This is me right now, back in the recliner for the night. We started antibiotics (again) today for Carolyn’s ear infection after she and I got a broken three hours of sleep last night. I think the pain/pressure of laying down is too much for her because every time I try to lay her down she wakes up screaming. Recliner it is.
This has been a rough few weeks for me. Between being sick and losing so much sleep and feeling like every time I turn around some new problem has cropped up has me in a bad state of mind. I had that realization today. Do I want to call it depression? Maybe.
I studied Psychology both in college and recreationally, and I caught myself thinking in classically depressed ways recently. Last night I was giving the kids a bath, and took Carolyn out and got her in her pj’s right there by the tub, and then got Peter out and wrapped him in a towel. As I went to pick him up to take him to his room to do a diaper and pj’s, he tried to lunge back toward the tub and I ended up scooping up just the very bottom of his legs. His arms were pinned inside the towel and he fell forward and his face hit the floor. It makes me feel sick every time it replays in my mind. He got a pretty bad split lip, which is probably the least terrible injury he could have ended up with, so I guess I should be grateful for that.
In the middle of the crying and and the blood and the panic of not knowing how bad it was, all I was thinking was how every time I try to do something right I make things even worse. How I was doing such a miserable job at mothering. How I couldn’t do anything right for my children.
As I wrote that out, I’m already correcting myself in my head. Telling myself that it was an accident, that one bad moment shouldn’t define my whole state of mothering, that there are plenty of things that I do right every day.
I don’t have all the answers yet, but I’m realizing I’m not in a good place, and am going to work to be in a better one.