Hey you in the hat! Drop the broom and come check this out!!

I am ridiculously fed up.  Almost painfully.  I feel this is necessary.  In jest, I've often said, "I'm surrounded by lunatics," or, "I hate them all," and the truth is...I don't.  It's my humor, my defense mechanism.  Truth is...I love men, and anyone who knows me...knows this to be true.  So, my darlings, I had to dig deep for this one.  Hope it's not too graphic and you don't visualize...everything. Thanks for reading. xo, R

It's a week before the due date of our first child (who is now going on 12, but in my opinion, 33) and I have just given my maternity leave notice at Saks because my ankles just can't handle the weight of standing for 8 hours a day and I look like New Jersey in pants like a gorgeous Goddess who needs to get off her feet.  I really maintained my stylishness during my first pregnancy.  Mainly because I was a makeup artist in a department store and I had a fantastic discount and time on my hands to shop.  Those of you with more than one child know what the difference between the first child and the second makes.  Your first pregnancy it's about you, your glow, your pedicures, your belly balm, your Lamaze class, maybe something to do with your husband, whatshisname, and baby showers.  The second pregnancy it's about juggling the first child, the big child (husband), the house, job, not puking in the seafood department at Dominicks, and making sure your shoes match when you leave the house after running a brush through your hair.  Anyways...I digress.  One night I'm laying in bed tossing and turning (where's that memory foam bed when you need it. My poor husband is being bounced around like a beach ball at a Jimmy Buffet concert ) when suddenly...uh oh...something doesn't feel right.  I jump up and  run waddle leap like a pregnant gazelle to the bathroom just in time for WHOOOSH!!!  What the hell was that? I say to myself  That's not normal!  Did I spring a leak?  Did I...Holy shit, I think my water just broke.  Okay, um, it seems to have subsided, I should probably wake up G.  I open the door to the bathroom and there is G standing there fully clothed staring at me like a deer in the headlights,
"Is it time to go?" I couldn't help but laugh.
"We need to call the Doctor first.  Relax, Honey.  I'm ok."
I call the doctor and tell him my water broke and ask him if I can take a shower before I go to the hospital. He says I've got time so I do.  When I get out, I open the door to the bathroom and again G is standing there with the same look on his face but now he's standing there totally naked.
"Do I have time to take a shower, too?"
"Yes, Dear."
After he showers and dresses, we go to the garage and he opens the car door for me...he's lined the car seat with garbage bags.
"What the hell is this?" I say to him.
"Robyn, it's a BMW." He pleads.
I swear to God, I don't think he looked at the road once.  He stared at me the whole time like I was some kind of science experiment.  We get to the hospital and check in.  At this time I've still had no pain at all.  The nurse checks me and says I'm not allowed to get up anymore, I have to stay in bed and they're going to give me medicine to speed up my contractions.  I may feel some, "slight cramping."  BULLSHIT SLIGHT CRAMPING MY ASS!!!!  As soon as that stuff hit my IV, I hit the ceiling.  I have this band around my belly that monitors my contractions and so G could tell when they were coming and going so he knew when they were going to start and I'd see his face twist up like, "Oh shit, here it comes."  I went from, "Ha ha funny Robyn," to, "Oh my God what was I thinking that I could do this Robyn." I was making these weird noises with my mouth like if you were to pucker your lips together like a trumpet player and blow out really hard and I was crying.  Strangers were coming in to check how far along I was.  I swear the maintenance guy could've come in and I wouldn't have known, I was so out of my mind.  And poor G was so helpless saying, "Oh, but honey, you're doing so good.  I'm so sorry it hurts so much."  By the grace of God the epidural lady came in.  I will spare you the details of the giant needle going into my spine and how NOBODY seems to have had the weird experience of sparks and aches and wacky shit that I had with that, but after 12 hours of labor and two hours of pushing and 5 minutes short of an emergency c-section.  They grabbed my daughter with forceps and pulled her out.  (exhale) wait...that deserves another one (exhale) ahhhh, there we go. 

I'd never changed a diaper before.  I'd held a newborn once in my life and it was the same day that my friend Paula passed away, so it was a little surreal.  I'd never put a baby in a car seat or made a bottle.  G took off a week from work and was my rock.  He showed me what I had to do.  He took our daughter and was a natural.  He'd practically raised his sister that was 13 years younger than he, so he was immediately at ease.  He brought me vanilla cake in bed and let me sleep as much as I could.  He may not have been the best husband...but I have always said he's a good dad.  He loves the children more than he loves life.  I had made a post on Facebook today asking for friends to tell me a good story about the men in their lives because I was having a hard time with some of the looptyloos in mine right now that are reeeeeeaaaallllyyyy testing my patience.  I thought it fitting that I write my own story of gratitude to a man that deserves much more credit than I give him. Although, he'll never see this, thank you, Gal, for everything you do for me and the kids.  I know you always try.

My song picks are:
Baby Mine by Bette Midler
Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd
In My Daughter's Eyes by Martina McBride  

Heart: CLOSED FOR REPAIR. RE-OPEN DATE NOT SET

This might be a little weird to follow.  It's a letter that I wrote to my ex a while back about a session 

I'd had with my therapist, Cindy.  She's actually the coolest woman and a hippie like me.

She has wild, curly hair and wears lots of bracelettes and has been with me since before my

divorce.  She was one of two people who came to the hospital when I had my hysterectomy.

She's more than a therapist.  She's...just...more.  I'll try to make it easy to tell what is the letter

part to D and what was the session and so on.  As always, thank you for letting me vent.

Thank you for giving me the permission to write and not judge.  Thank you for allowing me

into your lives for the moment.  Please don't look at this and feel bad. It's all part of the

journey.  It makes me who I am.  It explains why I am who I am, also.         

This is a letter I wrote to him ages ago.  I'm starting to realize the more I 
date other guys...the more I have no tolerance for neediness, laziness, any type 
of alcohol use/abuse.  I describe myself as a grenade pretty much and am very 
open and honest about it.  If you can't take care of your own heart right now, 
don't expect me to.  I've got my own shit to deal with.  I don't need another 
child, I have 2 of my own.  Sorry if my ex fucked it up for ya's, but I'm a 
little harsh.  And if you can't handle it...there's the door.  To date me, you 
need a steady job, a car, and not be a pussy.  Oh, my God, did she just say 
that...YES!  MAN UP! I don't care if you're sensitive, boys, but for fuck's 
sake...don't be more girly than I...puhleeze!
(Comes down off soapbox)  If you knew half of the shit I dealt with, maybe you'd 
understand.  Maybe if I was stronger...I would've left sooner. 
(to D)
This was my last session with Cindy,my therapist, part of it.  You tell me to 
write, so I do.  I don't expect you to read this while you're at the concert.  
But I'd like you to read it before you play on saturday and let me know your 
thoughts.  Have fun and be safe at the concert and after.  I do love you.

“…because when he walked into that bar that night, it was like a beam of light 
was on him that only I could see.  I can remember the song playing, what I was 
wearing, what he was wearing, what table we sat at when he asked me to come 
outside and smoke.  After that night the next time I talked to him…when it was 
about his ex-girlfriend contacting me…I can remember where I was, what I had 
just eaten for dinner, I remember it all.  I have saved nearly every voice mail 
message from him since September of last year because I love hearing his voice 
and hearing him say he loves me, or, “Just taking a quick break from the 
basement to smoke and I wanted to call you…”  I just wrote him this whole letter 
on why I love him recently.  I’m always writing.  I’ve written him so many love 
letters and I’ve written so much about him and I don’t even know why.  Why am I 
so drawn to a man that is so set in his ways and self-centered, so hell-bent on 
letting everybody else have control of certain aspects of his life and then act 
like a caged animal?  Like he's surprised?  Why doesn’t he want a better life 
with me?  With us?  What’s wrong with me?  Why doesn’t he take control of the 
things he can like getting up for work and not sleeping until 12-1pm because 
he’s too hung over? Or when he gets paid, why doesn’t he buy groceries and 
manage for cigarettes for the week instead of going to the bar and spending all 
of it and then being too hung over to go to work in the morning and the whole 
cycle starts again? And, yeah, I'll say it, why doesn't he ever bring me real 
flowers, or a card, or a movie, dinner, why?”

“Because drinking is easier than seeing what he really has.”

“But he has me!”  I’m now sobbing thinking that’s what she means

“It’s a disease, Robyn.”

“Bullshit!  Cancer is a disease.  You can’t quit cancer, but you can quit 
drinking.  All he does is tell me how much he likes drinking and how I MET him 
in a bar.  Well, if I met him in a garage, would that make him a car?  Oh, look, 
I’m in the ocean.  Does that make me a fish? You know, I used to think people 
who drank were much, much safer and almost better than people who smoked weed. 
But now I think just the opposite.  I’ve seen what he’s like when he smokes and 
when he drinks and I’ll take weed over his drinking any day, all day.  I’ve 
watched him do things and let me tell you...I know things that he has NO idea I 
know about but I let it go because I figured he’s not in his right mind. ”

“You seem to think that if he loved you enough, he would stop.  And the truth 
is, he can’t.  Because if he did, he would have to sit in his feelings and face 
everything that he’s trying to avoid, and so you have to ask yourself, is this 
what you want to be with for the rest of your life and your kids?  Someone who 
doesn’t get up for work every day? Who spends his money on alcohol and drinks 
almost every night…sometimes up to 12, 13, 14 nights in a row? Who can get so 
wasted he accepts a ride home from someone who’s supposed to be his friend and 
is so impaired that he doesn’t, “remember,” her trying to have sex with him? 
You’ve spent so much time taking care of him in the last year, you’ve completely 
neglected yourself.  When you don’t have the kids you immediately head to 
Joliet.”

“First of all, she's a whore and an easier question would be who hasn't she 
tried to fuck? The bathroom sink at (name of bar) still isn't the same because 
of her fat ass up on the counter banging some 21 year old that could probably 
use your services now or at least some Comet and a Brillo pad for his dick.  
Secondly...What else do I have here?  Why would I want to stay?  He’s there.  Of 
course I want to go to him.  But he says I’m so quick to pack up my stuff and 
leave.  That I’m giving up.  He doesn’t see how hard I’ve fought this ENTIRE 
time.  I mean, FUCK, just to get him to leave (ex-girlfriend) completely was 
hard enough.  He thinks I just run every time we have a, “discussion.””

“Because you’re ambivilant.” She says calmly,  “You want to be there because you 
love him, but you don’t want to be in the situation. “

“I don’t know what to do anymore. He acts like he hates me sometimes.  He used 
to be gentle with me.  He didn’t yell and get so angry with me all the time.”

“You’re asking him to change something that he’s very comfortable with, “stop 
drinking, stop drinking so much, be responsible, take care of yourself, make me 
feel taken care of, don’t yell in front of my kids, keep your promises, get your 
life together…”   And every time you go back to him.  Every time. So he has to 
decide what he will or will not do and tell you exactly and you have to decide 
what’s a deal breaker exactly.”

A few months later I came down with pneumonia. I was sicker than I'd ever been. 

My parents had to come and take the kids to their house in Joliet and I was alone.  

He didn't call or text for a few days because he was partying and then, out of anger, 

I told him not to call and I started to ignore his calls and texts.  I was broken-hearted 

that he did nothing to help me while I was sick.  Considering the last time he was sick 

I lied to my parents and my kids to take him to the doctor.  I paid for his emergency 

care.  I bought his medicine.  I took care of him.  "I" took care of him.  He did nothing.  

I told him I didn't want to see him anymore and this letter listed all the reasons why. 

I wrote what things were deal breakers: 

 "When I wrote this, I didn't write it as an angry letter.  It just is what it 
is, really.  It's the things that I don't want anymore because they're just not 
right, not fair. I realize some of them are things that I'd have to change, too, 
because I didn't like where it was leading me.  I shouldn't be driving if I have 
been drinking too much and I shouldn't argue with you in public.  I didn't want 
you to think I was just tearing you a new asshole.  These are things that really 
hurt me and it's the last time I will tell you.

I don't want a boyfriend that:
tells me I should just be happy he picked up the phone when he was in the bar. 
As your girlfriend you should want to pick up the phone.
drinks every night (or almost every night)
"forgets," to call me because he's drinking or out at the bar
thinks staying at a concert is more important than his friends
raises his voice at me because I don't move, think, or talk fast enough
doesn't get up for work because he's hung over and makes excuses
hasn't paid his phone bill 9 out of the 10 months he's had it and makes me pay
promised to pay me back for MI, Camping, concerts, dinner, etc...but instead 
buys??
borrows money from people at the bar to buy alcohol usually for yourself
makes my children cry*
would rather buy alcohol and cigarettes than food, toothpaste, shampoo, and 
toilet paper
makes promises and then doesn't even try to keep them
gets buzzed in front of my kids*
fights in front of my kids*
yells at me in public
lies to me about ridiculous things
doesn't take me on dates
doesn't buy me/make me at least a card for Christmas/other holidays
makes little or no romantic gestures unless I ask for them
doesn't care for me when I'm sick (doesn't call/text until the next day, doesn't 
come out, doesn't send flowers, a picture of flowers, play a song on the phone, 
send a card, smoke signal...)
makes no attempt in over a year to take a train or to come out on your own when 
I need you or to ask a friend or family member to drive you when it would really 
help the situation
makes no attempt to fix these things on your own when you've been asked 
countless times
I don't want a boyfriend who makes me feel bad about who I am, that calls me a 
whiner, that can put his hands on the woman that he loves and shove her and then 
say it's her fault.  I want a boyfriend who takes responsibility for his actions 
and has the self control to walk away in an argument,  that I'm not afraid of.  
I want a boyfriend who doesn't think doing cocaine is normal or ok, even if it's 
only, "Once in a while," because I certainly wouldn't be happy if I found out my 
children were using it.  I don't want a boyfriend that I can't trust won't get 
so wasted that he'll accept a ride home from someone who is just as wasted as he 
is and end up dead in a ditch or blacked out and I have to be humiliated in 
front of all his friends.  
I'm done being treated like shit, which is how you treat me.  Because I allowed 
it. I am done treating you like my king if I'm not treated like your queen.  
In other words...Men build houses.  Boys build forts.  I want a man, not a boy.
If you wanted to fix ANY of these things, you had SO many chances, only now 
you've pushed me to my limit.  Did it even occur to you instead of going to 
(name of girl)'s  party to come here and fix your relationship?  Nope.  How 
about now?  Still nope.  You've broken my heart for the last time.  I will not 
have another weekend, another holiday that ends with us fighting and me crying 
because of your drinking/partying.  I love you, D, but I cannot sit idly by 
anymore and watch you slowly kill yourself.  I won't do it to you, me, or my 
kids.  This is the last letter I'm going to write like this and b/c I'm sure it 
falls on deaf ears like all the others, it's more for my benefit.  I know what 
my worth is.  I'd just forgotten for a while.  I love you more than any man in 
my life and I have tried harder in this relationship and mourned this 
relationship more than I did my own marriage. I will always love you and be 
there for you and your family for anything because I truly believed you were my 
beloved.  But I have to accept the fact that you choose this life over one with 
me and my kids.  That you, "like to drink."  However, if you look at my note, 
what percentage of it has to do with your drinking/partying?  I hope it was 
worth it.  Because I would've stood by you.  I believed in you.  I could 
keep writing, so I'll stop here.  I do feel like I've lost my best friend.  
Don't forget your flu shot soon. Love always, Robyn"

*exhale*  
How do I explain this?  How do I justify staying for as long as I did?  How do I 
look at myself in the mirror and how can I still say to people, "I am in love 
with him and I miss him, " because I am and I do.  This is still the same man 
that I compare other men to. This is the man my children still talk about at the 
dinner table with me.  I'm so damn mad today I could throw a fucking table.

I wrote this yesterday and was terrified to publish it without first sending 

it to someone to read first. I sent it to one of my closest friends for review.   

If I had to have a captain of my ship...she'd be my captain.  I value her opinion 

and, my God, her strength. I didn't know if this was...appropriate.  But then again.  

Have I ever been appropriate?  I'm sorry if I cut the story here, but my head feels 

like it is going to explode talking about this. There are so many things I've not 

even scratched the surface.  I just can't do anymore tonight.  

My heart is too heavy.

I am grateful for:
free speech
my children
hot showers to wash the words away
sisters from other misters
the chance to love
the chance to leave
my bed
lip gloss
bandanas
leg warmers
6 inch stripper shoes

My song picks:
Bodies by Drowning Pool
Addicted by Kelly Clarkson
Ain't No Sunshine by Bill Withers
The Moon by The Swell Season
Three Little Birds by Bob Marley  

p.s. sorry about the different fonts.  Couldn't figure out why it was happening

and rather than throw the computer out the window...I left it.  xoxo, R