It's Monday morning, the sun is shining, I am going to visit a good friend this weekend, and life should be good, right? It is, and while I remind myself to count my blessings, I am grumpy & irritable.
I want my old life back. My simple, ignorant life where lack of sleep was my biggest problem.
I don't want to deal with waiting for ultrasound results to see if my baby has a tumor.
I don't want to throw up in my mouth after I read the package of molasses cookies we had been giving the baby all weekend and discover it was manufactured with tree nuts.
I don't want to give my happy, giggly little girl extra kisses when she goes down for a nap and then swallow the lump in my throat because the neurotic side of me thinks that she might go to sleep, have her liver fail and never wake up.
I don't want to shudder then tell myself to shut up every time she points to her right side and says "hurts".
I don't want to not discipline her properly because I am worried she is sick.
I don't want to hold her down, listen to her sob and yell "mommy" while someone sticks needles into her anymore.
And days like this, when I am really, really just done with it all, I tell myself, I am not going to do it anymore. They can't make me right? She looks healthy. She acts healthy, why am I listening to the same damn people who told me there was probably something wrong the whole flipping time I was pregnant, when they were wrong that time and are probably wrong again? How can she have liver disease when she seems FINE?
It's not fair. I did everything I was supposed to. I didn't smoke, I didn't drink, I didn't do drugs. I switched to decaf (well mostly. I tried, I swear, I really tried). I went to all the stupid Doctor's appointments, even though I didn't want to. I mean really, who has the time and energy to sit in the hospital 3x a week for 12 weeks? But I did it, and now it doesn't count or matter. Why is there something wrong with my baby?
So I get mad, I tell myself that I am not going to deal with it anymore. No more stress, no more worrying about sickness, Dr visits, and how on earth we are going to pay for all of it. They say ignorance is bliss for a reason right? I picture scooping up my girls and my DH and moving somewhere far, far away. Rural and where they make their own medicines and treatments. Last night while I was taking the puppy out to eat and go potty, I closed my eyes and fantasized about living somewhere in the country. We could have our own garden, the girls could have any animal they wanted. Life would be so much better! I was snapped back to reality when I heard scratching and clawing on the fence, and looked up to see a big raccoon hissing at the puppy. I nearly crapped myself. Ugh, so maybe somewhere not so rural would be a better idea?
I want my old life back. My simple, ignorant life where lack of sleep was my biggest problem.
I don't want to deal with waiting for ultrasound results to see if my baby has a tumor.
I don't want to throw up in my mouth after I read the package of molasses cookies we had been giving the baby all weekend and discover it was manufactured with tree nuts.
I don't want to give my happy, giggly little girl extra kisses when she goes down for a nap and then swallow the lump in my throat because the neurotic side of me thinks that she might go to sleep, have her liver fail and never wake up.
I don't want to shudder then tell myself to shut up every time she points to her right side and says "hurts".
I don't want to not discipline her properly because I am worried she is sick.
I don't want to hold her down, listen to her sob and yell "mommy" while someone sticks needles into her anymore.
And days like this, when I am really, really just done with it all, I tell myself, I am not going to do it anymore. They can't make me right? She looks healthy. She acts healthy, why am I listening to the same damn people who told me there was probably something wrong the whole flipping time I was pregnant, when they were wrong that time and are probably wrong again? How can she have liver disease when she seems FINE?
It's not fair. I did everything I was supposed to. I didn't smoke, I didn't drink, I didn't do drugs. I switched to decaf (well mostly. I tried, I swear, I really tried). I went to all the stupid Doctor's appointments, even though I didn't want to. I mean really, who has the time and energy to sit in the hospital 3x a week for 12 weeks? But I did it, and now it doesn't count or matter. Why is there something wrong with my baby?
So I get mad, I tell myself that I am not going to deal with it anymore. No more stress, no more worrying about sickness, Dr visits, and how on earth we are going to pay for all of it. They say ignorance is bliss for a reason right? I picture scooping up my girls and my DH and moving somewhere far, far away. Rural and where they make their own medicines and treatments. Last night while I was taking the puppy out to eat and go potty, I closed my eyes and fantasized about living somewhere in the country. We could have our own garden, the girls could have any animal they wanted. Life would be so much better! I was snapped back to reality when I heard scratching and clawing on the fence, and looked up to see a big raccoon hissing at the puppy. I nearly crapped myself. Ugh, so maybe somewhere not so rural would be a better idea?
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