Sunday, July 26, 2009

Growing up


Yesterday was my son’s first birthday. I had a little party for him; mostly family and a few close friends. Thankfully, it was a small gathering because I was in no mood to entertain. I didn’t even get the invitations out on time. I printed them, but never sent them, so I had to call to invite people. Because of the short notice, many couldn’t come and quite honestly, I was relieved. I just couldn’t think straight and my organization skills were...well, even less organized than usual. I’d like to say it was controlled chaos but there was nothing controlled about it. I flew around the house that morning, trying to clean and get things done. I still had to finish the cake, pick up the dog poop in the backyard, clean the upstairs bathroom...the list went on and on and on. I ended up promising my husband sex if he’d clean the backyard for me. One job down. I finished the cake. Cleaned the kitchen. Vacuumed. The bathroom never saw the scrubbing bubbles, so I blocked the top of the stairs with the child gate and closed all the upstairs curtains so it would be dark and as inhospitable as I could make it, to deter anyone from feeling the need to pee upstairs. And besides, I think the people that go out of their way to use the upstairs bathroom are just being nosy and want to look in the bedrooms... at least that’s what I do when I’m at other people’s homes. Ahem. Anyway. Party. People came, ate cheese and crackers, opened presents, sang happy birthday, ate cake and ice cream and then toddled on home. And the birthday boy only cried a little. And I only cried when no one was looking. One. One year old. Already. Since I do not plan on having anymore kids, this milestone was a little sad. He’s no longer a baby and those pudgy little legs are gaining more and more balance; before long, he will be racing across the carpet, keeping up with brother and sister. That sweet baby babble is starting to be more and more intentional; before long, he will be bossing me around like the other two. He’s growing up
so, so fast.

But for now, he’s still my baby. My soft and squishy boy, who puts his head on my shoulder when he’s tired and for whom only mommy will do when he’s ready to sleep. Right now, I’m still his favorite person and I’m going to savor that while I still can. Sigh.

I’m a bit down today, actually and I’m not sure why. Part of the whole depression thing, I reckon. I know I can’t expect the drugs to immediately start pumping their magic into my brain, but it’s hard to tell if there is any improvement. My mom claims there is. I no longer sound like I’m “at death’s door” when I call her and I “look better”. Which isn’t saying a lot, I wouldn’t think. I’m still losing weight. I’m down to 104 pounds and I don’t think I’ve ever weighed that little. I was thinking about that, wondering why I wasn’t eating, because it’s hardly a conscious decision. I just don’t. I make food for the kids, make sure they get all their food groups (fruit snacks count, right?) at meals, but I never make anything for me. I just don’t have any kind of appetite and when I do eat, I tend to get sick to my stomach quickly. I think a lot of it is the effort. I just don’t want to put out the effort to eat. It sounds like so much work that I just don’t bother with it. But I need to start. I saw a recent picture of myself in my swimming suit and I look awful. I hate how the bones in my chest protrude. I don’t know what that one is called...your sternum? Hmmm. Not sure. Whatever it is, it’s ghastly when you can see it through the skin like that. I look like Kate Moss from the neck down. The neck up? Yeah...not so much. I need some doughnuts or something. Coke. Snickers bars. Ice Cream. Mmmm. Ice cream.

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