This day has been shit. I've been trying to make the best of it, but it's just been shit. I woke up after what felt like a full night of sleep at 11:53 pm. I'd been asleep for 2 hours. Keats was asleep on top of me. My eyeballs were so dry that it was painful. I took Keaton to his own bed and fell back asleep. I dreamed about my Grandpa who died 4 years ago for what felt like hours. And usually when I see him in my sleep, it is happy, and calming, and I wake up grateful to have spent the time with him. Last night it wasn't like that. I dreamt of his death. My mind made up things that didn't really happen and I woke up at 2:24 am stressed out and anxiety ridden. My whole body was tense. And I've been rattled all day since.
My work was cancelled today on account of the weather. I had plans to sleep in, and write, and read, and nap. I woke up a bit after 5 am because Keaton was crying and coughing from his room. I went to see what was going on and he was burning up. He was coughing to the point of almost puking and kept saying his head, mouth and ears hurt. A girl at daycare had tested positive for the flu 2 days ago. I was going to have to take him out in these freezing temps to go to the doctor. He was lethargic and rosy cheeked here at home while we waited for the doctor's office to open. We got there at 8. And because of the Tylenol I had given him, his temp was down 2 degrees and he acted like nothing at all was wrong. The doctor and nurses were nice, but I took their small talk comments of "braving the cold to bring him in" as judgement that I had made the wrong decision as a mother. I told them about the flu at daycare and how 2 hours ago, he was not acting ok. Their polite smiles were polite smiles. To me they said "Why did she bring her baby out in these below freezing temps for this? She's one of those paranoid Mom's that brings her child in for every little thing. She's not doing this right." The dream about Grandpa creeps back in. Why did I have that troubling dream about him? They tested Keats for strep and the flu and sent us home to wait for a phone call. The phone call came and he was negative for strep and flu. Just a virus. Treat him at home with tylenol. I thanked them. My mind said "Sarah, you idiot. You always do this. You worry and then you take him to the doctor and nothing's wrong. Sarah, you're not doing this right. Why did I have that dream about Grandpa?" Keaton was getting really tired and we snuggled on the couch. I fell asleep for a few minutes and woke up an hour later to his feet on my face. He was asleep, his head on my knees. I moved his little body to a more comfortable spot and tucked him in. My head hurt.
I started boiling more water. I'd been doing this for the past 2 days to keep the humidity from getting too low in our house. We have a smart thermostat now that tells us if it's too low. I mean, I could already tell because every fucking thing I touched, shocked me. The kitchen is a mess. The family room is a mess, the dining room table needs cleaned, the front room is a disaster. My laundry has been in the dryer since yesterday. There is stuff everywhere and it's giving me the blues. But the thought of cleaning makes me want to cry. I want to get out of this house, but it's literally freezing and I have a sick baby. I watch a movie, but it turns out to just make me more agitated. The dream. The dream. The dream. It keeps coming back to...I don't know...haunt me? But, it wasn't scary, just really, really, unpleasant. I'm still rattled. My head still hurts. The pot has boiled itself dry.
I ask Jim if he can leave work and hour early so that I can get out and go get some much needed tennis shoes and a new sports bra. He says he thinks that will be fine. Keats wakes up and he's hot again. "I feel better Mommy!" He says with a smile and rosy cheeks as I run the thermometer across his forehead. Yep, fever is back. Repeat tylenol. My head hurts. I can't people today. I text Jim and tell him not to bother coming home early. I don't want to go out. I am trapped in this house with a way out, and I don't want to go. I realize my fingers are throbbing. I look at my hands and see that throughout the day I have bitten and picked all my nails off. My cuticles are torn and red. A true sign that my darkness has been busy.
Keaton is starving. I know because he won't quit telling me how hungry he is while I'm contemplating what to feed him. I give him a smoothie. He drinks it in one breath. We are both devastated that he is still unsatisfied. He doesn't want anything I'm suggesting. He pulls the waffles out of the freezer and that's what he wants. And I said fuck it. Waffles it is.
I start making preparations for Jim and I's supper. I'm irrationally angry at him because he's been at work all day, and it's Thursday which means he'll come home and eat and then leave again to Uber. He does this for US. For our family and I'm angry that he won't be here. I ask him not to go, but he reminds me that it's a perfect ubering night. I silently go back to making supper. Why did I dream that about Grandpa? "If you're just going to be mad, I'll stay home." Jim says snapping me out of my anxiety ridden thoughts. "No, just go. It's fine. I'm mad anyway." I tell him. He doesn't know that my mind's been playing tricks on me all day. And I selfishly don't tell him that. And you know what happens now right? I go into the stress file cabinet of my brain, and I start pulling out all those reports I've made over the past 18 years of things that Jim hasn't done that have made me sad or angry. Things like, "Why doesn't he ever just sense that I need some time, and leave work early without me having to ask? He knows I love surprises, why doesn't he ever just surprise me with sweet little nothings? Why doesn't he ever brag about me? Why can't he read my mind? Why can't he do something spontaneous for fun? Why does he hold the purse strings so tight?" And I am irrationally angry at him for these stupid files that are spread out in a mess of a pile on the floor of my brains. "You're going to have to cook the halibut." I tell him. "I'll just burn it." He's short with his "ok". He's frustrated with me. I go upstairs because Keats is yelling for Daddy, but Daddy can't come to see what he needs because I've sabotaged the short amount of time he has with him tonight. My mind is racing. "Why haven't you written your book? Why haven't you started? You have a story to tell, all you have to do is write it and you won't do it. Why are you like this? Why didn't you clean today? Why did you waste your day?" My head hurts. I go into our bedroom and I sit down to do a short journal entry about my shit day. And I write 5 lines about my shit day and I feel a bit better. Keaton comes in and says "Mommy! I found a ticket! It's a ticket to the Polar Express!" He gives me the ticket. It's a $4.99 price tag he's found. Probably on the floor somewhere considering the state of this house. I smile into his blue eyes. He doesn't feel good and he's had a shit day too, but he's finding joy in a stupid price tag. Suck it up Sarah. Don't be a dick. Take the medicine you've been prescribed for days like this and get over yourself. So I do. I take a pill. And I breathe. I take Keats' hand and we walk downstairs together just as Jim is setting our supper on the table. We sit down and I put my hand on his leg. "Thank you." I tell him. And I smile at him. He takes my hand and smiles back and kisses me. "You're welcome." He says. And we eat. And he doesn't stay frustrated. And he doesn't get his 18 year old files out. And he doesn't make me say anything else. And he gets me. And on days like today, I feel like I don't deserve him. And on days like today, he's the Silver Lining.
Keats and I are snuggling now as I write this and watching his last show before bed. And as always, I feel better to have gotten this out of my system. The pressure of days like today are exhausting. And days like today come without warning. But, of course tomorrow is another day. And I GET to live it.
If you clicked, thank you for reading my truth.
My work was cancelled today on account of the weather. I had plans to sleep in, and write, and read, and nap. I woke up a bit after 5 am because Keaton was crying and coughing from his room. I went to see what was going on and he was burning up. He was coughing to the point of almost puking and kept saying his head, mouth and ears hurt. A girl at daycare had tested positive for the flu 2 days ago. I was going to have to take him out in these freezing temps to go to the doctor. He was lethargic and rosy cheeked here at home while we waited for the doctor's office to open. We got there at 8. And because of the Tylenol I had given him, his temp was down 2 degrees and he acted like nothing at all was wrong. The doctor and nurses were nice, but I took their small talk comments of "braving the cold to bring him in" as judgement that I had made the wrong decision as a mother. I told them about the flu at daycare and how 2 hours ago, he was not acting ok. Their polite smiles were polite smiles. To me they said "Why did she bring her baby out in these below freezing temps for this? She's one of those paranoid Mom's that brings her child in for every little thing. She's not doing this right." The dream about Grandpa creeps back in. Why did I have that troubling dream about him? They tested Keats for strep and the flu and sent us home to wait for a phone call. The phone call came and he was negative for strep and flu. Just a virus. Treat him at home with tylenol. I thanked them. My mind said "Sarah, you idiot. You always do this. You worry and then you take him to the doctor and nothing's wrong. Sarah, you're not doing this right. Why did I have that dream about Grandpa?" Keaton was getting really tired and we snuggled on the couch. I fell asleep for a few minutes and woke up an hour later to his feet on my face. He was asleep, his head on my knees. I moved his little body to a more comfortable spot and tucked him in. My head hurt.
I started boiling more water. I'd been doing this for the past 2 days to keep the humidity from getting too low in our house. We have a smart thermostat now that tells us if it's too low. I mean, I could already tell because every fucking thing I touched, shocked me. The kitchen is a mess. The family room is a mess, the dining room table needs cleaned, the front room is a disaster. My laundry has been in the dryer since yesterday. There is stuff everywhere and it's giving me the blues. But the thought of cleaning makes me want to cry. I want to get out of this house, but it's literally freezing and I have a sick baby. I watch a movie, but it turns out to just make me more agitated. The dream. The dream. The dream. It keeps coming back to...I don't know...haunt me? But, it wasn't scary, just really, really, unpleasant. I'm still rattled. My head still hurts. The pot has boiled itself dry.
I ask Jim if he can leave work and hour early so that I can get out and go get some much needed tennis shoes and a new sports bra. He says he thinks that will be fine. Keats wakes up and he's hot again. "I feel better Mommy!" He says with a smile and rosy cheeks as I run the thermometer across his forehead. Yep, fever is back. Repeat tylenol. My head hurts. I can't people today. I text Jim and tell him not to bother coming home early. I don't want to go out. I am trapped in this house with a way out, and I don't want to go. I realize my fingers are throbbing. I look at my hands and see that throughout the day I have bitten and picked all my nails off. My cuticles are torn and red. A true sign that my darkness has been busy.
Keaton is starving. I know because he won't quit telling me how hungry he is while I'm contemplating what to feed him. I give him a smoothie. He drinks it in one breath. We are both devastated that he is still unsatisfied. He doesn't want anything I'm suggesting. He pulls the waffles out of the freezer and that's what he wants. And I said fuck it. Waffles it is.
I start making preparations for Jim and I's supper. I'm irrationally angry at him because he's been at work all day, and it's Thursday which means he'll come home and eat and then leave again to Uber. He does this for US. For our family and I'm angry that he won't be here. I ask him not to go, but he reminds me that it's a perfect ubering night. I silently go back to making supper. Why did I dream that about Grandpa? "If you're just going to be mad, I'll stay home." Jim says snapping me out of my anxiety ridden thoughts. "No, just go. It's fine. I'm mad anyway." I tell him. He doesn't know that my mind's been playing tricks on me all day. And I selfishly don't tell him that. And you know what happens now right? I go into the stress file cabinet of my brain, and I start pulling out all those reports I've made over the past 18 years of things that Jim hasn't done that have made me sad or angry. Things like, "Why doesn't he ever just sense that I need some time, and leave work early without me having to ask? He knows I love surprises, why doesn't he ever just surprise me with sweet little nothings? Why doesn't he ever brag about me? Why can't he read my mind? Why can't he do something spontaneous for fun? Why does he hold the purse strings so tight?" And I am irrationally angry at him for these stupid files that are spread out in a mess of a pile on the floor of my brains. "You're going to have to cook the halibut." I tell him. "I'll just burn it." He's short with his "ok". He's frustrated with me. I go upstairs because Keats is yelling for Daddy, but Daddy can't come to see what he needs because I've sabotaged the short amount of time he has with him tonight. My mind is racing. "Why haven't you written your book? Why haven't you started? You have a story to tell, all you have to do is write it and you won't do it. Why are you like this? Why didn't you clean today? Why did you waste your day?" My head hurts. I go into our bedroom and I sit down to do a short journal entry about my shit day. And I write 5 lines about my shit day and I feel a bit better. Keaton comes in and says "Mommy! I found a ticket! It's a ticket to the Polar Express!" He gives me the ticket. It's a $4.99 price tag he's found. Probably on the floor somewhere considering the state of this house. I smile into his blue eyes. He doesn't feel good and he's had a shit day too, but he's finding joy in a stupid price tag. Suck it up Sarah. Don't be a dick. Take the medicine you've been prescribed for days like this and get over yourself. So I do. I take a pill. And I breathe. I take Keats' hand and we walk downstairs together just as Jim is setting our supper on the table. We sit down and I put my hand on his leg. "Thank you." I tell him. And I smile at him. He takes my hand and smiles back and kisses me. "You're welcome." He says. And we eat. And he doesn't stay frustrated. And he doesn't get his 18 year old files out. And he doesn't make me say anything else. And he gets me. And on days like today, I feel like I don't deserve him. And on days like today, he's the Silver Lining.
Keats and I are snuggling now as I write this and watching his last show before bed. And as always, I feel better to have gotten this out of my system. The pressure of days like today are exhausting. And days like today come without warning. But, of course tomorrow is another day. And I GET to live it.
If you clicked, thank you for reading my truth.
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