"Oh my goodness! Shut me down. Machines building machines. How perverse."

I had a really hard time last week. I had been doing all right, but Little M’s due date hit me much harder than I suspected it would. I felt like I was drowning in it all for a few days, but I’m hoping I’m coming up for air now. I still have my stupid birthday to get through, so hopefully it doesn’t have the same affect.

I had my doctor appointment yesterday. I did not cry, which I am very proud of. I got choked up a few times, but drank some water and shoved it all back down, and I had a mini panic attack in the waiting room when I heard the doctor talking to someone else. My appointment was with the PA or something, not the main doctor, I can’t explain it but even just his voice is the biggest trigger for my anxiety about that office. Oh duh, he always delivers the bad news. So there we go. The PA said it sounds like my hormones haven’t leveled out yet, way to be fucking slackers asshole hormones, and that my lining isn’t building up because of it. She sent me for some blood tests to make sure everything is going as it should be, with the words pituitary gland and thyroid thrown in there somewhere. She wasn’t very concerned at all. “It can take 4 to 6 months to return to normal after pregnancy.” Pardon me while I throw up. No prescriptions, no lists for vitamins. Damn it.

I’m constantly in the waiting room of my life.

I had 2 little girls over this weekend, ages 9 and 13. (I guess they’re not so little anymore.) I helped raise these girls from the days they were born until I moved back to my current home. So for about 9 years total. Although I haven’t been around as much these past 4 years, we’ve still remained close, which makes me very happy. They were a lovely distraction, and just what I needed to get over that first whirlpool of despair I was stuck in. It was exhausting, but through no fault of theirs’ really. It turns out that a little known side effect of my husband’s I’m Right Syndrome is Must Be The Most Obnoxious Person In the Room Disorder. One of the little girls, who is diagnosed with Aspergers, has some interesting quirks that can be hard for some to take for long periods of time. Having worked in the group home for so long I was fine, but J took it as a personal challenge, and played Master Antagonist the whole weekend. I about killed him. I’m generally of the vein; united forces in front of the children, discuss it later if needed, but by the end of it I was just telling him to stop talking. Then when we dropped them off I yelled at him. We will be having a sit down discussion of what is expected of my ADULT husband the next time we have children over. Ass. Despite that, hearing G ask “You want to come play with me?” knowing there’d be an answer of “Yes!” was bittersweet, but wonderful..

We received a king size bed from a friend for the spare room. When J was discussing it I panicked, and gave fantastic excuses as to why we shouldn’t get it; “It’s too hard to take it up the stairs! That room is too small!” He looked at me like I was nuts. (I am.) Turning that room into something even remotely permanent is like torture to me. The queen size blow up bed was bad enough. But, they were throwing it out, so should the need ever arise, it’s not much of a loss to get rid of it. My sister, her husband and my niece are coming to spend a few days, (!!!YAY!!!) so it couldn’t have happened at a better time, but it’s not like I’m calm and rational about that room (or anything really) so I go in and give the bed dirty looks here and there. And then contemplate dusting the fan. And mentally picture where the crib and rocking chair would look best. *sigh*

Potty training is at epic FAIL levels. Will try again next week.

I’m anxious, hopeful, desperate and sad.
But I’m doing better than I was last week.