So it’s been awhile. Huh. Months and months, actually.
Well, nothin’ like getting back up on the horse.
I haven’t felt like doing anything really, much less writing. I still post in my head. You know, oh I’d like to write about this or that or the Helen Thomas thing that chapped my ass, but I’ve had no energy. None. Everyday, I’d wake up counting the hours before I could go back to bed. Then there were the aches and pains. My fingers hurt, my hands, my feet, my hips. Everything just ached. I started taking advil or aleve before bed and when I woke up because it got worse in the night and in the morning my hands hurt so bad I couldn’t open the juice bottle for Max.
I started to notice that words started to fly away the moment I thought them. I couldn’t speak right. It was okay because Max didn’t care if I said petals instead of flowers, but I did.
Yesterday I put a pot of water on to boil and promptly forgot about it until I heard the cracking of the dry pan. The forgetting thing? Happens all the time.
I’ve had full conversations with Markus and completely forgotten we had them.
That’s when I started to get pissed. Like dementia pissed. Pissed for forgetting or pissed because I didn’t, I couldn’t possibly have forgotten an entire conversation.
I just thought I needed more sleep which I should have been getting because Max is a most excellent sleeper at this point. I thought it was mommy brain. I thought it was getting older or perhaps a bit of arthritis in my hands. Alice yelled at me to go get blood work, but I put it off because I didn’t want Dr. G to see that I was gaining weight which threw me right back in to the failure at everything mode.
So I tried to stop the weight gain, but I couldn’t find the energy to work out. I’d need a 2 hr nap when I got home and I rather have a nap and then a 2 hr nap. But I did. I worked out. Half-assed, but I figured something was better than nothing.
I went back to California hoping that family would shake the depression that sank around me. It didn’t. I was just more tired and felt horrible that I couldn’t keep up with ANYONE. And worse, I couldn’t hide in my house.
I started to wonder how people have more than one kid because there were days I just couldn’t keep up with Max, let alone another kid and a house and a husband.
And then I felt like a bad mom because really, he’s one kid and an easy one at that. I would spend all day just with him, on the floor playing or reading books because that is all the energy I had. But still, where was my get up and go?
There were a few days I figured I just needed to put on my big girl panties, drink lots of water and push through, because the busier you are the more you can do, right?
It was at Dr. G’s office, preparing for the next kid (I was just going to jump into that water because obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly and the clock is atickin’) that we finally figured out what the hell was going on. My thyroid stopped functioning probably about 6-9 month ago. Completely. It happens sometimes after a kid. Not a big deal, totally treatable. Just some fiddling while you find the right dosage.
You know right about the time I was losing my mind from lack of sleep?
It’s really nice to know that this isn’t me losing my mind, because really, I was more than concerned. I thought perhaps I was walking the same path as my maternal line, depressed from a life of unwise choices. Discontent yet lacking the wherewithal to do something, anything really, to make it better. Making plans, yes, but either not following through or lacking any sort of insight that would make the plan better than the present. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head all the time. I could hear her acerbic words coming from my mouth when I was frustrated with myself and taking it out on Sparky. And that would crush me.
So that’s where I’ve been. Fun right?
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll get to the Helen Thomas thing because it still riles me up. And I am way more fun riled than depressed.