a heart of conflicts

I can feel my anxiety creeping into the cracks and creases of my brain and heart and being again.

I tried to relax over break.

I had sixteen days off from work.

For the most, part it was nice.  I mean, I didn’t have to get up at 5:30am which meant I didn’t have to go to bed at 9:00pm.  Cort also had off from school, so he was home in the evenings.

I didn’t have to grade papers…ok, yes I did, but I put it off until the last day.

I didn’t have to do lesson plans.

I could take naps and read and do my needlepoint.

When Eddie wasn’t all up in my space.  Which was pretty much only during nap or when Cort was home.

I found that getting any organization done or time to just myself was impossible.  By the end of the two weeks, Eddie was very needy for other kids and organized crafts and play time, and I was ready to talk to someone about something other than dinosaurs and mickey mouse.

Don’t get me wrong, the cuddles and the book-reading and the hilarious saying Eddie has picked up made my day each and every day.

And his bed head in the morning?  Forget it.  I giggled each day when he would call, “mooooommmmyyyyyy!!!  Get up!  Sun up!” and I would walk into a little mini-blond ‘fro smiling at me.

But in between time?  When I wanted him to play by himself or watch TV so I could organize the top of the fridge or empty the dishwasher or take everything out of a cupboard to clean and organize?  He was suddenly all about his mommy.

I get this.  I do.

But after two weeks I was ready to just go back to work and feel productive and do “grown up” work.

Last night as I was hoping to fall asleep early, my mind started swirling.  I was home for two weeks.

In less than nine weeks, I will be off from work for 24 weeks.

24 weeks away from “grown up” work.

24 weeks with a toddler and a newborn.

My maternity leave with Eddie was 12 weeks and I ended up shipping him off to daycare once a week just to try to feel like myself and have Katie time.

It wasn’t enough and my spiral into postpartum depression got a bit out of control.

I am afraid.

I am anxious.

Two weeks with a toddler who was really quite well behaved and loving was enough.

Did I just type that?

What is wrong with me?  As a mother, how do I not want to be with my cutie pie funny little kid all the time?

How can I not look forward to time away from work?

From the time Charlie is born until school gets out at the end of May, Eddie will be going to daycare full time to allow me to get on some sort of schedule with Charlie.

But after that?  For the summer?

Me and the two boys.

That should be exciting, but instead my hands just started sweating and tears sprang to my eyes as I typed that.

Maybe it’s because I also have a horrible paranoia of leaving the house with my kid(s).  Not because I think we or they are going to get hurt.  It’s just so mentally and physically exhausting for me.  It’s like the idea that I will have to herd cats.

I have been told over and over that it is my anxiety disorder and my depression that are causing me to feel this way and to have these thoughts and that I am not a bad mother.

But I feel horrible.

Horrible.

What kind of good mother feels like puking when she thinks of an extended time home with her own kids?  What kind of mom wants to hold onto her kids and get rid of them at the exact same time?

I miss Eddie fiercely when we are away from each other.  It’s like a piece of me is missing.

But when we are together, I just want someone else to be there.  Or to take him. Or something.

How can these two very intense yet opposing feelings be present at the same time?

And how am I going to make it 24 weeks with all this?  And the 9 weeks in anticipation of the 24 weeks?

How can I make this tightening in my chest and burning in my eyes go away?

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