Just wait…

“Just wait until he can walk.”

This is the line I commonly heard after Tristan started crawling. Of course, I heard the same thing about crawling before he started that as well. I hear this line before any new task or milestone he hits. 

Okay, maybe you had a wild child and it drove you crazy when they learned something new, but not me. I love these moments, I live for them. Seeing him grow and learn, I feel completely blessed to have the ability to be here for all of it. Look at the parents that do not get to see their children grow. Stop making milestones seem like hindrances or curses, love each one. 

Something else that bothers me. 

“Oh, you want HOW MANY children ? Just wait, you won’t want that many.” 

Yes, yes I will. I want four children. No matter how unorganized or wild my home may be, I will still want that many children. That’s just the unbiological ones, I want to adopt as well ! 

I want a large family. I grew up an only child, technically. I had siblings that I didn’t really know and then it was also just my mom and I 90% of the time. Why is having multiple children so frowned upon ? If they don’t go without and they are in a happy, healthy and loving home, what is the problem ? Stop making parents feel like they are wrong for wanting more children or for being happy for their children they do have. 

I just find it so rude to look down upon people and feed them your opinion when they probably don’t care to hear it anyway. Just because you were so miserable in your lonely lives, does not mean my family has to be, and we won’t be. We will have a large family and we will love and cherish every milestone. We will have amazing memories for the rest of our lives. We will teach our children how to love positively and how to live, and it doesn’t matter how large our family is. 

I love my wild, unorganized, crazy family. 

❤️ LAFMommy

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Through and through

I grew up an only child. My mom, being a single mom, had to have baby sitters for me sometimes. I remember one baby sitter I had had children of her own and there were children next door that we would play with. I was pretty young, and growing up I forgot about all of this.

When I got into high school I started making more friends. I then made mutual friends through current friends, everyone knows the process. So anyway, I would go stay with my friend all the time and we talked about growing up and I told her and her parents how I randomly remembered I used to have a babysitter on their street. Come to find out, the babysitter was right next door. How ironic that the next door kids I used to play with while at the baby sitter’s house would wind up being my “second family” when I got older. 

They remembered me as “the weird kid”, and I was weird. These people have come to mean so much to me and I could not ask for a better second family. 

Now, the reason for this story. My best friend, Caitlin, has been my best friend for years and years. We have been through so much. She has always been the friend I can go to with anything and she will not judge me nor hold it against me. I have always introduced her to people as my sister, and I even introduce her siblings as mine. I call her parents mom and dad because they have always been there for me too, going above and beyond what typical parents of friends do. 

Four years ago she was pregnant. We had a falling out, and one thing I regret is not being there for her. This month is Caesarean section awareness month, and she wound up having to have an emergency c-section. She and her baby nearly died. In a time that she needed her friends and family most, I was not there. Now, I am there if she needs me, and although I cannot get that lost time back, I do not plan on missing out again. 

Birth is a beautiful thing. For women to be able to give up their bodies as a home for a baby is completely selfless. I loved my natural birth, but let me say, c-sections are a completely different story. Yes, I had some pain after my son was born, but imagine the pain from a c-section. Having someone slice you open to get your baby out. This is an extreme form of birth, one that I cannot imagine having to go through, and I have so much respect for her. Caitlin went through this, not only once, but twice. She selflessly allowed them to cut her open even though she would have a scar and even though she would have pain to deal with after. 

I see things like, c-sections are not real birth. Get real. They are by far more invasive than a natural birth. She carried, nourished and grew a baby inside of her. She had an opening created to birth her baby. This is birth. She is an amazing woman for this. Every woman that has had a c-section is amazing. 

Embrace what you have done, your selfless act, because you are beautiful. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. 

I love my sister. She is incredibly strong willed, and beautiful through and through.

❤ LAFMommy

Just a man

Five years old. 

That’s how old I was the first time he left. 

At four years old, my mom married a man, who soon after, adopted me. He took on the rights and responsibilities of being my dad and said he would take care of me. He made a promise to be committed to me and love me; always. Unfortunately, he did not keep his promise. 

Not only did he leave my mom’s side during the divorce, he left mine as well. Over the years he met someone, they married and wound up having their own daughter. Through this he would come around for a few months and then he would disappear again. I was only a child, and I could not understand why he did not come around, why he wanted to cause me so much pain. For years I could barely look at myself in the mirror, I blamed myself for his absence. I must have done something horrible for my father to not want me, right ? For nearly twenty years he broke my heart. Over and over and over. 

I fell into a self hate lifestyle, which quickly turned into hating men. The first man to ever break my heart was my father, so why would I trust another man. I was so mentally destroyed by him that I was afraid to have children. I felt that I would be like him and be unable to commit to a child or that I would be with a man that could not handle the commitment. I refused to raise a child in a home without a parent. 

I met my husband and I had severe trust issues. He worked hard to prove to me that he was not going to leave me like my dad did. Eventually, he restored trust that had been long gone. He showed me that any children we may have had he would be there for always. When we found out we were pregnant I overwhelmed. I was excited but I was also scared. I remember questioning if my husband wanted children, if he was ready. He made me feel confident that we would be great parents, that our children would never know what it was like to grow up feeling unloved. 

For years I blamed myself for my dad’s absence. For years I did not know how to love or respect myself, because he was never there to teach me. Finally, upon having a child of my own, I have learned these characteristics. I have embraced the love I should have for myself and I hold onto it daily. I love my husband more than ever and I love myself more than I ever thought possible. 

I had never known love from a father, but the love I have for my son is astounding. Every day I fall in love with this beautiful little boy. I will no longer allow my father’s failures to define who I am, and I refuse to allow it to take away from my family.

If I were to ever speak to him again, I would tell him thank you. Thank you for being absent. The bond between my mother and I growing up shaped me into a wonderful person. The fear I had of men, and the lack of trust for them helped me to find an amazing husband. Thank you, because your absence taught me what type of parent I wanted to be. I wanted to be present. I wanted to experience every single thing I could; never missing a beat. 

So, thank you absent father for being just a man to me. Because of this, I am more than just a mother. 

❤ LAFMommy

Anxiously Waiting

Yesterday I went to go renew my son’s health insurance. I could have mailed in the renewal form, but I needed to include a copy of his birth certificate and a copy of his social security card. I did not want to take any chances of either of these getting into the wrong hands, so I went to their office. 

As soon as I walked in, I regretted my decision of going. The office was packed; almost every seat had a body, and there were screaming children every where. We took a number and then a seat and we waited. Tristan was very well behaved, playing with me and watching the other people, and for that, I was appreciative. 

However; the longer I sat, the more anxious I became. I was unable to get a corner seat, where I could safely have my back against the wall and have a view of the entire room. My seat was situated in the very center of the room, in the middle of everyone. I felt so exposed; I had people constantly walking around me, bumping my stroller, or being overly figity near me. 

I was so vulnerable. At one point, I thought a little boy was going to climb into my lap, and it even seemed like he was plotting on stealing my wallet from my diaper bag. He looked to be around the age of 9 or so, and kept getting closer to me and he was not hiding the fact that he was openly looking into my bag, at all. As soon as I zipped my bag closed, he moved away. 

Finally ! They called my number, “63”, and I jumped out of my chair. I had to finish filling out a form while at the counter, and I barely managed to do so, I was shaking so badly. The woman must have thought I was ignorant because she would tell me what to fill out and I would do it incorrectly. She spoke to me as if I were garbage, then I said, “I do not know how you ladies do this every day, I have PTSD, and my nerves are so shot I could vomit.” At that point she became friendly. I rushed to finish everything so I could leave and get back to my comfort zone. 

I was nearly ran off the road on the way home, which did not help my anxiety, and by the time I arrived home I was exhausted. I had a headache hit me, which quickly turned to a migraine, I could barely function. I laid down for a nap, at the direction of my husband, around 8:30. I woke up around 12:30 and was having a panic attack and then had trouble falling asleep. Once I fell back to sleep, I struggled to stay calm and found myself constantly waking in a state of panic. The smallest occurrences can set off my panic, it is like a ticking bomb. I kept waking, feeling like my chest was caving in, unable to catch my breath. 

I suffer every day. I wish I could say this happens once in a while, but I am not that lucky. I go through this many times a week. I cannot control it, it controls me. My disease tells me what to do and how to live. Something that could be such a small trip to one person is like building up and accomplishing a marathon for me, and it is draining. 

It took nearly a month for me to build the courage to go to that office and turn in the information for my son to keep his insurance. Then, it cost me the rest of the day and night to recover from the trip. At least my husband knows how hard it is for me and helps me when I need him. 

It was brutal. Maybe, one day, I will find a trip away from home to be easy. Maybe. 

❤ LAFMommy

Strangers

I know I probably do not have many “followers” on my blog, whether they have actually chosen to follow it, or if they ghost follow me, but I wanted to let my followers know something. If you ever need someone to talk to, let me know. You could live in freakin Australia (halfway across the world), and I will still chat with you online.

I know what it is like to feel alone, and to need someone to talk to, and sometimes a complete stranger is easier to talk to because family and friends can seem judgmental. Hey, they may not even realize it, or mean it, but you know it’s happening. It’s nice to have some support sometimes. I get a ton from my husband, but someone else may not.

Sometimes I read posts online, and I think.. man, I wish I could talk to this individual. I wish I could tell them my story and let them know they are not alone and there is someone that cares. Yes, I care. I DO NOT EVEN KNOW YOU. But I care.

I was going to write a much longer blog today, but our son was ill and I have been focused on him. I just wanted to throw this out there, and let people know.

You are never alone. You are more than your battle.

❤ LAFMommy

Accomplishment

I got out of bed today.

In the first blog, “The Start of Something Beautiful,” I wrote about how, of all my experiences, being a mommy was my greatest accomplishment. When I say greatest I mean, the thing in life I am best at doing. I have accomplished many things, but this is, and always will be, my greatest.

Then, there is my hardest accomplishment. Getting out of bed every day. When I wake up, I do not get out of bed for myself, because believe me, I could find it easier to stay there. I get up, simply, for my husband and my son. Tristan cannot take care of himself. He needs me. Marco needs me, even if he is a grown man.

I open my eyes, I see the sun has risen, but I close my eyes again and pretend it is not a new day. I escape into the back of my eyelids, for just a little longer. I wait. I wait for Marco to roll over and say good morning, I wait for Tristan to wiggle around and announce his presence. I lay there and I wait to be told that I need to get up, because others need me.

As easy as it could be to stay in bed all day, every day, I get up. I could give up and give in to my mental diseases, I could let them consume me. They already almost have, so why not give in completely ? The truth is, that I do not want to disappoint my family. The two people in this house that would do anything for me. And if they would do anything for me, then I cannot lay in the bed, wasting away, and do nothing for them. Every day though, I feel myself giving in to the desire of staying there.

It is always an uphill battle. I refuse to let my battle win.

❤ LAFMommy

 

Broken but surviving

I started my blog three months ago and I had no idea what to write about. I would write something and then I would delete it, until I finally decided to make it private because I felt I did not have anything of interest.

I made the decision five minutes ago that I wanted to get back to my blog, to try and release some of the thoughts and struggles of my every day life. So here I go.

Once a week I go through a therapy session. A session that only drives me deeper and deeper into my struggle with depression, anxiety and PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). It has been 7 years. SEVEN. And even after those 7 years, I still think about it on a daily basis. I still wake up from nightmares with the fear that it is going to happen again. I fear that I am going to go right back to that night, the night of the nasty “r” word. I was raped.

My life was taken from me. He stole everything from me that meant anything.

Let’s go back to before this happened, when I was still a happy go lucky 18 year old, fresh out of high school. Life was perfect. At the time I didn’t really have any worries, I was living in the moment, and enjoying everything, like any other teenager would be. Fast forward a bit, I enlisted into the military, which I thought was an amazing step in life. Fast forward a little more, I was almost finished with my training and with only a few weeks left, I was ready to go home. This is when my life was turned upside down.

Now, here I am, 26 years old. Now, people would say that I have the PERFECT life. I have an amazing husband, with an amazingly handsome nearly 10 month old baby boy. We live in a beautiful home, although we are trying to take the next step of purchasing one, and he tries to make sure we do not go without. We have our moments where things get tough financially, but who doesn’t ? Life has its hardships sometimes. With that being said, MY life is far from perfect. The outer shell, what I allow people to see, is perfect, as compared to the every day description, but inside, I live in hell. By inside, I mean mentally. I constantly fight memories, I wake up having panic attacks feeling as if I am going through the experience all over again. Driving in my car I will drift off into my thoughts and realize I’m starting to have a panic attack simply because a memory entered my mind.

My heart races, I can’t breathe, I begin to sweat, and I’m terrified.

This is how I feel every single day of my life. I barely leave my house, except to go to a family member’s house, typically my grandparent’s, so they can watch Tristan while I do my, once a week, therapy session. I don’t even go to the hospital for my session. At first it was due to not having the gas money because it was too far from my house, and then it was because of my son, but really it’s because I’m too afraid to travel that far from home, especially without my husband. We do go out on occasion, but I am very hyper-vigilant, I don’t do crowds, and I don’t venture away from my husband. I’m even terrified of just going to a restroom at a restaurant alone, because I fear what could be around the corner.

I have trouble maintaining friendships because I don’t like to go out. About 5-6 years ago though, I was living a completely different life. I pretended nothing happened, I coped with alcohol. I had no self respect, alcohol was my best friend. I wanted to die. I eventually realized that this wasn’t the life I wanted. I changed. I stopped drinking, but the person on the inside was still the same. I had hardened and turned cold. I couldn’t maintain any relationship until I met my husband. He has helped me through so much, and is literally, my backbone, my rock.

I didn’t tell him anything for a little while, and I didn’t give him details for nearly 2 years. When I told him what happened [details omitted], I didn’t really have a choice due to the fact that I had a panic attack just because he laid his head on my chest while watching a movie. I assumed he would immediately judge me, turn away from me because I was “defective.” He didn’t. He stayed, and he has been “dealing” with this for the last 4 years. He puts up with so much from me because of the nasty “r” word. I live because of him. I live for him and for our son.

I don’t think people realize how hard it is to live with depression, anxiety and PTSD. Some days will be okay, while others I cannot even pull myself out of bed. I feel like the walls are closing in or like someone is holding a pillow over my face and I can’t escape. It’s like I’m tied down deep in the woods and I’m screaming for help, but no one will ever hear me. I can be in a room full of people, but I’m always alone. I would love to be an advocate for those affected by the nasty “r” word, but I still can’t even speak on what happened to me with people close to me, let alone others that I don’t know. I can only speak on my issues that affect me because of the nasty “r” word.

Through all of this, I survive. I live to see another day. Because of my husband. Because of my son. My reasons for living. My reasons for being here.

Help raise awareness for those affected by the nasty “r” word. Help save a life. This is an uphill battle, that some don’t win.

</3 LAFMommy – Broken but surviving