Last night I fell asleep with my headphones on, listening to the narrator of my new book read about the positive effects of contemplative prayer. A book I might otherwise find interesting, except that right now I feel so tired. And heavy. And lost.
I haven't blogged in five years, but today I need an outlet.
I woke up this morning to Zimrie screaming a panicked cry and all the while I hurried in the bathroom, trying to pee as quickly as I could, my heart beat pangs of guilt that I was absent while he was hurting and guilt that I had not woken up before them, guilt that I already felt nauseous and exhausted and just plain grumpy and how in the world am I going to do everything today?
Turns out Asher was holding both bouncy balls. So, you know... That is valid trauma.
Into the kitchen to make breakfast amid yells of, "Nooooo! I don't want cheese toast!" I ate, though I still felt sick. Zimrie dramatically gagged out his grapes after eating half of them, because, well, why would he not?
Cleaned up, got the boys clothes and sat down on the couch to get them dressed. Hopped up because my pants were wet--the couch is soaked in dog urine.
In the time it takes me to put Ed outside, call him a "bad dog," get a rag and some cleaner, Zimrie has opened up the crafts box, dumped the carton of 250 foam stickers on the floor, magically mastered the skill of taking off marker lids, a feat previously impossible, and is coloring on the leg of the kitchen table. Much of my life is cleaning up messes.
More outside, wet clothes on boys from the water hose, grass tracked in on our sandals, finally pick up those foam stickers. Asher yells at me across the room and begs me to grab the pillow that is under his arm and move it to under his head. He cries when I tell him no. He begs more. "But you can do it!!" "But you can do it, too, Asher. I'm eating lunch." Am I being a bad mother? Am I neglecting his pleas for love or attention? Does he feel unsafe or insecure? I try to be confident in my decisions.
My stomach has about had it, racked with cramps, nausea still there. The eating hasn't helped as it sometimes does. I go to the bathroom, but I can't finish because I hear Zimrie choking in his high chair. Run frantically out to find him spitting out his cracker. I guess he didn't want to eat cracker #12. I mean, why would he?
There are "owies" left and right. Zimrie has a black eye. My body is not cooperating with me today. The boys are sleep deprived. Zim didn't nap well yesterday, stayed up too late last night. He's done pretty well in his big bed the last two weeks, but he seems to be more tired. Asher is lazy today, and emotional. Wants to watch TV. Honestly, so do I. I had wanted to make all my food for church tomorrow, sweep and mop the house, wrap the gifts I bought yesterday, run 2 miles while they nap, make dinner, and finish the work that the narrator has posted. I won't be able to tomorrow with heading up the meal at church, going grocery shopping, hosting people for dinner, and taking Asher on a special outing to SDC. I wonder today why I thought I could do any of those things since my body is a wild card. Since the doctor isn't sure if I have endometriosis or some digestion issue or if my body is just still reeling from the miscarriage in June.
I am drowning in hormones right now. Pain, sometimes. And worry and anxiety and fear and feelings of a loss that I cannot name or hold in my hands. I started seeing a counselor last week and I feel better about my parenting and things in general. But every day is a gamble, what will my hormones dictate for me today? How will I cope? And how will I not feel helpless as I work through it? How in the world will I handle Seth going back to school? That's four years of this, plus some. Plus a lot, really. If we're all being honest. I don't know how the circumstances of my days are so similiar, but my reactions can be vastly different. Some days I feel so competent, so happy, so content, and able to take on the world. Those are the days I sign up for things like coordinating church meals and buy fabric to make homemade birthday gifts for everyone I know. Oh, to not be enslaved to arbitrary hormones...
I might lay down on my bed today instead of running. I might not sweep and mop. I will probably feel like a failure because of these things, but I will try, as the counselor suggested, to practice self-compassion, to see myself with some grace in my heart.
I haven't blogged in five years, but today I need an outlet.
I woke up this morning to Zimrie screaming a panicked cry and all the while I hurried in the bathroom, trying to pee as quickly as I could, my heart beat pangs of guilt that I was absent while he was hurting and guilt that I had not woken up before them, guilt that I already felt nauseous and exhausted and just plain grumpy and how in the world am I going to do everything today?
Turns out Asher was holding both bouncy balls. So, you know... That is valid trauma.
Into the kitchen to make breakfast amid yells of, "Nooooo! I don't want cheese toast!" I ate, though I still felt sick. Zimrie dramatically gagged out his grapes after eating half of them, because, well, why would he not?
Cleaned up, got the boys clothes and sat down on the couch to get them dressed. Hopped up because my pants were wet--the couch is soaked in dog urine.
In the time it takes me to put Ed outside, call him a "bad dog," get a rag and some cleaner, Zimrie has opened up the crafts box, dumped the carton of 250 foam stickers on the floor, magically mastered the skill of taking off marker lids, a feat previously impossible, and is coloring on the leg of the kitchen table. Much of my life is cleaning up messes.
More outside, wet clothes on boys from the water hose, grass tracked in on our sandals, finally pick up those foam stickers. Asher yells at me across the room and begs me to grab the pillow that is under his arm and move it to under his head. He cries when I tell him no. He begs more. "But you can do it!!" "But you can do it, too, Asher. I'm eating lunch." Am I being a bad mother? Am I neglecting his pleas for love or attention? Does he feel unsafe or insecure? I try to be confident in my decisions.
My stomach has about had it, racked with cramps, nausea still there. The eating hasn't helped as it sometimes does. I go to the bathroom, but I can't finish because I hear Zimrie choking in his high chair. Run frantically out to find him spitting out his cracker. I guess he didn't want to eat cracker #12. I mean, why would he?
There are "owies" left and right. Zimrie has a black eye. My body is not cooperating with me today. The boys are sleep deprived. Zim didn't nap well yesterday, stayed up too late last night. He's done pretty well in his big bed the last two weeks, but he seems to be more tired. Asher is lazy today, and emotional. Wants to watch TV. Honestly, so do I. I had wanted to make all my food for church tomorrow, sweep and mop the house, wrap the gifts I bought yesterday, run 2 miles while they nap, make dinner, and finish the work that the narrator has posted. I won't be able to tomorrow with heading up the meal at church, going grocery shopping, hosting people for dinner, and taking Asher on a special outing to SDC. I wonder today why I thought I could do any of those things since my body is a wild card. Since the doctor isn't sure if I have endometriosis or some digestion issue or if my body is just still reeling from the miscarriage in June.
I am drowning in hormones right now. Pain, sometimes. And worry and anxiety and fear and feelings of a loss that I cannot name or hold in my hands. I started seeing a counselor last week and I feel better about my parenting and things in general. But every day is a gamble, what will my hormones dictate for me today? How will I cope? And how will I not feel helpless as I work through it? How in the world will I handle Seth going back to school? That's four years of this, plus some. Plus a lot, really. If we're all being honest. I don't know how the circumstances of my days are so similiar, but my reactions can be vastly different. Some days I feel so competent, so happy, so content, and able to take on the world. Those are the days I sign up for things like coordinating church meals and buy fabric to make homemade birthday gifts for everyone I know. Oh, to not be enslaved to arbitrary hormones...
I might lay down on my bed today instead of running. I might not sweep and mop. I will probably feel like a failure because of these things, but I will try, as the counselor suggested, to practice self-compassion, to see myself with some grace in my heart.
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