You know those days you just want to scream? Sometimes it feels like life has conspired to push every one of my buttons, all at once. Today is that kind of day. I really, really want to scream. Mostly, though, I end up weepy instead. Of course I do. I’m so tired of dissolving into tears. I really wish I were made of stronger stuff. I feel too much.
It’s been a busy holiday season, and I haven’t been writing or blogging much. I’ve missed it. Maybe if I were venting here more often my stomach would unclench and my eye would stop twitching. Maybe. My house is still full of cookies, and I really wish they would vanish. I know that to a certain extent my emotional outbursts are exacerbated by sugar. I want it gone, because ever since the cookie baking began, resistance has been futile. I am an excellent baker, unfortunately. January 2nd will begin something of a clean slate, I hope. January 1st is another celebration of sorts, full of delicious Japanese food. It’s Chris’ family tradition, and it’s a delightful one, but it will also feature the remainder of the Christmas cookies. Good grief.
There are several things upsetting me that I am choosing not to expand on. All of them, upon reflection, involve things beyond my control. The only real control lies in how I choose to react, or not. I’m talking specifically about reactions here, not feelings. Feelings just are, and I’m not apologizing for any of them. Ever. But reactions… those I have power over. (Less so when under the influence of sugar, though. How soon is January 2nd, again?)
I’m tired, and Avery’s Daddy fixation is taking a lot out of me. There’s one channel, and it’s all Daddy, all the time. It makes me feel insignificant and unwanted. I know it’s a phase, but it’s been an extremely long one. Braeden never did this. It’s not like he didn’t love his Daddy, but he was much more balanced about it, and nearly everything else. Avery says things like, “NO! NOT MOMMY! I DON’T WANT MOMMY!” over and over until I’d really rather she were pummeling me with her tiny (but strong) little hands. I think even if everything else was normal and there were no other major stressors in our lives, this would still get to me. But when I’m already already stretched thin from stress, it seems much worse. Any of these tantrums has the capacity to bring me to the breaking point. It’s tough on Chris as well. It’s difficult and exhausting to be the only one meeting the demands of a tiny dictator. I help where I can, but when I inject myself and she wants him (which is nearly always the case) she’s viciously nasty to me. It’s hurtful. I can try to rationalize it, but it breaks my heart. Ah, the power of a two-year-old. I try my best to sympathize with his plight, but it’s hard for me to dredge up sympathy over the problems associated with being wanted too much. I’m her mommy, and I want her to need me. True, I would prefer it was not every waking moment, but given the choice I would switch roles, regardless. Her blatant favoritism is killing me. I am so tired of not being the chosen one.
In other news, I read an article about self-publishing, and it’s making me think about what kind of book I might like to write, assuming I could force myself to sit down and just do it. I have a few ideas. The ideas are never the issue, it’s the follow-through. Still, self-publishing seems ideal in a few ways. At least there wouldn’t be any rejection letters. Fear of rejection has always immobilized me.
Food for thought for the New Year. I hope it’s a happy one, for my family and everyone else’s. I wish everyone peace. I plan to pocket a little for myself, too.