Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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I'm Living In An Age That Screams My Name At Night But When I Get To The Doorway There's No One In Sight

My husband thinks I drink too much. Oh, he hasn't said so, but I know he thinks it. And he knows I know he thinks it. I suspect he suspects I have a problem. Until now, I have cared. Waiting until he goes to bed to drink or hiding the empties. I don't care anymore. It's exhausting dealing with that in addition to my own steaming pile of stinky mental guilt. I know where he's coming from... He just made it through the first year of his brother's sobriety. But I don't like having my alcohol consumption silently monitored because it's on his family's radar. His dad is an alcoholic, now his brother... Both recovering. I didn't drink much throughout my twenties, so now is my time. Leave me be.

Or the above paragraph is my justification for drinking too much. Probably the latter. I don't know. I vacillate between everyone has a glass or two of wine a night to only alcoholics drink every night. Then I pour a glass of wine and watch an episode of INTERVENTION and worry I'm a six-pack away from stumbling around my house searching for Listerine or Cold Medicine to guzzle

Time is hauling ass. I mentally calculate that if I got pregnant now I'd have the baby at 31 and then if I waited a year and got pregnant again I'd have the second one at 33 and so forth. I want at least two. But I don't feel ready to be a Mom yet... There's shit I've gotta do! But what shit? Fulfilling selfish dreams? I had the whole of my twenties for that, right? Isn't it time to focus on someone else? Isn't having a family the most important journey one can embark on? Or is that a load of shit depressed parents tell everyone in order to validate they're own choices? And even if there isn't shit I gotta do, I still don't feel ready to hand over my life to somebody else yet.

On the outside looking in, being a Mom seems simultaneously amazing and horrifying. Going to the grocery store and running errands already bums me out let alone adding the demands of a pissed off 1-year-old whose carseat requires ten minutes of fiddling with before and after each stop. Still, it's so rewarding being a parent, right? That's what they say. The ubiquitous they.

But what if you get an asshole? I've met a lot of assholes under ten, I really have, regardless of how amazingly cool their parents are. I'll bet Charlie Manson's folks were really stoked to have a kid and, well... if ever there was an asshole. Okay, that's admitted hyperbole. Let's just go with, oh, say Ryan Seacrest. His parents were all pumped to have a boy and then they got stuck with that talking mannequin. Or Lynn Spears. She probably isn't too excited about being a Mom right about now. Maybe I should just get a second dog. There's simply no denying, he's cool as shit.

All of this, all this analyzing... it's such a waste. I just need to live. To enjoy each day for whatever it brings. Whether it's the dumbass who backed into my car on Christmas Eve or taking zillions of photos while playing in the snow on Christmas Day.