A Year

My darling baby girl,

My whole life I waited for you to enter my world.  At the age of two I was falling in love with what would be your name.  At four I was given my first dolly that would share your name.  I still have that dolly waiting for you to be big enough to handle her.  As I grew bigger and got to where I was dating and trying to find your future daddy, it wasn’t just about who I wanted to grow old with, I was looking for someone as excited as I was about bringing my Samantha into the world.  That, was your daddy.  So don’t worry, I married him real fast.

It took us a few tries.  We got your big brothers first.  But I really think that was how it was meant to be.  No one can possibly love you like your brothers do.  You are their own personal precious metal.  Someone to be cherished, protected, and adored.  No one can get you to belly laugh like your oldest brother Thomas.  He got your first few.  And even now at a year old, if you need cheering up, it’s Thomas we call in.  Your Lucas, however, shows no bigger concern for your happiness.  He is a sensitive boy and you are a grand recipient for the fierceness of his love.

Your daddy.  There just aren’t words.  He’s wanted a daughter his whole life as fiercely as he’s needed oxygen to keep breathing.  You are his pearl.  His hopes.  His dreams.  You are his everything and his world became brighter the second you entered it.

My world became brighter.

You are magic.  I search my soul looking for the words to tell you about you and they don’t exist.  You are everything I had ever hoped for in my daughter.  My Samantha.  And yet, you go so far beyond my hopes and dreams.  I figured I had the love of a parent for a child  figured out well before you.  After all, I had been a mother for 8 years before you came into my life.  But I was so far wrong.  So incredibly wrong.

I’m not afraid to tell you that you weren’t planned.  Sure mommy and daddy were going to start trying for you within the year, but not yet.  We weren’t ready.  Mommy was in a job she hated and wanted to get settled into a new one.  Our house wasn’t big enough.  Our income wasn’t quite right.  But there you were.  Doing things your way and in your time.  And I can’t help but know however ready we may not have felt, we wouldn’t have wanted things any other way.

You are our miracle.  We shouldn’t have gotten pregnant, here you are.  Daddy isn’t suppose to be able to have little girls, you are the apple of his eye.  My pregnancy with you was miserable, but I laughed you into the world.

Suddenly nothing else mattered in that 4:00 hour of the afternoon on August 30, 2011.

After 30 minutes of laughing you past my pelvic bone that you were stuck on, and seeing your beautiful face, and that whooper of a bruise on your forehead… Nothing.  Else.  Mattered.

You are everything this family ever needed to be complete, and now that you are here we are whole.  The 5 of us are whole.

Watching you grow over the 12 months that followed has been an experience.  With your brothers I was so depressed that I don’t recall much of their early months and years.  With you I was different.  You have brought a happiness and a calmness to our family allowing us all to enjoy your achievements and growth.

You do things on your terms.  As a Princess, you’ll have it no other way.  We are all well aware you could walk if you want to.  But princesses don’t walk.  You hold your own bottle, but only because that means you don’t have to be confined to our arms when you eat.  You are into everything and bring terror to the organization of all.

You are sweet, peaceful, loving.  You are goofy, happy, and creative.

You are our pride, our joy, our happiness, our Princess.

You are our Sammy, SamBam, Samtron, Dark Lady Samageddon, Samulous Prime, Samurai.

You are our Samantha Lavay Marrs.  And we waited a very long damn time for you to enter our world.  And now that you’re here, we’re everything we hoped for and beyond. Happy first birthday, my beautiful baby girl!

Social Delay

I spent so long (9 years or so) thinking I wasn’t allowed to have a social life and a work life.  How selfish could I possibly be wanting to go out with friends when I’ve already been gone for 40+ hours a week.

This is my hang-up.  Yes, it gives Pat less off-duty time.  But I thought that Pat’s need for off-duty time was more important than my need for friends and time spent with them.

You hear all these stories of working dads who go out with buddies every night, and when they are home they sit in front of the TV and mom is on full duty with house work and kids 24/7.  I never wanted to be that working dad.  Minus the buddies, that was actually my dad.

I never really realized that there is a happy medium.  As long as I’m not going out every damn night.  As long as when I am home I’m on duty or sharing duty.  As long as I make sure my husband has his social life.  As long as I appreciate and know everything my husband does.

My once a week climbing walls and occasional add-on of other social adventures, is far better for my marriage and my family, not to mention me as a person, than bouncing back-and-forward between work and home, with only the grocery store or outings with the kids in between.

Why did it take me so long to see this?

In related notes, it has dawned on Pat and I after years of anxiety disorders and bad decisions mostly on my part, we have reached a point in our relationship where we trust each other.  When I say I’m doing such-and-such, he knows I’m doing such-and-such.  When he says he’s doing this-and-that he can just tell me, no need to defend it.  Until things are proven otherwise, we can hang where we please with whom we please and not have it tinged with paranoia.  I can hang with a guy friend and he knows I’m not cheating.  He can hang with a gal friend and I know he would never hurt me.

This addition of trust has gone a long way in easing the addition of a social life into the picture.

I Look In The Mirror And Now I See

A glimmer of hope looking back at me.

The Monday or so after I learned I had already lost my new friend, I went into work to discover a branch outing was in the works.  That week was a co-worker’s birthday.  We were totes going to a local bar to celebrate with him.

When the day came, only 4 of us actually were planning to go.  But the 4 of us was a really great combination.  When all 10-12 of us go out, I enjoy my time with my coworkers whom I like for better and worse.  But that evening with the 4 of us, I wasn’t among coworker’s I was among friends.  My immediate supervisor and I got there first.  He was my ride and we were going straight from work.  Between the drive and the hour before anyone showed, we had some great conversation.  I got to know him behind the tie, and he got to know me.  Then as the other 2 trickled in, the conversation grew.  Alcohol flowed, pool was played, and we had fun.  But mostly?  Between shots of Irish Breakfast, and turns at the pool table we just talked and talked and talked, the 4 of us knowing we were among friends and anything we had to say was safe, respected, and appreciated.  We joked.  We appreciated.  We enjoyed good conversation.

And after the weekend’s revelations?  Oh was that needed.

The following Monday, I told my fellow female patron of the bar night (2 ladies, 2 gents) that we needed to hang out more.  Mind you, I’m still licking wounds from the 4th of July as well.  Her immediate response?  Hey we can go climbing!  (Her other job is managing a climbing gym.)  Once I confirmed she wasn’t trying to kill me off, I decided I was going to go for it.  As big of a klutz as I am, I trust her and I knew that if I could do this, my view of myself would be forever altered for the better.

I walked away from that 5 day span with a happy outlook on my social life.  Can the 4 of us go to the bar weekly?  Probably not.  But that pair up is happening again and I can’t wait!  (I even told them I’d let work acknowledge my birthday if the 4 of us hanging out could be part of the plan.)  As for the climbing?  It is officially a weekly thing.  Every Monday after work, I’m dressing down and scaling a 20-25 foot wall.  I’ll spend the next 2 days walking funny because oh the workout, but it’s worth it.

I’m not athletic.  I’m a klutz.  But I can climb the hell out of that wall.  Ok, maybe not as well as someone who’s been doing it for years.  But considering I’m a fat girl, couch potato, I rock at climbing the hell out of that wall.

And my ego will never be the same.  In all the ways it should shift.

Once she starts teaching classes on Mondays I’ll see about getting an actual membership there. (I get in free for now since they are closed Mondays and she has a key.  Oh, and the owner doesn’t care because the only resource I’m using is my friend’s time.) In the meantime I’m helping get my friend in shape for the fall climbing season, and can be sure that this is something I’ll stick with before I invest.  And oh how I plan to!

I Look In The Mirror And All I See

Is sad lonely eyes, staring right back at me.

Alright.  So A few weeks back I was thrilled to the moon over a new friend I had found in the mother of my kid’s friend.  I guess I didn’t know she assumed I was Christian.  And the irony in this compared to what I had originally said about her is not lost. (The part at the very bottom slays me, now, in hindsight.)

The thing is, I only have guesses.  She hasn’t actually told me to my face that she has a new found problem with my family.  And she certainly hasn’t said what it was.  But the only change that occurred between her being thrilled with my family and now there being a coldness that could freeze fire is her realization that hey, we don’t worship.

There wasn’t a point where I said “Oh, by-the-way.”  I think she just pieced a few things together and jumped to, admittedly correct, conclusions.

When my husband and I dropped T off at their house for a zoo trip, Pat was wearing a Gothic style head cover.  By no means Satanic or otherwise inappropriate, but you know how Gothic style can go.  I guess I should have seen her reaction to our Pink Floyd poster coming.  I’ve never given it a second thought.  And we only ever get compliments.  But then, most of our friends aren’t exactly conservative.  She didn’t say anything, but since my husband who can read people like a coloring book was the one to catch her facial reaction, she didn’t have to.

Borderline Personality Disorder bpd and friendship

In retrospect, I can’t honestly blame her. They are technically naked. With their back to their camera not revealing anything hard core, and it’s tasteful and artistic as hell. But they are naked, and either you’re bothered by it or you’re not.

Later that evening when confirming the sleepover scheduled for the weekend to come, I got word that little man was nervous about spending the night in a strange house.  Not yet realizing that something was majorly wrong, I went into understanding momma mode and told her that was way fine, he’d could come hang out and if spending the night wouldn’t work, that would be fine.  If he wanted to try to spend the night but couldn’t make it, I’d get him home myself no matter the time.

They showed up.  He was left.  He thought it was insane I’d even suggest to call his mom at bedtime, he was having fun and wasn’t even a little hesitant about crashing in a strange house.  I texted her to update her on things being well, I got arctic chill.

We haven’t heard boo from them in the 2 weeks since he was picked up that morning.

Pat and I had a long talk where the reader of people detailed what he’d noticed, I confessed the signs I had seen, and I started processing being so very wrong about my hoped for new friendship.

I started out so very mad.  Which is actually why this post took 2 weeks.  The nerve! I mean right?  Way to judge me on my morals and actions.  Let’s just write me off because I don’t worship your God.  Your God, who has made it clear it’s his job to judge me, and not yours.  I’m pretty sure should the pearly gates be real, I’ll receive enough judgment there, I don’t need it at the door to my own damn house.  And seriously?  I may not worship like you do, but I am spiritual, moral, and good.  I’m not perfect.  But I’m good.

Oh that rant would have continued on for paragraphs into pages.  Twitter even got some of it.

But now I’m resigned to acceptance.  If I am written off so easily because of my religion, or lack-there-of, then I’m not the one losing anything here.

Then less than a week later I found my people.

And I’ll tell that story later.  But hint?  It involves me climbing that wall, though it doesn’t start there.

Guess Who Gets To Go Back On Her Anti Depressant

This was written on my phone. I will fix crap later.

I made the call myself between sessions asking if she’d call it in. Not battling anything major. Stress is piling on. Minor things in life adding up. Holidays and little sun coming soon. Figured I could use the help. Not thrilled to be on them but thrilled to be at a point in my life where I can logic this all out.

And while I’m not suicidal, I am to a point in my chronic pain where I can’t help but think if I am going to keep waking up in this much pain I’d almost rather not wake up at all. No I don’t even remotely want to end things. I just physically hurt that much. So maybe the meds can help me cope.  Yes, I said that as casually as can be and meant it add such. It is fairly normal response to the pain as long as I continue to have no interest in doing anything other than push on through.

Anyway starting on the lowest possible dose of what I was on. Hope to be back off come spring when I get my sunshine back and life finds its routine again.

Guided Fall

Letting go and leaning back, trusting the rope I was hanging from, the pullies in the ceiling, and my friend I was hooked to was exhilarating. The third time. The first had a touch of “OMG I am going to die” fear. But by that point I had scaled a good 12+ feet up that wall on my own accord and I had to get down somehow.

This is by far not the most flattering series of photos of me. Gym clothes plus harnesses don’t make for photogenic qualities. And the photographer was concentrating on holding onto the other end of the rope.

But mother fuckers, I was up a wall!

Borderline Personality Disorder bpd and success

Borderline Personality Disorder bpd and success

Borderline Personality Disorder bpd and success

I did not die. I did not break anything. And I rocked climbing that wall. (Pun intended)