I know that as I had a baby just 8 days ago, and because I said New Years resolutions weren’t right for me this year anyway, I shouldn’t be worried about the fact that I have that stupid flailing feeling again.
You know the one. Where you just want to get a handle on this whole coping thing, but you’re swinging your arms about wildly and no handle can be found.
I should cut myself some slack. I deserve to rest. I’ve got stitches in my private parts, for goodness sake. I ache. I should be sitting down.
But oh my goodness, the guilt. The laundry, the washing up, the fact that Iris is clearly desperate for fresh air. I feel awful about it all. I should fix it, not sit here crocheting in a sleep deprived daze.
I’m like a zombie right now. Is a zombie right? I’m not sure zombie is really what I mean. I’m just here, just being. But not doing. And not really thinking either. Peer in the windows and you won’t see any cogs turning.
I’m so tired.
I don’t give a crap that my house is a dump and my to do list is as long as my leg. That’s probably a healthy improvement on my usual state of panic and anxiety about everything falling apart around me, but it’s unfamiliar and I don’t know what to do with it.
The dog hates me. That’s what has caused this particular moment of silliness from my head. He truly hates me. Of course Trevor and everybody else thinks this is stupid. The dog doesn’t even have a big enough brain to be capable of understanding that he can’t just pee on the living room floor, so how can he be smart enough to hate somebody?
He does though.
Every time I walk the stupid thing he runs off. Or he does something so incredibly embarrassing that I fall apart from the shame. The second Trevor steps out of the house he starts behaving like a lovesick teenager, lying around under my feet looking broken. Chasing up and down knocking the toddler over. Peeing on the floor. Following me and staring at me. He doesn’t do this stuff to anybody else. Only me.
I’ve been feeling guilty for a while because I don’t walk him anymore. What’s the point when he just runs off anyway? I have to keep him on the lead and he pulls so hard that it was hurting my hips and my huge heavy pregnant body. I should fuss over him more so we have a bond, but I’m chasing a toddler around all day and trying to keep on top of the mess. I try, but there aren’t many moments left over to spend with a dog that doesn’t like me anyway.
It’s not really got anything to do with anything, but I feel bad about it. I always feel bad about something. I always feel guilty.
I think I’m doing my best. If I am doing my best why am I doing so badly? Maybe I’m not doing my best. I don’t think it looks much like I’m doing my best.
The cleaning rota is back. It’s all I can do to prove (to who anyway?) that I am at least trying. Because I worry that it looks like I’m just doing the bare minimum. I probably am just doing the bare minimum. But that’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to do it all. I really am.
There was no real point to this post, I know. And I know what the response will be. Cut yourself some slack. Take a break. For goodness sake woman you just gave birth. I know, I know. You’re right.
I even need to do better at giving myself a break!