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June 13, 2006
Questioning My Sanity
Today's better. At least, a little. I haven't cried today, nor have I screamed. Much.
Unfortunately, after I posted yesterday, things went from bad to worse to oh my lord I'm going to burn this house down and skip the country-levels of intense.
For one thing, do you know what's worse than having to fling a maggotty dead bird over the fence after your kid's stood in it? Why, having one of your super-stupid idiot dogs, the one who is, honestly, too stupid to be alive, puke giant greasy black puddles of maggotty dead bird all over ones house.
Apparently, there was a second bird in my yard, of which I was unaware. But while I was making dinner, Murphy made certain I was aware of said bird, and highly aware of what the bird and its parasitic pals was doing to her digestive tract.
Then Clara Jane fell in the bathtub, bumped her head and liked to have drowned. And Chloe's eating a hole through her thigh. And the phones were ringing, and dinner was getting cold, and once Clara Jane recovered from her fall she went right into what she currently does best - screaming at the top of her lungs regarding the horrible injustices she suffers at the hands of her captors.
There was an intense battle yesterday over custody of my cell phone. She refused to let go of it, opting instead to scream as loud and long as any human being ever has. I think she was trying to call Amnesty International.
And I'm almost back to where I was a year and a half ago, before all the therapy that made it possible for me to go days without feeling like I was having a heart attack. All day yesterday, I grappled with those old feelings of panic and anxiety. In the past, when the anxiety would strike, I would focus my attention on my aging cat, terrified that she was on the verge of death, instead of dealing with the actual source of my stress. Yesterday, I caught myself doing the same thing to Chloe, my Bassett hound.
Oddly enough, I wasn't one bit at all worried about Murphy, even though it looked like she had exploded in my living room last night.
All day, I felt myself slipping. Not figuratively, either. It was literal, like I was standing at the top of a hill and watching my mind roll further and further away from me, just out of my reach when I tried to catch it.
I tried to remember what it was I learned in therapy, how to reign it in, but I've forgotten everything. I'm sure I was given a guide book on how to navigate my way out of these situations, but I can't seem to find it in the clutter of my brain.
PKB called this morning. Being a mom of two boys, ages 16 and 7, she's my parenting guru. I don't think I'd even said hello when she launched into the "It's so hard. And it's constant. And if you don't get a break from it you'll lose your mind" speech. And she's write.
She's also pulling into my driveway right now to take me shopping.
All along I've had a hard time reconciling something about motherhood: physically, it's not much work. It's a lot of play, with the person I love best. How can it be exhausting? Or hard? That's insane. This isn't work. Sitting behind a desk for 10 hours a day with an asshole boss breathing down my neck, that's work.
So why is it I'm doing something that doesn't feel like work, and yet, I can't handle it? I can't keep from losing my shit on a regular basis?
Because PKB's right. It's constant. Even when Clara Jane's napping, that doesn't mean I'm off duty. There's a slim chance I'm doing something in the housewife realm while she naps. There's a much bigger chance that I'm tentatively, yet frantically, trying to eek out a little time for myself, all while keeping my ear cocked towards her room because I'm on her schedule, not mine.
Even if Clara Jane's in a good mood, it's constant. There's always a demand, a request, a change of rules or plans.
And fuck if that won't send one's brain lolling down the hill, just out of reach.
Posted by Robin at June 13, 2006 01:44 PM
Comments
It's the hardest thing I've ever done. I've had a hell of a day too - and it's unbelievable how far they push you until you feel like every fibre in your being is screaming "let me out of here". Then they hug you. And you feel like shit.
Oh babe. I'm sorry you're slipping. I'm happy PKB is there to take you out - I wish I was closer. I'd be there too in a heartbeat.
Love you
Sal x
Posted by: Sal at June 13, 2006 02:42 PM
Poor you! You need to take time off and go get pampered a bit! I,ve recently read through your whole blog, you really made me laugh...loudly...at work!!Good writing, girl!
Posted by: nicki at June 13, 2006 02:52 PM
No shit - this sort of thing is exactly why I think motherhood, especially when kids are still little, is much, much tougher than anything I do caring for B. Dealing with a full-grown quadriplegic is a snap compared to what moms do.
I don't get a break either but then again I don't have to wrestle for the cell phone.
Sending you love. I have such faith in you.
Posted by: Dixie at June 13, 2006 03:42 PM
Gawd, Poppy! Dead bird all over the carpet? ((sends you some virtual hugs)) It will be okay.
Posted by: Cass at June 13, 2006 04:04 PM
That PKB is a beacon of light in a storm, isn't she? That's why I just love her to pieces.
Sending hugs your way.
Posted by: BarefootCajun at June 13, 2006 05:00 PM
Why don't you take a weekend and come to Nashville? We can eat good food and drink some wine and make fun of my stupid dogs who also like to kill things in the back yard!
Posted by: Julie at June 13, 2006 05:19 PM
Oh! and I forgot to say...
I think the whole motherhood gig is more taxing on a person mentally not because it is harder work, per se, but because there is no one to share responsibility with when you're one on one with your baby girl or baby boy. Having ultimate responsibility for something is very stressful; having ultimate responsibility for the well-being and social adjustment of an entire other PERSON? That's beyond stressful. That is why mothers get stressed out, I think. It's because they put so much pressure on themselves to get it perfect, just by nature of the role, and because of their love for and dedication to their babies.
Not to mention the fact that you have feelings, and when your kid is acting like a brat, it hurts your feelings, you know?
Posted by: Julie at June 13, 2006 05:40 PM
I know I'm far away, but please let me know if there's anything I can do for you. Perhaps I can doodle in some wet cement and send you photos for a giggle? Hope you had some good out time with PKB.
Posted by: Exena at June 13, 2006 07:09 PM
((hugz for my knitta)))
So, it is apparent that you need to come to the Tower Grove Farmer's Market and buy yummy veggies and bison bratwurst. I may or may not be selling oven mitts.
Will you make you happy to know that Maggie and I saw a dead bird on our walk today and I immediately thought of you? I can go take a photo of it. It was strangely flat for being in a yard.
Posted by: allison at June 13, 2006 08:31 PM
Sal, Clara Jane keeps telling me that she misses you and Oscar. Every time she sees an airplane, she tells me that she wants to see you. Many hours are spent gazing at your photos. I'm really sorry you're having a hard time, too. It's hard enough under the best of conditions, but I know you've really got to be worn out right now. I really wish we could combine our motherly resources like we did two weeks ago.
Nicki, you read the whole thing? I think you deserve a cash prize for that! Welcome!
Dixie babe, your ears were probably burning today, because PKB and I were professing our love of all things Dixie.
Cass, the one saving grace is that we don't have carpet. Murphy, stupid as she may be, had the good sense to stay on the hardwood floor as she exploded.
Barefoot, your ears were probably burning, too.
Julie, I think you've got a better handle on how motherhood works than a lot of us who are already in that boat. Once I got past the first few scary weeks, it was easy to lose sight of the huge responsibility, because it becomes normal. But it's still there, subconsciously, all the time.
I might take you up on that offer to visit. Plan on taking me to the Country Music Hall of Fame to complete my American Music Hall of Fame Trifecta (I've already been to the rock and jazz halls).
Exena, just the mere mention of wet cement makes me happy. But if you need a break, go take a new photo of it and send it to me. I think looking at your handywork every day would be good for my soul.
Allison, I think you're right. I'm going to try to come to the market this weekend. I need locally-grown strawberries.
Something else that helped: I bought yarn today. It's this in Green Tweed. I also scored a gorgeous chunk of gorgeous red and white abstract poppy-print fabric, at least 2 yards but probably closer to 3, at a neighborhood thrift store for $2.50. Perfect condition.
I've had enough curiously flat birds for one week. The one in my yard looked like it had been steamrolled.
Posted by: Robin at June 13, 2006 09:01 PM
The Hall of Fame is currently sporting a Ray Charles exhibit. Just saying.
Posted by: Julie at June 14, 2006 09:52 AM
I can totally identify with what you are feeling. It's hard to describe how much it sucks, but I hope that the shopping therapy helps. Hang in there.
Posted by: Missy at June 14, 2006 11:49 AM
