I went to the midwife/dr. today too because of a small problem and I was so tired that as soon as the nurse asked if I was okay I started to cry.
I hate when I do that. And then I can’t stop and my baby was crying because I had to hurry over there and didn’t get time to nurse him so he was hungry and crying hard and I was crying and they were all very careful with me.
The midwife wrote me a prescription then made me fill out the depression worksheet. I told her I was fine, as snot ran into my mouth.
She gave me a side hug and said, I know. We do this for everyone.
I wonder how many women go in there and start crying. I hope a lot. I hope it’s normal.
Those questions are interesting to answer.
How do I feel?
Overall? In relation to this very minute vs. this week or this month or this year?
I don’t know that I’m completely honest on those questionnaires. Or, maybe, I don’t know how to be honest on those things because I have a hard time gauging what is really happening with me and why am I crying and I’m just tired and I have a fever but I’m usually happy. Just yesterday i was laughing my face off and me and the boys threw those one helicopter leaves in the air and I tried to do a trick on the rope swing. That’s happy, right? Like all american happy. and we have a garden and I ate lots of gummy candy and my baby is the sweetest and
but then I couldn’t stop crying.
On the way home, I saw two teenage girls lying on the grass with their bikes eating sno cones.
I thought, what if that was me, right now. just ride around on a bike. Go home. Take a nap if I want. Eat whatever. Call my friends. wear good clothes that fit.
Life was so easy back when i was a teenager.
Then I started laughing because no, life was not easy back then. I sort of wish I could go back and tell myself that I was pretty enough. That boys would like me eventually. That big butts were okay. That getting a bad grade was not the end of the world.
Just like I guess I’ll want to come back and tell myself a few things about having a little baby and two crazy kids when I’m older and oh so wiser.
Why does it always feel like wading through mud? But then it doesn’t. But then it does.
Writing feels like the last thing on my mind. I force myself to get a page or two out but I wonder if they are good pages. Maybe they are but maybe they aren’t.
I can’t tell. Just like I can’t tell a lot of things.
I am happy. But I have been questioning my choices and my heart and my time.
I don’t really write about writing that much anyway when I think about it. Maybe a different blog or something else would be good. Or maybe not? I don’t know.
I want to write a happy book. i also want to sit on a beach.