Baby Bottles and Blame

I was having a phone conversation with my Mother about baby bottles – something so random, literally.

My cousin, who is pregnant, will be purchasing baby bottles soon. I was talking to my Mother about how when you have the 1st baby (if you’re a parent of more than one, you know lol) you’re super careful and almost always on edge, trying to make sure everything is “perfect”. When you have the 2nd baby, you’re much more comfortable with it.. and by time you have your 3rd and up, you’re a seasoned pro, lol.

For example: With my 1st baby, I was obsessive and paranoid about making sure the baby bottles and nipples were boiled for the exact amount of time recommended, to ensure they were sanitized , etc. With the 2nd baby, I sanitized them as best as I could, not obsessing as much.. and by the 3rd, he was drinking either distilled water (if we had some) or tap water, mixed with his formula.. lol.

Somehow the conversation quickly escalated, to her saying, “What do YOU know about baby bottles!? When were you here making baby bottles!? I’m the one that did everything for the kids – you were never here!”… all in front of my youngest Son, by the way, who was standing there next to my Mother, listening.

Ashamed, and wanting to retaliate with anger, I instead peacefully responded with, “I was there for the first 4 years of their lives, and for the first 6 months of my youngest sons life, before yes – I left and made horrible choices. But we aren’t talking about that – we’re talking about baby bottles.. what does that have to do with what we were just talking about?”.

I get that I fucked up, trust me, I live with my mistakes and regrets daily. But don’t take away the fact that before my Addiction I was a Mother, at 15 years old might I add. I was 17 when my 2nd was born and 19 when my 3rd (and final) was born. Postpartum Depression is real and it’s a mother fucker. If I would’ve had treatment early enough for it, I probably would’ve have gone off the deep end like I did. I was desperate for something .. for anything .. to take away the mental anguish I was in. And with Heroin, I found it.

I’m sorry for being a piece of shit Mother in the past, and all I can do now is just try to be better than I was.

I’m sorry that I didn’t seek treatment for my depression and other mental illnesses, and I’m sorry that I started self medicating instead of finding another way to cope with the pain.

I’m sorry that I even left in the first place and didn’t try harder.. I was weak and I gave up on myself and most importantly, the kids.

I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m fucking sorry!

But if I’m going to take responsibility and hold myself accountable for my shortcomings, then Mom, you must too.

It’s much easier to point fingers and blame others.. verses having to take a hard look in the mirror and admit your role(s) you played in the situation. I still have yet to find an answer as to why I was sent to live with my Grandparent’s for the first 12 years of my life. It’s something I think about a lot actually – more than most would, or should. But when you don’t have an answer for something so important, it begins to eat at you.

The infamous NA/AA saying of, “We’re only as sick as our secrets” rings true, and then some…

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