There are multiple clocks ticking away in my life at the moment. I seem to be living always ‘until’ or waiting to start something.
We’re waiting for Little Miss Peanut’s arrival. I’m waiting to see how my mind reacts to that. Waiting to see if I can breathed this time. Waiting to see if I lose myself this time. Waiting to see her face.
My business kind of blew apart last month. Everything will be resolved by July 3, so once again I’m waiting. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, Waiting for the email, call, knock at the door. Waiting for this weight to lift so that I can breathe again.
I am trying to stay calm. I’m trying not to worry too much or to over prepare and make endless lists. I’m trying to focus on right now, today. What needs to get done this minute and the next minute and the next.
The anxiety creeps in. The worry and fear. They sensitize me until my skin feels electric and I cannot bear to be touched and everything, EVERYTHING, is personal and painful. The house isn’t clean because I suck at this and we’ll never be able to handle a second child. The laundry isn’t done because the fatigue makes it hard for me to move. Small interruptions make me angry and major deviations from plan throw me into a panic.
If we were together in person you would never know any of this. I look like a woman who is a little tired because she’s pregnant and has been sick a lot lately. But every breath I take and every thing I do gets harder each day.
I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon (in two hours and thirty minutes… 29 minutes…) and I’ll be asking her for a Zoloft Rx. It’s time to stop thinking that I can do this all on my own. It’s time to take some of the advice that I give to so many other mothers. It’s time to ask for help.
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