The Fourth of July is and always has been special to me. Towards the end of my active addiction I can't recall celebrating it in anyway that I am proud of. In fact, the last 4th of July I spent drinking back in 2013 was my last hoorah with alcohol. Go big or go home. But, my first sober Fourth of July holds special meaning to me- I fell in love, with Jon, the partner and father of my kids. I had near a year sobriety under my belt and he had invited me to come with him to his brother's house expecting my answer to be no (because it always was), but I decided to give it a go. And, well, here we are two kids and four, Fourth of July's later- happy as clams (what's that saying even mean?).
Because of falling in love that Fourth, the Holiday has held more than a Patriotic meaning to my heart. And it's because of that Fourth, that every time July 3rd hits, I get excited and I expect there to be fun, lots of laughter, soda, beer, chips, fires, fireworks, etc... Fact is, I've been pregnant every Fourth since that 2014 summer, and with both of us working just about ALL of the time, holidays tend to give us a reason to call work early for the day instead of working late, and when that happens we just want to CHILL. I don't wanna pack a diaper bag, two sippie cups, extra clothes, a snack just in case, the stroller, pajamas so I can throw them in bed when I get home, and God knows what else. No siree.
So here I am, blogging, because it helps my thought process, and Jon's in the other room watching soccer. I hear explosions everywhere outside. I am so grateful my kids sleep through the fireworks. I cruise on over to IG and see these amazing photos of Fourth of July family outings and wonder how these moms and families do it. I catch myself comparing their happiness to our's, and then Fear sets in my alcoholic brain and stupid insecurities broach my mind: "does Jon wish I wasn't an alcoholic so we could be drinking beer together, and staying up late watching the fireworks?", "Does he wish he could be with a normie so we could let loose together?" I ask him these questions from time to time, and he gives me a logical answer and a big fat no, but I can't help but feel so... un-fun. These boys of ours, they wear me out.
So I'm sitting here left wondering if the IG mom's out doing big things and looking fancy, are happy or are they tired like me? Because their pictures, in fact, make me feel guilty about my act of self-care that is showing up in the form of laying in bed by myself and blogging versus being out on the lake with screaming, tired, toddlers hanging all over me because it's three hours past their bed time.