A sad, I haz it

So, I know that parenting at any stage isn’t easy. I know that being an adult isn’t easy. I know that keeping yourself together when things are uncertain (again) and rough (again) isn’t easy. I know that losing someone or something isn’t easy. Put those all together at the same time and I have every reason and every right to be down in the dumps.

At some point, though, shouldn’t the sadness lessen? Shouldn’t there be moments of happiness here and there, when I forget to be sad? Or is there just too much stress for me to bounce back? Or, and this is even worse, am I the sort of person who won’t let herself bounce back?

The Podling is having…issues with his potty training. He is fine for a week or two, and then quite suddenly he can’t be arsed to get up and use the toilet, and I’m washing all his underpants and trousers twice a week so he isn’t naked. Then, just as suddenly, he’s totally fine again. He’s bored, too. I need to get us out of the house more often, but I don’t know where to find the energy to do so.

The Peanut is…I don’t know. I had such trouble breastfeeding the Podling, every little change and wee growth spurt sets me into a spiral of inadequacy as a mother and milk-producer. It really did a number on me. She sleeps. She sleeps SO MUCH. She sleeps so much, in fact, that I worry she’s starving to death and choosing to sleep rather than tell me she’s hungry. Is that crazy or what? Pinch her chubby little thunder thighs and it’s obvious she’s not starving to death, but when I’m in the throes of Utter Certainty Of Bad Mommyhood, there could be a capacity window on her arm and I still wouldn’t believe it was full.

Add in the loss of our beloved/annoying/troublesome cat Fezzik very unexpectedly (and very expensively), and there’s another whole well of guilt and sadness and crazy to add to the pile.

Add a heaping cup of worry that Nyte’s workplace is on the brink of disaster (and a CEO with a never-say-die attitude, who doesn’t really understand the technology he peddles) and a newly-empty savings account because of the cat, in addition to medical bills and existing (increasing) expenses, and give it a good stir with the crazy spoon.

Voila, you have Anxiety Soup. I’m eating a hearty helping of it every day, but for some strange reason I’m not feeling very well. Funny that.

Even when there are potentially good things on the horizon, I can’t stop focusing on the unpleasant details. Moving. Potentially cross-country. Moving. A new city, or an old city? Moving. UGH. Do I need a vacation, or just a good old-fashioned attitude adjustment? (One of the little voices in my head suggests the latter, but I suspect it is related to the Some People Have No Feet voice, and it is not to be trusted. You know the Some People Have No Feet voice? How you should just suck it up and stop being such a Debbie Downer because you don’t have it that badly; there are people in the world that have no feet, yo. That one.) Maybe a combination of both.

Maybe I need to see the doc and get him to give me those magical pills that solve all problems and turn me into Donna Reed. I could go for some of those. The side effects might be knife collecting and spontaneous fits of maniacal laughter, but who couldn’t use a few nice Globals and cheering up? Plus, the woman could dress. Think I could get Nyte to buy me a set of pearls?

At any rate, even though I ought to be pouring my little heart out in writing, instead I’ve clammed up and can’t get any of it out. I think I’m afraid if I start, I won’t be able to stop, and suddenly what little shred of privacy I’m trying to hold onto will be utterly gone. Utterly. I like that word, utterly. It’s so dramatic, so dire. Also, thrice.

Blah. Even my knitting is suffering. I started three projects today after trying to work on a WIP, and tore all of them out after a few rows, growling as I did so.

Also, I went to the grocery store for milk, primarily, got a bunch of other staples, and came back without milk. Oy. No nice neat wrap-up for this post, just a lot more whining. I’ll stop while I’m ahead.

Hope your St. Patrick’s Day was fine and full of the things that make you happy. Now get into the St. Patrick’s spirit and go chase off some snakes! (I’m going to chase off this bottle of Smithwick’s.)

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About crankyfacedknitter

We are a motley collection of cats, cranks, nerds, geeks, hobbyists, humorists, writers, caffeine addicts and one knitter. We have many offspring, but admittedly, most of them are imaginary.
This entry was posted in Navel gazing, Time To Be Me, Whinging. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to A sad, I haz it

  1. katkoe says:

    ugh. that’s a lot to be in charge of right now. *hugs*

  2. Red says:

    Linked over from your comment at Crazy Aunt Purl’s. Mainly because of your blog’s name.

    Each thing you’ve written sounds like a legit reason to be stressed and sad. So acknowledge that and ignore the Some People Have No Feet voice, because having no shoes is still pretty bad in it’s own right.

    In times like this, I find that stripy garter knitting is the answer. Plus I just bought the Mason-Dixon mitered crosses pattern, which is just about as good. Because you can abandon, I mean finish, a squares project at any time and call it a baby blanket.

    Good luck.

    • Thanks. When that voice is in your head, it’s hard to remember that just because someone else is in more pain, doesn’t automatically mean my own pain doesn’t exist. It DOES mean that I can’t wallow in self-pity though. Which is a shame. I love a good wallow. Especially with cookies. Venting does help, I’ve found.

      That mitered crosses pattern looks SO. COOL. It may be time for me to give mitered squares another try. Last time it kicked my butt so severely, I still have a limp. Somehow I couldn’t get a straight line of decreases…and I couldn’t figure out WHY.

  3. Red says:

    I mean “its own right” not “it’s.” That one gets me every time.

    • I blame my seventh-grade grammar teacher for everything in that vein. She had the answer book, and she still taught us half of the rules backward. That totally absolves me of any further responsibility to educate and/or remember anything correctly, right?

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