heart that holds my Baby Girl is thoroughly bruised. My ego is bruised. My confidence is bruised. My patience is gone – flew straight out the window last night when she would NOT, NOT, NOT, stop jumping on my bed and go to her own room to sleep. Yesterday morning she ignored the ear doctor when she was speaking to her and the look that doctor gave me was just “what a fucking spoiled child.” I almost cried right there. Instead, I got pissed off when Baby Girl would NOT choose a temporary tattoo between two unicorns (she was sure I would give in and let her have both) and I eventually just ripped both of them out of her hand, gave them to the receptionist and marched her smart little ass rightoutthedoor.

And it’s all my fault. Well, maybe not all, but mostly. I was older when she was born. I didn’t realize that she would be “up my ass” (as my husband puts it) from the day she was born. I did not realize how much I treasure my time at night, to read, to chill, to unwind – until it went away. And of course I did not realize how awfully stressed out I would become because of my parents health problems. I give in, a LOT, too much. I am tired and so I say no and then I say yes. It’s a problem and I know it. Also, the fact that I am an empath and quite literally can feel her pain makes me either a) get angry because I’m tired of feeling so much or b) give in because I hate for her to feel upset and I want both of us to be happy.

I don’t like to cook and I’m tired – did I mention that yet? – so Baby Girl eats pretty much whatever she wants. I do attempt dinner and I attempt to give her a good lunch but there are no boundaries here on what you can eat, or when. Until I try to enforce a boundary that doesn’t exist, then all hell breaks loose. And who can blame her? Twenty minutes ago she was allowed to have a popsicle or a granola bar or an apple whenever she wanted and now, at least for the next hour, she’s not. What a mess. I admit it. I know it. And I want to fix it.

Without the time to stop, think, regroup and plan there was no way anything was going to change. I bought the book “They Are What You Feed Them.” Did I read it? Of course not. I don’t have time. Last night when it was 9 pm and I was sitting in the chair in her room trying to get her to sleep I started crying myself – just sat there and bawled. Naturally Baby Girl doesn’t want to see me cry so she comes down from her bed and tries to comfort  me. But I am beyond being comforted. If she had gone to sleep at 8 pm THAT would have been comforting. I said to her – well mostly just out loud to myself – that I am the worst mom EVER. Not something I should have said to my 6 year old, but heck, maybe she needed to hear it. She started telling me No you’re not mommy!! And I was glad that at least she didn’t think so, even while she walks all over me. And then I told her to just come sleep in my bed because I just didn’t want to sit there and play music all night until she decided she was going to go to sleep. We got in my bed and I promptly passed out.

Then, today, we stopped at QT for a potty break and she’s holding my hand and she makes me bring my head down to her level and she whispers “Mommy, you know how last night you said you’re the worst mommy ever? Well you’re NOT. You’re NOT.” And I said thank you Baby Girl and I gave her a kiss. As sweet as that might be, it won’t actually change anything. I am the only one that can change what is happening here.

Right this minute it is 7 pm and normally I would be fighting with her about bath time and bedtime and knowing that if I don’t get her to sleep quickly she’ll be even more tired and whiny tomorrow (AND her ear infection is back so there’s that crankiness on top) and I also won’t get anytime to chill out before I am so exhausted that all I want to do is sleep. I’d be fighting with her about eating dessert, and doing her ear drops, and brushing her teeth. I’d be internally panicking and wiped out both. And I’d get to the point where I just don’t care – the point where you say WHAT THE FUCK EVER JUST GO TO SLEEP.

Thankfully she is with her Daddy right now and if he lets her stay up til midnight I just don’t care. It is not my problem and he’s welcome to it. I’m chilling. I’m writing. I’m watching House Hunters. I’m drinking wine. I’m remembering what it’s like to have some time alone.

Baby Girl, lately you have had ALL of me, but I’m about to shoot you right back down to your own little compartment in my heart. You have taken over every fiber of my being. You have wound your way like a poison vine over every inch of my skin. I’m cutting it off. That poison is leaving the building. I’m going to save both of us, but I have to start with me. You cannot have all of me, Baby Girl. Not anymore. I love you too much to let us both drown.