Sunday, February 8, 2009

anxiety dreams

Last night I dreamt I lost my diaper bag and wallet and was searching desperately for them when I realized it'd been hours since I'd left G home alone in front of a dreaded DVD, and left N alone with Daddy at work without any food or bottle and I'd missed his last nursing and he missed his last nap while sitting on Daddy's lap in a dire re-org meeting. And to top it all off, when I finally found my wallet: a) N was falling asleep lying on the shore of a beach with waves dangerously lapping up around his head, b) I realized it was G's 3rd birthday and we'd entirely forgotten it, and c) Husbandman was pissed as hell thumbing away at his crackberry telling me he needed to go out of town. Immediately. Gee, could you pile some more anxiety on top of that anxiety? Fuck, man. All this over my perturbation about N not napping yesterday afternoon.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaack. When will I ever be normal again? Actually, upon closer inspection, I think this is actually relatively normal for me. I've always been a type A stress monger. It's just that the things I stress about have changed drastically. Within 3 years they went from how the hell to make a living and pay rent in L.A. to how the hell to be a mother and survive so many diaper changes in S.D.

A friend once asked me to post more pictures with my blogs. The problem is that a cute snapshot of the boys would be entirely irrelevant to most of what I've got to say. Only varied depictions of my tormentia would do for most posts. And I think I tried to capture that in the title picture of me screaming in a halo of diapers. But I do fantasize about various post-able photos of me pulling my hair out watching G & N smear food all over their faces and clothes, me holding my hand over my heart while N screams and refuses to nap, me gasping in disgust while pulling N's hand out of G's poop-exploding diaper, and me reeling in horror as G sticks his finger into his anus telling me it's itchy.

Okay guys, take this all with a grain of salt. I love my life and I love my family. I really, really do. It's just that I'm also a drama queen at heart, and live for disgusting and alarmingly true stories to tell. So if nothing's really all that horrible in reality, I'll dream it and then write about it. How's that for dysfunction? Hey, at least I'm writing. And guess when I'm writing this? You got it: from 5:25am-6:03am, that wonderful slot of alone time N has so generously carved out for me by waking at 5:02am screaming. 

everything happens for a reason.... it is what it is.... all of this is for my spiritual growth.... I am becoming a better person.... how can I go with the flow.... make lemonade out of lemons.... acceptance is the answer to all of my problems.... accept all people, places, things and situations.... it's all good.... just rel...a....x..... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Now imagine this post topped off with a photo of me smirking, and you've got the entire picture.


  1. good one. i laughed a lot reading this post. so patently rachel.

    okay, so now i have it straight from the horse's mouth - you really are a drama monger independent of any baby or family issues. calling it type-a sounds too neat and tidy. i guess i figured that out way back when i read your 2nd book, but i'm glad to hear you say it yourself.

    we love you, you big nut case!!

  2. time to ramp up the lexapro a wee bit more? ;)