Last week was a whole bunch of stupid weepy bad.
I caution myself to even mention it, feeling like it’s almost something better left in the past and not dug up to remember forever.
Last week brutally reminded me that I am a broken person. My tears flowed freely, and flowed often. I constantly needed help and comfort, regardless of whether I was willing to accept it or not. Gah, the postpartum process is hard.
Nothing and everything in particular happened last week. Michael had some work travel that took him out of state, and then found himself sick in bed for the remainder of the week. Sick husbands are SO MUCH WORSE than having sick kids. Not that he’s whiny or needs his vomit pail held; but he’s my helper, and my helper needed help. And then my feelings got hurt by something someone said to me, which sent me into a ridiculous and unwarranted tailspin to disaster. And I’ve been having breastfeeding issues, and not getting enough sleep, and I never leave the house or feel like a true human anymore, and NOTHING IN MY CLOSET FITS AND I HATE EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE blah blah blahing….
The “woe is me’s ” were thick last week.
And then in the midst of my irrational out of control spiral into “woe is me-ism”, I decided I was 1000 different shades of a bad mom. That I was a lost cause that would never change and always be miserably sad. I was destine to be this depressed person that would result in her children eventually turning into adults who hated their geriatric mother. You know, the old person nobody wanted to take care of.
I know, I’m crazy.
In hindsight, I now realize it was a bit of over reacting on my part. But when I was in it, I was IN IT DEEP. It was real, and I was desperate. I was incredibly sad.
Fortunately, I’m on the flip side, of last week (I think).
Today I took Nola and Gage to Sesame Street Live, and I kid you not, I cried happy tears during the opening number. You know, the Sesame Street theme song? As they played the song, the characters would popped out one at a time. Gage would scream with excitement as he recognized each and every furry monster. Seeing my kid with crazy joy on his face, reminded me thing would be ok, and that all is not lost. I mean, if he thinks make believe monsters are cool, clearly there is hope for me.
Ugh. Have I told you how glad I am that last week is over? Last week sucked, and it’s Ok to admit that.