That is all that will be said about the drive. The actual stay was pretty awesome. Dork Dad is from a small town in southern NJ. His family lives on land that used to be his great grandfather’s farm. As each of his aunts and uncles decided to build houses they purchased plots from their granddad. So now there’s this cool compound effect. Compound as in Kennedy(without all the cash) not compound as in scary survivalist. There are aunts and uncles just up and down the lane. Grandmom lives next door. Across the street is an actual working farm with cows – which the Farting Farmer loooooved! He also loved having 25 people to hold court over on Thanksgiving, his early morning walks with his Grammy, the colors on all the leaves, watching mommy crunch piles of leaves underfoot, his Aunts three boxers, having a fire in the fireplace and sweet potato/carrot mash.
Someone had a fabulous week.
For my sake it was nice to have someone around who understood my love of/need for coffee and it was GREAT to be able to hand the baby over to someone at 5am. Dork Dad’s mom makes it a habit of saving my sanity on the regular. The woman is just fabulous. His entire family is pretty awesome. They get along to an extent that I don’t really understand, but I love them anyway.
The downside? My doctor has switched practices and the confusion came at the same time that my Zoloft scrip ran out, so after the first day in NJ I didn’t have any meds. I didn’t really start feeling it until the drive back. I don’t know if any of you have ever sanded furniture, but bear with me. When you begin to sand you’re scraping off the paint or varnish, whatever was protecting the wood. There is a point that you reach when the wood is raw – the layers are gone, but it is not yet sanded smooth. That is how I feel. Someone began sanding me and has stopped before I got smooth. I am hyper-sensitive and stressed. Crying at everything, not wanting to leave the house at all and generally angry. This blows. I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow, so I should be back on my meds soon and feeling better. If I needed any proof that I’m not ‘cured’ this was it. I didn’t, nut apparently I needed a life lesson in making sure I have medication stocked before a trip!
Speaking of depression – PLEASE, PLEASE do not compare my depression symptoms with your crappy day or your failure of willpower. These are the things that make me crazy(er)! I realize you had that time when you didn’t want to get out of bed. That is not the same as me wanting to cut myself off from everyone and everything – including my son- and hide from the universe until I die. The fact that I was eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s a day in some sick comfort/punishment cycle is NOT THE SAME as the fact that you can’t just eat one potato chip without finishing the bag. You sound like an insensitive jerk when you try to compare them. If you don’t want to know then just don’t ask. If you don’t know what to say then just say, “I don’t know what to say.” If you were talking to someone with cancer about their chemo treatments would you compare it to that bad perm you got that caused some hair loss? Or that time you were hungover and got so sick? No, you would not. It would be ridiculous. This is just as ridiculous and now is really not the time to be pushing my buttons, thanks.
Last thing – he STILL isn’t sleeping. There will probably be a post about this soon because it has consumed my entire life. He doesn’t regularly sleep more than 5 hours at a time and now that he’s teething that number is down to 2 or 3 on a good night. This is torture. I mean that this is literal torture for all of us. There’s a reason that sleep deprivation is listed in the Geneva Convention. This shit is rough. Your thought processes and even your bodily functions get all screwy. We’re muddling through though. One more reason being rich would rock – we could afford a night nurse!
ps – Dork Dad didn’t sleep through the night until he was 12 months old. Just so we all know who’s fault this is…