Lately I’ve been counting the minutes until bedtime. The guilt I feel for saying that is terrible, but it’s the truth. I’ve been a little absent from my social media and the blog because I’m in this never ending state of exhaustion. (Little disclaimer: a bad day with her still beats a good day at the office. I’m so grateful that I get to spend so much time with her–just some days are hard.)
Dad: *puts down baby* *baby is happy as a clam* *sky is blue, birds are chirping, there’s a rainbow in the distance*
Mom: *puts down baby* *baby SCREAMS* *WORLD IS ENDING*
She’s around 11 months now and she can say “da-da” whenever she sees dad. She knows who he is. We have a gallery wall filled with family photos and she points at his picture saying “da-da-da.” She also reaches her arms up for me to pick her up and says “mum… mum…” and she also reaches for dad saying “mum… mum…” apparently “mum” means ‘pick me up’.
Oh baby–why don’t you just meet me in the middle?
She was mad at me because I wouldn’t let her play in the trash. And I know dog food is so delicious, but I wouldn’t let her eat that either. I’m so mean, I know.
I mean—c’mon girl, you gotta meet me in the middle. I let you unroll an entire roll of toilet paper. Doesn’t that count for something? I promise I have your best interest at heart. The trash is not your friend.
And, if you are wondering, I am still using that toilet paper. I shamelessly left it on the floor and I use it when I—ahem—need it. Mom life at it’s finest.
She also eats so freakin’ fast that I’ve considered swapping out her bottle nipples to slow flow again. I won’t, but I dream that I could. I blink and she’s done her bottle. In the past I could at least put away the silverware from the dishwasher, now I open up the dishwasher door and BAM she’s done her bottle. I don’t have time to do anything anymore.
Some days, things just take way too much of my energy
I started taking anti-depressants a little over a month ago, but I’ve also weaned myself off them. The side effects forced me to stop. I had terrible insomnia and they also put me in a cloudy haze. I kept cracking eggs into the trash and I couldn’t think straight. The final straw was when I opened a cabinet and hit myself in the face with the cabinet. Square in the face. How does that even happen?! I realized I needed to stop.
I’ve started seeing a therapist and that’s helping. I don’t even talk about my depression. I talk about issues I’ve been holding on to for years. (My husband always gets embarrassed when I leave vague comments like this—in fear the internet strangers will think it’s about him. I promise, it’s not about him.)
I think everyone should see a therapist. We just talk about whatever I want to and it’s so different hearing a stranger validate your feelings and, in some cases, the truth. I feel guilty discussing things when my therapist can’t hear both sides, but sometimes the cases are fact based. Facts are facts. Certain things were wrong. It’s way different hearing a stranger tell you that, instead of a biased friend that you are venting to.
I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired
I feel like I’m losing my time to sleep. I’m always so freakin’ tired. I’m TIRED OF BEING TIRED. Also, my kiddo recently went from two naps to one. On her first nap I would spend it how I please, and the second nap I would do chores around the house. Now with her down to one nap, it’s an adjustment. I should get up early, but did I mention I was tired?
The summer can’t come soon enough. I am counting the days. I’m hoping that when the weather starts getting warmer it will brighten my spirits and I also know that I’ll be able to do more activities with my little babe. Where are you warmer weather?!
P.S. Did you notice my corny use of song lyrics for subtitles? 🙂