Sometimes my life is so frustrating. It's hard not to cry. To yell at my husband and scream obscenities and curse and tell him to go - just leave and never come back. It's not that I don't love him. He's my best friend - I love him dearly and am in love with him.
It's that he constantly undermines my authority with my daughter, constantly makes me out to be the bad guy, continuously dashes my dreams of being the mother I'd had my heart set on being from the time I was able to have dreams of being anything.
That's all I ever wanted. Remember back in the day when you're five years old and your teacher at school asks you what you want to be when you grow up? I wanted to be a stay at home mom. The teacher told me to choose a career so I chose a veterinarian because I love animals. In my heart of hearts though I've always wanted to just stay at home and raise children. I love kids, babies most of all. I love holding them, the way they smell. Even listening to them cry doesn't bother me.
I never suffered like most new mothers do. The early days of motherhood when your baby wakes every couple of hours were wonderful for me. I held my daughter close, treasuring those times with her. I gently cleaned her for her diaper changes and fed her and rocked her to sleep and cried deep gut wrenching tears because I couldn't breast feed her like I wanted to.
The men in my life have all chosen not to work. I work. Day in and day out I support the family. I don't mind it so much, really, except for the fact that it kills me a little sometimes. It killed my dream of being a stay at home mother to my only daughter. I'll never have that back.
Never.
I didn't get to see her take her first step. Or hear her first word. When she hurts she runs to Daddy. When she's sick she cuddles next to Daddy on the couch. She's growing up so fast and at times I'm afraid I'm going to miss it. And it breaks my heart.
Now, when I'm at work Daddy lets her ride her scooter in the house. Mommy doesn't let her ride her outside toys in the house. And now Daddy's the fun parent and Mommy's the mean one. At 5 years old and starting school in August she's decided that Mommy's mean.
She has no idea how this makes me cry at night or breaks my heart. She has no idea how her innocent words completely tear my world apart and break pieces inside me that will probably never heal.
She also doesn't know how much I treasure each hug. Each happy moment spent with her is a moment imprinted in my memory and on my heart.
I will never have the chance to have another child. She's all the more special to me because the man I'm with will never allow me the gift of another blessing. She is my blessing. She is my miracle.
Thing is, whenever I mention how I feel about this whole situation to my husband he just says I need to take my happy pills - or my bipolar medicine must not be working because I'm getting depressed.
I wonder if the husband knows how much he screws up my dreams for me. I wonder if he cares?
I wonder how much of my feelings he attributes to my just "being bipolar"? It's a shame, really. Because I don't know how much of what I feel is valid - or is just me being bipolar anymore.
Where does my illness end and I begin?
