Confessional

Alice will be three months old this weekend and I have never had a day to myself since she was born. I’m mostly Ok with this because she is my little buddy and I haven’t had the downward spiral I felt with both of the boys when I had no alone time. But knowing that this week also marks the end of our alone time together since school will be out, scares me. And I am sad I didn’t take people up on the “just give me a shout out if you want me to take Alice off your hands for a bit.”

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I had a zit on my nostril months ago. It’s gone, but now the area is flaky and sometimes painful. I read recently that this can be a sign of skin cancer. Have I ever mentioned that I am paranoid about diseases like cancer? I’ve already had a pre-cancerous spot removed from my cheek. I haven’t gotten it checked out yet because A) OMG how many times can you email your doctor before he thinks you’re a freak show and B) “Hi. I have a weird spot on my nostril.”

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I have no fewer than 25 drafts going right now. I have a huge rush of ideas and words and I can feel them in my finger-tips, yet something has been stopping me from writing. Part of it is life, but part of it is my own confidence. My own “why even try?”  My soul is tired and beat down.

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The school year ended for my district on Friday, May 29. I am officially off maternity leave. Now I await my teaching assignment for next school year. I’m praying I don’t have to move buildings again, but at this point I will be happy with whatever I get. I love my district and our students. I hate that the state forces cuts on us every year affecting our great teaching staff, administration, and mostly our students and their families.  I try to pay attention to what is going on at the state-level regarding education, but it feeds my depression.

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Eddie cries a lot. Not because he is sad or depressed, but because if he even thinks that maybe he got hurt, he cries. I am scared that he will become a target for other kids. I’m afraid other kids will see him as a cry baby.

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I am constantly asking myself: “is this normal? is this just hormones? am I spiraling? is that depression, anxiety, paranoia? does he hate me? did I say something dumb? will they still want to be my friends? Is THIS depression?”  It’s exhausting.

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Age three is my least favorite age yet. When Eddie was three, I thought we wouldn’t make it. Now that Charlie is three, I am afraid he and I won’t make it through the summer together. He is more headstrong and aggressive than Eddie ever was anyway, but with this new “three-ness” he is getting downright awful. He even bit a kid at daycare.

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I have a post in draft about my faith that I am scared to finish and post.

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I’m scared to have my boys home with me this summer. Last summer I was excited about it because the summer before was so fun. Then I found out I was pregnant on the fourth of July and about a week later all the sickness and exhaustion hit and I cried almost daily. Cortney kept saying “next summer will be better when the baby is here.” But I am not so sure. I lose my temper so quickly lately, with Charlie especially. And the boys fight all the time. They can’t just go outside and play nicely for an hour. They are in and out with tattling every few minutes. I’m afraid I will be the crabby, yelly mom.

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I am in the process of taking inventory of my classroom library. I expected some book loss, but it’s still so sad. I want to have a sure-fire way to maintain and replace books, but I know I have to depend on the kindness of others. It is glorious, by the way, how people step up and give. I know I need to let go of wanting to control knowing that books will come, but at the same time, I need books!

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I work really hard not to vent all my whiny crap all over social media, but looking at my Instagram and Facebook, I’ve noticed that it’s hiding a lot of pain with a lot of happy. Not that the happy is fake, but it’s not the whole story.

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I hate asking people to watch my kids even for legit reasons like appointments. I hate even more asking people to watch my kids just so I can have a break or so Cortney and I can go out. We’ve been out on a double-date ONCE since Alice was born.

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I worry about money (or the lack of it) constantly.

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I always feel like I am either A) waiting for something big to happen that will help us financially or B) giving up on anything ever happening.  And then I feel like a selfish ass because I guess I know money doesn’t buy happiness and all that, but I also feel like it was someone with money who said that.

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I am uncomfortable with myself lately. This is probably why I worry about money because maybe I want to buy things to feel better, and I know that won’t fix how I feel about myself. I know what I need to do to feel better, but it all seems…unpleasant. I am a giant wuss and an even gianter (yes, I made that word up) complainer.

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I don’t really know what “take care of you” means. How do I do that? Where is the line between taking care of myself and just being selfish? How do I take care of myself without being a jerk to my family? I don’t even know what to ask for.

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All of these things are so stupid. Right now I have a sleeping baby girl next to me and a cup of coffee. My husband has a job he loves. My three-year old has a smile that takes up his whole face. My oldest is about to finish Kindergarten and turn six. My life is super fantastically awesome. All of the above doesn’t matter and does matter at the same time. All of the wonderful is SO wonderful. And all of the other stuff is just peripheral, but it’s still there.

It’s still there.

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