I am a 27-year-old mother of two boys. My oldest is the most sensitive thing in the world; he will look at you with his big brown eyes and long lashes and break your heart. He takes everything far too seriously. Sometimes we joke and call him Eeyore, because he just kind of lumbers around with a “thanks for noticing” attitude. He’s the best at cuddling. At night, we all crawl into bed (I know; they should sleep in their own beds, but my oldest just loves being in mine.He gets in-between his Daddy and I and lays his head on one of us, and within minutes he starts to snore). He loves his little brother. I think he idolizes him. And even though he’s bigger and older, he still tries to get my youngest to include him. When they play outside together, my older boy often tries to keep up with my youngest, running and jumping with him. But my oldest just isn’t as athletic as my youngest, so he often falls behind or gets tired.
My youngest is the complete opposite. He’s fast and fearless and rebounds quickly. He always wants to be outside. When he was really little, he was a handful. You could never get a hold of him, a hug turned into a wrestling match, and he got into as much trouble as he possibly could. Now, he’s sweet and calm and likes to be cuddled and kissed. We’re a lot closer than we were a year ago. We have our inside jokes and he knows when I’m sad without me having to say a word. If I’m having a rough day, he’ll crawl up beside me and put his head on my chest, then he slowly moves closer and closer until I can feel his breath on my face and hear all the faint sounds he makes. I love my boys more than anything in the world. Sometimes I look at them and I squeal with pride and love. Sometimes I have to just grab them and hold them, like I can’t take all the love that’s inside of me for them and if I don’t squeeze them in that moment I’m going to explode.
I’m 27 and they are huge anchors of responsibility. I couldn’t take an intern job or work for low pay in order to pay my dues and get into the studio like everyone else. I had to make enough money to keep us in a house in a neighborhood where they were safe. I can’t go on vacation. We gave up a free trip to New Orleans because we couldn’t find anyone to look after them. We’re currently planning a trip to Cabo in October and I’m already panicking about being away from them for four days.
Their names are Riot and Ruckus and I’m not sure how old they are … somewhere between three and five. They were both rescues, so their past is a mystery. All I know is both were going to be killed for being Pits. Ruckus is a purebred blue-nosed Pit-Bull and Riot is a tri-colored Pit-Bull mix. I don’t see them as just dogs. I see them as family. They’re my little fur babies. And they saved my life.
I’ve never openly discussed this because I find it extremely embarrassing, but I have an anxiety and panic disorder. It’s bad. I’m going to be in a psychology book because of how bad it is. I have all the usual symptoms, I can’t breathe, my heart races, and I cramp up and shake. Sedatives have never worked, I just had to ride them out which caused some damage to my heart. Please refrain from …