Well, it took a few months but I found it. I was afraid it fell out along with my placenta; discarded with all the other afterbirths, appendixes, rotten limbs and other bloodied remnants from the floor of the hospital. Or maybe it fell into one of the hundreds (thousands?) of diapers I have wadded into tight neat balls and tossed into the overflowing diaper abyss otherwise known as a landfill. Did it get washed too many times left faded and smelling faintly of Dreft and puke? No, I just misplaced it for a bit. Fuck, give me a break I was figuring out how to be a Mother. Which I am really fucking good at by the way. And the very thing I had laid aside for a while I happened to come upon at a most unusual time, December. Yes, motherfucking shithead of a month, December. I loathe you, I despise you, I dread you like a whore dreads a herpes outbreak. Here it was and I greeted it with two middle fingers and it said “Fuck you too bitch, now go make some goddamn Christmas cards and bake some cookies.” I obliged with spray paint, glitter and sugar sprinkles. Thank you December. The paint, scissors and glue have not been put away for over a week and I have made some very interesting cards this year.
My self, it’s still here, intact and stronger than ever.
I feel safe in the bathtub.Which has always seemed odd to me seeing how I hate my body and all.I have lived with eating disorders for over 20 years now. I have gone days without eating and I have consumed (briefly) thousands of calories in one sitting. I have written down every meal I have ever eaten. I write in notebooks, books I happen to be reading at the time, scraps of paper and most recently into handy little phone apps that encourage my obsessive behavior.I’m not ok with my growing pregnant body. I can’t stand the fucking “your body is beautiful” “pregnancy glow” comments. This bloated uncomfortable stomach is not beautiful. Fuck all that shit. I am pregnant, I am fat, I will give birth and then I will starve myself until I see myself as being somewhat acceptable. And I will probably be pregnant again. I want kids, i really do. I hope I don’t pass on this shit to them but who am I kidding, I probably will. But that’s why we have kids, to share our crazy shit with.I like to figure shit out in the bathtub. And did I mention I feel safe in there? When I first got sober I would spend hours in the tub chain smoking cigarettes. I knew that it would be more difficult for me to change my mind about sobriety if I had to get out of the tub, dry off, get dressed (always a daunting task), put on my make up (at least 45 minutes), poof my bouffant, OCD for about 20 minutes, then walk to the liquor store for a bottle of wine. And it worked. I have been sober for over 3 months.