Tough Stuff | Offbeat Mama

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Hi, my name is REDACTED, and I'm an alcoholic. Before I found out I was pregnant I drank on a regular basis. Not enough to affect my work, but enough to affect my personal life. Instead of dealing with my issues in a healthy manner, I used alcohol as a coping mechanism. For example, instead of a glass of wine or a beer after work, I would have a shot of tequila with my ex-husband and then when he went to the bathroom, I would sneak another one and not tell him about it.

Not good.

When I found out I was pregnant, I quit drinking full stop. It wasn't easy. I was going through an emotionally challenging time without my go-to friend, alcohol. Thankfully, the scent of alcohol from an open bottle of wine and even on the breath of others made me nauseous in the first trimester. I knew that I did not want to put my child at risk by drinking while pregnant. I wanted to give him the best start possible. I had other women who had children explain how an occasional glass of wine while pregnant was okay, but I did not feel safe explaining why an occasional glass of anything wasn't okay for me.

I am feeling like a small canoe lost at sea. I am floating around, and I look rather normal up close. It is only unless you look a little longer and see the bigger picture do you see just how lost I really am. So here I go lost and floating around out into the greater world waiting for that stranger to boldly wish me a Happy Mother's Day. I will smile and say, "Thank you."

At the grocery store today, I was browsing the "family planning" section. Of course, there are the things that help prevent pregnancy, but I was obviously looking at the things to help promote pregnancy. As I was reading the back of every box of "ovulation predictors" and trying to decide which was the best one, a female employee that was probably in her later 30s came up to see if I needed any help.

One summer evening, I piled the kids into the car for a pre-bed ice cream run. As we're waiting in an impossibly long drive thru line, my 4 year old pipes up from the backseat, "Mommy, turn this music down. I need to talk about things."

I cooperate and turn the radio off, asking what she wants to talk about.

"Let's talk about babies."

My thoughts about parenting have generally existed in a continuum that ranges from, "I definitely don't want kids" to "Kids seem like this fantasy thing" all the way to "If I have kids, I'll do this …" But no where in those ricocheting and often short-lived conceptions of potential parenting has there ever been a moment where I've thought, "Yes, I'll have kids." Mostly, I've been wading about in the gray for a long time. And for the most part, the question-and-answer game of my parenting or non-parenting future exists in a way that is anxious, but non-pressing. And a great deal of it, I now realize, stems from my most well-known observations of parenting, a lifetime spent watching my own amazing, instinctive, and infinitely nurturing mother raise her two children, and then watching her lose and grieve one.

At 16 weeks pregnant, I had a (fairly) routine blood test done. Two days later, my midwife called and said that based on the results, the baby I was carrying had an elevated risk of having Down's syndrome. We scheduled a sonogram with fetal and maternal health specialists and a genetic counselor for two days later. Nothing was found, but they asked us to come back a month later because they were having difficulty getting good images of the baby's heart. We leave happy that our risk has been downgraded, and come back a month later.

It began with a simple question at the grocery store last night. We were choosing all the pieces for Schuyler's lunch and were trying to change things up a little. We wanted to get her some new drinks but were unsure if she would be able to open the bottles. Schuyler's polymicrogyria has some big features and some small ones, and one of its less frightening but still annoying impairments involves her fine motor skills. We asked her if she thought she would be able to open the bottle. She said she thought so, but still seemed a little unsure.

I knew with my whole heart that thing would never survive. It would die. And until it died, it would sit there looking ridiculous. Sit there and insist on being a hateful reminder of all the pretty, fragile things I was incapable of caring for.

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Offbeat Mama supports and celebrates parents and caregivers who are moving beyond mainstream visions of parenting. We welcome anyone who's interested in families, whether you're pre-parental, in the process of becoming a parent, or choosing to live childfree. Got a story or tip? Email us!

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