Category: Mommy Blogs

Mommy Blogs

Navigating the Gray

Alexandra Diane

Once Upon a Time there was a little girl and she believed in magic and fairy tales. 

She saw the good in everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it. 

She was fierce and brave. But she lived in the cloud not here on earth. 

But the clouds aren’t reality. 

The real world is a scary place. One where rules had to be followed. No room for floating in the clouds. The monsters and dragons the little girls had fought in her imagination were really people. She didn’t know how to exist in the real world; everything was black and white, no room for color.

Only there was color if she knew where to look. 

It might not be the bright, sparkly colors of the clouds she lived in, but it was there. 

The little girl’s mother told her if she learned how to blend the black and white, the gray would release the magic into her world.

Learning how to release the magic of reality has never come easily to anyone. 

Many break before they discover how to navigate this magic. 

All her mother could hope is that her little girl discovered how to play with magic of reality before its darkness swallowed her whole. 

Mommy Blogs

Core Memory: Garden Gate

Alexandra Diane

Ever since I became an adult, not like a young adult and my 20s but a more adultier adult. One who has been raising three children and had the blessing of having my parents nearby. I have often thought about sharing property with my parents. In Loxahatchee, The Acreage, Jupiter Farms, or Palm Beach Country Estates, there’s plenty of land to build a home and guest cottage for my parents. I’ve always wondered where this idea came from and then I remember growing up and hearing the story about the gate that was in my backyard. 

The house that my parents bought used to belong to the daughter of the neighbor behind my parents’ home. An adorable gate connected the backyard fence. When my parents moved into their house, Mrs. Brown never put a lock on the gate. My brother and I were free to come and steal oranges from her tree, and my dad was often helping her take care of her house. I never knew what happened to her daughter or why she moved away. I just remembered that when Ms. Brown finally passed away and the new family moved in. After my brother and I went to college and moved away to start life as an adult, my parents changed the entire look of their backyard. Instead of fences where all the neighbors can see and talk to each other. Privacy fences went up. However, before the privacy fence ever went up, a lock went on the gate. It felt strange to know that we no longer had a connection to our backyard neighbors. 

Now that I’m reaching my 40s and both my parents are retired. I’m wanting the connection that the former owner of my parents’ house had with her parents. My parents want to travel. That is when my dad isn’t being the most awesome PopPop daycare ever to the wild Mr. B. Part of me feels like it would be easier to share a property with them, so when they went away I could watch their dogs and their house but not miss time with my family. 

Having a separate space would still give us our own freedoms and not being on top of each other. But it would still allow my children to be close to their grandparents. It will allow them to absorb all the knowledge that my dad has on fixing everything and gardening. I have no luck with fixing anything nor with gardening. Anytime I try to help my husband, I seem to harm him and whenever I plant something, it dies within days. I must either suck at picking plants or I am the exact opposite of Poison Ivy. 

In the Latin cultures that a lot of the parents move in with their children as they get older. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that idea. My tiny townhouse is not ready for anything along those lines. I still like having our anonymity to have two separate households. But that’s not to say if my parents needed to move in with me, I wouldn’t be able to make it happen. I would just probably go crazy. As would they. 

I have shared this idea before with friends or acquaintances from work and a few have said “Oh you would get to live in babysitters.” No, that is not what I’m looking for at all. I enjoy doing things with my children and taking them places. Family time is something I cherish. A big reason that I enjoy spending time with my kids falls back on my parents. They took my brother and I everywhere with them and I absolutely want my children to have their grandparents a part of their life just not as a caretaker. That is my job. 

Lent, Mommy Blogs

Day 18: Hello Saturday

Alexandra Diane

Saturdays are no longer free days where I get to lounge around the house doing nothing. Those days have been long gone. However, with two kids in sports and one tiny wild man, Saturdays are anything but free. However, I make the best out of the situation. 

Today Adelyn had a 3 hour practice. It was amazing. She ran around and worked her butt off. She didn’t get discouraged that she didn’t catch every ball. In fact, she tried harder. Which is all I could ask. When it came to batting, she did really well. But there was a moment where I had to hold my tongue. One little girl on the team that does not like my daughter. Adelyn is 6 playing on an 8U team. That means that most of these girls are about to be 9. While Adelyn was switching her glove and mask for her helmet and bat, the rude child said, “Stop trying to be better than me.” 

The amount of self control it took to not pull that ponytail and say leave my child alone was unfathomable. Adelyn has a very kind heart. She tries to make everyone her friend. This little girl has already told Adelyn that she is the worst player on the team. Which she is not by any means. Before I could say or do anything, Adelyn just looks at the girl and walks right past her and onto the field. Instead of giving the girl any attention, she takes a few practice swings and then procedures to crush all ten balls pitched to her. The mean girl didn’t hit one. I could not be more proud of how Adelyn handled the situation. 

Usually the B and my husband join us for the Saturday practices. But today, Markie had a doubleheader and my husband had things to do before the games. So he took the boys to do the errands. That meant I had three hours to myself. Not going to lie, it was a bit strange. I didn’t have social media to doom scroll with. I talked to another mom for a little while and finally I just read my book. It was a blessing to be outside. The day was gorgeous. Sunny blue skies with a light breeze. These were days I prayed for, but when I am teaching, it’s pouring rain on the weekend. 

It was nice to just be. To not have to worry about where to go next. Or if something needed folded or picked up. I can’t remember the last time I just relaxed like that. It made me realize I need to take some time for myself. However, I instantly felt guilty. I need to change this way of thinking. I need to put more value into myself. I tell my friends this all the time, to take a moment for themselves, but I never put my words into practice. I guess I will have to figure out how to do this parent, teacher, wife thing all while still taking care of myself. Because if I am exhausted and burnt out, who is going to be there when I fall apart? 

Lent, Mommy Blogs

Day 11: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Alexandra Diane

Body dysmorphia is a hell of a master. 
The lens that masks your eyes breaking you from the inside. 
It alters your mind and beats you down.

But you must fight. 
You can’t let the monster win.

Who knew the weapon against what crushes your soul is a miniature version of yourself?

One that loves everything about you. 
One that’s honest to a fault.

So when she tells you “you’re beautiful,”

Believe it.

Because the world hasn’t destroyed her yet.

She loves you with all her being.
You grew her inside of you.
Sacrificed your body and mind to bring her into this world.

Believe her when she looks at you and thinks you’re perfect. 

Bloganuary, Mommy Blogs

Family Traditions

Alexandra Diane
Bloganuary writing prompt
Write about a few of your favorite family traditions.
View all responses

Today’s prompt left me thinking. The task was to write about family traditions, and I struggled to identify what truly was a tradition for my family, the one I created or grew up in. I have friends who spend Christmas day going to the beach to visit the Christmas tree they  set up the night before. I know those who will do an amazing Eggmpics on Easter Sunday. But when I think about my family, I don’t see such wild outlandish events. I know family traditions are not solely about the holidays; however that’s all I can focus on right now. 

I look back at growing up and think about how most holidays are organized around my dad working them. For Thanksgiving, we never ate early. It would genuinely be Thanksgiving Dinner, not a strange linner/brunch thing. My dad would always be home for 4th July. Which was fantastic since my mom did not like lighting off fireworks. She was paranoid we would all explode and die. That is a reasonable fear for a mother to have because I have that now when I watch my tiny pyromaniacs. Opening presents on Christmas day varied each year depending on the day it fell on and what schedule my dad was working. 

But now that I reflect on how my life was organized, growing up, I see that the tradition wasn’t an elaborate display. My family tradition is and has been to value time. It doesn’t matter if it was a hobby, sport, or a career, our parents taught us to put effort into what we do. Wasting our time was not something we did. Time was valuable because there was so little of it. My parents worked hard to provide for us and worked harder, making my brother and I know how loved we were. Family time, of value, was something that my parents stressed. They both grew up in broken families. My mom’s bio-father left when she was in middle and was blissfully absent after her teenage years. My dad’s parents divorced. While my grandmother raised four crazy boys in the north, my grandfather served in the marines and later became a border patrol agent, stationed all over the US. But when my parents became adults they settled states away from their family. The connection broken. All that was left were each other and eventually me and my brother. 

I see this reflected in how my husband and I are raising our kids. When we are not working, we are inseparable. Particularly, because I’m super needy, and lucky to have a husband who doesn’t mind my attention. However, we love spending time with each other. We enjoy many of the same hobbies, share the same taste in music, but we are also comfortable in the silence of each other. With our children, we embrace their hobbies and try to encourage them to seek what brings them happiness. We try not to push our ideas on them however; we guide them into putting the best effort in whatever it is they’re doing. My husband and I want our children to appreciate the time someone spends with them and how they use their own time. Because we can’t get it back. 

Bloganuary, Mommy Blogs

Emotional Attachment

Alexandra Diane
Daily writing prompt
Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?
View all responses

The prompt today asked me to describe an item from my youth that I was attached to and explain what happened to it. But I don’t have one item. I have a steamer trunk and plastic storage bins full with them. Apparently, I have attachment and emotional connection to a lot of my belongings and I have unwittingly passed this onto my daughter. Every time my mom and I would go through my belongings to make space and age up my things, I would have a hard time letting go of items that triggered memories. 

My stuffed animal collection certainly could have filled an entire room at one point. I never owned that many at once, but in my lifetime, they were definitely a plethora of cute creatures occupying most of my living space. A small fluffy blue bird that “tweeted” when shook, named Peachy, has been with me longer than my memories. That bird sleeps with my daughter now. A strange-looking bear that rattles, named sisterbrother, also occupies her bed. I received this bear around two, because that would have been the age my mom found out she was pregnant with my baby brother. (P.S. he’s 30 something now but still my baby brother.) I probably named it sisterbrother because my parents were explaining to me about the newest addition to our family. I have a Care Bear my mom gave me in college. It’s Sleepytime Bear and, of course, it lives in Adelyn’s room as well. Having a daughter makes it easy to pass on all the toys that brought me comfort as a child. She even has a few stuffed animals that my mom made as a child. Those sit on a shelf because they are delicate and she knows they are for looking, not playing. But she will take them down for tea parties because, as she says, “tea parties are gentle and everyone needs a party.” 

I went on adventures with my action figures. Especially the female team members of the X-men, and I kept the ones that I played with daily. My daughter has them now. They battle with her barbies or rescue animals from whatever danger she puts them in. Honestly, watching her get joy out of the toys that brought me happiness for years makes my heart swell. I felt silly for years keeping these, hoping I could share them with my daughter. A risk because there was no way to know if I would ever have a daughter. I don’t know what would have happened if she never came along, and I am not even going to entertain that idea.

She cherishes everything, knowing that they were once mine. Adelyn will bring me things to cuddle with her and tell me stories about what they have done while I was at work. She gets excited and asks if she can pass on her stuffies to her daughter that she has one day. I tell her, of course, and ask what if she has a boy? She will tell me, “Don’t be silly mommy, I’m going to have a girl like you.” 

I kept Polly Pockets. She loves how little the old Polly Pockets are compared to the new ones. However, she says that she likes the way the new ones look because the old ones have funny hair. I don’t blame her. They look a bit weird. She has my old Strawberry Shortcake dolls and a Rainbow Bright doll that was passed onto from my cousin. But holding onto these toys has brought on an issue I never thought about. She wants more and I can’t get these toys because no one makes the classics. I have read her the books from my childhood, and she becomes sad knowing there are no more. 

I foresee my husband and I having the same issue my parents had. How are we going to store these things that are meaningful to her? When I ask what toys she wants to keep and what she wants to donate, I see the pain I used to have. She is processing emotions and holding the toy, trying to decide if the emotional attachment is one she can part with. I won’t push her. My mom let me hold on to what was important. We would check back as I grew and I will do the same with her. Some things just mean more than others. 

Bloganuary, Mommy Blogs

Playtime: Mother/Daughter Bonding

Alexandra Diane
Daily writing prompt
Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?
View all responses

I would like to say that as a creative person, I play all the time, but that’s not true. I am a working mom of three. By the time I get home, I am so burnt out and exhausted from work that I don’t have the same energy to play with my kids the way they would like. My daughter has a massive dollhouse field with barbies, Disney princesses and millions of tiny animals. I’ve always dreamed of having these filling my home, creating stories and wondrous worlds with my daughter, however, it doesn’t happen as much as I’d like.

I remember hours of playing with my dolls and stuffed animals, creating adventures for them to go on. Occasionally, I had friends over, but for the most part, I kept myself occupied. I couldn’t really have my brother play with me. Not that he couldn’t play with dolls, it’s just that he would not have his action figures rescuing my unicorns. Most of the time, they were the reason the unicorn needed to be reduced. I don’t think I was lonely or anything like that. I just enjoyed making up stories and having them play out the way I wanted them to. 

I wish my daughter was the same, and in ways she is. She will create crime scenes for her dolls to investigate. She has no problem weaving intricate stories for her toys. However, it is a struggle for her to do it by herself. She will ask me to play. Sometimes I do, but the way she wants to play is to tell me how my doll should act, and what path they should go on. I’m not really playing; I’m more like puppeteering the dolls for her. Most of the time I am fine with it, however when I go off script she meltdown. This turns into a conversation about how when you play, you can not dictate what people do. It’s a ‌learning moment, but not one I want to have.

I know these moments won’t last forever and I cherish them. I just wish I didn’t have to weave them between work, cleaning, sports, and dinner time. 

As I got older, I savored spending more of my time outside, primarily at the beach. Surfing was my escape. I didn’t see it as playing, but more of a chance to relax and clear my mind. My daughter is following in my footsteps. She loves being at the beach, building sand castles and playing in the waves. Last summer she finally grasped her swim lessons. I’m hoping as the seasons warms I will make her a stronger swimmer. That way I’ll be able to bring her out on my longboard. I know it will be a struggle at first, but the ocean is one of the best teachers in getting up and trying again. 

My playtime has been trying. I find little joy in scarfing my precious time for myself. It’s undoubtedly not healthy to look at it that way, but I’m working on it. Active 1: Instead of waiting for my kids to fall asleep or sneaking away to find time to write, my daughter and I cuddled on the couch. She’s watching a movie and I’m typing next to her. Since she knows how much mommy loves to write, Adelyn keeps peeking over at my words. She read the beginning of the post and a huge smile grew across her face when she realized was writing about her. I didn’t set out to create a total mini me; however, she already has her own stack of journals with stories filling the pages. 

While playtime looks different from what I imagined it would be growing up. I know I’m doing the best with my kids. They are their own unique little monsters who I have to learn with them as I navigate what now brings me joy in life. 

Mommy Blogs

D is for Depression not Demonic possession

Alexandra Diane

Please excuse any errors. I wrote this at 3am when I couldn’t sleep.

I find it easy to believe that people once believed depression or other mental illnesses were considered a demonic possession. I mean, do you really want to take responsibility for the thoughts of wanting to drown yourself and wonder if anyone would miss you? No, it must be the devil messing with your head. But I didn’t blame any evil forces for those thoughts. I sought professional help. I probably should have also sought spiritual help, but that’s for other issues entirely.


Since being on summer break, I’ve really had the chance to reflect on some of the differences in my postnatal life with Bennett compared to Adelyn. The first and biggest was being emitted back into the hospital the day after being released and told I would be separated from my newborn son. My logical side knew how dangerous my condition was, but that didn’t mean my emotional side could process what I was going through. Instead of trusting the healing process and getting better, I was bitter. I was alone in a place I detest and fear. To make matters worse, I was about to spend my 36th birthday alone. I have issues with my birthday. My cousin died on my birthday. I’ve had multiple years of people being flaky and disappointing me that I would leave the state so no one could make me feel less on an already horrible day. Physically I was recovering, while mentally, I felt myself breaking and falling apart the longer I stayed in bed with wires attached.

When I came home, I didn’t trust myself to be alone. I knew something was wrong. I loved my children and husband but felt like a shell of myself. There were a lot of moments that I know were faked. Holidays were taxing. Finances were tight. I was only bringing home 60% of my paycheck, and the extra insurance I’d been paying for the last three years just told me my coverage didn’t cover C-sections. Apparently, to them, they were an elected surgery, and they didn’t pay out the hospital stay like they would have if I had a vaginal birth. So that was 600 dollars I had budgeted that disappeared along with three years’ worth of payments.

Instead of thoroughly enjoying the time with my family, I was bombarded with emails and text messages from my students. The person left in charge was less than a glorified babysitter. He didn’t assign the detailed work I left, and the chaos students shared made me feel like I failed them. I know I couldn’t pick their sub, but good Lord, it weighed on me.

For nearly two months, I was at my doctor’s office battling an infection in my incision. Apparently, a small part of my body was reflecting the stitches. There was a laundry list of other things my body was doing, but I don’t fully remember them. I remember thinking everything was happening so fast and slow all at once. I remember, at three weeks, I was sitting in my doctor’s office telling her about how I needed something. Something to help me heal the wounds that no one could see. She said I couldn’t take anything while breastfeeding. I guess my body knew this before I did because my milk had dried up two days before the appointment.

I was nervous about taking a daily antidepressant. I didn’t want to lose myself. But the little voice of my logical self reminded me I was already lost. The shell I was presenting to the world wasn’t me. She ordered me Zoloft. I was warned about weight gain, and it possibly blocking my ability to climax, but I should feel like myself again. I had to fight with the crazy person inside my head, telling her that I could return to normal. Things would just have to change.

Slowly the unexplainable tears stopped. I was more in control of myself. However, instead of weight gain, I had to remind myself to eat. I was dropping weight fast and waiting to the point where I would get dizzy and nearly pass out. Being an appetite suppressant is not one of the side effects; however, I got it. When my cycle finally returned, my PMDD was under much better control. I was far less of a bitch those few days before my period. But I started noticing something strange.

A girlfriend, who used to be a nurse and was prescribed this drug, warned me about a side effect that the doctor didn’t address. Or maybe I didn’t think it would be an issue. I was starting to forget words. I’ve always had small moments when I forgot a word or two. However, while on this little happy pill, I forgot far more than a word or two. It was slowly progressing and becoming more difficult for me to explain things because it felt like a block between my mind and my mouth. A few weeks ago, it went fast passed word. There were moments in my day gone.

That was it for me. It didn’t matter how stable the medication was making me. What was the point if I had no memory? I no longer wanted to kill myself, and I had picked up my house that my depressed state destroyed. I felt better. So I stopped taking the pill of happiness. I was on the lowest dose, so there was nothing to ween off from.

For the last few weeks, things were good until the other day. Adelyn and I were talking, and she told me how her feelings were hurt by someone she thought was her friend. The friend said some really nasty stuff. It reminded me of the fake people I’ve encountered in myself. Only I was much older than her. I had to hold back tears because I hurt so much for her. I never wanted her to feel that way, especially at six years old.

The over feeling of sadness for others’ pain was something new and definitely not something I felt while taking the medication. I’m not sure how I would have felt on the pill. That mental state already feels like years ago.

I’ve also started to dream again. My dreams stopped after having my son. I guess being trapped in a hospital for a week was a living nightmare that my imagination didn’t think it could do better. While on the pill, I’d have dreams but not remember them. They would fade away as soon as I would wake up. Now I’ve returned to the moves that fill my head. Only they are disjointed and not yet useful for me. I wonder, once my brain is fully detoxed, what weird shit it’ll come up with.

But being off the happy pill has brought back my PMDD. I was not prepared for the emotions to be so strong. The rage is the worst. Everyone is doing something wrong by existing. I’m trying my best not to lash out. The kids do not deserve it. It’s not their fault their mother is unstable. I guess that’s why God gave me Bennett.

He’s the happiest little chunk. However, the only time he truly cries and gets upset is when others raise their voice or cry. Bennett is pure innocence. He’s a baby who only knows love, and when others are upset, he doesn’t understand why and will cry too.

I’ve had a few small outbursts that have brought him to tears. It has broken my heart, but it has also quickly changed my mindset. I can’t stay in the negative space because I have to comfort him. And it has to be me because he’s a pure momma’s boy, and Dad just isn’t good enough. Even though his first word was daddy… Which he said clear as day, yelling at Tyler.

So now I’m learning how to be me again without the outside chemical change. It’s uncomfortable, but I no longer feel like I’m fighting a demon whose main goal was to take me to the underworld. The only monster is me, and learning how not to release the angry red panda on my kids or husband. I’ll get through it. I’ve already survived once I know I’ll do it again.

Lent, Mommy Blogs

Day 33: Tea Party

Alexandra Diane

On a Sunday, Adelyn and I joined a friend of mine for her birthday. She had high tea at a cute little tea house downtown. While the other parents grabbed a babysitter and enjoyed an afternoon child-free, I took her with me. Adelyn has been my tiny shadow since she arrived in this world, and I wouldn’t start leaving her behind now. Especially after how fascinate she has become with tea parties since watching the new Alice in Wonderland.

Adelyn, who is a connoisseur of fancy dresses, had originally picked out a dress with a long tulle skirt and long lacy sleeves. It was a lot of work; however, I convinced her to pick a more stubble fancy dress. It was a pink knee-length dress with a bit of tulle and a lacy tank top. She topped off her look with a teal tulle headband. Although I’m certain she would have worn her tiara if she could have found it.

We arrived at the teahouse before everyone else. There was a Victorian-looking settee in the lobby. Adelyn excitedly sat down before quickly standing up again to inspect the tea sets on the coffee table in front of us. She surprised herself when she picked up the pot’s lid and found dry flowers inside.

“Do people drink these?” she asked, returning the lid.

“No,” I told her, pointing at the wall behind us filled with jars of tea. “But they drink these, and they make some from flowers.”

She scrunched her nose. “I don’t want to drink flower water. Can I have chocolate milk?”

Just as she asked me about the chocolate milk, the teahouse owner walked into the lobby. “I think we can do that.” She told Adelyn with a smile.

As we waited for our friends to arrive, Adelyn peaked into the tearoom. “Mommy, we don’t have a fancy hat.”

“We don’t need a hat,” I told her. “Besides, you have a beautiful headband.”

That seemed to put her nerves to rest. Also, so did Rebecca, walking through the door. Adelyn got up from the settee and hugged Rebecca. Shortly after, they guided us to the table the tea party was going to be. Rebecca, Adelyn, and I were all there early. Even with kids, I do my best to arrive at places early. Also, I blame my father and husband for still functioning like they were in the military and making sure we are always fifteen to ten minutes early for everything we do. Rebbecca used to be an officer in the Army, so she is also inflected with this same mindset.

But our early arrival allowed Adelyn to inspect every seat at the table. She chose a cushioned flower seat with a white and gold tea cup. But as she bounced on her chair, I noticed she was inspecting every place setting. Even though she was happy with her seat, she was not pleased with her cup. Especially after she looked at mine. It was a forest green cup with golden details, and on the inside was a pattern of a dragon. Adelyn asked if we could trade. As much as I like the cup, she is five, and this was not a battle I cared to have. Her satisfaction with the cup did not last. She now wanted my flowered tea cup. I told her no; we have already traded once. While Adelyn was inspecting the other cups, Rebecca claimed the dragon cup for herself.
Adelyn looked around at the other place settings and chose a pink cup with a golden handle and roses encircling the trim. Thankfully, she decided on her cup before everyone joined us. That would have made for a quiet show, having her switch cups with a table full of adults.

Adelyn’s teapot of chocolate milk arrived with the other guest. We would have to wait until everyone picked their teas before the sandwiches and desserts arrived. I felt bad. Everyone was hm-ing and ha-ing over their choices. I could hear her tummy rumble. Eventually, the pots of tea arrived, and everyone began talking. Adelyn did her best sitting still and acting like a proper little adult. She would lean in and ask me questions about the conversations everyone was having, and she made friends with the person sitting next to her. He was a dad of a little girl just about her age.

“What are they doing?” Adelyn asked when the tea staff returned and started moving pots out of the way.

I leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I think they are going to bring the food.”

“Finally!” She sighed dramatically.

Three-tiered tower filled the sports on the tables that were once taken up by the tea pots. The first tier had hot cranberry & orange scones with clotted cream and preserves, they filled the second with small sandwiches, and the third held desserts. Adelyn’s eyes got big, and she reached for the desserts.

“Um, no,” I told her as I placed a cucumber sandwich on her plate.

She sniffed the sandwich and turned up her nose to it. “No thank you, I’ll just have a brownie.”

“What are you talking about? You like cucumbers.”

Adelyn lifted the bread and scrunched her nose at what she saw. “But it has the creaming stuff on it.”

“It’s just an herb cream spread.” As I peeled the cucumbers off the bread.

She ate that no problem and before she could reach for another dessert, I already had grabbed a turkey & cranberry sandwich.. She nibbled it up and asked if now she could have the better food. I finally relented and filled her plate with sweet treats. She ate them all and emptied her chocolate milk from her teapot.

After two hours of being a sweet angel baby that I barely had to correct, she leaned into me and whispered. “Can we go home? I’m tired.”

I leaned down and kissed her head and said soon.

Every wrapped up their meal shortly after her request. Not because she asked to go home but it was closing time. We hugged everyone and said our goodbyes. She held my hand as we walked to the car and I looked down at her and smiled.

“Did you have fun?” I asked opening the door for her.

“Yes!” she beamed, climbing into her seat.

“What was your favorite part?” I asked once I started the car.

She thought for a moment. “Spending time with just you.”

It made my heart feel good to hear that. It’s what I wanted for her since she has been so good with her little brother. I wanted her to feel special and the tea party did just that.

Lent, Mommy Blogs

Day 35: Downward Spiral

Alexandra Diane

Last week I didn’t have the energy to write. We returned to school from Spring Break, and all my students were going insane. While I spent the week paying attention to my students’ needs and trying to get them back into the swing of things, I should have been paying attention to my mental health. I didn’t want to write and couldn’t focus. I was just diving deeper into a darker space, and it wasn’t until Saturday did I get a slap in the face. 

On Saturday morning, we finally took a break from baseball…so of course, that mean we headed to the baseball fields to support friends who were playing against each other and later met up with a group of boys so they could have fun, practice a bit and just be ten-year-olds causing chaos. I would never have questioned our Saturday plans if I were mentally sound. It was a beautiful day. There were daughters at the games that Adelyn is friends with. I would have never had a moment of uncertainty. However, that was not the case. 

When Tyler came into our room to ask me what I wanted to dress Bennett in, I just stared at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I fidgeted with whatever was in my hands. “Are you sure I’m not intruding?”

“What? Why would you be intruding?”

“I don’t know.” I felt uncomfortable even voicing feelings, which is something I rarely have a problem with. “You’re just going with the dads, and I don’t want to feel like-”

“Stop,” he interrupted me. “Have you taken your pill?”

I shook my head no.

“Okay, well, take that.” He watched me and waited until I did. “You’re not interrupting. We’re going to Jeffery’s and Reese’s game. Their moms will be there, and Deanna will meet us afterward and bring Hailey. You need to get out of the house. You aren’t staying here. Alex, you never intrude, ever. You know this. If I wanted just time for Mark and me, I would have said so.”

He was right. He has never had a problem saying he felt, and until I had our youngest, I never experienced this issue either. I thought I was getting better, and I was feeling normal. But this weekend just proved that the medication wasn’t a miracle drug. I mean, logically, I know antidepressants don’t fix things immediately. I’m not even five months postpartum, so I don’t know why I would think everything is fine. 

All I can be grateful for right now is how attentive my husband is to my mental state. I appreciate how well he knows me. Even if it can be annoying, especially when I think I can hide that I am irritated by a situation. But I will forever be grateful that he knows me well enough that I might need‌ help, especially when I may not see it.