One. Week.

Can I make it before I lose my shit? I dunno.

I called it when it came to DH’s drinking. He’s back to it as usual. I’m not shocked. Hell, I’m not even that disappointed, because I already know he’s not a man of his word. Whatever. Nothing’s changed. My plans are still in place.

I went for my first run this morning. I’m working my way up from mostly walking to half running, to only running. I probably traveled 2.5 miles on foot today and ran the equivalent of a quarter mile, which is good for me. I never liked running in the past. It was torture. Now that I’m lighter on my feet, it’s kind of enjoyable, even though I’m just starting out and haven’t built up any endurance yet.

Lalala…changing the subject…lalala!

This really awesome thing happens when you become a parent. You start thinking A LOT about another person’s poop. You obsess over whether or not that other person has pooped in a while and the consistency and amount of poop. Yeah, I’d like to say that I *used* to be cooler than this, except I’ve never been cool, so whatever. When you have a kid with special needs, you get to obsess over their poops for longer than other parents do. My life has begun to revolve around my son’s inability to poop lately, and it’s distressful as hell, not because I’m appalled or grossed out, but because I hate seeing my kid suffer. Even worse, I hate that he can’t tell me what he’s thinking or feeling, beyond a general “Hurt”. I try to comfort him whenever he doesn’t feel good and I think I do fine when my husband is gone. My son responds well to me because I keep calm (mostly) and stay consistent. If DH is around, he makes everything worse–starts throwing his own fits, stomping and skulking around the house whenever he gets overwhelmed by DS’s crying. I wish he’d just disappear and leave us in peace.

DS would miss him. He’s the parent who has the luxury of being fun, because I’m the parent who has to figure out how to make everything happen, lest he get overwhelmed from “having to do EVERYTHING”.

So, DH suggested maybe we give DS another laxative on Saturday morning before I leave for work and I was like , “Yeah, no. Not happening.” See, this is how that scenario will play out:

We dose up poor DS, I leave for work–where I’m the sole manager on duty, there for 9.5 hours to open AND close while everyone else enjoys having weekends off. An hour or so later, this stuff kicks in, giving our son horrendous belly cramps which will also trigger a colossal meltdown on top of the pain he’ll be in while tryin to pass a stool. DH will call and text about 20 times, panicked and angry because DS is crying nonstop, before finally demanding I leave work and come home. He will scream and threaten and play the victim and make me out to be a neglectful parent because I don’t do something that can get me fired.

I can’t leave a building full of college students unattended because my husband can’t deal with our son taking a difficult shit. It’s not an emergency. It sucks, sure. It’s horrible and heart-wrenching to watch, absolutely. But it’s not something he shouldn’t be able to handle without me doing all the hard stuff.

Except, he CAN’T handle it. He just makes all bad situations worse by reacting so poorly. I’m not setting my son up for that kind of trauma and I’m not setting myself up for the inevitable demand to ruin my life and career because he’s incompetent at being the adult.

I just want OUT. I don’t care if he’s on the spectrum himself. I have ONE child, one person I’m willing to raise, and it’s not him. Til death do we part? I already feel dead, so why not?