or a dumb bathrobe that follows me down the street. My life bears no resemblance to the commercials you see on TV.
I wake up angry, in pain and crying. I am not angry about a specific thing. Stop trying to make this make sense. Stop trying to understand and just listen.
The anger is a physical thing. It burns along my limbs and in my gut. It makes me not want to touch anyone or anything. It hurts.
The pain is flu-like. Every muscle, every joint and even my bones ache. I am exhausted. My head throbs and my eyes itch.
My nerves are stretched thin as spun sugar and all that I want to do is crawl into a cave and be alone. I would trade a million dollars for a blanket and a pint of Ben &Jerry’s. I want to eat until I can’t feel anything anymore and then sleep. Not sleep until. Just sleep.
I am a horrible person and I am the most persecuted person alive. Everything is my fault and no one ever does anything but me.
I do not create mountains out of mole hills – I have somehow shrunk overnight so that the mole hills are mountains and the mountains are celestial boundaries.
When there are days like this I clean. A lot. Having things out of place is irritating to the point of pain. Of course moving and cleaning hurt too, but oh well. I make sure that I go to the gym or to my exercise class. Class is better – it’s a Barre class and demands a lot of focus. It’s supposed to hurt, so it’s one place where the ache and the pain make sense.
I can’t rest, because if I lay down I will not get back up and there is a baby boy who needs me. I don’t want him to need me. I want to lay down and not have to ever get up again. I want to give in and give up. I want soft and warm and dark and quiet.
I want to cry without feeling ashamed and I want to not have to explain.
I filed the taxes for two of my clients and I checked on one of the houses. I cleaned out my car so that I can pick up people from the airport tomorrow. While the Tiny Tyrant naps I will prep dinner and take a shower. Once he’s awake I will put on the mask and be happy mommy until Dork Dad comes home.
At some point this day will be over and I will get to sleep. Please, God, just let me sleep.
5 Motherhood Myths That May Be Ruining Your Life
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