Confession: The Night I Smoked [Bittersweet Sensations]

It’s been a while since we’ve had a good old confession ’round these parts! I’ve been super busy working on schoolwork and life stuff, but thankfully Baby Ruth (seriously, real name) from Bittersweet Sensations has written and posted her own, titled The Night I Smoked.

Here’s an excerpt for ya:

Smoking has a very bad reputation to me. To both of us, actually. So the moment we lighted the sticks then put them in our mouths, we felt… nothing. Seriously. We were laughing hard coz we kept on trying to copy the experts but we couldn’t.

Want to know more? Head on over to Bittersweet Sensations and check out the rest of the confession!

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Confession: I Give My Baby Alcohol

I give my baby alcohol.  On a regular basis.

(Did I just hear everyone’s jaw hit the floor?  Excellent!  Mission: Shock the Masses was a success!)

Now that I have your attention, let me tell you the rest of the story –

My 18-month-old son loves me SO much that he wants to taste everything that I drink.  Since I’m a CPA, I drink wine or beer probably three to four evenings a week.  No sooner do I open that beer or pour that glass of wine but my little guy toddles over to me and says “Mmm, mmm, mmm” expectantly, dancing from one foot to the other, barely containing his impatience.  If I don’t get the message right away, he’ll reach up for me and say “P” (translation: up).

Once I pick him up and put him in my lap, I have to be on my toes because he will LUNGE for my glass, arm outstretched.  We haven’t had any party fouls (i.e. spilled drinks) yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.

So what do I do?  I dip my pinky in my glass, get just a little droplet on my finger, and  put it in his mouth to let him taste it.  And he doesn’t hate it, which really kinda blows my mind.  But he doesn’t throw a fit when I tell him that’s all he gets, so that’s good.

At this point he usually loses interest in me, slides himself down off my lap, and goes off in search of something to throw / bang / push across the floor / eat off the floor.

And that’s it!  Not so terrible after all, eh?

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This confession is brought to you by Athena’s Antics. Pop on over and say hello!

To submit your own confession, check out The Confessional page.

Confession: Maybe I’m Not Cut Out For This

I used to be very maternal. Everyone said so.

I used to adore kids. Everyone saw.

I used to want eight of my own. I told everyone.

Now, well now I’m not so sure I was meant to be a mother. Nobody knows.

I remember perfectly when my son was born. I can tell you my birth story in detail, which I’m sure I will sometime. But I cannot tell you that amazing connection mothers feel the moment they hold their children. I can’t tell you about that because I didn’t feel it.

I just wanted to go to sleep. I looked over at my darling boy, said he looked like his father, and passed out.

When the nurses brought him to my room so I could take care of him, I kept asking them to take him away. I wasn’t ready. I needed more sleep, more time.

Slowly that connection, that amazement, came. My son was in the hospital for two weeks after he was born. When I sat with him in the nursery I would hold him and stare at him for hours. No one else wanted to come visit because it was boring for them to watch me stare. He was perfect, couldn’t they see?

newborn sleeping

I got lucky. I had an easy baby. I loved being a mom. I loved watching him explore the world around him and take everything in; I loved being there for major moments; I loved how he would curl his body into mine for comfort. I had never known a love so strong. I was obviously meant for this.

But now, now things are different. And I haven’t yet told anyone.

Now I get bored watching him sleep. I get excited for the milestones, but only because finally the hard work of getting there is over. I get uncomfortable when we cuddle and crave a cigarette more than his warmth. I get so irritated when he always comes to me for comfort — why can’t he go to Jack?

I feel like a failure. I feel like I don’t belong. I feel like, maybe, someone made a mistake. Maybe this isn’t what I was supposed to do. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.

Maybe I’m not cut out for the sleepless nights and the tantrums. Maybe I’m not cut out for being late to every single thing I ever try to do. Maybe I’m not cut out for struggling to get shoes on for half an hour, or meticulously teaching every letter a thousand times, or wiping the same butt for the millionth.

I feel like I’m suffocating. Truth be told, I still have it easy. My son is a good kid, an easy kid. So why is this so damn difficult?

I wake up and he’s there. I go to the bathroom and he’s there. I smoke a cigarette and he’s there. I try to eat a piece of chocolate and he takes it. I go to sleep and he steals my spot. Every moment of my life is centered around this fabulous being.

Don’t get me wrong, I know he’s amazing. I adore him. And I make sure he has all that he needs. But I do not feel like a good mother. I feel like I’m failing him. I feel like I don’t love him enough, even though I know that I do.

I feel like this should be easier. I feel like I’m waiting for a day that will never come. I feel like I should cherish our moments far more than I do.

I feel like I’m not cut out for this, but I push through because I know I have to be.

I just hope I get that initial spark back. I hope I can love him the way I’m supposed to. I hope this will stop, someday.

And maybe that hope means I am cut out for this, after all.

baby swing

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This post is part of the Confessional Series, written by Tempest Rose. To submit your own, please head over to The Confessional page.

 

Confession: It’s Easier This Way

I am diagnosed bipolar, like Tempest. I hide it, most days well, some days not. It showed when I was 13, and I was sent to an institution. It was a hard thing to live down, but I moved a lot later and new people I met didn’t know. The people closest to me do know, I am medicated, but I hide it still. I’m afraid of what people will think of me when they find out I have a mental illness. Sometimes I’ve told people about it and they don’t look at me the same way. I’m fine most of the time, unless I come under stress, which I try to avoid. You’d like me, I’m a nice person, but if I told you I was bipolar I worry you might look down on me.  I’m not ashamed. It’s just easier this way.

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This confession is brought to you by an ANONYMOUS confessor. To submit your own, please visit The Confessional page.

Confession: Adultery in the Heart

I’m told every woman does this, but I’m married and find myself having massive crushes on other men. They’re not men I know, mind you, but usually people on TV. I seem to be especially drawn to guys on Project Runway which bothers me all the more because I feel as though I’m obsessed, which I definitely have a tendency toward. I suppose that’s an “extra” confession.

The main reason this bothers me is that every relationship I have had with a man has had something to do with cheating.  I’ve had quite a few boyfriends and every one of them has either been cheated *on* or cheated *with*. A few of the latter knew what they were but, as far as I know, none of the former has ever found out. At least, not that they’ve said. I don’t know if openly seeing three guys the way I did once “counts” as cheating. Being able to date all these guys was a big ego boost since I was the ugly nerd in high school but, trust me, it’s a lot more trouble than it’s worth.

I am not afraid I will cheat on my husband, but it bothers me that I’m more attracted to men I see on TV than I am to my own husband. I’ve been undergoing treatment for bipolar and on medication that all but kills your sex drive nearly the entire time we’ve been together, so that explains that. At least, it could. Maybe the injury causing me not to be able to have sex contributed too. Perhaps it’s not that I’m more attracted so much as that I make up fantasies in my head about sex and romance with them. I’m always younger in the fantasies, so perhaps I just feel old too. I feel as though I shouldn’t need to do this if I’m happy in my marriage. I do love him, more than anything…so why do I have to keep fantasizing about having sex with other men but not about him?

I’m a horrible wife, a horrible Christian and a horrible person…

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This confession is brought to you by The Prozac Queen. To submit your own confession, please visit The Confessional page.