I should have written about this earlier, but I think the emotions were too raw, the wound too fresh. I am not perfect. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even good.
My breaking point is apparently at 9:45pm on a Friday night.
It comes without warning, on the heels of a seemingly great week.
It comes just days after a date night and an afternoon spent blogging by myself in a coffee shop.
It comes when OBaby has been sleeping for 3 hours and wakes up screaming.
It comes when I try so, so hard to hold it together but I can’t find the means.
It comes in a dark room with a crying baby when I feel like the world is closing in on me.
It comes, and suddenly, I am claustrophobic. Suddenly I must get out.
DanO was home, so I could and I did.
I said frighteningly few words to him as I grabbed my coat and purse and ran.
I ran and it makes me cry right here and now to admit it.
I ran to the car, still wearing my house slippers, collected myself for a moment and then drove.
Where do you go at 10:00pm on a Friday?
Where do you go when you feel insufficient?
Where do you go when your baby is screaming and you have nothing left to give?
Where do you go when having nothing left to give hurts so, so bad?
You go to your friends. You go to your God. You go to a cup of tea.
I played it back for her over a steaming mug.
I could not express how much I felt like a failure.
I could not express the guilt I had for being there, in her kitchen and not in the nursery.
I could not express what it was that made me flee.
I could not express how glad I was that she was there.
That was last Friday and I am still trying to forgive myself.
I still love, absolutely love being OBaby’s mom.
I still need to be honest that it is hard at times.
Heart breakingly, tear jerkingly, scarily hard.
I still have a lot to learn.