Posted by: cck | November 1, 2013

and feed it I did

Of course I got feedback from the parentals on my last post. What was I thinking?

Oh yes, that this is my blog and I’ll stomp my feet as if I was thirteen all over it if I want to. I then did what any hormonal, prego mom would do and I engaged with the Crazy. Again, what was I thinking? If someone asks you to explain yourself – and you do, with examples – and then asks again because they never did anything… well, you’ve got to stop somewhere. You can’t rationalize with someone who is irrational.

My mother emailed me and texted me and just all around bombarded me because she wanted to. And, as a mom, there’s a piece of me that gets that. But just like I can’t rationalize with the irrational, just like I can’t fit into my jeans from ten years ago, just like C3 could not get that tootsie roll down last night… just because she wants a relationship with me doesn’t mean she’ll get one.

Instead of kicking myself around the block because I couldn’t get her to see what I was saying, I realized that my duty is not to a woman who tries to torment me, but the family that sustains me and grows with me and loves me now. The fetus growing inside of me deserves more of me – and deserves a calm, sane me. Even though I wrote to my mother that her contact caused me stress during a time when I didn’t need it — she didn’t get it.

I have Bipolar I Disorder. It does not affect my day-to-day life because I choose to follow a regimen and control it. While I am pregnant, I am still working, caring for my seventeen month old and my husband, volunteering, and living. I am also surviving without medication. I know that a stress-free existence is impossible, but it is up to me to protect my body. I blocked her numbers with my cell phone carrier. Her emails never hit my inbox. Her IP and email addresses are blocked from leaving comments on this blog. She can attempt to contact me, but her attempts will never make it through to me.

One of the best parts of being a grown-ass woman? I get to make grown-ass decisions and not feel bad about them. I am protecting C3 and C4, and that’s just the mom I choose to be.


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