Beside my bed are two laundry baskets
and another two-laundry bag full of clean laundry that I haven’t put away since
washing them over a month ago. Mia likes to climb inside them in the mornings
when I try to sleep in. She likes to pretend she’s taking a bath. Reminds me of
when I used to climb into my parent’s closet and sit on top of their laundry
basket filled with shoes. Laundry baskets are truly a children’s playground.
Next to the the clean laundry is another
set of laundry baskets full of yarn, fabric, and other craft supplies along
with other assorted piles of paperwork, books, and the occasional snack. I have
to think really skinny thoughts to get into my closet and reach really far
hoping I don’t fall on top of my piles and ruin my organized chaos.
I remember sharing a picture of the
same side of my bed, just a different but familiar mess, a year ago. I was passionate
to inform people what depression actually looked like. I'm still annoyed by the
ad that inspired that post. I wish I could just tell adsense to just send me
all the ads for yarn, fabric, and craft supplies, but that’s an issue for
another day.
I’ve spent more time in bed this
year than out of it. Being in bed means I have a love hate relationship with
the objects that occupy the space around it. I love them for their constant
presence, but I also hate them because they’re reminders that my body is weak.
I use my energy to feed my kids in the morning, to change their diapers, to get
them dressed, and after that my body protests and demands to lie down someplace
where I won’t get jostled or jumped on.
My bed is so comfy. Warm blankets
and my pillows that smell like my shampoo and Richard’s body wash. It’s safe.
It’s my space. It's where I like to crochet and knit when I need me time. But I’ve had more
than enough “me” time. While I don’t like the screaming or the jostling, I love
that Mia, determined ninja that she is, scales my tall bed to tell me to
get dressed in the mornings. It’s even sweeter when she climbs under the
blankets to put her tiny popsicle toes against me, because she wants cuddles. More
often than not, if either of my kids are frustrated with me, they often tell me
to “go back a bed” or “go your room, mommy.” They associate me with my bedroom
because lately, I’m rarely out of it.
Some days I think “I can totally be
in the living room today. I can eat some breakfast like a normal human and be a
decent parent for once.” I use up my energy to do the necessities (feed,
change, and clothe the kids) and then I try to push through the discomfort of
my guts feeling the weight of gravity. Then I try to beat back the nausea from my
uncomfortable guts. And then I try to eat something and my body is like “abort!
Abort! Abort!” while I tell it “we need energy, silly meat bag.”
My meat bag is very tired. My brain
likes to also go into reflective mode when my body’s tired. I think about how
gross I feel, and how I wish there was easier, cheaper options to test for food
allergies than one insurance wont cover or a complete change of diet. I think
about how grateful I am for doctors who do their best to treat my many ailments
over the years with some preventative care. But I also have been told often “you’re
so young to have this type of problem.” Considering the fact that several
different doctors, across multiple specialties have told me this, my
hypochondria is acting up again.
I’m educated enough to know there
are risks with multiple tests. I’m educated enough to know that all the tests
in the world won’t cure or solve everything. I’m educated enough to know that
while modern medicine is incredible, there’s a lot of things doctors,
scientists, and people just don’t know. When my bladder get’s another UTI, or
my kidneys get an infection from the rouge UTI, I’m scared that my kidneys will
fail like my dad’s did. When my guts act up, I just don’t want to eat anything
for fear of living in the bathroom. And this is just the physical fears.
I feel like the laziest mom ever
because my kids watch a lot of TV and I can barely interact with them. On days
when I’m not curled up in a ball I regularly ask for hugs and kisses, of which
only Corbin is usually interested. I feel like Richard carries me and all the
primary parenting duties on his shoulders, which also makes me feel like the
laziest wife ever.
I seek audio books and very
talkative YouTube channels for some sense of human interaction, because when I
spend all day in bed, I get very lonely. Richard is responsible and goes to
work and then spends a lot of time with the kids, making them snacks and
dinner, reading to them, helping them clean up their toys, and checking in on
me every once in a while. He’s so tired by the end of the day that there’s some
talking but not much, and I don’t want him to lose more sleep.
I try to knit or crochet or sew to
beat away the boredom. I often try to get homework done when my brain has
enough energy to do a lot of analysis. But often I’m playing games to do
something that gives me a hint of feeling somewhat in control of my life- and
kill digital spiders. They need to die.
I am
grateful for a very understanding husband. He went through a similar physical experience
and his compassion makes me feel like I have a life raft to cling to in this whirlpool
of suck.
I just wish I had the energy to put
my laundry away.
