Bipolar Mommy Remembers She's Also a Beloved Child

I never planned to be a single mom with bipolar disorder. Who does?

Yet, here I am— 32 years old with bipolar type 1 and a beautiful 16-month-old daughter. Most of the time I feel like I’m rocking this single mom thing. And I’m sure that’s what it looks like on the outside. 

But today I want to share what my bipolar mommy life really looks like. If you were a fly on the wall of our apartment you would see lots of hugs and giggles. You would see story time, bath time and bed time. 

You would see lots of love, but you would also see piles of laundry — some dirty, some clean. You would see a sink full of dishes, a scattering of mega blocks in the living room floor and an overflowing recycling bin in the laundry room. 

If you listened you would hear lots of giggles and I love you’s, but you would also here the occasional f-bomb that I accidentally drop— despite the fact that my daughter clearly says words. 

Just this week I was having a conversation about dating, via text message, with one of my friends. He shared some impressive stats about a women he was thinking about asking out. Her match.com profile seemed ridiculously perfect. 

I responded to his text message audibly by saying, “fuck.” As in, “fuck, is she a robot?” My response was as automatic as a reflex.

Althea heard me and started to giggle.

She replied, “nana.” 

Clearly she planned on telling on me. Or maybe she said nana because, let’s be honest, her Grammy has a potty mouth too. 

This incident, which I’m referring to as fudge-gate, is just one of many times where I feel less than ideal as a mother. 

It’s hard when you are the only parent home— when you are ALWAYS the only parent home. There are times where I just want 10 minutes to pick up the living room or put some dishes in the dishwasher. 

When bedtime happens on time I seem to do fine. But try explaining that to a teething toddler who just wants to be rocked for a couple hours to wind down. 

“You know mommy,” she reminds me, “This teething business isn’t easy for me either.”

Sure, her speech hasn’t progressed to the point where she can actually say that, but her eyes say it all.

This morning on my way to take Althea to her weekly visit with her dad, I felt hot tears streaming down my cheeks. Some days I feel like I’m nailing motherhood, and other days I just feel like I’m just trying to keep my head above water. 

I realized, amidst my tears, that I had forgotten to pick up my lithium the night before. So, I had missed two doses. 

The truth is, I am not a perfect patient and I am not a perfect parent. But with everything in my being, I do believe that I am a perfect child of God. And that thought brings me to tears. Every. Single. Time.

So, I guess the point of this blog is not to point out how flawed I am. Rather, the point is to let you know that no matter how long your list of imperfections, I believe that the divine cumulation of all goodness looks upon you and calls you beloved. Because you are.