My last entry garnered some unexpected attention, particularly from my husband. In normal times he reads very little of what I write. These are clearly not normal times. Hi Chris, and welcome to the circus! And I’m very sorry. My virtues are questionable in normal times, and apparently, all but nonexistent when in the midst of a pandemic.
One of my vivid memories of our first few nights home from the hospital after Jerod was born, and I was riddled with hormones and exhaustion; was the feeling that life would be forever riddled with hormones and exhaustion. I simply could not imagine a time when I would sleep through the night again, or go for a bike ride, or not have leaky boobs. Of course, it was not a logical line of thinking; but my body was not really capable of logical thinking in those days.
I find myself with some similar lines of thinking these days. Will grocery shopping ever not require such planning and anxiety? Will I ever enjoy a Sunday morning brunch with a bloody mary again (yes, this is possibly a recurring theme- I need to just buy some damn mix)? Will my kids ever go to school again? Will Trump ever not be President? Is there really any chance of my anxiety laden kid coming out of this unscathed?
My main struggle is the timeline, or lack thereof. I know there is a light at the end of this tunnel, but I have no freaking idea how long the tunnel is. It feels interminable.
Please note the ‘(often used hyperbolically) portion of the definition, and remember who you’re dealing with here. Hyperbole is my jam. Or perhaps more aptly put, my predisposition.
This situation is not interminable, even if it feels like it is. And my challenges in this time are oh so minimal in the grand scheme of things. This is what I need to keep telling myself.
It would seem I’ve written yet another whiny post. I’m trying to work on this. But I’m also committed to honesty. So here we are.
Be well, Friends.