Fly So High You Feel No Pain

Originally posted by Aunt Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka.

It started with half-eaten dinners left cold, sitting at the table, waiting for the work crisis to pass. It never did.

Chink.

Movies partially watched together, while a pressing work need called.

Blast.

Dueling mortgages with a pressure to sell our former house while waiting to sell our condo.

Thwack.

A pregnancy that made me so ill that I could no longer go into work, for fear that I would vomit all over myself while driving.

Zap.

A baby so needy that I didn’t sleep for nearly a year, during which point, I had a minor nervous breakdown.

Pow.

An unexpected string of miscarriages that left me in a puddle of hormone soup.

BANG.

A precarious pregnancy that seemed doomed from the get-go, hallmarked by severe, crippling prepartum depression.

Zip.

A baby born with a severe neural tube defect requiring neurosurgery within a few days of her entry into the world.

Smack.

A debilitating case of PTSD coupled with chronic, daily migraines.

Whack.

Work that can never be enough, never is enough, requiring total dedication to that, and that alone.

Slam.

Years spent overcoming my past only to have it wallop me upside my face.

Punch.

Realizing that what had once been a marriage, something so strong that I’d never doubted it, had turned into a yawning chasm between two very different people.

Wham.

Figuring out where to go from here. Unsure if that chasm can ever be crossed.

TKO.

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