I was going through a rough patch earlier this week (snapshot here). Nothing in particular was going horribly wrong, but I was cranky and moody and the kids were driving me insane.
It hit a low point yesterday when I set up the pool for the two boys, who played in it a total of 2.4 minutes before wanting to ride their bikes (WHY?). I sat in the shade in my semi-broken lawn chair in the melt-your-face-off heat. I snapped at the kids over and over and tried to cool down the irritable and equally hot baby. I probably should have just gone inside, but it took so long to set up the pool and the kids were so excited to play outside that I decided against it.
If you couldn’t tell, I don’t handle heat well. “I can’t do this anymore,” I repeated to myself, referring to nothing and everything. “I just can’t. I quit!”
|Gaaaaah!!!!! Someone hook me up with a squirt gun.|
This is similar to the way I always felt in labor. You can’t quit. You just have to push through.
I was leaking my unshakable bad mood on the Internet. This is a bad idea, unless you want people who care about you to call you.
My friend Stephanie called me. A little about her: she is the Tina Fey to my Amy Poehler, the peanut butter to my jelly time. She just moved away to Washington State a few weeks ago and I’m seriously depressed about it. So she asked me what was wrong, and I cried and said I don’t know, except that I wanted to run away because being a mom is too hard, and she cried because moving is hard and change is hard…and doesn’t it just feel good to cry together? Then we joked about how people in the Northwest are adrenaline junkies/hipsters and people in the Midwest are boring and lazy because it’s so stinking hot.
It was such a refreshing conversation. I finally got out of my slump. Thanks, Steph.
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