crying at 3 am because I don't want to be a mom

The other night I woke up at my usual time (3 AM), and instead of forcing myself to lay in bed until I fell asleep again, I got up. I got up so I could read. I got up so I could journal. I got up because it’s the only time that Maverick is doing something where I don’t have to distract him, sleeping. But not this night. No, not this night. This night, Maverick had some major case of FOMO and decided he wanted to be WIDE AWAKE at 3 AM with mommy.

I lost my cool. I tried to feed him back to sleep and he wouldn’t even shut his eyes. “JUST GO TO SLEEP” I said sternly, as I shuffled him around my body to get him to go to sleep. Yelling at the baby wouldn’t make him go to sleep, I knew that… But I was frustrated. I get up at ungodly hours (literally the witching hour) to do stuff on my own, and I can’t even get that!

I was tired of being touched. I was tired of laying down doing nothing when Maverick was asleep. I was tired of being a parent. So I did the only thing I knew to do in that time, and that was cry. Cry until Sean woke up and took Maverick away from me. Cry until I felt better and calmed down. Cried until I realized Maverick didn’t have any sense in why I was crying…

Sometimes I don’t want to be a mom because it’s the hardest thing I’ve had to do. But that doesn’t mean I can just delete my son out of my life (like some people), and just pretend like every thing is peachy keen. I get up and love him because that’s what he needs from me. I love him cause he doesn’t know better. And even though this shit is ROUGH - I’ll always be here for him because I WANTED him. He owes me nothing because he is MY SON. And it’s my job to take care of him. That’s my baby.

But seriously… some alone time as being JAKKI is nice too, not just a shower by myself and calling it self care.

my son's a vip, "very immunocompromised person"

This past weekend, my son was admitted for high fevers again and they just wanted to do observation to make sure he didn’t have a seizure. This is the third time since April that he’s been admitted. All of this started back in December. We don’t know why we have a sick baby, but we do, and it’s tough.

Today I thought we were going to walk out of his appointment with a, “his WBCs look great! We’ll just monitor every other week or so to make sure it stays that way.” But we didn’t. Instead, we end up leaving with a VIP card and two lab draws per week until his next follow up. You don’t know how mad this makes me as a mom to know that some random doctor told me that his WBCs were good this weekend, and all of a sudden, my son’s got severe neutropenia and can cut the ER line with this VIP card? It makes me furious that they even released him from the hospital. To be fair, we were scolded for bringing him to the wrong Children’s hospital…

Now I see why…

This makes me feel like an inadequate parent sometimes. Way to make it about yourself, Jakki. I know, I know… I feel awful even saying it honestly, but it’s the truth! When Maverick is sick and I’m helpless, it’s hard to sit there and watch him go through it. It’s hard to watch him get poked and it’s hard to watch him be uncomfortable… I do appreciate everyone that tells me I’m some stellar mom for being able to support Maverick through all of it, but it doesn’t feel stellar.

I never thought that I’d have the kid that went through all of this treatment. It’s almost as if I were living in a movie, and every time we find out not-so-good news, it’s like a new plot twist episode. Sometimes it feels surreal that this is all happening. Like someone is playing a fucking joke on us… I know, weird.

But alas, here I am at 2 AM, researching viral infections that can suppress your immune system for months and cause severe neutropenia. Here I am researching CMV, EBV, HHV, all the hepatitis, and really not coming up with an answer. Nothing fits Maverick’s case yet, and it’s got me more worried. I probably should’ve just let the doctors do all the work… But I’m a nurse, and right now, the only person I’m interested in being a nurse for is my son.

To my dearest baby boy,

It hurts me to see you like this in the hospital. You know exactly what’s going to happen next when you see the nurses or the techs. You know that even though it doesn’t hurt, you still don’t like having your sleep interrupted for a blood pressure. You’ve been poked too many times by people with poor bedside manner and large enough egos to fill the state of Texas. And you’re tired.

Baby boy, mommy is tired, but I’m tired of seeing you in so much pain. I’m tired of seeing you suffer. It makes me feel like a bad mommy because I can’t protect you from any of the things you’re fighting. But I do promise you that no matter what happens, I’m going to be by your side every day. Me and daddy will never leave you alone to fend for yourself. We will be there to hold you and console you and tell you how much we admire and love you.

You are our fighter, Maverick. You are the strongest little guy I know. I love you to the moon and back my love.

Love always,

Mommy

I don't even know what to write anymore.

Every day this week I’ve told myself that I wanted to write a blog. Just so I could do something that can serve as a brain dump to my electronic therapist on how the past two weeks have been going. Since leaving my intensive therapy program, I’ve had a mental breakdown every day, which resulted in me getting drunk and going on Instagram to tell the world that I was tired and a bunch of other things I don’t quite remember. Rolling into Monday of this week, my son is admitted to the hospital for sicknesses we don’t quite understand yet. I just know that my son might be the next living bubble boy at this point.

Last week I said I was tired of being strong, but being strong is all I can be right now. I need to be strong, not even just for me, but for my baby, for my husband… Another task to test my mental fortitude. Something to come my way and see if this is what breaks me this time. Honestly, if any of the worst case scenarios in my head happened, it would break me. I wouldn’t even know what to do. I won’t write them into existence, just know that it’s where my head is at right now.

I look at my baby, who was once thriving, joking, laughing, and crawling around my home… laying in a bed with fluids and antibiotics and no energy to play with blocks or read books… and he naps more than half the day away… It hurts me to see him like this.

So yeah… I’m tired… but if I have to throw on a smile in front of my baby boy and pretend like I have the energy, then that’s what I’ll do… Because if he sees me in good spirits, maybe he’ll be in good spirits too…

Motherhood Unplugged: Falling into the trap of expectations

It was so easy for me to fall into the pit of comparison and expectations when it came to Motherhood.

I mean, how could you not get mixed into it? I was a new mom who spent all of maternity leave living through social media simply because we couldn’t leave the house (thanks Corona.) I spent my tired hours scrolling through these picture perfect moments that Instagram moms were posting on their feed. All of them with their plants, and fun quarantine crafts, and fat babies who had wardrobes nicer than mine. I awed at nurseries that were so particularly put together down to the knobs on the dressers. I envied the mothers who had babies that slept quietly through the night for 11 hours, or the babies who seemed to hit milestone after milestone, all while my baby was still crying in my ear.

Remember that social media is a HIGHLIGHT REEL, so all you see is the picture perfect snapshot

I want to preface with the fact that I absolutely love Maverick and everything that he does puts me in awe, from him holding his binky to him halfway rolling over. Even though I didn’t ever want to think that I would doubt Maverick’s ability to just be a baby, I kind of was in a way. I was comparing him to all of these babies that had different circumstances than him, different goals than him, different everything from him. I know how hard it is to be the child that hears their parent say, “look at your auntie so & so’s kid, they do XYZ. You should do XYZ.” I never liked that. I hated being compared to other kids.

I low key was doubting the ability of myself to perform as a mother, and in a way, doubting my son’s ability to just… grow

But the point is, if I already know that it sucks being on that side, the last thing I want to do is put Maverick in that same position. I expressed my concerns to Sean one night, and he just kept rambling off all the things that Maverick could do. He could throw his binky clear across the room. He could hold his big head up without our help. He smiles and he laughs whenever we’re in front of him dancing and tickling him. All the things that I love, but for some reason was discrediting.

Maverick may not sleep through the night yet. He hates tummy time with a burning inferno passion, and he absolutely refuses to roll back over once he’s on his tummy. He will cry to high heaven until we pick him up from his Mamaroo. But he sings along with nursery rhymes, he blinks away water without being afraid, and he nurses like a freaking champ to fill in all his baby rolls.

As for me, I may not get to spend every waking moment with him because I am a working momma that works long days. I may have half of my husband’s storage in Maverick’s room still. And I already regret missing out on all the photo and video opportunities with Maverick’s “first XYZ”. But my baby is giddy to see me walk through the door from work or when he wakes up in the morning and I’m the first person he sees. And that’s what matters to me.