One minute my sons and I were having fun. Eating chocolate. Watching The Last Unicorn. Playing with snapchat filters.
And then it hit me like a stampeding elephant. I couldn’t stand the feel of them touching me. The sound of my favorite movie was like nails on a chalkboard. The overwhelming feeling of my children’s dependence on me was too much for me. They shouldn’t depend on me. I’m not stable enough for them.
I retreat to my bed and listen as they wreak havoc in our chaotic living room. I can’t do anything to stop it. I just listen to make sure they’re not hurting themselves.
Then my three year old comes in and I can smell the shit he took in his pants. I’m beyond fucking done dealing with this kid’s lack of desire to be potty trained. I’m done with shitty diapers. I’ve been changing diapers for six straight years. And of course the cycle of insanity wouldn’t be complete without my youngest following suit and shitting his diaper.
I text my husband asking him when he’ll be home. Hoping it will be soon so he can change the boys. Nope. No such luck. Then he calls. Trying to figure out what’s wrong. Bless him. But I’m in no mood to explain this shit to him. He doesn’t understand it. Never will. I’m a broken fucking record trying to get him to get it and I’m sick of that too. So I snap. Wrong of me, I know, but I don’t even care. I don’t care about anything right now except for my failings.
We hang up and he texts me a few minutes later.
I read it in my banner on my lock screen, but I didn’t open it. So it didn’t show I had read it. I cried. I just stared at my phone and cried. His next few messages were nonsensical. Just trying to elicit a response out of me. It failed. He called. I ignored. He called again. I ignored. Again.
I was trying to gather the motivation to change both my sons and I knew if I answered the phone I’d let that distract me from doing what I needed to do. I also did not feel like talking. My mother could have called and I would have ignored her. For the first time I can think of, I felt no obligation to answer my phone.
When he called a third time I answered it, but put the phone on speaker and handed it to our two year old. He immediately began chatting to whoever it was, and when he realized it was Daddy on the phone he really began to chatter away. One of the things he told my husband that I could clearly understand was, “Mommy sad.”
I began talking to my three year old, who’s ass I was reluctantly wiping, so my husband could hear I wasn’t in a different part of the house. And that I was alive. I didn’t acknowledge my husband directly though.
I didn’t know how to.
When he came home he basically ignored my existence. He made dinner for the kids, started a load of laundry, and got himself ready for work. The more times he came in and out of our room, ignoring me, the more guilt and fear I began to feel. After he was done shaving, I called his name and reached out for him, wanting him to sit on the bed next to me, scoop me up in his arms, and hold me as I bawled into his chest, but he didn’t hear me and he didn’t even glance in my direction so he didn’t see me reach out to him.
So I cried.
Eventually I got his attention and we started to talk. I tried my best to explain to him that I didn’t even know what happened. “Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.” I didn’t know how else to explain it. Nothing set off this reaction.
Normally something, large, small, stupid, valid, etc. something happens to cause a reaction like this, but everything was going really well. And then something happened inside of me that had no reason to happen. And it ruined me.
I’m able to function now. Hours later. Kids in bed. Husband at work. Now I can function, but it’s still ruining me. I can feel it working silently. As of right now, I’m helpless to stop it.