My friend and I went for a hike today, which was great cuz I needed my ass kicked. I am so out of shape. Anyways, we talked a lot about being a mom and how insane it is. These guilty feelings we get over different things. Got me thinkin’…
One of the things we talked about is how raising babies is so boring but soooo exhausting and involved. It makes no sense, but it makes perfect sense. So I end up taking breaks to gap out on my phone instead, or I don’t and end up going bonkers anyways. I used to go through the alphabet with them, and count to ten in different languages. What happened to that? I so wanted to play with them when they were tiny and mostly immobile, I wanted to talk to them and teach them sign language. Now they’re old enough and I just don’t do it. I always feel like I should be doing so much better. My family tells me I’m a good mom. The fact that I have incredible kids tells me that I am a good mom. But I still don’t buy it. I still feel like a bad mom.
So if I know I’m a good mom through science, why should I trust my crazy brain? Well… It’s hard not to trust your brain. But also, I’m always concentrating on the things I should be doing and am not accomplishing. I’m not paying attention to the fact that I’m doing some pretty good things. As I type this, I also worry that if I focus too hard on what I’m doing I won’t be at all focused on the things I should be doing. I need to find that balance.
On another note, quitting the antidepressants has not been going well. I maybe could have chosen a better time than teething time, but it wasn’t really working the same as when I was pumping. I wasn’t feeling like myself. So between the multiple migraines and body pain, I’ve been a wreck. Which is super fun. The kids have been teething really bad and now they’re having a delayed reaction to their chicken pox vaccine. They said it would probably happen, and it’s right on time. Birdy is having a rough few days. So that means the whole house has been having a rough few days.
I really want to get a job too. I miss working at something. I miss contributing to the bills and financial state of things. I’m also not ready for the kids to go to daycare, and technically we can survive on Dave’s job and my maternity leave. But I don’t want to survive. I want a damn house. I want my own space so friggin’ bad I can taste it. I want Dave to have space for his tools and his hobbies. I want us to have a band room. I want the kids to have rooms…. Soon. But I feel guilty that I can’t get a job, or get my shit together enough to make more of an effort to find one. I feel guilty that I can’t let go and send them to daycare. I feel guilty that the better part of the financial burden is on him. And he’s such a great, responsible man.. He does so much, and does it so happily. I’m so incredibly lucky. I’m pretty messed up through all of this but if I didn’t have Dave, I have no idea where I would be. He’s so helpful. Ohmigahd.
So.. Guilt can really eat at us. And add that to a general level of shitty mental health in the masses, plus a stupid fucking pandemic that’s kicking everyone’s asses.
This is a message from next day Courtenay: I fell asleep while writing this. So in the grand tradition of not reading or editing myself, I’m just gonna post it. But apologies if it makes no sense. This blog is mostly for me to bitch and commiserate with my fellow MadMoms.