Call me Momboto. I’m shambling about but it’s pure instinct. Lizard brain responses. Just nuking some pancakes for my kid this morning seemed taxing. (Yeah, yeah, frozen pancakes, lazy mom, but um, my kid won’t eat homemade food.) Alas, I remembered to label and pack her a towel for the end of year splash party and took her to school. I have to pick her up at the big school today, joy joy. I love crowds. NOT. Then she goes to grandma’s for a sleepover and I get to…Um…Come home to crying kittens, housework, and no idea what to do with myself because auto-mom-a-ton has no off switch.

I am stuck in a catch 22 from hell. For some people, the fact I am getting out of bed (even if taking her to school in my jammas) means I am fine and dandy. Another faction thinks I am managing but half assing it out of laziness (Alert America’s Most Wanted Unfit Parents, I let my kid wear two different shades of pink together today, baaad.) I’m hanging by a few threads here and still, her needs are being met. Mine are met meh, a third of the time. I am way better at caring for others than for myself, mainly because that’s how my parents programmed me. They worked full time and I pretty much raised myself and my sister, but I always knew my needs came to second to hers. Same with my cats. Hell, having a pet was the only thing that kept me hanging on before Spook. It’s easy to give up on yourself, but when someone is counting on you, kid, cat, dog, iguana, pegacorn…It’s this tether that ties you to the earth.

In another example of crazy behavior, rather than make a decision on helping with the end of year fun day at her school, I “forgot” to fill out the paper. I figure they can always call me. Who knows, I might hit a manic day or have a sane moment by then. I’m bad, whatever. React to Latuda the way I did and continue to do then talk to me. This is hell on earth, no longer knowing who you are, barely able to remember who you were. And no I am not blaming all my problems on the stuff. I can just tell something changed be it the wrong chemical switch being flipped.

I was “high functioning” yesterday. I did no housework. BUT I showered and bathed the kid, in the same day. That’s mega functional for me. Usually, she gets bathed and I…Um…Whatever. Both of us in one day? Miraculous. I let her play on Neopets for awhile. I cooked myself a thick cheeseburger with provolone, mushrooms, and bbq sauce. It was delicious. Unfortunately, my headache never did go away so I was in my crypt, spawn along side, by 7pm. And the more she yapped, the worse my head throbbed. She’d been fairly good all day, though, and I wasn’t feeling my usual hulk-smash irritation so in the interest of not starting a bad scene, I told her she could sleep in my bed. Okay, I’m a hypocrite. I want her in her own bed but there are times when I am sooo fragile that I will do anything to keep the peace with her. It’s a wonderful thing to go to bed and not feel like your child hates you because it was a good day. I am, however getting concerned, because she keeps talking about the boys at school who get their ADHD pills because they act mean and she thinks she needs it. Is that what we’ve become as a society? Pill for everything, including kids being brats? I don’t dispute the help pills do for actual ADHD. But I’ve seen it done to too many kids who were just high spirited and defiant, not medically related.

The phone rang at 8pm. But the home phone was in the living room and I figured it was either my dad or R. They could always call my cell, which was right beside me in bed, and I’d answer it. Yeah, I was that low and in that much pain with the headache. And R sent a text asking me to call so I did. Blah blah blah come hold my hand tomorrow. I said fine but I’d come in after 11. Not a morning person. Plus…I never know how my sleep will be and it’s just easier to plan for later on in case I need a nap (rarely do I indulge) or just a chill out period.

I fell asleep. Woke three times between 10 pm and 10:50 pm. Then woke when my kid rolled off the bed and burst into screams. Then again at 1:30 am. And a couple of more times. I got up for a drink, peed, had a smoke. While I was out of the room for sixty seconds she woke and yelled for me, as if I had no right to get out of bed and not inform her. Then I woke at 6:10 and couldn’t get back to sleep. Thought, yay, I can have an hour or so while she’s still snoring. Bam, I get up and she’s yelling for me and following after me. Auto-mom-a-ton’s plan thwarted. So I get her some clothes picked out, feed her, then feed the indoor and outdoor cats, and the newbies need to be fed separately because they’re just starting solids and the bigger cats would totally hog it all. THEN I get to take care of me. Breakfast of champs, iced tea and a menthol. (Used to be dr pepper every morning but I can barely stand the sweetness anymore and I’m pretty sure it’s some sort of burn out on corn syrup, thank you midwest farmer mafia for forcing it into everything.) We’re up almost 90 minutes early so I get to hear her asking every ten seconds, “Is it time to go yet?Why’d you get me up so early? Is it time to go yet?” Never mind I told her to go back to sleep. NOOO, all my fault.

Is this a momcentric post? Yep. Because that’s my life. Kid, cats, mental illness. Mom first, kid and furkids. And I read other blogs and there are people with mental illness who have multiple kids and jobs and they make me feel like this weakling for not being able to juggle more. (Even my kid blurted out last night, “I wish you had a job, Mommy.) Then I read from those without kids who  think they absolutely could not have a kid and deal with mental illness. It runs the entire gamut, the functionality involved in mental illness.  At the moment, with my lack of affect, I feel like the shittiest mom ever. I’m just going through the motions. And it’s not just with my kid. It’s with everything. I watch the shows I like, read the books I like, TRY to listen to the music I like. But there’s no happiness. Hell, the music even sets off my anxiety receptors so after two or three songs, my skin is crawling and I have to turn it off. Shrink says it’s hypomania. Not being able to enjoy anything sounds like depression to me.

And the Latuda aftermath…I am about fed up being told there’s no withdrawal or aftermath. Maybe not for all, but for some…Something has been changed, altered somehow. I don’t understand how doctors can acknowledge that the tiniest thing can upset the hormonal balance in men and women alike, yet they don’t seem to think prescribing a med that has horrid side effects may have caused some sort of further chemical imbalance.  (Call it mentalpause, as it gives us a pause in what is even our normal level of dysfunction.)

I don’t get their logic, and I’m highly illogical half the time.

Oh, joy. My hives are returning, my stomach is churning. Absinthe won’t stop that shrill mewling and it hurts my ears. I’m not even looking forward to a night off from being mom. It’s all hollow. Pointless. Meaningless. Why can I feel anger and pain but nothing else? And even those things are disconnected and distant. Which with the Latuda, the anger was palpable at least.

Oh, well. Another day surviving the dish and the scumbag brain. Least it started on a slightly humorous note. As we were going out the door this morning, my kid tripped and yelled, “Clown shoes!”

Between clown shoes and sporks, I may just start a trend that’s not stupid.


2 Responses to “Auto-Mom-a-ton”

  1. I raised 3 kids and don’t remember it being this bad then. Of course I wasn’t on meds then and that might have made part of the difference. Kids now, not the way I feel. My grandkids annoy the hell out of me.

  2. I still think I couldn’t handle having a kid and I don’t know if I’ll ever think differently. I don’t bother saying “I’m never having kids” because obviously things happen and if a sperm connected and made a little something I would probably choose to have it. BUT I’m weary.

    You don’t have to be an extraordinary super mom to be a good mom. I believe you’re a good mom. With all the stuffs.

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