First off, Hope is doing much better. Today she ate an enormous breakfast of applesauce, bananas, cereal, and (of course) butter. She still has a bit of the neon green stuff in her nose but she’s nowhere as congested as she was yesterday and clearly her appetite has returned. The congestion in her chest never progressed beyond where it was at day one and so I’m pretty confident that she’s on the mend. What a relief, last Saturday I fully expected that a trip to the hospital would be in our near future.
Grace, too, is fully recovered…except for a little bit of a runny nose. She’s got an empty leg that can only be filled with chicken nuggets at the moment, yesterday they were breakfast, snack, and lunch. Since she barely ate at all last week I indulged the request, but today’s breakfast was back to the regular chocolate milk, banana, and oat squares cereal….followed an hour later by chicken nuggets. Right now she’s prancing around in her princess dress, shoes, and tiara while her adoring baby sister keeps track of her every move and vies for her attention. I love the way that Hope looks at Grace.
Then there’s me…I am not myself right now, or maybe I am and myself has just turned into a real asshat. That would be unfortunate. I will admit that I have all…or most all…of the symptoms of depression, but I’m not sure that is my problem. I’m irritable, snappy, grumpy, and my fuse is much shorter than usual. Under the circumstances I wouldn’t expect to be getting along as great as I am with Grace, she’s a good little girl. Hope, as always, is impossible not to adore — though I will admit that the whole feeding routine wears on me. I feel like I spend most of the day sitting in the kitchen spooning mashed something with butter into her mouth and it feels like that is going to last forever. Each feeding takes the better part of an hour, every three hours, at this point four times a day.
I decided a couple of weeks ago to pull back from a bunch of stuff I had been doing. Tammy is worried, and rightly so, that I am isolating myself even more and wonders how miserable I’ll be to live with once I have no regular outlet for activity outside the house. She has a point, but I’d rather quit before I burned bridges.
So now I have no idea what I’m doing. I could probably benefit from a change in routine, I stay up way too late at night….just thinking, thinking about thinking, worrying, and worrying about worrying. But late at night is really the only time I have that is just mine, I’m reluctant to give that up. Why can’t I just put all my books and blogs and ideas away and take up something more agreeable, like scrapbooking or Amway? I used to be such a committed couch potato, what has happened to me?
Well, this hasn’t made me feel the least bit better.