When MrD was small he was very tiring. Every day was like the movie “Groundhogs Day” with Bill Murray. It took forever for him to integrate basic every day things. I understood then that that is how a child learns, with repetition, familiarity, and deviations from the expected. It makes sense that every day is a clean slate to repeat pretty much everything. From the endless toys and messes, to the repetitive noises, tantrums, trials & tribulations of potty training, basic manners… That didn’t change the sheer exhaustion I felt from having to wield patience like a shield. I’m human, at times I just wanted to scream or shake him to “C’mon, get on with it already!!!” I didn’t, I couldn’t treat this precious little soul to such cruelty. His bio-Dad is another story. I’ve mentioned about sharing MrD’s time with his father, there’s an old legal document in place and scheduled time reflects that bio-Dad has the right to spend time with his son. There is a complex background story in play and very good reasons why we split up. I will try not to get into details that would slag MrD’s father as that would be disrespectful to MrD as well.
The short version is that I could not raise MrD in that environment based on how bio-Dad was treating me. Bio-Dad is not perfect, and neither am I. My fear ever since we split has been that MrD will absorb his father’s communication strategies and possibly suffer because of them. Now that MrD is a full blown teenager, some of bio-Dad’s less stellar qualities are filtering through. Before we split, bio-Dad would have flare temper episodes, often because he couldn’t seem to have his way. As long as there was agreement, then I could do as I pleased & just not tell him. Not exactly couple healthy, but when in an unbalanced environment, I was striving to survive. Bio-Dad would get into a rage at me for being so exhausted that I wasn’t doing anything at home other than the minimum of looking after our son, the minimum of my own self care and a daily walk with our son. That meant the dishes, vacuuming, laundry, and general cleaning would back up. Those are pretty normal things to leave when a new Mom doesn’t have any help. When I got some energy built up, instead of resting, I would dig out the biggest messes. Of course, that would deplete my energy stores so I would be into zombie mode the rest of the time. Most people know or are familiar with zombie mode, it’s a slow autopilot that looks like depression. I very likely was in post-partum depression but was too exhausted to deal with it. Bio-Dad would flare into rages at me with ruthless name calling and try to push me around. When the storm cleared, he would sometimes apologize. At one point he admitted he was trying to shake me awake because he couldn’t stand seeing me being so useless. He grew up where both his parents worked, a lot, and he never saw his parents in any prolonged health crisis state. He had no concept that I am not the same as them, that I am my own person. When someone is in a wheelchair, it is unfathomable to yank the chair out from under them and scream at them to get up & walk & stop being so lazy. It wouldn’t occur to him to rip away someone’s cane, or to kick crutches away from one with a broken leg. Post-partum depression is invisible; the person more or less looks fine to an average observer. Autism is mostly invisible too.
The short version is that I could not raise MrD in that environment based on how bio-Dad was treating me. Bio-Dad is not perfect, and neither am I. My fear ever since we split has been that MrD will absorb his father’s communication strategies and possibly suffer because of them. Now that MrD is a full blown teenager, some of bio-Dad’s less stellar qualities are filtering through. Before we split, bio-Dad would have flare temper episodes, often because he couldn’t seem to have his way. As long as there was agreement, then I could do as I pleased & just not tell him. Not exactly couple healthy, but when in an unbalanced environment, I was striving to survive. Bio-Dad would get into a rage at me for being so exhausted that I wasn’t doing anything at home other than the minimum of looking after our son, the minimum of my own self care and a daily walk with our son. That meant the dishes, vacuuming, laundry, and general cleaning would back up. Those are pretty normal things to leave when a new Mom doesn’t have any help. When I got some energy built up, instead of resting, I would dig out the biggest messes. Of course, that would deplete my energy stores so I would be into zombie mode the rest of the time. Most people know or are familiar with zombie mode, it’s a slow autopilot that looks like depression. I very likely was in post-partum depression but was too exhausted to deal with it. Bio-Dad would flare into rages at me with ruthless name calling and try to push me around. When the storm cleared, he would sometimes apologize. At one point he admitted he was trying to shake me awake because he couldn’t stand seeing me being so useless. He grew up where both his parents worked, a lot, and he never saw his parents in any prolonged health crisis state. He had no concept that I am not the same as them, that I am my own person. When someone is in a wheelchair, it is unfathomable to yank the chair out from under them and scream at them to get up & walk & stop being so lazy. It wouldn’t occur to him to rip away someone’s cane, or to kick crutches away from one with a broken leg. Post-partum depression is invisible; the person more or less looks fine to an average observer. Autism is mostly invisible too.
When I think back on these moments, all I can think is that each stage was preparing me for the next. Being pregnant prepares the mother for frequent bathroom trips, broken sleep, and chronic fatigue that a brand new baby brings. Screaming colic episodes prepare for the endurance needed to white knuckle through really tough situations. Repetitive days of a toddler prepare for the breaks in memory that an autistic teenager is surprised with, every day skills that are necessary for independent living. Planning a daily outing with a small child after all physical needs are met builds a feeling of happiness and familiarity to everyday experiences that life isn’t scary or overwhelming. Bio-Dad taught me that I don’t have to go by others rules, I need to run my life by my rules, my way while allowing respect and wiggle room for another’s perspective. If Bio-Dad freaked out on me for being in zombie-mode, MrD has been treating me to similar cries for attention when I am depleted. This has been the blessing of blogging, allowing me reflection and growth as a Mom and a person. This is a really good reminder to myself to set the expectation that I will be respected and treated with care when I am occasionally unwell from sleep deprivation or illness. Every day I am thankful for the love and care of my family & friends for helping me to pull through.
