* Author’s note: Just get ready. I’m –> THIS close <-- to my hormonal limit and I’m writing. It’s worse than grocery shopping while hungry. I’m sorry in advance.
“On the verge of what?” you might ask? I don’t rightly know. But that’s how I feel. And I totally know this is due to some wild, postpartum hormonal swings and, uh, not sleeping so much, but it is all I can do not to cry at any given moment.
Here is a moment inside my brain upon looking at either (a) little Benjamite, (b) Husband playing with Benjamite, (c) The Swimmy having a jealousy attack, (d) the Banana Republic fall line.
“Wow. Look what we did.”
“OMG what have I done?!” (and not in the comical way)
“How am I going to do this?”
“Dude this is so much easier than the first time.”
“What if something happens?”
“What if nothing happens?”
“I’ve got to call the estate attorney.”
“I need to get that CT scan.”
“I can’t deal with the thought of needing a CT scan.”
“I’m sick of hurting.”
“I need my insides to match my outsides again.”
“I need a nap.”
“I need a drink.”
“I need to go shopping.”
“I need to write about this. But I can’t.”
Yes, all of that happens inside of a 5 second lapse. Over and over again. Just shuffle the order a bit. It’s like a bad iPod playlist.
And on top of all of this, The Swimmy is starting to really struggle with all that’s been going on in her little tiny world these past weeks / months. She’s had to endure missing the hell out of my folks while they’re in Little Rock, moving from school (and her little friends) to day camp (with new friends) and back again, a new baby, me being in the hospital WAAY too much, the fact that in a few weeks she will start another new school (Kindergarten), and, of course, losing Mommy and Daddy a little to Benjamite.
I know I’ve broken her heart a little and I hate it.
We have this little poem we say if anyone is going out of town for a short time:
Sometimes we’re together.
Sometimes we’re apart.
But even when we’re far away,
You’re always in my heart.
The Swimmy was pretending to go on a trip to Chicago to visit BestFriendWendy and her daughter, Jessica, this weekend. I was sacked out on the couch with Benjamite too tired and too disinterested to play. She had made waaaay too much noise for the gazillionth time and I snapped at her to please (for the love of G-d!!) go play in the other room for 10 minutes.
She picked up her little suitcase, looked at me with the most pitiful face, waved and said, “You’re always in my heart,” and shuffled away with her head down.
Breaking my own heart I can handle.
Breaking hers I can’t.
My birthday is next week and someone asked me what I wanted. All I can think of is a needle and thread to fix what I broke.