Today, I had an ice cream sandwich for breakfast.
I reasoned that it couldn’t be that much worse for me than a sausage biscuit from McDonald’s. And, I knew that the chocolatey goodness would heal what ails me.
Yesterday, my day began with an e-mail sent to my entire office from our boss. She publicly congratulated the temp who has been working in our office for quite some time now for the fantastic improvements she had made on our website design. Our old website, apparently, had been unappealing and not user-friendly, though this was the first I had heard those complaints from anyone. So, I guess it fucking sucked secretly. Guess who designed that website? This was the first thing that made me cry yesterday.
I had lunch alone (as I usually do, but not by choice — by virtue of the fact that no one seems to eat lunch in my office except for me) and ordered a Reuben sandwich and a side order of sauteed Parmesan broccoli from a lovely organic/locally sourced cafe in our city. When it arrived, my side order of broccoli included one floret. ONE. I finished my entire side order in one bite. I didn’t have the energy to argue with the waitstaff or kitchen. And, I was late for a meeting, anyway, so finishing $10 worth of food in fewer than 10 minutes was, I guess, a benefit. But, later I cried because I hate feeling like I’ve been a victim. More on that in another post, maybe, if I feel like telling you all of my dark, gloomy shit.
When I came home, it looked like a bomb went off in my house. The kids had completely destroyed it. The nanny had a very long day with my little monsters. I absolutely don’t blame her for the mess. But, I was totally deflated when I saw it. And, within 30 seconds of coming home and seeing this, my dog went nuts-o at the front door. An appointment I had scheduled was a half hour early. She knocked on the door, enraged my mutt, woke my napping preschooler and subsequently walked into a living room that appeared to be inside of Tornado Alley. I hadn’t even had a chance to set down my purse yet when this happened. No, bitch, we didn’t say 5:00. The appointment was for 5:30. No, it is not okay. I’m pissed.
I didn’t cry about it at the time, but I did a little later when the nanny left and I ended up cleaning spilled juice off of the side of the refrigerator.
Just as I was putting my oldest son to bed, then, sirens wailed outside. Fire, EMS and Police flew through the intersection near our house in our neighborhood that might normally be referred to in short stories as a “sleepy little town.” The usual peace of our community was interrupted by some major emergency that must have been only a few blocks away. I don’t know what happened. I bet my neighbors do, though. They ran out of their house and looked down the street. When they realized that the emergency situation was too far down the street to be seen from the vantage point of their patch of sidewalk, they actually got into their car and followed the last ambulance that roared by.
When I thought for a moment about how first responders run so bravely toward situations that others run away from (well – most normal people run away from things like fires, robberies, or natural disasters), I welled up with emotion. I sometimes can’t believe that there are people in this world who dedicate their whole lives to a profession where they might lose their own, just for the chance of helping others in need. It all seemed so…touching. So, I cried. Then, I laughed at myself for crying about that. Then I cried again because I am so pitiful. Then I laughed again because I was crying about being pitiful.
I realized that a nice glass of white wine would be helpful. But, we were out of it. Can you guess what my reaction was?
Mothers are constantly filled with fear that their children will come to harm. They are saddened by the passing of time and they miss the times when their babies were babies. Moms are continually surprised by how parenting can be difficult. They deal with tantrums, illnesses, the heartbreak of watching a child experience heartbreak, the worry a child won’t fit in, the worry that a child will fit in with the wrong crowd, the concern that a child might not make all of the smartest decisions even though he’s been “raised right.” Mothers worry about whether their children are being appropriately educated. Are kids “liked” by their teachers? Do they have learning obstacles or disabilities? Are they being challenged enough? Are they on the right path? Will they be exposed to the best life choices? Will they have all of the opportunities they deserve?
I feel every day as though I am just barely hanging on. I wonder, though, how any mother is NOT suffering from depression and anxiety. I think it might be part of the job description. Consider this fair warning if you’re thinking of starting a family. THIS is what they mean when they say, “Your life will never be the same again.”