A Good Saturday

 Today was one of the best days I’ve had in awhile. I woke up first, got S out of bed, and made breakfast while listening to music. The sun was shining, S was cheerful, and sent her and M to pick up Starbucks while I worked out. 

I felt even better after working out. S ran into my room returning from Starbucks exclaiming “mommy hi mommy!” as I prepared to shower and get ready to go Christmas shopping with B.

I actually got ready, did my hair, made myself look and feel good. Confident, even. Despite realizing that M had lied about a paycheck this week (not the first lie, certainly won’t be the last) I felt ok. I felt happiness. I felt the warm feeling that comes with doing something with my daughter like a normal mother. (If those exist). 

I actually left my house today. 

We shopped and then skipped S’s nap to meet up with my parents at the annual Christmas lighting in downtown Franklin. Despite the usual intense anxiety that comes with being around both of my parents at once, I managed to soak in the twinkling winter beauty and magic that Franklin had to offer us. I could tell S was having a great time, although sleepy and hungry. 

M was too. He helped my mom walk (her injured knee is getting an MRI tomorrow) and I must say it softened my usual hardness towards him seeing their arms linked. 

I had a cocktail - well, I guess you could call it that. Essentially it was sugar in a cup. But I broke - as I fully have planned on going completely sober again: I still do. In the cool night under the twinkling lights on the pretty outdoor patio of a restaurant I fully expected to get a coffee - until I realized all of the choices were alcoholic. M’s handsome face brightened and I thought “well, what the hell,” glancing back at my bickering parents that I had left S with. 

I felt myself flip the switch. Right then. Right after I made the decision to get a “Christmas Punch.” I immediately was thinking about how obviously I would have M make a personalized booze run for me once we got home and hopefully he’d have enough cigarettes for me and my new night plans. He’d have to buy some more of those too I guess. 

Eventually that feeling wore off, thank god. 

It was replaced with a warm contentedness as we drove home, radio off, S fast asleep with her little mouth wide open in her car seat. 

I realized that today was so much better than my days had been recently. Massively better. I mean like, a complete 180. I shudder to look back at the past few weekends which consisted of sleeping in (sometimes almost the entire day) while my daughter and M did something extremely mediocre. I evenv remember waking to hearing her asking for me a few times and me thinking up any fake illness to persuade M to not bring her in the room. 

This is not because I don’t want to spend time with my beautiful daughter. No, not at all. This is me wanting to bury myself and hide from the purity and brilliance of my little everything out of shame. I do not deserve her. She deserves a better mother: she can’t see me like this. This is not want I want for her. No mommy time today is better than being around a mommy who is not only physically ill but cripplingly depressed.

I don’t want that ever again; not for her and not for myself. I’m still sorting through the things that led me to relapse from my sobriety. It will take some time, lots of water, exercise, delicious food, quit lit, and most importantly: mommy time.