Albatross

This is a big year for me. New mommy, 10 years of marriage, turning 30, unemployed. All sorts of new things for me. And some days I feel like I'm not sure I can handle it. Especially when my baby is sick with something or other (we think teething, but maybe a cold or ear infection though the doctor at the clinic said it wasn't). He cried so much today, and every nap was a struggle. I think I shhhd part of my brains out today, I definitely feel stupider than when I woke up this morning. And he was up so many times last night, he's obviously not feeling well. Ugghhh, sick babies suck.

But I'm optimistic still, because whatever he's going through, it will get better. And even though I'm almost 30 now, I don't feel any older. Some days I still feel like I'm 16, other days I feel like I'm 50. But I don't think it's in relation to my actual age, more like what I'm going through that day and how I react to the situations I find myself in. And 10 year of marriage is awesome, I'm so proud of us.

There's just one thing really dragging me down now, and if I could just get that done I know the rest of my life is going to look brighter. I hate that whatever I want to do - whether it's crafts for my walls, projects for my baby, home reno's, watching a movie, reading a book, and yes, even typing on this blog – I always feel guilty and like I should be writing POC instead. It is an albatross around my neck, one that I cannot set aside while I do other things. But when I sit down to write, I am paralyzed, I cannot think of words to string into sentences into paragraphs into stories. And so I sit and stare at the computer. And meanwhile I avoid doing other things because I feel like I should be writing, always I should be writing. So I don't do crafts, I don't scrapbook, I don't socialize with other moms, I don't watch movies or read books or clean the house. I mean, I guess I do all these things a little bit here and there, but not nearly the life I want to be living right now. I don't jump into anything else for fear that I should be writing. And I am so ashamed of myself, ashamed for not being able to finish what I started. It was a big risk to do POC, and it feels like it will never get done. I hate our meetings at the office, it's hard to see everyone and think of what they're thinking about me. Even if they're not really thinking what I think they're thinking.

Whew. That all kind of came out of me like bad take-out. Therapeutic indeed.