Written by: Momma B
Originally posted: 11/4/2015
I really like that saying "God never gives you more than you can handle."
Let me just quick point out that I am not a deeply religious person - I have no religious affiliations, and my beliefs are mine alone. I do not get into discussions involving religion and never will. It's a personal thing that is between me and absolutely NONE of you. So there.
This summer I could not handle anything. Clearly. I couldn't even get out of bed on my own. I had people coming to shake my shoulder and say things like "Bethany....if you don't get up now you won't have time for a shower!" Seriously. I had gone from a 32 year-old mother to a 12 year old kid in less than a 24 hour time span. (I paid for the fancy express ticket to my rock bottom.)
Fast forward though 8 weeks of residential where I made lots of arts and crafts with glitter and paint, 4 weeks of partial where I spent my days folding origami and participating in groups while trying to learn to regulate my intake of food. Also to see food as.....food? I don't know....like normal people see it? I don't think I will ever know how that is. Something in my brain is messed up with that recognition. Hopefully through CBT and DBT one day I will see food or hear about it and not have my first thought be to either shove it all in my face or to run away in fear. Those are my two automatic reactions. That's just how the grooves in my brain have been digging themselves deeper for over half of my life.
Not trying to go off on a tangent. Refocusing.
So, yes. I was cleared to go back to work a week ago. I had all of my appointments with my doctors and everyone said my labs were good, and I had a good head on my shoulders, and although I am obviously not 100% PERFECT (Pssshhhaw! Which one of you judgy people is?!) I may resume earning income for my household.
- Insert my husband crying tears of joy here. -
So, just like that I was whole again! As soon as the paperwork got into the hands of our HR department I started to get a little tickle of anxiety. Just a little niggle of the "wait, am I really ready to go back? What if I can't deal with the whole real being a grown-up and adulting yet??"
Don't ever ask yourself that question.
My son had a little runny nose the other day. He wasn't even complaining about it. No cough, no sneeze. Just a little snot. I almost thought I was imagining things. I put him to bed one night and then......BANG! The next morning he decided to learn how to climb out of his crib at 22 months old and ALSO to have his "little snot trickle" turn into a full-fledged god-awful category 5 head cold. Begin 36 straight hours of a screaming toddler, mucus and throw up (sorry for that trigger), fevers, zero sleep (but for some fitful 5-minute naps on a twin mattress thrown on the floor of his room at 2am.) No real schedules. Just zombie baby with mucus and tears and his insatiable need for mom snuggles.
Who would have guessed that I had more than enough to give to him?
I took care of him just fine. I shouldn't have doubted myself for a second. If this was back in June, my husband would have been on his own. My body physically wouldn't have been able to keep up with our son's demands. I literally #crushedit this time. I literally laid on that floor with his toe up my nose and him whimpering in his fever-dreams and I swore like a sailor in my head and I counted down the minutes until sunrise and I held it together like a mother fucking BOSS.
Because I am B.
And that's just what I do.
Original post can be found at www.randomfrequents.com.