I hate having to explain myself. Mostly because I suck at explaining most things. Not depression though. Odd.
Most mornings, I wake up at the bottom of a dark hole. I can’t see the sun, and I just want to lie there. R stirs, wails, and I will myself out of bed. The rest of the day is me trying to claw my way out of this hole, all I want is to see the sun. Most days, I get there. I exercise, and I feel better. I lay on the floor with R and play and laugh, I see the light come over the edge of the hole. Most days, I go to bed, exhausted, but out of the hole, soaking up the sun. Most days.
Then, there are the days nothing I do gets me even close to the light. The days I put R in his jumper more often, or nap when he naps. The days I don’t comb my hair, or I stay in pajamas til 4pm. Then I realize it’s time to cook dinner, and that is the only thing that makes me start to climb the sides of the hole I’m in. Cooking is my happy place. I put R in his high chair, put some toys on the tray for him to play with, and wheel him into the kitchen with me. I play the Pandora station he likes, and talk to him about what I’m doing. He smiles his lovely gummy smile at me, and all is good.
All is peaceful.
I have so much anxiety lately. Am I doing enough to stimulate R during the day, should he have a sippy cup, why isn’t he crawling, am I doing everything wrong? There’s just too much, and I have no idea how to do it all.
I wish I were naturally maternal. I never planned on having a child. I still struggle with it. I try so hard with R. I know women who have 4, 5, 6, kids, and would have 20 if they could. I feel guilty sometimes for only having one. R is it for me, I have no desire to give him a sibling. People already ask me when I’m having another, or they just assume I’m planning on more. Nosy. With as stressed as I get some days, 1 is plenty.
I wish I could be one of those people who believed in God, or religion. It must be comforting. I would love to be able to, but my over-thinking and cynicism prevents that. Which is fine. Most days.
I haven’t written in a while. I started a cooking blog, that I haven’t really been writing in either. I’ve been busy.
R has a tooth poking through. Finally. He likes to yank it. His new favorite things are bouncing in his jumper and refusing to sleep on his back. He’s also on solids now. He loves bananas, hates oatmeal. He’s indifferent about carrots, pears, zucchini, and green beans. I think he just gets mad that I’m changing things up on him.
I’ve been exercising consistently for about a month. I haven’t seen a ton of results yet, but I’m getting there. Most days, I feel good. I still have those down days, and I have to pull myself out of it. They are few and far between, most of the time. That’s a blessing. Exercise definitely helps even me out. I feel so good when I exercise, which is probably why I’ve been sticking with it.
The new year is going pretty good so far.