Tuesday, April 19, 2016

The Week from the Underbelly of the World

Oh, hey there, Internet!  Remember me? 
You may be the only one after the week we've had over at the Keane Estate.  It's been the kind of week that makes you want to retire from life.  The kind that you walk into a whole person, but walk out of a ghost of your former self.  There's a reason for this dramatic breakdown.  I'll give you one guess:
The stomach bug.
Oh my word, you guys.
I love my children, and I'm so glad I had them, but why, oh why, do their tiny little hands feel like after a good washing they just need to find the grossest, nastiest germs to then stick in their mouths?!  I'm actually asking.  Please tell me, all you scientists out there.
Last Monday morning I woke up at 2:00 am o'clock to the sound of Eldest crying.  Wait.  No.  He wasn't just crying.  He was gagging. I knew in that moment my life, as I knew it, was officially over for the next rest of my days.  Also, Eldest is still learning how to really do the thing.  He still doesn't get that when you feel the urge to let it out that's you're cue to run and find the toilet or a bowl.  So, that was exciting to teach him on top of everything.  That night we were up from two onward.  Nope, he did not go back to sleep.  I think we all know how I feel about that. 
Terrible.  I feel terrible about that, you guys.
Anyway, I thought we were in the clear after two days of no one else blowing chunks.  Well, that was dumb.  Late Wednesday afternoon those chicken quesadillas I had for lunch became the wrong decision.  Do I even need to give you the play by play?  I don't think so.  Not really.  Except you do need to know that at one point I actually crapped my pants while I was throwing up.  Did you read that? Let me type it again in case you missed it:
 I CRAPPED MY PANTS WHILE I THREW UP!
YOU GUYS!
I'm telling you, you just haven't lived until that has happened to you. 
I was out of commission all day Thursday, but I did get in quite the viewing of the old reality show, The City.  Oh, don't play coy.  You know the one.  It's about Whitney Port, Lauren Conrad's work friend from The Hills.  It's basically trash on a stick, but I couldn't help gobbling it up since I couldn't seem to stomach anything else.  After watching a season and a half I can officially say I want to live in New York City, and be rich, and have lots of the coolest clothes!
None of those things will ever happen for me.
So, back to reality.
After I managed to Lysol the entirety of my house I hesitantly waited to see if anyone would fall victim to this disgusting gross.  Well, let's just cut to the chase: Youngest did.  Friday she decided to get sick, but not really sick, so she won at being my favorite that day.  We made it through the weekend unscathed, but then Sunday night Youngest still didn't seem quite right.  I took her to the doctor yesterday, and she has double ear infections.
AHH!
After the pediatrician said that I choked back a silent sob for all of us, and squeezed Youngest tight.  Bless it all.  We will never win.
At least she's on antibiotics now.  Ten days from now she'll be back in the germ accumulating business.  I will cherish these ten days.
 
Through all of this I felt the pull to work.  The pull to write.  The need to be more than myself.  The urge to give, give, give.  The urge to take, take, take.
It's left me feeling overwhelmed.
It's left me feeling underwhelmed.
It's left me feeling nothing and everything.
Last night, after a day at work, I was talking with my co-worker about writing.  She asked, "What are you going to write about for tomorrow?"
To which I replied, "Honestly?  I'm just so overwhelmed, I don't even know."
So, I wrote about being overwhelmed.  I wrote about how my life, particularly this last week, was far from perfect, because my life is far from perfect.  Because in these moments, I sometimes feel like I'm just not enough.  Sometimes I feel like my life is about to swallow me up with the amount of things I have to do, and I just cannot get them all done.  I just can't care for everyone.  I can't care for myself.
This past week did a number on me.  I can feel the edge of depression on the periphery, and I don't know if I need to therapy that out, or medicate that out, or both.
I just don't know.
But I do know that a lot of you probably feel that too.  The pull to be more than we are is strong, and we all fall victim to it one way or another.
So, whether you are actively crapping your pants while projectile vomiting, or just unable to deal with the carpool lane, know you're not alone. 
We are going to make it.
Together.


2 comments:

  1. Oh wow...this was timely...we experienced something similar at our house this week, and you totally put into words what I was feeling. I can/could feel depression on the periphery, and that's something I haven't felt in a long, long time. I have had pneumonia and was STILL recovering, and was awakened at 4am by youngest puking in my bedroom....on the carpet..I am NOT glad you were going through this too this week, but I am glad to know someone else out there understands. Thanks for expressing what I haven't been able to express this week.

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    1. Girl, we are just in this together! I wish we weren't. I wish we were riding unicorns through fields of wonder and grace, but that is just not where we are at right now. That's okay...we are gonna make it afterall- Just like Mary Tyler Moore!

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