I’ve been seeing a therapist now, for maybe 6 months? I’m not sure. I knew prior to having LG, that I was a strong candidate for a hearty dose of PPD. I had it with the Mini, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it was with LG. The Meester started talking to this woman last year sometime, and she sounded pretty cool. I figured I’d give her a go. I’m leery of therapists. I’ve almost never had a good experience with one. I even had one fall asleep on me once, which really? I’m not sure I have the words to describe that feeling. Or the will to make jokes about it. But the last word I would use to describe myself, is boring. Even my neuroses aren’t boring.
But this one, she’s a good egg. She doesn’t just listen to me yammer on for 50 minutes about my “woe is me, my life is soooo haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard” complaints. She pushes back. She isn’t afraid to tell me that I’m being hard on myself (something I hear EVERY WEEK, thank you), or that I need to stop trying to be such a perfectionist, or “for the love of god, woman, can’t you say ONE GOOD THING about yourself?” Translation: shut up and let me pay you a compliment, already.” She doesn’t make me feel as if I’m abnormal for all of the things I’m going through. She has yet to back away slowly, or run, fleeing from her office, leaving a gaping person sized hole in the wall as she blazes off. She’s candid, and honest.
I am so hard on myself. Ridiculously so. And even her constant reminders of “everyone goes through this,” I have a hard time believing her. I feel as if I look at everyone with multiple kids, and they have it all together. Or so they seem to. Me? I’m a hot mess. I’m always forgetting things when I leave the house. I forget appointments. I realized today, that I forgot it was my turn to bring snack for school. I forgot the Mini’s backpack today. Half the time, I forget to comb his hair. Before LG came along, I was more scattered after becoming a mother, I think that’s a given. But I had a notebook and a planner and every single thing got written down. I might not have gotten every single task accomplished that day. But I crossed off what I could, gave myself a pat on the back, and put the rest of the stuff on the list for the next day. Now? Half the time I have no idea where my stupid notebook is, let alone what I need to get accomplished. I wander around, trying to find purpose to my days. Trying to make some semblance of them, and be more organized. I look under my bed and think “Ugh, I should just go downstairs and get the rake.” Inevitably, I hear the baby crying, or there’s a major crisis and I promptly forget what it was I wanted to do, or needed to get done. I start 5 different tasks and never finish them. I find things like rogue socks in the hallway.
I feel so scattered and lost. I am told this is normal.
And yet, I have a hard time believing this. Is this the new normal when you have kids? Do you have organization or do you open your linen closet and find things mixed in with the towels, that don’t belong there?