and i still don't recognize this person. not max-- max is max, an adorable creature who is wholly himself, replete with his own distinct giggle, voice, dimples, and tiny little fingernails that can pinch and scratch the living hell out of you.
i am talking about me. i don't know where i got the idea that growing a whole other person would not leave any physical, mental, or emotional scars. i look at my doughy belly, my saggy boobs spouting off (and i used to really love my boobs. really), and i don't recognize myself. i don't know why i thought something magical would happen to me at six weeks out, three months out...like i would be able to have sex and exercise all the time, and therefore would turn into some work-out crazed body-building nympho with a never-ending supply of energy (and milk, for that matter).
it's frustrating. not even so much to me, as to the people around me, i'm sure. like bdub. i find us in this cycle of bad day--then good day--then rolling with the "good day" which turns into, "so now that you're feeling better, let's go do something completely anxiety-producing to 'get you out there'"--which turns into "i feel pushed"--must retreat--i wish i didn't have to retreat--i feel bad about that--bad day...you get the idea (i hope).
i feel like i don't have any reserves left...of patience, of emotional stability, of sleep. i am tapped out, and i am afraid that anyone except for those who are the absolute closest people to me do not understand this. after all, it's been five months, and so what the hell is my problem, anyway?
Sunday, March 29, 2009
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