One More Day

In light of my kitchen looking like this, my oatmeal has broccoli bits in it from the measuring cup I used last night.

kitchen

My husband had to dig through these clean clothes to find his work clothes:

laundry

I was going to take a photo of the bathroom but considering my three year old is standing to pee, I don’t think you want to see the damage in there! I would also reveal the pile of dirty diapers next to the changing pad (the diaper pail is iced over outside), but I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me or how I run my home (I also don’t want Child Protective Services showing up at my front door!).

I began crying when the alarm woke me to wake my husband this morning (because if he’s in charge of the alarm, it’ll end up waking the whole house) because I had just gotten the baby back to sleep after a long night. “I can’t do this anymore!” I cried. “I need sleep to function!” He replied, “Well, you can do it one more day.” He is right. If I break down the daunting tasks ahead of me, I can handle one more day. However, if I imagine how my exhaustion is going to end up being the demise of my children’s futures, I will likely fall apart and get nothing done today.

One of my greatest desires is to be one of *those* wives. The kind who homeschools her children flawlessly, whose home is spotless, dinner is served promptly at 6pm, children are bathed nightly and put into bed on time. However, the reality is that sometimes at 9:30pm, my son has perched himself several feet off the ground naked and has no plans of coming down; my five month old is crying because she rolled herself over while sleeping and promptly woke herself up; dinner (if it was even served at all, many times it’s a PB&J for my son) is out on the stove ready to be stored in the fridge; the smoke detector is going off because I left a burner on; my phone is ringing; and I am tripping over Hot Wheels, Leog’s, or Thomas train tracks to complete just *one* of these tasks. Forget time to use the bathroom or blow my nose.

So, at the wise words of my husband, I can do one more day. One task at a time. Chances are, my house will still be a disaster at the end of the day, but if I’ve continued to steadily work and have not just given up and passed out in bed at 3pm, I will be satisfied. My children are always fed, *fairly* clean, and *mostly* happy. Right now, in the midst of this exhausting postpartum period, those things seem to be the most important, and it appears that I can gauge my success by them.

Next on my agenda: put baby down for nap and tackle those dishes!!

Advertisements

“Permanent Damage”

Following my first EMDR session over a week ago, it seems I have regressed to having high anxiety and flashbacks nearly all day. I’ve been needing naps during the day because of my inability to fall back asleep after nighttime feedings. I have not been this exhausted since I was pregnant. I even had a brand new flashback, one that has sent me into hours of researching the cult one side of my family was raised under. However, I know I have not completely regressed because I had a doctor’s appointment two days ago; my fourth in five months for the same problem. I was not triggered during the exam like I typically am. He told me I have “permanent damage” from giving birth and that I’d most likely have mild pain for the rest of my life… unless however, I had more children, then it would worsen. He gave no recommendations, just a professional “suck it up” and was out the door. I was more bothered by the news than the exam itself. It wasn’t until several hours later that I began to spiral because of where his hands were touching me.

I spoke with the EMDR therapist on the phone yesterday and she’s sending me back to my regular therapist for more CBT until both my containment skills are improved and the baby starts sleeping longer. It was so disappointing; I had a glimpse of healing and relief. I am ready to move on with my life.

I have not fully regressed. I still have yet to yell at my son due to his overwhelming urge to exacerbate my symptoms when I only want to be left alone. I even had enough patience to teach him to read three letter words.