A mother, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, an ex-wife...... rehabs, mental hospitals, psychologists, AA and a few beautiful years into my sobriety. This is my life, my daily life.....

Sunday, December 17, 2017

#15- XY...



Have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?

It is a phenomenon where a hostage develops a bond with their captors. A psychological alliance develops resulting from a bond formed during intimate time spent together. The relationships formed are considered irrational which seemed quite similar to how I was feeling during this time. Just into the second trimester I started to grieve my life pre-pregnancy. I had a disturbing connection with drugs and alcohol. I hated them, I despised them, yet I craved them.I trusted that every time I used them, they would deliver the relief I was seeking. After all, drugs never abandoned me, turned on me, talked about me, yelled at me or belittled me. Drugs and alcohol became my sole companion so I developed a love for them, yet at the same time I loathed them.

Every day I woke, I would get out of bed and force one foot in front of the other. Every day I would chose to not use, drink or smoke. I also chose not to drink caffeine, use artificial sweeteners or eat lunch meat for fuck sakes. I would, however, grow fond of waffles and baby back ribs.

Every Monday I would read the expected growth of the baby for that coming week, if it were growing toes or fingers, teeth or hair. I tried desperately to make a connection with this human I was growing inside of me. I read books about pregnancy and childbirth and I passed a ton of time preparing for his or her arrival.

Fifteen weeks in, I found out it was a boy. I went for a routine ultra sound and the nurse asked if I were interested to know the gender, apparently Cameron was making his masculinity more than obvious. Not much differs from the present day.

When I left the office after that appointment, I finally felt something. I felt excitement. I felt love. I felt a connection. I always dreamed of having a little boy. I wanted a dirty, smelly, booger face little boy. A little boy who would come home with muddy shoes and dirty hair wearing a cape made of dish towels and a stick for a sword. I got to my car that morning and just cried, tears flowed out of my eyes like a rain storm. I had waited weeks to feel this, to be in this very moment. What a relief it was to feel it, to feel anything.

All of our tests came back negative for genetic abnormalities and the fetal echocardiogram came back normal. His heart beat was strong and he had ten fingers and ten toes. As far as the doctors could tell, he was developing at a normal pace and he was a healthy thriving little baby boy.

His father and I rented a two bedroom apartment in Bordentown and I tried to make a decent place for our son to come home to. Weeks and months drug on. I was getting fatter and increasingly uncomfortable. I was dehydrated all the time and I was hospitalized twice for kidney stones.

There was still drug and alcohol use in the home however, I chose to ignore it. I felt like a hypocrite if I fought it because if I were not pregnant I would have been there right beside him. Instead I would lie in bed at night locked in my room wondering how I would get through this. One day at a time, that is how I would do it. Today I made it, tomorrow I would try to make it all over again.

On August 3, 2010 at approximately 7:30 p.m., I felt something happening. I knew at that moment, it was time for me to meet my baby boy.


2 comments:

  1. Once again, thank your sharing your story!
    So happy you were able to stay strong and not use! That must have been hard, but you loved that baby SO much!
    xoxo
    Wendy

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