Work in Progress

i am stitching myself together with tentative hope, wary forgiveness and a desire to put my feet on the ground and not fall flat on my face.  People are going through that "hey they aren't so bad..." phase, but the pessimist side of me assures that it is only a matter of time before they let me down again. i suppose i will enjoy their company until they become unbearable again. 

i desire escapism to the extreme

Somebody Out There

'nuff said.


screw you, New York State!!!


he isn't gaining weight. pediatrician declares i may have thin milk, and has put Rowen on an all formula diet.  I can pump to keep my supply up if that isn't the case....

I don't want to think about the consequences if this isn't the case.  

If it's not me, then he has some kind of absorption problem, and who knows what kind of drastic measures are going to be needed in order to make sure he survives?? I don't like to think that I'm the issue... but if i'm not...

Is this because of the pot early on??? Have I doomed this child to a life of sub-par existence? Or worse... death?

I'm no mother.

I'm a monster.

Sweet Dreams

 are made of these

Failure to Progress

sometimes i put down a book or stop watching a show because i don't want the plot to progress any further.  i like the characters the way they are, the plot is at a point where they could exist indefinitely in their current state and time can freeze-frame them on those pages/episodes with no bearing on the future (this is a common setting for most fanfictions).  to develop the plot or the characters any further would induce irreversible change, and as we all know, change is as scary as it is exhilarating.  it's almost like i don't trust the author to take the story in a direction i would like.  

life can sometimes feel the same way in a surreal sort of sense. i want to hit save then stop playing the game before something bad (or worse!)  occurs and flips everything upsidown (again).  Right here, right now, sitting in this hospital, i'm a million miles away from reality.  my biggest problem right now is the excruciating pain i experience when standing to use the bathroom facilities.  the move is a far away thing that occurred outside my sphere of influence.  i'll just walk into my new apartment tomorrow and start unpacking.  like everything is fine.

it's not fine.

this child has no father.  not even a male role model to look up to.  not like i want tony anywhere near this kid anyway, now that i know what kind of sorry assed loser he really is.  i just want him to take some goddamn responsibility.  he can't run away and pretend it didn't happen.  it makes me furious to think that he's out somewhere having a drink, rolling a blunt or socializing with his friends.  guess what, asshat? remember me? the one you got pregnant and left?  she can't do any of those things for at least the next two years.  and neither should you, dick, you should be right here changing diapers and cleaning up messes left and right with me.  no, it's all on my shoulders now.  free time = 0.0003746 minutes a day.  how am i going to have time to shower? sleep? eat? with serenity at the tender age of 3, she is virtually no help at all, in fact, far more a hindrance.  how will i ever have time to let he know that she's a great kid? to play with HER and let HER know that i love her? its not fair to either of them, or any of the people that i ask for help (they have they're own lives you know, and can only donate so much time...)

life, just pause.  stop.  i'll press play some other time, but right now, i just want to lay in my perkaset stupor with a beautiful baby boy on my chest and exist in my bubble.


i've survived. i knew i would. my fears are so irrational, but so intense.  now... i just want to curl up and sleep. sweet dreams rowen :)