Restless & Waiting


I'll admit that doctors and other medical professionals are pretty busy people, but I hate waiting for test results. Test results that probably won't even tell them anything. It's probably nothing, but I'm still agitated.

The weather doesn't help things. I need to see the sun every so often. I've always thought that I would like to live in England, but isn't it dreary most of the time over there? Of course, it would be England and not Iowa, so I'd probably feel differently. Actually, that probably wouldn't last, but I'll never get to find out. I have to be realistic in my expectations. England is simply out of reach for me. At least I have BBCA to keep me warm at night.

The kids had an interesting conversation the other morning. Perrin woke me up to say, "Mommy, you's not wearing your booby trap". (By this he meant my bra, which I then realized he had in his hand. I was NOT going to explain to him why I don't sleep in it.)

Abby: "That's not a booby trap."

Perrin: "What is it?"

Abby: "It's to cover mommy's boobies."

Perrin: "No! It's a booby trap!"

I've come to the conclusion that I need more privacy. I don't let them see me naked and I try not to change my clothes in front of them. I think maybe I waited too long to start this. I just didn't realize how big they've gotten. It sneaks up on me. One day they're learning how to walk and the next they're trying on ALL of your clothes. I want them to have SOME modesty, but if they're anything like their father that's going to be a challenge. It's great to be comfortable with your body, but there still need to be limits. (I love you and your quirks, dear)

If anyone happens to see the sun, send it this way, will you? I'm tired of the squishy lawn.

Testing


I went to the doctor yesterday. She doubled my Lexapro, had blood drawn, and scheduled me for an ultrasound on my thyroid. I think that if there IS anything wrong with my thyroid, that it's just coincidence. I mean, surely, with all of the blood I had drawn and tested throughout both pregnancies SOMEONE would have caught that. (By the way, baby ultrasounds are much more fun.) Whatever the case, I won't get the results for two days. That's right. Leave a pessimist alone with a vague suggestion and the internet for two days. Thanks alot.

Okay. So I'm obviously imbalanced. I made a call to the doctors' office today and I'm going in tomorrow morning to have my head checked. I want to be optimistic, but it's not in my nature. They'll give me more tests to take and I'll fill them out. They'll score them and not actual give me a diagnosis. That's not to say they won't write one in their little file, but they won't tell me.

Then, they'll either up the dosage of the meds I'm already on, add something to them, or put me on something new altogether. When they started me on the Lexapro, they informed me of something I hadn't known. Apparently, changing anti-depressants once increases your chances of having to be on them again. Changing them MORE than once pretty much guarantees that you'll be on them for even longer. I'm on my fourth different anti-depressant. So, yeah, I'll be on them forever.

Anyway... I have realized that my rocker is off kilter and I'm doing something about it before I rock right off the porch. More drugs. Maybe they'll even recommend a therapist this time. I'm going to come back and read this later (Hi, Self!) and probably delete it. Although, perhaps I'll leave it for posterity.

Confessions of a Desperate Housewife


Maybe "desperate" isn't exactly the right word. Maybe "depressed" would be more appropriate. Just doesn't have the same ring to it, you know? I'm pretty sure I wrote previously that I wasn't going to talk about my mental issues anymore. Well, I've failed at everything else so I might as well fail at that, too.

I've never been a real bucket of joy to begin with. I've never been deeply analyzed by a professional so I'm not sure if it's nature or nurture that made me this way. Either way, I'm sure it's my fault. That's not to say I haven't been in therapy, because I have. Several times. They let me talk and talk, but they never really give me any insight. Let's face it. I'm not doing all that well on my own, here.

I'm lousy at keeping the house clean. It doesn't matter if we live in 700 square feet or 7000 square feet. I would still not be able to keep it tidy. I'm a hoarder. I'm one of those people that could easily be on one of those HGTV shows where they intervene because some poor husband calls in and says his wife is useless when it comes to keeping the house tidy. The ironic thing is, I LIKE organizing things. I LIKE it when things are in order. I'll be damned if I can keep it that way, though. I pile things all over the place. I keep things that I don't really need to keep just in case I might need them "someday".

I'm horrible at putting variety into the family feeding schedule. I'm not even good at including vegetables a lot of the time. I'm not very patient in the kitchen and touching raw meat practically makes me sick. In spite of the fact that they like it, I think my kids eat entirely too much peanut butter. At least I make them eat "real" food while I manage to exist on junk food and strawberry soda. Of course, strawberry soda IS junk food...

I've slacked off in my parenting duties. My kids are intelligent. Abby could easily be reading by now, but I've not been working with her like I should. We used to do all sorts of fun and educational things, but since Perrin was born (and this is in NO WAY his fault), I haven't done as much with her. I still read to them and let them color and occasionally, we go someplace fun, but I'm not challenging her mind like I used to. Or Perrin's for that matter. I'm probably ruining them for life already. It seems like I spend every waking moment with them, but it's not enough. Then, I feel like I NEED to get away from them for awhile, but when I do, I feel guilty that I'm not with them.

I spend money. I can't seem to STOP spending money.

I'm not even going to BEGIN to get into my failures as a wife.

I have a great husband, great kids, a great house, a great car, great pets, great family. WTH do I have to complain about. And yet, I do. I feel tired and crabby and lonely and depressed. And I hate myself for it.

I suppose all this should make it clear to me why I can't keep friends. On the rare occasion that I do connect with someone, it never lasts long. Eventually they stop calling or ignore my emails (Sarah, you still email me almost daily even in the "dark place"). Heath and I had friends who were a couple. They came to our wedding and then wouldn't return our calls. I still don't understand that. An explanation would have been nice. Even a "Hey. We just don't really like you guys after all." would have sufficed.

Maybe friends are overrated. I mean, I already have enough people telling me what a pathetic job I'm doing at everything. Between them and my own inner voice, I'm doing pretty well with it all. I know I'm going to come back and read this later and feel like an idiot. At least I'm familiar with that. Those of you who are NOT challenged by emotional unrest will likely read this and decide to avoid me from now on. I'm used to that, too. I can't say as I don't understand why.