All grown up
An old friend and I were texting about her new home the other day. She has three little ones, so we laughed about how on earth she was supposed to unpack and get settled. I texted, "Look at us both having homes and children. When the f did that happen?"
Time flies, especially when you're partying for 15 straight years of it. By no means am I romanticizing about my drinking days, but I will say that at the time when I somewhat "had it together"-- meaning strictly drinking on weekends (like a normal human)...and wow, did I have some fun times with friends. It's funny how, in your 20's, you see people in their 30's & 40's and think...kill me now. How boring. A Saturday night spent SOBER and with kids? Kill me now. Or, at least, that's how I thought. The massive shift in what brings us pristine bliss over the years is pretty entertaining to look back on. Our experiences shape us; we don't know it at the time.
Upon leaving rehab the last time, I sought help from a post-partum therapist. It wasn't until I went to a beloved nurse at my treatment center in a total breakdown that she diagnosed me with post-partum. My husband and Cal had just visited me, and when they left, I didn't feel much. How is that possible? Of course, I wanted to go home with them, but I knew I wasn't ready. Maybe that was part of it. Either way, I felt guilt and shame for not having this massive crying meltdown that my eight-month-old sweet baby boy had just visited me in rehab, only to leave my arms 45 minutes later. I must be a terrible fucking mother, I thought to myself. I was struck with a cluster of emotions about what I should be feeling but wasn't.
I broke down in the arms of this fantastic nurse, and she looked at me and said, "Sweetie...did you ever stop to think that you might have post-partum?" I said, "No!? I haven't had time to think about anything other than this fucking cripple of a disease." "Well, you 100% do, and it's pretty bad. It's okay; we'll get you some help once you leave."
She explained to me that it was normal not to feel connected to my baby, especially in severe and unideal situations like the one I was in. I explained to her that it felt like I was playing with some adorable baby-a nephew maybe-but certainly not MY son. I have a son. How is that possible? It wasn't until many weeks of therapy and months later that I realized something vital.
Given that I drank during my pregnancy and immediately upon arriving home from the hospital and onward, I realized that once I got sober for several months, reality started to sink in. It's almost like I woke up one day and was a mother. By zero means was this bad; I was and am beyond over the moon in love with my little guy. Love doesn't even begin to describe what he fills my heart with.
It's a pretty massive thing to experience once you finally "come to." It reminds me of Drew Barrymore on 50 First Dates. Her character, Lucy, suffers from anterograde amnesia following a car crash. Basically, at the end of the movie, Adam Sandler starts each day of hers with a VHS tape that says, "Watch me." She pops it in, and it's a series of events to bring her up to speed on her present life and circumstances. Because she is utterly confused as to why she has this huge, pregnant belly, that's the best way I can put it. I woke up sober one day, and I was a mother. And it was the best plot twist I've ever had.
