the olders just got on the bus for school. and the baby is still sleeping. i contemplate what to do with my next, 15/25/30/60 minutes bc who knows when the baby is going to get up. i could lay back down under my heated blanket and just close my eyes, i could clean, i could answer emails, i could make the baby breakfast so its ready when she’s up- which is probably what i should do to avoid her hunger pangs as i try to make eggs and she pulls at my sweatpants to “hoe me” (hold me) and now i am cooking with one hand and feeding her bites of banana just to keep her satisfied.
but i don’t.
i walk into the bathroom and look at my shower. do i feel like being wet? and going thru the whole getting dry process of lotion and deodorant and brushing my hair? no, not really. thats like work. but the shower. oh, the shower. it feels so good. and when you are clean from taking a bath with your baby last night you think, “i don’t even have to wash myself. i can just stand there”. shower wins. i turn the knob to scalding hot°. i let my pajamas fall to the floor. and by pajamas i mean whatever tank and sweatpants i pulled off the top of the clean pile in my laundry. i step in.
i don’t want to get my hair wet bc i don’t want to deal with that, so i angle the shower head as i lean against the wall and let the water hit my face and envelope me in its warmth. we are moms. we need showers.
and i let the shower do to me what a shower does. takes me into deep thought.
my older girls got a step mom this past weekend. my ex got married. and for a while i would cry about this. cry about another woman taking a motherly role for them. it hurt. and it hurt so damn much. to know that my girls will and may have already gone to her for something before me. to know they ask her to help with their hair or borrow one of her shirts. basically any possible reason you can think of- if you are a mom, stop for minute. if you are blessed to be in the same marriage and never divorced and don’t have to deal with these thoughts, just stop for a second. imagine your daughter going to, i don’t know, say your sister with a boy problem. or they want to talk about their period and they talk about it with her instead of you. it hurts. i want to be everything for my daughters, and God knows i am not perfect but i am trying my damn hardest over here. wondering if i am doing the right thing, giving in on the right things, standing up and discipling on the right things… who are my daughters going to be when they get older? and now factor in that half the time they spend in a completely different household. and so as hard as i try and how i beat myself up every day some of what i do doesn’t even matter bc they aren’t here. i have two other people helping to raise these girls. and thats when it hits me. I’m lucky. i am lucky that their father is happy and they have another woman to go to. they have so many hands in raising them that they are really getting the best of everything. it takes a village right? and so I’m not sad. but as this water pounds my body this is what i think of.
i think of my business. my ups and downs. my failures. how hard it is to even run a business and raise kids and basically be there for hundreds of people. but to try and be a mom first and be a wife first. its hard and i fail constantly. even now in the middle of my hardest pregnancy i am failing. i have a list of things to do and only so much time to do them. and artistically? forget about it. i hate myself and my work every damn day. i struggle every damn day. i have been so blessed the last eight years i feel like my time is running out. that people are bored of me. they hate my work. that it isn’t moving anymore. that i am not creating anything that makes anyone FEEL anything anymore. that i am standing here in the shower wondering what the eff i am doing with myself. that wasn’t i born to do this? i feel so blocked and bogged for time and creation i cannot convey the struggle to you all.
i think of who i am. how i was raised. how i am such a closed off person. that i am a lover of people and i love everyone but i keep my distance. that no one really knows me. who i am. what i am afraid of. i could tell you how my mom was one of eight kids- how she was never taught love so she didn’t know how to show it. her mom was so busy working and my mom was the oldest girl of the eight kids so she became the mother. so i was never shown love. i don’t know what it feels like, what it looks like. my husband literally has a second job in just showing me every day he loves me or else i would be blind to what the signs are. i am trying to be better than my own mom with raising my daughters- isn’t that the cycle? we always try to be better than what we are taught and shown? so i am a mush with my kids. but it ends there. i have to work at showering my husband with love bc it doesn’t come natural to me. i could also tell you i got the belt as a kid. for a lotta years. for every reason under the sun i got a belt on my bare ass by my step father. my real father left my mom when she was pregnant with me, but my mom was lucky to have found a man to marry and love me like his own and they been married for 30-something years now. but the discipline thing? back then? our parents were hit, and so i got hit. and i never cared. i somehow built up this wall as a little girl and didn’t care. i turned to sports. and i excelled at them big time just to be out of my house and have something to do. bc if i was home there was a reason to find to get the belt, and so i was better off gone. i remember not getting A’s and my punishment would either be “you are going to miss your soccer game or the belt you choose”. i chose the belt. every. single. time. and i never cared. bc at least i got to go to my games and practices. that all stopped though- the belt thing. i am not sure what the turning point was way back when but i remember becoming best friends with my dad (my step dad but he is 100% dad to me). we played catch together every single day. he took me to the batting cages. he was my guy and when i left for college (on nearly a full scholarship for soccer and softball!) i had always called him to talk to him. anyway, who i am. who anyone is is a lot of who they are when they were growing up. so I’m kinda tough. and you’ll never get in. and if you get in you are in for life but not one person to this day has broken that down except my husband. he’s in. he doesn’t know it yet but he broke it. lol.
the shower. its still so hot. we got this system put in by our plumber when we moved in that basically he made it so water will never get cold. which is perfect for me. bc i am still standing here. deep in thought about everything under the sun. my skin has turned a hue of pinkish red that you only see on from a piece of Big Red gum. maybe its too hot and i am actually burned but i don’t care. i love it here.
my thoughts are broken as i hear laughter from the monitor. the baby is up. i lift my face to the stream of water for the last time. i shut the water off and open the door. the cold hit me and embraces my body like that first 30 degree day that you step outside like WOAH. i smile at the monitor and grab my towel and dry off.
i’m me. i am not even sure why the blog post. something made me come over to the computer and write. i like my blog. and i love my business. i love sharing who i am with you guys. bc i know, or at least i tell myself, that there are thousands of you out here just like me. who went thru shit as a child. or who are struggling being a mom. or who are battling custody sharing. or who are struggling as an artist.
I’m telling you its all normal and its all real. this is life. we are real people. fuck the people that are fake and act like everything is amazing and only post amazing stuff bc their lives are awesome. excuse my language but fuck that, they are lying to you and us. they stand in the shower just like us and cry. oh. i didn’t tell you i cried. i did. i forget what thought i was in when i did. possibly it was the whole how does my husband put up with how tough i am and still love me so freaking much thought. I’m not sure. but be real. we all have real stories. real shit has happened to us. the real effed up stuff is the best stuff. its what molded us into the humans that we are.
me and number three early in september when olders were at school. baby sister number four is in my belly here too. and yes, for those that never saw, that is a camera tattoo on my leg of the nikon D80, my first camera… the camera that started it all. it’s my most favorite tattoo.