debutaunt.com

2 Weeks Down

Two weeks.

She's been gone two weeks.

It's so quite here every night, I'm beginning to wonder if having her was just a dream. That I've been dreaming this horrible nightmare of single motherhood for three years.

Because when we decided to get pregnant, I was semi-wealthy. Making nice money. I never balanced my checkbook because I always had fundage. I had a good job and I worked really hard. I never even was on the internet and I never goofed off. I lived in a nice two bedroom apartment.

Now it takes me two weeks to earn less than I earned in one week. Now I juggle bills. And I feel guilty if I splurge on bottled water. Now I live in a cramped, over-cluttered one bedroom. Now I am overwhelmed with too much to do and not enough ability, energy, physical strength (my back) or time to do it.

Back then I was happily married. To a man that I loved. He might not have been perfect, but he was a different man then. One that loved me wholeheartedly. Who adored me and showered me with compliments and love notes. Who kissed me with passion. And I felt desired and beautiful and loved.

We wanted a child. We wanted one very much.

I never expected that from all that love and happiness would come a broken marriage. Would come so much pain. And the feelings of somehow my daughter's life is lacking because she doesn't have both her parents anymore. Now that her dad is in another state, it's even more sad for me. I never thought I'd end up being a single mom. I never thought I'd feel so much guilt. Especially since I love that child more than anything in this world. I hate to fail her.

I was healthy back then. I had just gotten my diabetes and it wasn't severe. I didn't take insulin. I worked out without worrying about injuring my back. Or how my knees feel like they are about to give out when I weight train. My body was a machine and it didn't falter.

I used to get up out of bed easily in the morning. Now it's stages of aches and pains and a desire to not get out of bed. Like all day. I feel like Nick Nolte in the first scene of North Dallas Forty. I feel 100 years old.

Now my house is quiet and my daughter is like a teenager. Her dad puts her on the phone, but she doesn't want to talk. She just says, "Hi Mommy. I love you Mommy. Bye Mommy." And the only time she wanted to have a conversation I was at the gym doing an upper body workout. I could barely hear her, but I heard the tired in her voice. I was desperate to talk to her. Now I know how her father feels when she won't talk to him on the phone when he calls here. It's agonizing.

I ache for her now. I miss her face. And the way she says Mommy. And her easy smile. And hugs. I miss her snug with me. I miss cooking with her in the kitchen. Brushing her hair at night, and reading books before bed. And watching cartoons on Saturday mornings. And holding hands and going on adventures.

And I totally don't know how on earth I'm going to do all of this when she gets back. How I'm going to get her little tired self out of bed and ready for kindergarten when I don't want to get out of bed either. The constant rushing around to school to home, now add in the gym and no fast foods.

How I'm going to get healthy and workout when I need to get her to bed earlier. The past week I haven't had dinner before 9pm. Last night I ate at 10 and worked out at 10:30.

I'm sure I'm just tired. But I have to get healthy. It's no longer an option.

I want her to be proud of me. I want to be a good role model for her.

I miss her. But I also miss me.

I know. I know. This too shall pass. But right now it feels like trying to tear down the Great Wall of China brick by brick.

And yes. I've been working out like a fiend. I started the Body for LIFE Challenge last Monday. But for me it's not just 12 weeks, it's a lifetime of getting my body healthy again.

So I have a goal and a set workout plan, but damn it's very time consuming and I know I have to do it. Because I can't take care of Zoe if I don't first take care of myself.

Ok. So go ahead and hate on me you fucking haters that read my journal. Go ahead and talk about what I write and analyze it and secretly smile at my anguish. I know you think it's funny when I fail and feel down. Fuck you.

Posted by debutaunt at July 5, 2005 08:58 PM