I had a bunch of posts sitting around in draft form, in limbo. Some were unfinished and the two at the end I decided were too twisted. Now that the emotions aren’t so raw it’s easier to let them see the light of day. Only it’s dark. So, here are they:
I am so much less loving of the toddlerness than of the precious ittle-bittle infantness. I don’t know how to do toddlerness. Tantrums make me want to die. I’ve never not been what she cried for; the boobs have lost their magic. She doesn’t want to even look at them unless she initiates. Interestingly, this means she fell asleep without nursing two night in a row and then only nursed once or twice during the night. Probably due to congestion, but I’ll take it. (By the way, the LLL meeting and the books I borrowed left me with the conclusion that I’m not up to the challenge of weaning her at night. The “window” of a good developmental age to wean seems to have passed until age two-ish. Which is fine, as two years is what’s been in mind.)
Hill, you need to just dress in drag for the rest of the campaign. Seriously, what were you thinking being all female and wearing clothing designated appropriate to your gender as you campaigned? Don’t you know you need a men’s suit to be taken seriously?
America, if y’all don’t STFU about Mz. Rodham Clinton’s attire I’m going to pull a Dear Crissy and karate chop you in the face. All of yaz.
Daisy, cranky, running late, trying to get baby ready: “Bloody Hell!”
Molly: “Muddy Doh!”
Career Cruising ranks webdesigner for me as #14, followed by Artist. And Potter at #22! Administrative assistant didn’t clear the top 40:) But Addictions Counselor (#1), I’d be good at that.
Is PPA a thing? Like PPD only substituting anxiety for the depression? I’m thinking, evaluating, assessing the status of this brain of mine. Which is me, right, not in me. Both me. The physical and mental and, too, the spirit that fuses them through centrifugal force as one spins frantic while the other sits, exhausted by its machinations. I made a commitment at the start of October, quietly and hidden, over at the Zen Habits forums. My new habit was a new reaction to my “flashes.”
They’re fleeting little visions like a chopped up horror film that play in my brain and leave me with a subtle freaking-out-internally feeling that’s unsettling. Not crippling, not enough to seek therapy or medication, but enough to question if I should. Enough to couple with sleep deprivation a few times and create a full-fledged panic attack. I’ve had these for ages. I think they started in childhood, but I had night terrors so maybe it’s an always thing. I link it to my nightmares and my creativity, having read somewhere that they are a package. I think of Clive and Neil and think it’s good and OK. I feel a weird pride in my brain’s ability to terrify me.
They got worse After Mom, and then With Baby they are the worst. I’ll stroke her airy golden hair, and I’ll imagine having the guts to cut her wispy bangs- they need trimmed. Then the Flash comes, and I see scissors in her soft spot. I try to fall asleep in our (marriage) bed without the monitor and I see me waking later to check in on her and she’s stopped breathing.
but the eyes, find the eyes
I’ve got to do something, but I don’t really know what. I’m exhausted. I don’t recognize my skin in the mirror- the deep brown-purple encircling my eyes, the spotted enflamed cheeks. I’ve got to make digging myself out of this a serious priority. Something in me knotted up when mom got sick and has never come loose. I can barely remember the laughing wild girl I was a few years ago.
I think I want a therapist. No. I can and do trust my own wisdom here. I need to make more time to center myself and reflect and create. I need to create a better household routine. I need to do small real things.
I keep wanting a huge overhaul of everything. If I could pick up the Triangle Family and move across the country and start completely over I would do that. I think in such extremes and I get overwhelmed by wanting to Fix Everything which is all Completely Fucked Up that I can’t seem to realize I need to make some realistic changes and work on one thing at a time… can’t get myself present and clear and focused and grounded. I think my lack of sleep is skewering my brain. But I’m in tears contemplating weaning through the nights. I don’t know how, I get freaked out by her tears and screaming. Right now my gut tells me I’ve got to stop it and make my own health a priority. But tonight my gut will tell me that she needs this connection still. I feel lost and really really paralyzed about what to do. I know she isn’t ready to sleep on her own. She’s so small, so young and still so in need of her mama.
Yep, it was the insane lack of sleep. Feeling a normal amount of stress, not psycho girl strait jacket stress. And it’s weird how much easier it is to snuggle her back to sleep with my boobs out of the picture at night… it is quicker but also just less annoying to me. It feels nice now that she’s pulling my arms around her instead of scrabbling at my shirt like a little kitten.