I'm having a hard time right now- not ever feeling rested and having a testy two-year-old whose internal clock does not recognize daylight savings, and Maine voting against marriage equality, and we have money troubles, and I hate hate hate my crooked teeth and nose, and I am dealing with some major annoyances from people in my life and I want to tell them to SHUT! UP! and I'm feeling disconnected and today I cried when Punjab saved Annie from falling off the bridge and...
And can you tell that depression is rearing its stupid, ugly, overemotional head?
Because it is.
And I have plans to have it taken care of- FINALLY- but it still sucks right now.
But tonight. Tonight I went into the kitchen for a few hours, three rooms removed from my husband and son, to work on some handmade projects to get ready for the Christmas season. And when it was getting to be Liam's bedtime I could hear him fussing as I punched holes and threaded string and drank root beer- remember that thing about daylight savings? I'm not joking. Bedtime is serious around here.
Gabe walked into the kitchen. He was carrying Liam, whose eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were flushed. I know that look. Overwhelming fatigue and fussiness. (I have it sometimes too.) "He wants a hug and a kiss from his Mama," Gabe told me.
So I took Liam in my arms. He's getting so tall and big. He wrapped his legs around my waist and draped his arms over my shoulders. We said goodnight and as I spoke softly to him, he pressed his hot cheek against mine, pushing, pushing, trying to be as close to me as possible. "Do you want me to sing you a song?" I asked. He tearfully said yes.
So I pressed my cheek into his and I rocked back and forth and softly sang a song I made up for him last year. When I was done, he just looked into my eyes and and blinked and pondered and then rested his head back on my shoulder.
In these days when I am flailing, not holding onto anything that feels real, I cry for no reason and I lack patience and I dislike myself. Simple things like washing dishes and putting laundry away and washing my hair are major triumphs.
But my son loves me very much and he needs me and finds comfort in my presence, so at least I know I am doing something right.
(And once I see a doctor about my depression, if things go as planned, I won't be overwhelmed by just waking up every day. And I'll be doing SO MANY THINGS right.)
(And Liam will still matter the most.)