Sunday confessions, a day late, because BLOGGER SUCKS:
I am feeling a way I have not felt in quite some time – HOW am I going to get through the day, the week, this month? What’s the point? I feel like hell, I am exhausted, I am sick and tired of my family, and I can’t imagine going on for another forty years like this. And then the guilt smites me – there are moms who are dying, leaving their children behind, I see the obits all the time. And here I am having an existential crisis.
In the same vein, I am sick and tired of nursing. There’s a small, selfish part of me that loves that I am the only one who can comfort him when he’s inconsolable. But mostly, I am sick of it. Some other being has been in control of my body for the past fifteen-some months; I am so ready to claim my body back. I look forward to not having to think about if my boobs are readily accessible, or if exercising will make my milk taste funny.
I am VERY angry with my plumber. And I DON’T CARE if his father-in-law is sick, or for that matter, if his mother is on her deathbed. I just want my stupid washing machine/sewer lines fixed so I can do laundry. Because I CANNOT STAND the way my mother-in-law folds my laundry. I know I am being an ungrateful and cold beast, and I DON’T CARE.
Sometimes I fantasize about having a nervous breakdown so I can go live in a psychiatric hospital for a week or two. (I think I've confessed this before, to all and sundry, loud and often.) Of course, with my luck, I’d wind up as Olivia de Havilland in “Snake Pit.” Maybe just a broken leg (do you even get to be an in-patient for that these days?) Just some nice, benign, recoverable injury, so I can get two or three nights sleep, my meals brought to me, and some time to read.
I wish I owned a gun. You should know, I am a pacifist, and really, the thought of owning a gun scares the crap out of me. I have handled one once, and that terrified me. The boyfriend whose gun it was wanted to teach me to shoot, and I was soooo not interested. But this sudden longing for a gun coincides with the warm weather. Which means all kinds of idiots are driving down the street with their bass thump-thump-thumping. It’s an act of aggression, and I would like to respond in kind. By shooting out their speakers.
18 comments:
We're not pacifists down heah. You can borrow mine of TFBIM's. Hers matches her purse.
Really.
-J.
P.S. Maybe it was her shoes. Or earrings.
I'm with you 100% on both the nursing AND the breakdown paragraphs. And, strangely enough, we've had two plumbers to our house today, and a third is coming tomorrow. (Broken kitchen stack. Cannot use kitchen sink. Am drowning in dirty/smelly dishes.)
Here's hoping you feel better soon! Time for some TimTamage!
You're going to be okay. This too, shall pass, and all that. You know that, right?
Kick those schlubs out of the house, go for a run, and then hunker down with some Green & Blacks and something like the Emily books.
And the nursing? Mother's Day is coming up . . . what a lovely excuse to do something nice for yourself and TAKE BACK THE BOOBS. Just a suggestion. :-)
I never do the confessions, but here's one for you: I know how to shoot all kinds of guns. I've never hunted or shot at anything living, but I'm not bad on a range. I've known my way around various firearms since I was a kid, and in fact used to help my dad reload shells.
One day at a time. Deep breaths. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.
All that said: my confession is this: I haven't opened any mail (bills) in ages. And I haven't paid my rent. I just think I'll lie down on the sofa...
The first paragraph about how you feel, can I get in a car with you and we both drive away - at least until we have a chance to actually miss our kids?
I hear you loud and clear!
Gina is right that this too shall pass. It seems to pass way too slowly is all.
And I don't like anybody else folding or doing my laundry either. No matter that it is piled to the ceiling - step away from the laundry and no one gets hurt!
Is anybody else finding it impossible to access Joke's blog?
I feel as you do way too often. No words of advice..but sometimes misery enjoys company.
15 months...you get a medal. I'm going on 5 months and am sick of it. I hated that I had to limit my drinks while on vacation.
Exercise makes the milk taste funny? Never knew that...oh well...I'm still going to exercise!
Hang in there BB. Go eat another Tim Tam.
The title of your post reminds me of that ad (in England) for the beer called Fox and Firkin. The line ran "For Fox sake, give me a Firkin pint".
I get the exhausted, want-to-run away feeling too, but mine goes away in a day or so.
You do sound like you need a weekend/day away, alone. Can you do it? Or do you have to hang out for Bethlehem?
15 months breastfeeding is great - both mine weaned themselves at 9 months. I'd be tucking those girls away and shopping for a sexy bra and undies set...
OK, so what is the blogging rule on simply copying someone else's entire post and saying "how I feel at the moment" - you expressed it beautifully (maybe it's the 6 month blues?) - I am walking beside you in every way. If you need cheering up, all I managed to say to express the malaise was that I felt like stomping around the house swearing.
Are you being gripped by urges to do senseless random acts of stupidity or engage in high-risk behaviours? (and no, I don't classify shooting out the speakers of idiot doof doof music drivers into that category.)
Please stop reading my mind. I am with you on absolutely everything except the plumber but that's ok, because I'm sure I'll wake up tomorrow and the fridge/stove/dishwasher will be ferkuckt to match everything else on the flippity ship in my part of town.
Don't go a broken leg, imagine years of arthritis and pain every time the weather changed. I think the only reasonable thing that gets you in these days is ... babam ... another baby. :O
Hope you're feeling better tomorrow.
Float - you just gave me a waking nightmare : )
I should clarify, for the edification of all the medal-bestowers, I don't want to take credit where it is not due - I have only been BFing THIS one for 6 months. But I suck so badly at being pregnant, what with 24-7 vomitng for six or seven months and all, that I counted that up too.
I did BF Primo for a year, and Seg for nine months. So Terzo should consider himself fortunate he got this far.
Re: Living in a psych hospital for a week or two
Thankfully, you live in Pittsburgh where you could go to WPIC for your stay, which is a pretty darn good psych hospital. Unfortunately, most units of even that hospital are a mixed bag. I was lucky enough to be specially placed on the eating disorders unit, even though I didn't have one, because it was filled with calm, quiet young women, which is what I needed. In general, a psych hospital is filled with crazy people. Go figure.
Have you ever ridden a 61 bus from the bottom of Oakland all the way up to Squirrel Hill? The crazy people that you encounter on a midday ride are the same ones you would share your hospital unit with. Physical illness is preferable to any situation that feels like all of Sam Shepherd's plays going on at once.
I sort of figured that, wheich is why I switched to the broken leg.
I'm sorry you had to go through that, Katy.
I think a weekend in Bethlehem will do the trick for me.
I feel like you do and I'm not the manufacturing and delivery plant for the milk. I just had a weekend off and felt myself almost crying when I stepped over the threshold and was instantly wearing boys - no time to even put down my stuff!
Mothering is the hardest job on the planet. I cannot even imagine adding prolactin to the mix. I swear; that hormone is why mammals have been known to kill anything that walks close to their young, and then to eat their young in the bargain.
Add troubles with getting the laundry done and plumbing in general, and yeah; I'd be thinking longingly of guns and ammo, too.
Good luck to you, BB; you've given your little one alot of yourself. Maybe it's time to Take Back Yer Boobs.
You could fake your own alien abduction. Tell people you are going to the park. Find the weedwhacker you have stashed, make a smallish crop circle, leave some item of clothing you no longer care for--maybe with a bit of a scorch mark--a puddle of green goo, and take off for a few days.
-J.
P.S. Please say "nursing" because when I see "BFing" my mind spins in unsavory directions until I realize "Oh, she means BREAST FEEDING."
I love Joke's alien abduction idea...oh, did I say I was leaving? I meant, after I checked comments...
I really should learn to check back in the comments after I leave one. Or not recount the fun of psych hospitals on the internet. Mark one more in the "proof that she's a spaz" column for me.
Hang in there. would you like a chocolate?
And Joke is right, BFing can go in all sorts of unsavory directions. But its a good mental workout to have to follow what I'm reading. =)
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