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Superheroes

Everything is romanticized; from dying to living.

Suicide, murder, the way people die – it’s all romanticized. You watch on TV all these murders, the way these actors portray dying, and the way these so-called heroes go about enacting “justice”. I’m on a Law and Order: Special Victims Unit marathon binge. I have been watching a whole lot of TV recently since I’ve been cooped up here with the babies.

I was watching Once Upon a Time and one of the characters was having a baby. My experience was nothing like that. There is so much that the media doesn’t show. Is it because it’s something people don’t want to see? Is it because it turns people off the track that pregnancy and giving birth is this wonderful, blissful experience? Because it’s not. Pregnancy, for some, I’m sure is a wonderful experience – a blissful dream in which a family is the outcome. It is a dream, in a way, but this dream comes with a lot of unpleasant side effects that no one really talks about. Back acne, morning sickness (misleading description since it lasts all day, every day for some), forgetfulness, extreme fatigue, and even the inability to function as bed rest is issued for some. Nobody speaks of the “second birth” of the placenta. Nobody speaks of some things. Maybe because nobody wants to associate something so yucky and icky with something that’s supposed to be so wonderful and pure.

Even now, even with Shane home and in my arms, I don’t feel so much like a mother. Maybe because I’ve felt like a mother ever since I was young – taking care of my sister, taking care of my puppies, kittens, and other animals we rescued. Everyone keeps talking about this “motherly instinct”, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel this instinct and I don’t know why. What’s wrong with me? Some of my friends say it’s because I’ve overwhelmed and tired, and that all will just come in time. Yes, I am tired, but I feel like I should still have some sort of feeling, right? Of course I’m protective of my baby and do everything for him, but I do for Cody and Donte (the puppy and kitten) as well. Whether it be a human baby or baby animal, I treat them all the same. Am I supposed to hold my baby above my baby animals? I try to balance my time so I can do right by all of them. I spend most of my days with Shane in my room with me while Cody is mostly napping, roaming around downstairs, or keeping himself entertained with his toys. Donte is his own and does what he wants to as a cat normally does.

I just wish sometimes that my life was more like a fairy tale; that I could be more like a superhero. I wish I could juggle pumping, baby Shane, Cody, Donte, household chores, work, and school with ease. I wish I could be a supermom and be amazing. I’m sure everyone wants to. I mean, who wouldn’t want to? Being a superperson is what everyone strives to be. If we didn’t strive to be perfect, we would never better ourselves.

Whenever I ask my husband to do something or help me out, I feel like a little part of me is being given up. I feel weak. I feel like I’m admitting to defeat. I know it’s just me reaching out for help when I need it and I know it’s justified to ask for help, but I don’t like to. I guess I’m just prideful that way. I really need to let go of that and not feel bad about asking. I just always thought that I could hold my own and I could do everything by myself. But I can’t. I can’t juggle all this. It’s overwhelming. But who isn’t overwhelmed? Everyone is. So what gives me the right to complain or ask for help when there are those who don’t even have that option? Maybe I’m just being selfish. Maybe I should just trudge on and try to do everything myself. But I don’t want to be a martyr. Where are the lines drawn between being a martyr, being lazy, and just asking for help?

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