Bent Words

Bent Words

May 12, 2020

*** FOREWORD: I am not trying to belittle my family’s issues or my own BY ANY MEANS. I am not trying to shame anyone or shovel out any disrespect where it certainly is not due. This is what I look like without therapy (no bullseyes or pinpointed feelings; all shots in the dark). Until I am back to my regularly scheduled programming, everything is unkempt and unfocused. You’ve been warned. ***

This week’s buzzword is SMOTHERED.

NOT as in the Denny’s good kind but as in the ME bad kind.

SMOTHERED fits it so I have to write. Right now.

Four-month immunization station for Mister. His foreskin is too abundant and needs to be cut back which will need to occur after he’s 1-year-old and they will put him out for it which scares the crap out of me but otherwise he’s going to be prone to infection (which he has now) and perhaps ridicule so he’s gotta get re-snipped. PISSES ME OFF because I don’t know what little baby boy penises are supposed to look like! I mean, I know what they look like but I haven’t been studying penises on the regular to know precisely what the difference would be pre and post circumcision. I kind of do but I had to look up pictures in the first place because uncircumcised men and I have not crossed paths in such familiar terms or, if we have, it’s been more along the lines of handshakes and a “How are ya?” So there’s that, plus an infection that he has (which requires me to pull back the foreskin to put cream all up in there which makes me CRINGE like mad because it looks like it should hurt) plus two floating cysts in his neck/shoulder area and he had shots today. He’s been inconsolable.

But since his business looks funny and he slept until 5:30am IN HIS CRIB today, I’m letting this neediness go.

Poor thing.

I had to French braid two heads of hair this morning, set up two blanket forts, decorate the front window with a shazz ton of bloody rainbow hearts (Spirit Week stuff), feed five hungry high-pitched girls and clean up the disastrous kitchen because NO ONE can just put away what they have brought out. Seriously. If it came OUT of a cabinet, put it back IN to the cabinet. And then disappear because I’ve seen way too much of your face lately.

Last night Avery crawled into my bed at 2:30am, followed by Emilee at 3:00am, which made me kick Kevin out so he could contain the situation somewhere else but then I couldn’t sleep so played Wordscapes until 5:30am which is when I went to wake up Mister because the milk was IN, the bar OPEN, the taps all ready to flow. I’ve GOT to get the girls to stay in their room somehow. Long story not much shorter, the kids are annoying and omnipresent but I want to do all the things I can with them while they are still young and somewhat endearing and I don’t have anything leftover after all of that. Or I’m not interested because I’m spread too thin. Or I’m not where I was when I wasn’t annoyed at everyone’s incessant occupation with being NEAR me.

So after all that, I don’t know how to respond when serious conversation arise and I’m trying to figure it out because I do HAVE to respond eventually.

“You don’t love me anymore.”

“No. I love you.”

“You’re not IN love with me anymore.”

“This is not how it used to be so you need to talk to me and tell me what you want.”

I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything I want, honestly.

By the time I’m done with kiddos and classes and forts and hair braids and dinners and nursing and baths and snacks and laundry, I pretty much just want to be left the fuck alone. I have nothing left to give. And it shouldn’t be awkward I guess but it’s SUPER awkward. I don’t know what to say.

You want to talk about sex and I want to look at you and giggle. What are we talking about THAT for anyway?! You want a hug and it’s kind of like I’m waiting for it to be over. Not in a mean way and I’m pretty sure it should not be like this but I don’t know what else there is. I don’t mind talking – that is okay – but just about normal topics. I can’t take it when you look at me like I’m not doing something I should be doing. Like I’m a puzzle or a weird analogy you’re trying to decipher.

It's almost like it’s too much and I’m being SMOTHERED. I’m in the house with same people all the time and I’ve never been good as a caged animal. Tell me what to do and I’ll do the opposite (which makes me a little shit nugget, yes, but probably not changing). Tell me I can’t do something and I’ll do it just to prove I can.

“It’s 3pm and you’re already making yourself a drink?”

“I’ve been doing this at 3pm or earlier for the last three or four weeks, yo.”

Now we’re going to start at 2pm… BOOM! I’m a jerk.

I feel like a jerk. All this stuff makes me an asshole, really. He’s genuinely trying (I think) and I’m genuinely confused. I need to address it, however, and therefore I need to write about it.

No matter how ugly or painful or awkward it is. So, sorry about that, but I don’t have any other outlets so this is where it has to go.

Gotta get back to work schmerk.

Written at 5:17 p.m.