Welcome to The Medicated Mommy. Yes, I changed the name of my blog. After six months of writing, a little soul searching here and there, and perhaps finding the beginnings of some kind of identity, The Medicated Mommy just seems more fitting. And besides, soon I won’t be The Seven Year B(itch) anymore. I will be The Eight Year B(itch) and that doesn’t make any sense, now does it?
After having my son, overcoming postpartum depression, and realizing that the mom I am is nothing like the vision of motherhood I had for myself during pregnancy, I decided to start blogging. I wanted to write honestly with a side of humor about all things motherhood and marriage while at the same time, attempt to figure out my identity outside of those two things that make up the majority of my everyday life. I will still be doing just that, just under a new name.
When I came up with the idea for my blog, I was a few months in to my seventh year of marriage and facing a major identity crisis. I survived a year of postpartum depression and came out stronger and way more bad-ass on the other side. I grew into stay at home motherhood and began to enjoy the moments shared with my son, now three-years old. I was also a Jewish New Yorker living in a southern city I didn’t love and I was bored. What was I doing for me? Who did I want to be? So I decided to start writing about my experiences—my journey through postpartum depression, the ups and downs of motherhood, and even sometimes the struggles of marriage in attempts to answer those questions.
I was clearly having some type of seven-year itch. No, not that kind of itch, but the itch still happened to come scratching in my seventh year of marriage, alerting me to the boredom and emptiness I felt. I was a wife and mom, but who was I apart from those labels? What did I have that was mine alone? It turned out, I had my writing.
As The Medicated Mommy, I will continue to write with the goal of giving moms permission to be themselves, be happy, and let go of the fear of being judged by others. The truth is: We love our children, but being a mom is hard, sometimes we don’t take to it immediately, sometimes we want to quit and just be alone, and some of us need medication to survive it. I want to make that journey less painful and more authentic for moms everywhere.
Don’t be fooled. I’m still most definitely having an identity crisis. I’m still that Jewish New Yorker living in a that same southern city I’m not in love with. My heart will always belong to New York City. I miss my girlfriends and family who still live there. Some days I hate being a mom. I want to run away. I want to do what I want. I want to sleep late. I want to revisit my twenties. I don’t want to be responsible for another human when I can barely take care of myself. I want to be alone and carefree.
But I’ve realized over the past six months as I’ve started writing, that all of those things makes up who I am. It only took a year of postpartum depression, two happy pills a day, lots of therapy, and the launching of this blog to help me come to terms with that. I’m not perfect. I am definitely not the perfect mother. In fact, I’m not even close to the mother I thought I would be when I got pregnant. I’m a deeply flawed, medicated mommy who struggles on some days and kills it on others, who wants to freeze time with her son forever and also put him up for sale to the highest bidder, just like so many other mommies out there.
There is no normal motherhood. There is no supposed to when it comes to parenting. There is no official handbook. There is what works for you, what keeps you sane, what makes you happy. Sure you can read all the parenting books in the world, but they all contradict each other and will only help to make you even more bat shit crazy than motherhood already does.
I’m cool with who I am as a woman and a mother. If you don’t like it, that’s your problem. And who I am is an imperfect mommy. A medicated mommy…because some moms need an extra dose of happy…and happy mommy equals happy everyone. If you ask me, no mom has it all together. That’s one of the biggest lies of parenthood. That lie and those moms who pretend everything is fabulous ruin it for the rest of us. When motherhood didn’t look like that for me, I ended up on medication!
So if your jaw drops open when I call my child an asshole (often) and you can’t believe how much I hate the playground and kids’ birthday parties (more than I hate waking up at 6 am to an “I want mommy” whining child) or how much I love traveling without my child and didn’t cry the first time I dropped my son off at preschool (four hours to myself!), I might not be the mom for you. And if you can’t find the humor in all this parenting crap, this might not be the place for you.
All the bronzer, mascara, and lip gloss in the world can’t cover up the fact that motherhood is wonderful and shitty and exhausting and basically the biggest emotional mindfuck I’ve ever experienced. I’m just not ashamed to admit it or write about it for the world to read. And when you see that mom who looks like a homeless person dropping off her son at school, that would probably be me, just your average medicated mommy. And when I drive away, just know that I’m struggling with that big decision all stay at home moms struggle with. Do I head to the gym to workout for an hour or do I head home and go back to sleep for two hours then maybe shower, brush my hair and change clothes before pick-up? Motherhood is full of difficult choices. Lucky for me, I take my happy pills first thing when I wake up in the morning…