The Struggle is Real/Second Graders are Jerks…

The last few weeks have been a challenge to my sanity. Every year, we go through the same sort of cycle with the 8-year-old; beginning around spring break, her attitude and behavior go downhill and continue on that path through summer, up until school starts again. She cops an attitude if I say something as simple as, “The sky is blue.” or “Dinner will be ready in about 15 minutes.” She takes things that aren’t hers. She refuses to clean her messes or follow simple directions. (i.e. “Yes, you may play in our yard – but stay in our yard.”) She chops the hair off of her dolls. (This has, indeed, become an annual thing.) And, this year, we’ve added in a problem with hoarding garbage and stealing even more junk food than in previous years.

I’m sore. I’m tired. I pulled or strained something in my back. There’s a pinched nerve in my hip/lower back. I had a cold for 2 weeks solid and it’s still not totally gone. I’m 37 weeks pregnant and Little Man is not going to be a tiny baby… I’m dyin’ here just based on that; not even factoring in a willful toddler or this 8-year-old circus. So, when the circus gets going full blast…uhm, let me off, please.

Her dad and I decided that we would run her by the doctor’s office next week and see about having a few things checked out; he’s concerned for a family history of diabetes on both sides and the notorious Flint water. I wonder if a mild UTI isn’t causing some of her “I must go to the bathroom right! NOW! Or I’m going to act like a fool!” issues out in public. (Maybe she’s just being a jerk…that’s my gut feeling on it, TBH. But if I don’t get it checked out and it turns out to be an issue…then I’m the jerk.) But now it also seems that we need our doctor to reassure that she is NOT “too skinny.” *sigh*

To rewind and get the larger picture, there’s a girl that lives in the apartments across the street from the house we rent who as been a pain since the first week of school. Little A is, apparently, an aspiring doctor herself. -_- Big Girl has a spot of dry skin on her upper, inner thigh (part of me still wants to know how this became public knowledge because of the placement, but I’ll try to just chalk that up to our M not being the most lady like of girls and leave it at that for my sanity…). We have been to the doctor’s over it. It is not a “rash.” It is not “contagious.” But Little A, Ph.D. begs to differ and turned into a rumor and even blamed Big Girl for someone else getting a rash. Big Girl, unfortunately, feels the need to be friends with everyone though and, unfortunately, pushed the issue with Little A, in spite of me telling her not and one of the older boys from the bus even pointing out (at least once) that Little A was being unnecessarily rude.

Sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas, the girls were suddenly “friends.” *eyebrow up* I didn’t tell M not to be her friend, but I made it clear that I found this change of heart suspicious and that cheetahs don’t often change their spots… Of course, I’m mom so I know nothing and she insisted this girl was now a saint. Okie dokie!

Earlier this year, M’s dad voiced concern, not just over Little A, but also M’s other friend from further up the street who seems to have been jealous that M was now friends with Little A and was passing around a rumor that Little A was making out in the hallways with a boy. They’re all around 8-years-old, though given what I’ve seen on my trips into the school and of children just a bit older than these…I don’t know that I totally dismiss it, but it also seems plausible that this third party was being malicious too. M’s dad didn’t think it was a great idea to hang out with either of these girls and also told her do, however…he’s dad. He might know more than me, but…M is determined to be friends with everyone. *rubbing temples*

I didn’t see this going in a positive direction, though as M’s dad pointed out last night, if we tell her not to be friends with someone, it turns into just that much more juicy of a thing and she will go out of her way to cling to them. So…I let it go. Over this past weekend, she was outside playing with Little A when she broke the, “stay in our yard,” rule for the second time in a week and I was just over it. Being so close to the Canadian border we hear a lot about kidnappings (of children and adult women) for sex trafficking. I don’t want to keep her locked inside 24/7, but I do want to be able to easily locate her and if she’s running the length of the street and hiding behind tall, thick bushes at the apartment complex? I can’t do that. So, after the second time, she was called in and told to stay in.

Apparently, she took this to mean, “But open your window and yell out to your friends still!” -_- Uhm, no. When that didn’t work, she tore out the screen on her window to further hang out of her window and speak in a slightly lower tone of voice to Little A, who also came to stand in our flower bed in order to further help her break the rules. -_- (And give me shit face until I literally spelled it out for her that she needed to go home. I don’t like the kid, period. Everything else aside, she’s just got that…pinched up little face that seems to convey very clearly that she’s a mean little kid and she’s likely going to grow up to become a mean adult too.)

M is now telling her dad that the reason she has been stealing and eating every.single.danged. sweet that she can get her hands on is that Little A has launched a full-on attack claiming M is “too skinny.” Including the claim that her mom “is a doctor” to support her assertion of this. 1.) A and M are roughly the same build. WTH? 2.) The apartments across the street are income subsidized. I’m not judging, but if there’s a legit doctor living over there? I’m a nuclear physicist… 3.) Furthermore, M was just to our doctor a few months ago. There was no concern for her weight or growth otherwise.

I’m a bit over it and planning on sticking out the next three months with her basically being grounded and not allowed to go outside unless she’s with an adult. I can’t make her leave Little A and her nasty self alone, but I can limit their interactions and time spent alone for her to rag on M…while taking her to the doctor, again, to affirm that she is not “too skinny.” ^.^

Did I mention that I’m tired and in pain and completely over all of this nonsense?? Urgh.

 

Epic Fails & Roller Coaster Rides…

Shortly after my last check in, we had an ultrasound. The tech gave me a weird vibe, but didn’t say anything and we didn’t immediately get a call from the doctor, so we kinda just rolled with it. Three days later, they did call and informed me I was being sent back out to the specialist that we saw a few times last year. It would take two more days to find out why; Baby Sylis has an enlarged ventricle in his brain. It wasn’t massively so, but they wanted to be sure that it wasn’t a larger issue.

We endured more ultrasounds and awkward small talk with techs and met with the specialist. His answer was that he had no answers and what I’d already researched was true: it could end up being nothing or it could press into extreme brain damage. He was sending us an hour away to another hospital for a fetal MRI and more specialists and pulling blood work.

Last Monday we drove the hour each way to Ann Arbor to the other hospital, went through their ultrasounds, were basically given the same, “We don’t really know…it could be 50 different things and 50 different shades of serious or not…” answer, and then told that they’d failed to schedule the fetal MRI and we’d need to come back again next week for that. I’m trying not to be salty about it, but…I am a little. Our whole day revolved around that appointment and the woman that was in charge of making the appointments wasn’t the least bit sorry for the confusion.

The positive news was that they did not see any damage to his liver that would usually occur with the various infections that they would be concerned about (my blood test results still hadn’t come back yet at that point. I need to call the hospital here on Monday and try to find out about those.), nor did they see anything else wrong on ultrasound that would indicate anything else that they typically see in more serious cases. They want to continue to monitor it and we’ve opted to go back for the MRI, but so far…nothing throws flags for it being something big and ugly that will lead to brain damage.

I feel like I’ve said all of this 100 times, but it’s all been broken up into little bits and pieces here and there and I wanted to collect it all in one place for reference. And then there’s what I haven’t really covered elsewhere: I’ve felt like a damned wreck.

The whole pregnancy has been stressful. Everything from the MMR vaccine that I shouldn’t have had, to deal with my depression and anxiety, to wondering if we’re doing the right thing by even having another baby right now… On one hand, my body hates me and waiting to try when I’m older isn’t going to do us any favors. We also both very much wanted a little boy too. On the other hand, my PPD was just starting to get a little better and Baby Girl is a handful of a toddler if there ever was one…the idea of adding a totally healthy baby to the mix was a little daunting to start with. The idea of adding a special needs baby to the already demanding mix of things…broke me. Even with no solid reason to believe that there’s anything wrong at this point now…I still don’t feel like myself.

In short: not much in the way of progress has been made in my little corner of the world and I’m just barely holding it all together as much as I am. (Very little.) The house is a mess. Everything is behind. I spent more than I should have on clothes and shoes because it was just too easy to zone everything else out in favor of some online shopping. I haven’t put up any Easter decorations yet for the kids. This week was Big Girl’s spring break and we’ve done nothing (at least partly because, oh, yes, it decided to snow yesterday! Whoooo wants to go to the beach?!). My birthday is in a week and I know Hubby wants to do something for it and…aside from kinda having a craving for

My birthday is in a week and I know Hubby wants to do something for it and…aside from kinda having a craving for hibachi again…I don’t know what to tell him. I want steak and a nap. Maybe a massage. A few hours without a toddler climbing me like I’m one of those rock walls at the playground, complete with using my kidneys for foot holds. We’ve made zero plans for Easter. I have plastic eggs and I’ll get some candy or something for inside of them so that the kids can hunt them and there will be food…but…that’s kinda…it. I’m just trying to keep my head – or at least my nose…I can make do with just that…) above water until (1) Baby Boy is here and (2) things have settled into a routine after his arrival.

Working on It Wednesday: The Wardrobe.

When we found out that we were pregnant, I ordered some maternity clothes from on an online second-hand store with a killer promo code. Before that…I think I picked up some $5 t-shirts last year out of necessity. Black yoga pants on sale the year before that. (One of which just started coming apart at the seams the other week. Several more of which the dog ate; he had a fetish for them while I am pregnant – he would literally pull them out through the sides of the hamper to shred them!! O.o) If we’re being honest, I haven’t really bought clothes out of anything more than a necessity in at least 4 years.

Not that I was ever “high fashion,” but I used to at least put some effort into how I looked and presented myself. Not too long after I started feeling like my energy was dwindling and the pounds were piling on, I had a class assignment due and I had to ask my friends about aspects of myself that maybe I wasn’t aware of. A “friend” commented that I didn’t have “as much” interest in fashion as other women my age. It was an unexpected sting. It felt like what she was really saying was that I didn’t care about my appearance. Maybe it was an overly sensitive moment on my part, but this same “friend” had, at that time, begun to take small, petty, swipes at me and my boyfriend (now husband), so maybe I was just on high-alert. *shrug* (My 2-cents of free advice that I will give my daughters: it’s okay to be wary of “blunt” people that claim to be your friend but can’t be bothered to spare your feelings – ever. You can move on and don’t have to be the outlet for their “bluntness.”)

From that point on, I became sicker. The pounds crept on. My clothes fit tighter. Nothing fit “right” when I could muster the energy to try things on in the store. Frankly, after being naturally thin for most of my life, I have NO idea how to dress a larger body. I’m still struggling with that and trying to figure out if it’s the clothing manufacturers only designing for one body type or if it’s literally my body that doesn’t fit into things.  I cannot find a pair of shorts that don’t either ride up on me or fall off of my hips. Jeans do a lot of the same on me; I either end up with a muffin top or a plumber’s crack. And if I try to go with the smaller size and hope that they stretch out a little during the course of the day, they (a) never do and (b) leave me with the muffin top that all shirts seem to want to cling to. And there the “control” panels in some clothing…OMG…no. What could possibly make you feel worse than having a muffin top? Pouring yourself into those things and, usually, still having a muffin top. I’d rather have a bit of a belly than feel like I’ve been poured into a sausage casing, thanks.

But I’ve stumbled into a line of leggings and skirts that I really like – elastic waistbands! That don’t look like something gramma would wear! And I’m playing with different styles of tops…though not immediately because I’m still pregnant, but having the next two months to carefully pour over sales and Goodwill racks is a gift that I’m willing to accept…while still looking forward to a bit of a fresh start once The Belly has dissipated a bit. I’m combing through shoe sales to try to find things that will both work for my requirements (flats, comfy) and the clothes that I’ve found. It feels like slow, uphill, progress…but it feels better than where I’ve been for a bit now just the same.

The next step? Taking some time away from/limiting my social media usage and trying to see what I can get on track as far as my habits, my sleep schedule, and the house. It’s easy to get distracted and even more so when I feel so…out of it. Depressed. Whatever. The excuse for the longest time has been that it keeps me in touch with friends and family. Reality: I can post to Instagram, which will automatically post to FB and keep family in pictures of the kidlets. I can leave messenger signed in on my phone and still get direct messages from my sister, husband, and friends, when they have the time to chat, instead of spending so much time “glued” to the computer or my phone.

So, that’s what I’ve been working on and what I will be working on for the next few weeks, just in case that last mission takes me so far removed from everything that I forget to check in next week!

Transparency Tuesday

…alternate title: F*** THIS!! ALL OF THIS!!

We’re going to cover the last 24 hours in my world. Buckle up.

About this time last night, we all arrived home from picking up my dear husband from work. He’s been extra grumpy and work exacerbates that, but at the core of it is the anti-anxiety meds that he’s been taking. I really like our doctor, but she put him on these meds with instructions to up the dosage in a week if he felt like he needed to. Okay, 30-day supply at dose #1 is sent to the pharmacy. A week in, he increases the dose as she told him to…but that means that the pills ran out before 30 days. She won’t call in an increase until she seems him again – on the 2nd of March. The next earliest time that they could get him in would be the first; a whole day early! So, he’s been cold turkey off the medication for…a week or so at this point. I’m not totally sure, but I am sure that we have hit withdrawal. If you haven’t seen or experienced withdrawal from a mood stabilizer, let me tell you, it isn’t pretty. Years ago, I walked into my bedroom to find my now-ex sitting on the floor, holding his toes, crying. He’d gone off his depression meds and become convinced that he was going to lose his toes to Diabetes and that was what lead to him sitting on the floor, crying in his underwear. At 2pm this afternoon, after about 12 hours of sleep, hubby didn’t want to leave bed. He wanted to “crawl into a dark hole,” and was convinced that he wouldn’t be missed if he did so. He’d also bottomed out into the frustration that he can’t find a solution to the acid reflux and I’m always in pain with no answers either. Riiiiighty-O, so…you’re taking that “half day” (he was scheduled ten hours today and one of his managers said that he could come in four hours later than scheduled/only work 6 hours…some f***ing half day, if you ask me, but…even though Sage’s stomach has seemed to stop its rebellion…four hours less at work seemed like a good idea).

We needed some things from the store. “Do you want me to go? Do you want to go?” “We can all go? I don’t want to go alone.” Yuuuup. Pod people took my husband. 99 times out of 100, he will opt to either go alone or send me alone to the store. Alright. Off to the store we went and he seemed to come out of it a bit, in spite of the 18-month-old acting a fool. (She doesn’t want to sit in the cart. She doesn’t want to be carried. She doesn’t want to hold our hands. She wants to go blindly running across the store and in front of shopping carts being pushed by people that seem to think they’re in the Daytona 500. It probably has a lot to do with why Hubs doesn’t like going to the store with “everyone.”) The worst was falling down the rabbit hole of the car seat aisle and even that wasn’t so bad…we left without one, but I’m ordering it on Amazon in the background right now because it’s $30 cheaper that way. We picked up dinner out and came home. Spent some nice time watching TV together before he had to leave for work. Cool. One fire put out and I’m fairly certain that he’s figured out at least a short-term way to handle things. Yay.

I feel like an elephant kicked me in the lower back and I’m not one to exaggerate. Sitting hurts. Standing hurts. Walking hurts. Laying hurts. Bending makes me want to kill myself. My right ear has been flaring up pretty badly. I’ve stepped up the nasal steroids that are supposed help with it from once a day to twice a day. The trade off being that my sinuses aren’t happy; they’re dry and my snot is red. (You’re welcome.) Oh, yeah…and my ear still hurts! Not sure exactly what I traded off there…dammit. The “post” partum depression has also started to work its way back in these last two weeks or so too. So, I’m not exactly sunshine and roses right now either. I’m holding it together…for the most part…but barely right now. If I complained loudly enough, I could probably be put back on some form of mood stabilizer myself, but…I know that’s not ideal for my pregnancy at this point so, unless something gets seriously worse…I’m crying when I need to and walking away from situations when I need to and riding it out. Twelve…maybe eleven…more weeks to go and then at least Sylis will be here and at least my pain should improve a little and I can start trying to figure out what medications might be helpful from there, even if nursing turns out to not be the right choice for us this time around. But I mention all of this because…

The 18-month-old is driving me insane. She wants NOTHING to do with her toys. All she wants to do is get into stuff. If she’s got a toy, it’s because she’s using it to stand to try to reach something that she isn’t supposed to have. There aren’t enough cabinet locks and places out of her reach. I’m about to take down my desktop computer – it won’t connect to the internet right now anyway – and store it in the basement because she keeps turning it on, messing with it, and trashing my desk area at large. And that’s not even the half of it…paper, water bottles, cups, drying dishes, ANYTHING…if you forget and set it down on a counter (including the taller kitchen counter now too), table, or desk? She’s got it and she’s destroying it, dumping it, whatever. If you try to take something away from her, she runs. Did I mention that moving, period, hurts? Chasing down a toddler, bending over to pry whatever thing she’s stolen out of her hands, and then listening to her scream and cry about it is making me crazy.

If that weren’t enough, she likes to climb up into my husband’s desk chair with me. She especially loves to dig her feet into my lower back behind and grab fistfuls of my breasts to use as hand holds. Telling her, “No!”, putting her down, and showing her her toys are all met with her repeatedly returning and doing the exact same thing at least a dozen times in a row before she MIGHT wander off and find something else that isn’t her toys to get into.

Changing her has also turned into a new fresh hell. We want to get her in the habit of sleeping in her own bed/room before we start potty training, but still hoping that we can start potty training at least a few weeks before the baby is born. Anyway, the thing right now is to kick, scream, arch her back, and basically try to crawl away while being changed. Again…my whole body hurts. My stomach is huge. Shy of literally sitting on her…I’m not sure WTF to do with this. (And, of course, as I type my bitch fest here, she’s being adorable playing with two Little People princesses in a little taxi… We’ll see how long that lasts…)

fuckthisNot to be left out, let’s discuss the 8-year-old… Also known today as “the straw that made the camel light the f***ing barn on fire.” (Sorry…is that not the way that saying goes…?)

My husband snapped at her this afternoon because she literally walked in the door and flung all of her things around the living room like a tornado before prancing off to help herself to a snack. I almost felt bad; he’s been so short tempered because of everything else… But at the same time…I fight this fight with her each and every day. She treats her things terribly; she’s gone through two backpacks already this year and is now on my old (but still like new after 4 years in college because I take care of my things…) one. I douse her shoes in Fabreeze every time I can find them; they’re supposed to be put up on the shelf in the mud room, but usually, if they even make it to the mud room in the first place, she’s tossed them willy nilly out there and often next to the cat boxes…WTF?! Her coats are always on the floor. Sweaters, socks…everywhere. She’s a pig. She has not been raised that way, but she…is a pig. She’ll literally fight me on cleaning her room because she “likes it this way!” with trash and papers everywhere. For that reason, I tend to try to avoid her room. She’s supposed to pick it up every weekend but…half the time (or more)…it’s not worth the blood pressure spike to double check it behind her.

Earlier today, she asked about watching a movie. Okay, whatever. I’d basically cashed out on this day anyway. Your homework is done and your room is clean enough? Go for it. Tonight I walk out into the kitchen and there are DVDs and DVD cases all over the kitchen counter, which, frankly, needs NO help being cluttered and this isn’t the first time; last night was the same thing, but I just picked it up and hoped it was a one-off. Nooooope. So, there’s no more TV for a while…I go off to try to find the remotes. One of the two is put up where it should be, but the little plastic clip that holds the battery cover on the Roku remote is busted and we haven’t even had it for a whole three months… Promising. Where’s the other? I reach into the couch cushions and come up with…a dirty sock. I move the cushion all together and I find the remote…as well as the scene pictured above. That’s socks, crackers, cracker wrappers, and batteries…which aren’t from either of the remotes…just, you know, floating around where the toddler could get them and put them in her mouth…choke…swallow one…whatever.

She’s not watching TV for a LONG time. She’s coming home tomorrow, doing her homework, cleaning ALL of the living room, and then writing me a letter of apology AND explanation for this s***. And then she’s not to be in the living room until further notice. This is so far from the first time she’s pulled this that it isn’t even funny. She’s done the same s*** for the last 3+ years. When she was 5? Whatever, maybe it was normal 5-year-old BS. But she’s still doing it, 3+ years later. If anything, she gets worse. I just threw out a tub of frosting the other day – AGAIN – because I took the lid off of it and there were clearly finger-swipe marks through it. Ya know…I wouldn’t even care – and I’ve said this TO HER MULTIPLE TIMES BEFORE – I wouldn’t even so much care if she did it with a butter knife or spoon. But your f***ing fingers?! In the middle of cold and flu season?! I saw the cracker box for the crackers that are down in the couch in the trash yesterday and I knew she had to have pretty much eaten the entire box in one sitting. I wasn’t running out to buy a replacement, but I didn’t say anything about it to her or when she didn’t want to eat her dinner that night. If she’d have thrown the wrappers and cast off crackers away, I wouldn’t have cared. I’m only LIVID now because THEY’RE IN MY F***ING COUCH!!

Moreover, the MINUTE that she sees a bug from it, she’ll lose her damned mind, expect me to drop whatever I’m doing and kill it for her, AND tell anyone who will listen that our house is crawling with them! No. Just…no. F*** that. F*** her attitude and stunts she keeps pulling. I’m f***ing DONE. The Rubicon has been crossed with me when it comes to her. I hope things work out come August and that my ex is happy to keep her on…otherwise…it is, no joke, time to discuss boarding school. I cannot do this with her, day after day, for years on end with her anymore. I just can’t.

So, when nobody hears from me for a week or more? I’ve probably checked myself into Casa de Psychward because I needed a f***ing break. Which I told my husband I needed last Thursday. He followed up with me on Friday, letting me know that he was scheduled for two 10-hour shifts and a 12-hour shift this week on top of working through this weekend. I know he doesn’t write the schedule, but just the same…f***ing thanks, honey!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! *flips a table and walks out of the room*

Baby/Health Update

sylis Last week, we went in on Valentine’s Day morning to do the 3-hour blood glucose test and then went back this past Monday to do an ultrasound to check fluid levels and baby size. All of it came back within normal ranges, save my iron levels; which were at a “10.9” and they want it to be 11+. So, I started on another supplement and that’s that.

It’s good news but…frustrating. With my last pregnancy, beginning around 5 or 6 months, I started having extreme dizzy spells. They would hit me out of nowhere, last for 20 minutes to an hour or a bit more, and then vanish as quickly as they came on and with seemingly no cause. This pregnancy is repeating that pattern again and they can’t tell me why. “Well, it’s really hard to know what that might be…” and the OB moved on.

I want to throw something. That doesn’t help me get through the next three months. That doesn’t help me when I can’t really drive anywhere or, if I have to, I’m afraid to get out of the car and walk around – last time, I nearly ended up stranded several times. I’d have the car and my husband would be at home, I would get dizzy and have to sit down (at least once in the middle of a grocery aisle in Target), and it would be a while before I could get up again and successfully make it to the car…then a bit longer before I felt okay enough sitting there to leave. It happens regularly enough that it’s a legit fear.

I’m also left to wonder, if we knew what was causing this, would it help diagnose what’s going on with my body in the bigger picture? Maybe it’s not related at all, but it still feels…sucky that nobody really seems to care enough to even consider the possibility of looking into it further. *sigh* I should probably just be happy that our little boy is healthy and thriving…and I am. (He’s on the track to be roughly the same size that Baby Girl was at birth; 8 pounds, 10 ounces. He also moved into the head-down position that he needs to be in during these last few months. Yay!) I just…wish I had some better answers from my doctors.

Working on it Wednesday…

I’ve been spending some of my focus lately on self-care. I bought the Olay Pro-X brush and really like it so far. I’ve been using it at night, along with a new overnight moisturizer (that smells like wine…mmm…) before bed. I’ve been trying not to miss taking my vitamins or brushing my teeth before bed; one of the bad habits I’ve developed in the last year or two. I just get so tired at the end of the day that it’s too tempting to just crawl into bed and call it a night. But if I’m already at the sink to wash my face…I may as well brush my teeth while I’m there! And Baby Girl has taken an interest in brushing hers too!

I’ve been trying to take bubble baths and keep my nails painted and fall back into the routine of applying lotion too.

The hope has been that maybe it would help me to shake some of the “funk” that has been hanging around this past month or so. So far? It hasn’t. I’m going to stick with it and add to it slowly but surely. I think my next step is going to be to figure out how to reinstate some of my makeup routine. I miss it, but it’s too hard to do in the office, where I have my makeup stored and a vanity set up, because…toddler. She can be totally engrossed in playing with something else, but let me sit down and try to put on makeup and she’s climbing all. over. me. -_- I’m thinking about putting together the basics and putting them into a tray or something that I can take to the bathroom with me and stand at the counter while doing my makeup. Of course, that doesn’t help much if I’m feeling like death, but…maybe…at that point…I just call it a day and forego the makeup anyhow? We’ll see how it goes…but I am working on it! 😉

Cluster F*** Friday!

labels

I’m not quite sure how else to sum up the last two weeks and a few days, so…there’s that.

I did finish one project: labeling the bins in Sage’s room with photos so that maaaaybe she can start helping to pick up her things. I didn’t imagine that it would take so long, but taking photos, having them printed (I used WalMart so uploading them was another step), laminating them so that they wouldn’t be ripped off and thrown on the floor in 2 seconds flat, finding the hole punch, getting out the zip ties, breaking a pair of scissors…it was a process! (There’s a fourth bin off to the left too with misc. toys.)

Aside from that…the last few weeks have just been a bunch of pushing through. My body hurts and I feel drained of all energy. A YouTuber [link] that I follow recently shared her story of her struggle with EDS and the depression that came with it, along with a beautiful analogy about “building a ladder.” It’s really good in a lot of respects and how I used to do a lot of things. But over the years it’s gotten harder and harder to get out and do the things I want to in the first place and then recovery takes two or three times as long as it used to.  I’m hoping that a lot of this is just worse because of pregnancy and winter hitting me for a “double-whammy,” right now, but I won’t really know that until into the summer, which seems such a long, long time away right now. I’m trying not to get sucked down, but I feel the quicksand at my ankles.

Today has been a long day of running hubby to work and my oldest daughter to her doctor’s appointment for an overdramatized rash (it’s Eczema; run of the mill dry skin…and there’s no way that her classmate “caught it from her” as she claimed. *eye roll*), subsequent tantrum in the drug store, and just feeling extra icky all after with a toddler that’s trying to cut in her last four teeth/incisors. 😦 And now it’s time to make dinner… Frozen pizzas? Yes, please.