When Skies Are Gray
Well, there he goes again.
Bickering. Mind-numbing arguments on repeat.
He got the keys,
Yelling. Screaming. Tears.
Throwing chairs. Kicking doors.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Slam.
I wonder if he will be back.
I stare down at the big brown eyes of my precious little girl, now tear-filled and scared.
I know honey, me too. It’s okay. It will all be okay. He doesn’t know what he’s doing to us. Maybe I don’t know what I am doing to him.
Or maybe we didn’t know what we were doing from the start.
I have loved being a mom so much more than I have ever thought I would. While my belly was growing by the minute, so were my fears and doubts. I didn’t want Daddy to forget about Mommy.
But it turns out Mommy should’ve been worried about forgetting Daddy.
Baby Izzy just came home. I’m gushing blood, it hurts to stand. Family everywhere. Breastfeeding hurts.
Pumping. Feeding. Crying. Happy. Sad. Worried. Excited. Disbelief. Joy. Pain. Crying. Tired.
Izzy sleeps a lot, but I don’t. Daddy is fixing up her room. Busting his butt to get things in order now that she’s here, since Mommy didn’t nest.
I love her so much.
She’s so tiny, perfect, innocent.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
Wedding month for dear friends. Long trip.
Mommy bounces the baby between the Pack ‘n Play and co-sleeping on the couch. Exhausted.
Three hours of sleep each night.
Eat. Sleep. Nurse. Cry. Fight. Fight. Fight. Walk. Push. Slam. Fall. Cry. Scream. Sleep.
Traveling puts even more of a strain on us. I’m not pumping anymore.
Fighting, screaming, crying all night.
Big smiles for the camera. Hugs, laughs, kisses, dancing.
Deep pain. Deep sadness.
Can you see it in our eyes?
Hiding behind threats of leaving, the deepest hurt.
Put on a face. Start all over again.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
Christmastime seems to be missing.
The tree is up, lights are hung, but never turned on. Never decorated.
The house remains bare.
Baby girl, teething. Sleeping 6 hours, but only in bed with Mommy. Nursing through the night.
Daddy sleeps with the dogs on the couch.
Probably because I make him feel like one.
I never mean to.
I don’t like hurting. Destroying.
Why do I continue to do the very thing I hate?
Crying. Hurt. Pain. Scars. Tears. Cold. Empty. Worthlessness. Silence.
Christmas morning is greeted with yelling and fighting.
”Will this be our new Christmas tradition?” Daddy asks.
This is not what I want. I want you to be happy, yet I only do things for me and Baby.
You’d be better off without Mommy.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.
I refuse to be hurt anymore. I care. I love.
But at a distance.
I will no longer let my heart hurt. Never again.
Too scared of the pain, I am afraid to change. I no longer remember how to truly connect. Get close.
What’s happening to us? Who is this man before me.
How did we get here, God?
Pray. Read. Cry. Cry. Ache. Hurt. Empty. Distant. Fight. Silence. Fight. Run. Leave.
Daddy asks Mommy when she will love, care, honor, respect.
Why don’t you want to submit?
I love. I care. I don’t know how.
I long for it, but I let pride in.
The steel gates surrounding my heart have been locked, the key thrown deep into the pit of hopelessness.
I don’t know how to get it back.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.