Adulting, at it's finest.
When you lose that sense of adventure. When people suggest doing things that, 10 years ago, you would have jumped on in a heartbeat. But now you look at them like they're crazy or you immediately jump on why it's so dangerous, insane, irresponsible.
I miss our random, midnight road trips. They were as much a part of me as my stubborn personality. I miss them so much and it feels as if I'm missing a part of myself. I think they really were a part of me. They're a symbol of my outgoing, wandering self. I won't see that part of me until we're gone from this house.
We sat down to figure out how much more money we would need to move out and it just won't work. I would need to find daycare or someone stable to take care of Kirby. And to pay them for as much as they would be doing, I would have to pay them 2/3 of what I realistically would be making. Because, let's be honest, the only jobs I can find are in healthcare. They're the only ones interested in me. And that leaves me with about $50-100 a paycheck. Which will NOT take care of a house payment or apartment rent. So, I stay at home and take care of the kiddo. And bring in no income. And we can't move on just his paycheck.
I love my daughter, don't get me wrong. But I NEVER wanted to bring her up in a house like this. All of the issues at home that I brought up years ago in all my blogs, I relive every day. And now my daughter experiences them. It rips my heart apart to see this, to live this, to feel this. I get up everyday, though, and push through. I take her out if we need to escape. I make up excuses to leave the house. Just so she doesn't have to listen to the screaming, ranting, and raving. I do what I can. I protect. I shelter. I adult.