One Year...Ten Days.

So in a few days, my little guy hits the big ONE year milestone and I couldn't be more thrilled. It has been a trying year, but his presence in my life has muted the anguish significantly. As I think back to the week leading up to my labor, I remember the subtle hints of impending release from swollen ankles and back pain. The pictures my sister-in-law took of me the day before my water broke still give me the chills because I looked like a whale. No really. I am entirely positive that if you would have poked any part of my body with a needle, I would have exploded.

I knew that day the end was near. My gums bled for hours and my intestines decided to play along by wreaking havoc. Embarrassingly enough, the only thing that got me through that night in the bathroom alternating between sitting and kneeling, was Candy Crush. Needless to say, I do not play that ridiculous waste of phone space anymore.

Within five hours of my bathroom horror, my water broke. I had gotten up to empty my bladder...again..and I felt the rush of hot liquid expel from my nether-region.

"Oh no! Oh no! OH NO!" I was freaking out because I thought I had become incontinent. In turn, I scared the crap out of my husband.

"Wha....wha...what's going on?"

"Either my water just broke, or I seriously pissed my pants."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know." He went back to sleep. 

After about an hour of being confused, I started getting contractions and aroused my husband from his slumber. 

"Yup, pretty sure it was my water. We gotta get the bags ready and go."

"Are you sure?"

Sigh.

Anyway, by the time I finally got a hold of my doctor and she gave me the thumbs up to get to the hospital, my husband was taking a shower. I joke around about how upset this made me, but realistically, considering I was in labor for 26 hours, it isn't a huge deal anymore.

When I was finally settled in to a Labor and Delivery room I still remember the first thing I said to the nurse, "You know what this means?"

"You're having a baby?"

"Well duh, but, ya know...I can drink again!"

It took me a while to realize how those 9 months without alcohol were incredibly difficult for me. For a long time I have used alcohol to numb my memories and get me through to the next day. I wasn't dependent on it, but if I had a rough day, a beer or glass of wine was the way I self-medicated.

When I was managing a high-volume retail store, Sundays were usually the worst day of the week. In order to keep my mind from thinking negatively, my employees and I created the "Friday's Sunday" tradition where we would drown our day full of declined sales pitches in a few pints.

Over the past couple of months, in dealing with PTSD, I may not have been resorting to some other self-harm behaviors, at least not as often as earlier years, but I was replacing them with alcohol abuse. It is hard to admit, but it is sadly true. I was making a habit of going out to the bar at least once a week not to mention drinking at home nearly every night. 

As stubborn as I am, it is no surprise that despite the pressure from my therapist, I chose to ignore the issue. When I busted my head, even though I hadn't drank that much the night in question, I knew I had to stop.

So I am 10 days sober and counting. I now realize how desperate I was to hide my vulnerability and I will not do that anymore. It is difficult, I am not going to lie; however, with my son turning one, I feel it is a symbol of turning a new leaf and really committing to controlling my fears.