I’m ridiculous. My computer will stay open. Because that happens.

I can’t check Twitter again today. I have to stay off the forum.

Not forever. I know I need them as resources sometimes. Not today. I need a break.

I can do Duolingo. I can have Slack open (I am entirely failing to add people. I keep trying and no one is getting emails. I hate the internet.) mostly because no one has talked to me there yet. Ha. I can read up on stupid hair care shit so I can stop whining in front of my friends so they think they are supposed to offer solutions. (Everyone’s hair is different. This process is individual and that sucks.)

I think that during Noah’s self-date the kids and I will walk to the park for a picnic.

Self dates are important. We all take them. You have to get to know yourself. You have to like yourself. You need time with just you.

I am deeply embarrassed by how much of my self date time lately is getting a fucking donut. I’m totally obsessed with this place near my house. They are so pretty and delicious and the perfect kind of fluff to solid ratio and…. an arm and a leg. They are ridiculously expensive.

I can’t drink. I can’t smoke. I can’t take as much pain medication as I frankly need. Sleep is hard.

You will pry my over priced donuts from my cold dead hands, motherfucker.

I feel petty and stupid and ridiculous.

I *am* petty and stupid and ridiculous on this topic. But oh well. That’s something that folks do sometimes. I’m not special.

What do I want to grow up and be? I’m almost 37 years old. It’s kinda time. Why am I looking at “growing up” as if that means the same thing as empty-nesting? That’s the equivalent timeline I’ve given myself.

I want to be able to work with people who do not look like me so that we can all grow to understand incest as a phenomena and experience more fully. So we can figure out what kinds of actions are more helpful for us.

Because we are a fucking subgroup of the population. Incest alters how you experience life in dramatic ways that can be clearly mapped.

We are marked by our experiences.

There are some of us in the immigrant detention camps. Will I do them more good in the long run if I finish the process I am putting before myself to learn the kind of mental and physical control that will allow me to effectively do the research I want to do?

Somebody has to go to law school so they can be the lawyer representing the people in the camps.

The person sitting on the front line is someone who either did their prep work long ago or someone who is on a different path to being supportive.

Is the work you are doing today in the service of dismantling the system of oppression or upholding it? There are a million different tasks that are all part of that.

Fucking hair care so that I look like a respectable, respect-worthy bitch is part if this motherfucking process for me.

Do I love it? No. Do I want to do it? No. Is it actually in service of my ability to reach my long-term goals?

Yes.

So far I’ve had at least three solid commitments from other women who want to help on this research when it seriously gets going. Those women understand the security and privacy concerns in putting this kind of information on the internet in a way I will never understand. They are on the front lines of ensuring security for the entire fucking internet because I am lucky in my friends. I have lived in the right place to meet some extraordinary people.

They are waiting for me to finish growing up.

I need to put some serious specific dates around this and get my ass in gear. I can’t fully wait until YC is 18. I can’t do that to this project. I can’t do that to these women. I can’t do that to my whole damn cohort.

I won’t live forever.

We need to find a way to find each other and learn how to communicate. This is going to have to be intersectional as fuck.

And my face can never be in the forefront or it’ll be one more white bitch homogeneous project.

That’s complicated. And important. If I want the project to succeed… it can’t ever in any way be about my ego. Because this is the most vulnerable part of *all* of us. I can’t take that identity from people and make it mine.

I nuzzle this sweet infant on my lap and have mixed feelings. She won’t get the carefully curated Montessori early childhood my big kids had. I put an overwhelming amount of work into creating that. And…. yeah. Now we are leaving. Sorry, kid.

No one gets everything.

I can’t be at every protest. I can’t get every kind of college education or do every job.

Am I working to dismantle the system?

Yes.

Ok. That has to be enough for today.

My pain doctor spent my pregnancy telling me that as soon as I was done being pregnant there are lots of options. So I went in to see him. Now he says that I have literally one option until I am done nursing (which is years away). The one option is something called a “dry shot” where he sticks a needle into me with no medication (I said, “So basically acupuncture”) and moves it around a little then I get to drive to my chiropractors and have my chiro adjust me.

He will charge me over $500 for this shot. He said that my pain levels might go from a 6 to a 5. It would be over an hour of driving roundtrip for the shot (and it’s only effective for a short time so I have to hurry to the chiro) which hurts. It just makes it a little easier/more effective for the chiro to adjust me.

He wouldn’t recommend physical therapy for strength gaining to help. He wouldn’t discuss any medication options at all. I asked for a Lorazepam script. Because when I travel I have been able to go up to eight days without sleeping and that’s kind of a problem. He said I can get my pediatrician to write him a note and then he will prescribe 1/4 of what I’m asking for.

Oh. I should come right in when I’m done being pregnant…. why?

But when I’m done nursing he’s happy to hand me heavy opiates and keep me drugged out of my mind for the rest of my life.

He’s not recommending PT. He’s not recommending anything else. I just have to wait for the heavy hitting opiates. That’s his plan.

Did I mention that he was over an hour late for the appointment? He spent 10 minutes telling me that I have no options other than bullshit till I’m done nursing then he walked out. I’m paying around $500 for this office visit.

I’m having feelings!

I won’t see him again. He’s expensive as fuck and he’s doing a lot of jerking me around. HE WOULDN’T EVEN TALK ABOUT THE PREVIOUS BLOOD TEST WORK NOR ORDER OTHER BLOOD TEST RESULTS. I fucking hate him. I think I am going to write an email talking about how upset I am that I was not handed the results of my previous blood work. Fucker should have had a god damn print out for me. I paid thousands of dollars for it.

Sigh. Ok.

I went in because my back is on the verge of spasm all the time right now. I’m asking Noah and the big kids to pick the baby up off the floor because bending over and standing up again with 15 pounds is too much. I’m afraid I will fall and hurt her.

No PT though!

I really wanted PT. I wanted help getting stronger in targeted areas so that I can bear more. But that’s too hard. He just wants to drug me.

I’m going to stop seeing him and I am going to send the office visit fees to organizations helping families separated at the border. That will do more for my mental and physical health than visiting this motherfucker who won’t help me does.

I’m not asking you for god damn Oxycontin. I want physical therapy. I want to be told that acupuncture is my best option instead of him offering me one dry shot at $500 a pop instead of my lovely acupuncture folks who charge me $25 a visit and they treat a whole bunch of areas of pain at once instead of the one jab.

I want people to be honest about their limits and not tell me things like, “Come right in when you stop being pregnant because there’s a lot we can do.”

Liar. There isn’t a lot you will do. There is one path you want to follow: you want to drug me into oblivion.

That’s not really what I want anyway. I may be a short tempered asshole because I’m in pain but I’d rather be that than a space cadet.

I don’t want to try and home school my kids on Oxy. Not really. That sounds…. problematic to me.

In other news, all three of my children take my breath away. I love them more with every day. My body sucks. But my life is wonderful.

My husband is so great. Noah has been so kind and helpful and generous in spirit. There is nothing I could have done to deserve him. He thinks about us all day long. He thinks about how to be kind to us. He thinks about how to make us smile. He wants all of us to be happy and he works towards that every day.

It’s really beautiful.

I contrast his thoughtfulness with a friend who reached out. We SMSed like twice about something and I mentioned moving. She said, “This will take a real conversation not texting. When can we talk?” So we scheduled a video chat. Then she moved it to the next day. Then on the day of the chat she asked to change the time. Then she stood me up. Then she asked to go at a slightly later time. (I was in a medical appointment.) I said no. She said, “Ok how about our original time tonight then?”

I told her that my window of child care had expired and I no longer have the freedom to have a peaceful conversation.

Her response was most unsatisfying.

I understand that staying home with my kids means I “don’t have a real job” so I should be just as available as non-breeders who are unemployed and just chasing Pokemon all day…. BUT ARE YOU FUCKING DELUSIONAL? NO I AM NOT AVAILABLE ALL FUCKING DAY TO JUST HAVE FUCKING QUIET TO TALK. THAT SHIT TAKES PLANNING AND WHEN YOU FLAKE I AM NOT GOING TO ACCOMMODATE YOUR BULLSHIT.

Of course I am not going to yell at her. And she is definitely waaaaaaay too good to lower herself to reading my blog while wanting me to read allllllllllll of her shit.

I have more than one “relationship” where pretty much I am expected to be an admiring audience member as they tell me about their fabulous lives and when it is my turn to say something with my real honest to god outside voice…

Oh hey. Let’s schedule. And reschedule. And reschedule. And stand you up. And why can’t you accommodate me and reschedule again, I thought you were my friend.

This is like when I came across the country for you and you wouldn’t put your pants on and leave your apartment to see me because you were a little tired.

I see you. I see your behavior towards me.

Because of Noah… I see exactly how well you don’t treat me. It’s not that I think everyone in the whole world should treat me like Noah does. I really don’t. But having someone in the whole world think I am worth treating with respect… it casts a harsh shadow on everyone else.

Why in the fuck would I reschedule with someone who will treat me like that when I can blow that person off and talk to Noah instead? Why in the world would I waste my precious, rare, alone time on waiting around for someone who has no respect for me or my time?

We aren’t actually friends. Friends don’t treat me like that.

I deserve better. I don’t do that bullshit to people.

And on a silly note… I’ve been working on hygiene. (In our house we hisssssss the word hygiene like it is an insult or a poison.)  I used to hang out with a lady who spent a lot of time telling me that if I don’t want people to treat me badly because I look like shit I should work harder on my appearance. In general I stopped hanging out with her because fuck the idea that I deserve being treated badly if I am not performatively pretty enough.

But when we travel it’s going to be all about first impressions. She’s not wrong. I hate it when people have such opinions and they are right.

Quite frankly I think folks should have been suspecting something other than PTSD/Depression on my mental health diagnosis list just because of what a struggle hygiene has been my whole life. It’s taken me over 20 years of serious effort to get to the point where I brush my teeth twice a day and I floss every day. That was fucking hard for me to build habits around. Dealing with my hair is sooooooooooo much worse. And when it’s super fucking long (it’s almost to my waist at this point) I can either do an ugly as shit messy non-bun… or it’s work.

If I want people in other countries to treat me like a person I have to look like I have put effort into my appearance every single day and that thought makes me want to climb into my closet and never come out again. That’s such an overwhelming, horrifying thought.

People are going to fucking judge the shit out of me because I don’t shave my armpits and legs. I don’t tweeze my eyebrows.

I had no idea just how disgusting these choices are in other peoples opinions until Twitter.

I was talking to Jenny about being an expat because she’s been across the pond for about 8 years yet. She says she can be fat, hairy, or an American… pick two. She can’t have all three as a weirdo ex-pat.

My ribcage is smaller than Jenny’s, but I am still going to probably qualify as a fat American. I don’t want to give up on being hairy. Oh god.

Also! Jenny! When you asked me why the baby is growing out of her clothes so fast if she isn’t in a high percentile…. uhhhh… I had this sinking feeling in my belly. I uhhhh I think we move our babies out of clothes before they fully outgrow them. I think we like our babies in very baggy clothes because we are afraid we will injure a baby in tight/hard to put on and off clothes. And having this flash of insight into our choices made me feel ashamed and like I am a liar who is claiming my baby is growing faster than she is.

My babies are never in skin tight clothing. So uhm, my guesstimates of “Wow this kid is so big” are probably dramatically overstated.

I had this entire thought process combined with a mental picture of a friend’s kids. Her kids were a handful of years older than my kids with a similar spread. Her children were wearing the same size clothing as my kids. Only my kids were swimming inside big loose sacks and her kids were in clothing so tight they were almost tourniquets. In my head I had this lightning strike followed by the thunder clap of, “YOU ONLY MOVE YOUR KIDS THROUGH CLOTHING SIZES SO FAST BECAUSE YOU ARE NEUROTIC AS FUCK.”

Oh shit. That’s true.

So Jenny… my expression of how fast my babies are growing is not exactly a lie, but it highly influenced by my weird as fuck perception of how clothing should fit.

It’s ridiculous how ashamed I feel of myself for this.

So this kid is in to 50% for height and weight so she isn’t growing that fast. My previous kids are 90%+ for height so they are genuinely in taller than expected clothing.

The current kid is fighting very well in 6-9 month clothing at 4 months in my baggy desiring opinion. So she’s not really that big. The 6-12 month stuff is still a little baggy but not much.

I’ve been thinking a lot about when to put the house on the market. If we shot for October 1st… the house would have a stack of offers by the time we got back from Disneyland and Malaysia. I suspect it will be easier for our lives if we put the house on the market on October 31st so that we can be here for the sale offers. If we decide we want to do stuff to fix up the house… it wouldn’t get started till November so I feel like pushing the mark with putting the house on the market is… not in my physical not mental best interests.

Everything in my neighborhood is being sold for well over a million in less than two weeks right now. I really doubt we will need to remodel to get buckets of cash. Even with all the defects all over the house.

I don’t need to be treated badly anymore. I have way too much going for me.

My hands and arms hurt and I rarely have the time to seriously pick apart my thoughts for writing. That’s having an infant.

I’ve scheduled a lot of medical appointments and I need to book more. We grown ups need a typhoid vaccination.

I have the basics of travel and lodging arranged for Mexico and Malaysia. I suspect that in Mexico we will do very little exploring. Everyone is looking forward to utter rest. Malaysia will be a major exploration experience. We are staying near the main city center park in Kuala Lumpur. I’ve looked up museums and stuff to do. The kids and I are going to wander a lot.

Hopefully I’ll add stuff to instagram.

I’m happy that EC is losing her braces soon. I now feel a bit more cheerful about the fact that I want to get rid of the vast majority of what we own in the next two months. Eeep. That’s work.

I feel like I want to try and schedule a couple of group things before we go. But there won’t be that much and I’m not going for a big party.

I don’t know… I feel like a candle lit dinner party would be fun. But I can’t imagine that working out with children.

I miss alone time in my house. I miss burning candles late into the night and just letting the world float past me. I miss being naked and feeling luscious.  I want to feel luxurious. Not utilitarian. But I’m a mama. Mamas are functional.

I want to be naked and alone in my clean house in the dark only illuminated by soft glow. Ah well.

I want sex. I had sex recently and it was lovely and all, but I want more.

I want to feel like I have time.

I want. It’s a nice feeling.

And here I sit. Under her sweetness. It’s not exactly what I want, but it’s not so bad.

I spend hours composing blog posts in my head. Then when I have time at a computer all that comes back to me is, “Tired. Hurt. Busy. Oh g-d.”

Some things I want to notate for my own memory: EC called me out. It was beautiful. There was an incident with screaming right in someone’s face. I said that doing that is almost as bad as hitting someone because it hurts people. My daughter looked at me most pointedly and said, “Does that apply when you do it? Hmmmmm?” I told her that it does. That is part of why I say that they can never deserve being yelled at; it is a failure of control on my part.

It was a pretty lovely exchange. I’m so glad she can stand up for herself. I wish she didn’t need to against me. But I kind of think that is part of most dynamics?

I got real rigid in my expectations again and the big kids are relaxing. I’m not pregnant. I have an infinite amount of focus to ride your ass again. Pregnancy is so hard. I can’t think or move around or help or pay attention the way I do normally. I think it is funny that my kids are thrilled to have the guidelines in place that chores must be done by 10 and academics done by 12 or don’t ask me for screen. It’s a sheer cliff they can see coming and it isn’t based on my moodiness. They like that a lot.

We are solidifying the school assignments for the year. My daughter agrees that it is better to have stuff just assigned in advance so that school work isn’t a day by day “Do I think you’ve done enough for today” battle. That’s super unpleasant for all concerned.

My Middle Child is struggling but also doing well. I feel so bad that he got my full on emotional dysregulation. He really did. That boy is so much like me. We spent a while talking about how he needs to stop physically menacing people while he is little. At some point he is going to start T and it’s literally unsafe for every person in this house if he does so without having his temper under control. Right now he feels very free to physically lash out at us and that’s not ok. It’s better than it used to be. He is growing up and learning more control. But he’s so much like me and the last huge temper tantrum I threw was when Sarah lived here. So it was what 6 years ago? I don’t have a high horse here. I just have the sheepish awareness that I’m not a large person and part of the reason I have gotten away with my tantrums is because I’m not that big.

Middle Child is showing promise to be as tall as Noah. He is doing everything in his power to ensure that he grows up looking manly. It’s going to be a different thing if he is violent. People will hurt him back in ways they don’t hurt me. I’m scared for him. On top of all the other reasons he could be targeted. He’s gotta get his temper under control.

We are probably going to need to put the focus on that for a few months. That’ll need to be a structured elimination plan where I don’t pay that much attention to other things for a bit and that’s hard on the other kids. Balancing the attention between the three of them is going to be a challenge.

I live for challenges.

He’s motivated. He wants to have more control over his temper so he doesn’t lash out and hurt people when he’s angry. But he’s a little kid and that control is hard. That’s ok. I have stacks of books with recommendations. He and I will come up with a plan together and then we’ll act on it.

Religious study is going well. The kids are making interesting connections that I wouldn’t make. There is still too much of me that is influenced by Christianity being taught to me as “The Truth” as a child. My children think Christianity is as accurate as Hinduism. They see no difference. Talking to them is so beautiful. They treat all the stories like they are valid and interesting and have something to teach you about people. It’s cool.

YC had her 4 month check up with the doctor. She’s a textbook baby. 50% for height, weight, and head circumference. (15lbs, 25″ tall) She’s got extremely good head control and back control and she can make more sounds than expected for her age. That part doesn’t shock me at all. Ha. Talk talk talk talk. She’d better be a big talker to keep up in this family.

If I had another girl child I’d want to name Gabrielle so I could call her Gabby and hope she’s talkative. I’m not even kidding. In our clan it would be a prayer on her behalf.

But no more babies. I am absolutely over the moon about the family I have.

I haven’t packed more in a week or so. Partially I only have difficult shaped boxes in the house and partially I realized I’m waiting on the braces and I don’t want to be bitchy/pushy at EC. I’m still slowly clearing stuff out that we aren’t keeping and I’m trying to not feel internal panic. We have many months left. If I keep getting rid of 2-5 bags a week… it’ll all happen. It’s ok.

Thank you so much to R & L for taking the brewing stuff. That was going to be hard to rehouse.

We won’t be going out like I wanted to this summer. Money isn’t endless. Instead, we will stay closer to home and maybe that’s for the best anyway.

Yesterday I walked 5.5 miles. That’s more common lately. I’ve hit 5 miles 4 times in the past two weeks. *pat self on back* My kids are doing similar distances. We are getting ready. We are getting fit. We can do it.

Now, if we could be fully consistent with our other chores and mood management, life would be perfect. If life were perfect… what would we do with our mental energy?

I’m having a hard time getting time to type lately. It’s not that I’ve stopped the roiling feelings… it’s that my arms are full. Even though this baby is my most put-down-able baby I use the times when she isn’t in my arms to sprint through work. I’m always behind.

The big kids and I are in an interesting phase. Kids are pushing back in important ways. They are individualizing and expressing preferences. Things like: I have been told that I am not allowed to discuss details of my kids transition with anyone who is not intimately in his life or an appropriate doctor or trans for the foreseeable future. That makes sense. This is going to be a process. (Middle Child is currently going by the pronoun he. I can say that much to clear up confusion and then I have to stop.)

My daughter keeps pushing back on my nagging and I get it. I’m completely fucking annoying. But she’s 10 and she still forgets to do a lot of stuff and when she forgets to do stuff she gets mad at me for not reminding her. So I kind of had a melt down a few days ago and I started sobbing because if I’m not allowed to tell you to do it without being bad and if I don’t tell you to do it I’m being bad… I am going to explode into the nastiest bitch ever because if all of my low key options make me bad I’m going to say fuck it all then I will be horrible and all of your fun goes away and I will nitpick every fucking thing in the universe.

I had a good half an hour of crying and talking about how YOU HAVE LEFT ME WITH NO WAY TO BEHAVE AND I CANNOT COPE WITH THIS.

Then we went to the dentist and found out we get to pay $750 to fix four cavities. There goes our summer fun!

So I’m having some big feelings. I’m not supposed to nag but I am to blame when things don’t happen. I am supposed to make entertaining magic appear even as money is sucked away into medical care. (I’m a petty fucker but a piece of me is just overjoyed that a medical expense isn’t all my fault.) I’m supposed to suggest the right classes at the right time or my kids feel free to complain bitterly about how I failed to meet their needs.

I’m looking at my spoiled brats and thinking a lot of harsh thoughts about my parenting, let me tell you.

At the end of my meltdown I told my daughter that until she can get more than half of her assigned stuff without reminders STOP TELLING ME THAT I SHOULDN’T NAG YOU. THIS IS LITERALLY MY JOB AND I HAVE TO DO IT AND I AM GOING TO GET FUCKING AWFUL IF YOU KEEP TELLING ME TO STOP REMINDING YOU. YOU DON’T REMEMBER WITHOUT REMINDERS SO STOP BEING NASTY TO ME ABOUT THIS.

Like… the baby was born and EC just stopped wearing her headgear for her braces. I wasn’t sitting on her to force her to put it on every night… so we all kind of realized she went months without wearing it. Whoops. So… we want to put our house on the market when her braces come off. But she can’t be bothered to do the basic care necessary to get the braces to fucking come off.

This kind of thing.

There’s more. But I don’t need a long rant about my daughter’s forgetfulness today. Shit happens.

I wonder more about her being on the autism spectrum even though it wasn’t identified at the first screening. I wasn’t diagnosed until 35 and I could talk about the lifelong trajectory of my development. I sorta fear it’ll be like that for her too. Her development is just… cock eyed.

I hear a baby.

It was kind of exciting to read that it’s a standard ADHD problem to struggle with plans changing.

The more I read about my struggles being “normal” the more I feel like I can figure out how to manage them.

Can’t type more with sleeping baby. She’s perfect.

Well… I’m not pregnant any more. I am perking up. We went to Lupin Lodge today. The kids couldn’t stop saying, “Oh my god we get to be NAKED.” It was funny. The random adults there were shockingly cool. There was a long game of volleyball in the pool with all the kids and adults playing. It was really lovely. We had a fantastic time. I talked to a lady who is pretty sure she remembers J from way back when.

I am going to miss all the connections I have in this valley.

We spent the time with a friend and her daughter. It was great to see them. My friend enjoyed snuggling the baby and the kids all had a great time together.

Last weekend we went to the waterpark. Today one of my kids is going back to the water park with a friend. A different friend is coming over to see the rest of us. Tomorrow I get to go see Sarah.

Life is picking back up. I have more energy than I have had in years. I am not sure (I might be misremembering… my memory is a funny place) but I suspect this is the most energy I’ve had since marathon training. I haven’t had this since before the road trip. I’ve been dead with exhaustion for years. I had a brief stint of almost manic energy when I was cheating and working on the bathroom remodel, but it wasn’t like this.

This is being sustainable and feeling good.

One of my former students (definitely one of my favorites, she was one of the ones who came over to paint my house and she visited post-graduation) contacted me after a long break. It’s so nice to hear from her again. She was one of the queer/poly kids I carefully kept my mouth shut around while broadcasting Complete Non-Judgement. She moved out of state and is doing really well. I’m so happy for her.

She tells me that I should get on finishing the second book and publishing it. She said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to relate to a narrative voice the way I do to yours. I hope you never stop writing, you are so good at it.” I’m going to cry now. That’s so gosh darned nice. Wonderful people like you being out there are a lot of why I write so much. I love you. I share what I have with you… mostly that’s my brain. It’s a bit weird… but it’s fun sometimes.

I am trying to figure out how to chill on my crankiness. It has improved in the past almost four months from the pregnancy extreme but I’m not 100% back to where I was pre-pregnancy. For some reason having an infant who wakes me up all night long to insist on nursing even though it fucking hurts my shoulder to nurse in bed is harder than just having big kids. Who knew.

(ME! I FUCKING KNEW THAT.)

I asked the kiddos to schedule their next week. Look at what we have planned and *you* make the decision for how you are going to get all your stuff done in that time. I will refer you back to *your* schedule over and over but I’m not going to discuss what you should do next. I need to bounce that responsibility back onto the kids. I’m going bananas trying to make the schedule then enforce it. Something has to give somewhere. If you want me to make the schedule, fine–but you have to bloody follow it. If you want to make the schedule and I just remind you to check it over and over again, fine.

But I cannot and will not do both. I get so god damn mean and it sucks for everyone involved. That isn’t working. Something has to give somewhere. This week… the give is the children doing the planning.

Let’s see how this goes. hahahahahahahahaha ahem.

Planning to try things and fail and see how it goes is how I got my first teaching job. Those kids are still contacting me so not every part of it failed. Hopefully it will go ok with these children too.

All I can do is pray.

I’m reading more about parenting a kid with ADHD. Mostly what I’m getting from these books is that I need to keep doing what I’m doing but add more patience. That’s been my entire experience of being an adult. “This task is too hard.” “Well. Then try harder.” Find more buckets of patience to dip into. Find more wisdom. Find more kindness. Just fucking do it.

I’m not doing things wrong. I’m just underestimating how much diligence is necessary to see a task through. This is hard for me. I’m not a finisher. I’m not the one who sits still and keeps a routine going for years just for the sake of completion. I have ideas! New beginnings! Finishing is for boring people. *cough* Or something.

It’s amusing figuring out more about my own brain in this process.

I feel like I’ve gained new depths of understanding around why my existence is traumatizing. It’s not really about me, Krissy. It’s about my membership in a group that is… the problem. When I recognize how much support and medical care I’ve gotten over the last few years, when I think about how luck I am to have a partner like Noah who provides direct support plus access to buckets of cash…

If I were still struggling I would hate someone in my position with the fire of a thousand suns. Sometimes it is hard not to hate myself for existing with all this fucking safety.

Oh. Yeah. That’s what they meant. I have all this fucking safety and it being available to me and my spoiled as fuck children… that feels unfair. It feels horrible and awful. My children are not better or more valuable or more worthy. Why in the fuck do they get to be safe?

Because life is fucking traumatic and unfair.

How do I inhabit this space with humility? How do I hurt the fewest number of people possible? Even sharing the good things isn’t neutral. It rubs in folks’ noses that I have something they want.

It’s all complicated and painful.

Today we get to have a meeting with an insurance sales person about long term care insurance. I’m already borderline disabled (I’ve been having some good days lately so I ADMIT NOTHING) and things will get worse as I age.

I’m having a hard time just standing up right now because of how badly my back hurts. I love the baby. I’m really grateful she’s willing to sit in things like strollers because I’m not coping that well with her weight.

I love having a fat baby and all, but could you slow down the weight gain JUST A TAD?! No? Ok. Fair enough. I get it. Fat is beautiful. Keep it up, darling. My back will… figure something out. My back will figure out how to send burning lightning bolts of pain up and down my spine is what my back will figure out. It’ll be rad.

My daughter thanked me for trying to not be a burden on her later in life. That was a trifle awkward. But hey… I’m trying.

I feel absolutely exhausted. We’ve been keeping busy. Exercise and packing and learning stuff… my body and my brain feel depleted. And my massage therapist is out of commission because she was hit by a car. (She was in her car; her car is totaled but she is ok.) She offered to try to do 30-60 minute sessions while she is healing because she feels bad for letting me down! I said OH MY GOD NO. You are going to heal and rest and take care of yourself and if there is anything you need, call me. NO YOU ARE NOT GOING TO GOD DAMN HOBBLE YOUR WAY THROUGH TAKING CARE OF ME IMMEDIATELY AFTER YET ANOTHER TRAUMA TO YOUR BODY.

Oh my goodness woman.

I know some codependent as fuck people.

Noah is home and it is glorious. I missed him so much. I don’t feel like it is as ok to talk without him.

kids. gotta go