What Keeps You Up at Night?

Sometimes I don't sleep at night.  Fortunately I discovered a little drug called AMBIEN which is my bedtime namaste.  Sometimes, though, when I am particularly anxious I hem and haw over taking the Ambien because I am proud and stubborn and an incredibly slow learner.  Usually, before I say uncle and then namaste, I freak myself out with some really existential shit.  Like the kind of stuff I'm hoping the people at NASA are working on.  I was talking with Eric about this the other day, how I was having another anxiety attack because of my existential obsessions, while going through several diagnoses about why I am such a hot mess -- undiagnosed postpartum depression? not being able to relax for more than three hours because I have two kids two and under? early onset menopause? RESTLESS LEG SYNDROME? -- he said, "I think about that stuff too when I can't sleep."

This is what 6 months looks like

I literally cannot believe I've had this girl for half a year already.  Summer is so wonderful but it makes time fly even faster...and here I am with a six month old, who is nothing but delightful.

This is what 2 and 3/4 looks like

It looks like independent play, like dolls, kitchens, and princesses, make believing everything, all the time.  It looks like long legs and growing out of early summer's sandals. It looks like three is just around the river bend.  It sounds like complete sentences and made up words (Minda!), like long, complicated stories, like there might be a little lisp now that she's finally able to say "S."  It feels a little stressful as she insists she doesn't need help or a nap anymore, it feels a little exciting as she keeps herself entertained for an hour or more at a time, it feels a little bittersweet because she's not a baby, nor will she ever be, anymore. It feels like love.

Jesus, take the hamster wheel

I've been having a hard time lately.  I don't know why.  But anxiety is kicking my ass.  And I'm back to that old pattern about feeling bad about it, like I need to be fixed.  Like my anxiety is because I am incomplete and once I am completed I will no longer be anxious.  But I've lived in this brain for 32 years and I am starting to realize this may not be the case.  The anxiety will always be there, Erin.  It's what used to keep you up at night crying about the poverty you learned about in school that day.  It's what keeps you up at night because you can't feel God lately.  It's hard living with this brain.  Sometimes it's exhausting to THINK so much and obsessively over analyze ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AT ALL.  Scratch that, it's always exhausting.  But it's a cycle, I've learned.  Right now I'm at that peak point of the cycle where my brain is a hamster on a wheel, just GOING FOR IT.  That little guy is going to WIN.



Tonight I was reading to Grace and I was having a really anxious moment, like reading the words on the page but not really reading them because I was thinking about a million other things.  Not in an interesting way, but in a hostage situation way.  I wanted to stay focused and present, but I kept getting taken hostage, back to the hamster wheel.  I hated it.  Mostly because I excel at reading bedtime stories.  THAT THEATRE DEGREE WILL BE USEFUL DAMNIT.  I kept talking myself back into the present moment, because I loved the present moment, then running back to the wheel, then talking myself back to present and I started to kind of panic a little like, WHY can't I do this right now?  And I felt shitty about myself and angry with myself for sucking.  And then I started to justify why I am sucking -- Grace hasn't been feeling well, I haven't been getting much sleep for the last oh, 3 or so years, I have been eating to excess, over indulging in wine and sweets, I rarely find time to exercise, blah blah blah blah blah.  And you know what?  These things are all true.  Undoubtedly.  But even when I have all of those things in line I STILL HAVE ANXIETY.  And I really want to dismiss it, like pff okay DRAMA QUEEN, you and your hard little life and your sensitive little soul, you who have been given everything, surely YOU have certainly earned the right to be anxious. (That's sarcasm, btw.) Count your freaking blessings and LOCK IT UP.  And then I feel shitty again.  And back to the hamster wheel I go.

Anyway, I got to hear my favorite writer speak today, Glennon Doyle Melton, and she's extremely inspirational to a gal like me, a gal who knows nothing and may have a little extra side of anxiety than the average person, oh, and sizable portion of feelings.  But one of the things she said was, don't believe a woman who says, "I don't know."  Because a woman always knows.  So tonight, held hostage by my hamster wheel (I like to picture it orange, with, like, a jingly little bell attached to it?), I thought, I don't know how to deal with this right now.  And then I thought about Xanax. But I felt the hamster pause (He's cute guys, liver and white spotted.  Am I taking this metaphor too far?) and it dawned on me that what I needed to do was just write down my thoughts.  Go to your quiet bloggity blog that doesn't talk back, that doesn't need, that isn't disappointed or judgmental and just UNLEASH.

(An aside: The other day my mom was so sweet and took the girls so I could get us all packed up for a weekend away. I came home from dropping them off and I was starving because I hadn't really eaten breakfast and I'm nursing so I'm always hungry. It was just past lunchtime and I thought, I'll just get us packed, take a shower, do some vacuuming, then if I have time I'll grab something to eat.  And then I thought: WHAT?!  YOU HAVE TO STAY ALIVE, ERIN.  And you have to EAT to stay alive.  Eat the food.  Do the chores.  Put on your own life vest first, you know? I am so quick to bury my own self and then feel guilty when I need something (like food?! A one hour break?).  This is a tired trope, too.  I want to roll my eyes just reading it:  Oh, another over worked Mommy.  I dunno man, all I can say is it's true.  Serving these people, it can bleed me dry sometimes.  Blogging is usually a treat, reserved for moments when the ducks are in a row and the little people are happy.)

So tonight, after talking myself out of my panic, and taking a few productive turns on the hamster wheel I came downstairs, and instead of going right into prepare for tomorrow mode (i.e., toys away, dishwasher unloaded, towels folded) I said to Eric, I just need to write.  And he was like OK, and just kept doing what he was doing.  And I was sort of like, huh. I can just take some time?  It's that easy? WOW I like to make easy things hard.

Also I am long winded.  Whew.

I am tired, most days.  I can't feel God because I don't make time to search Him or Her out.  I'm tired of not being able to voice my opinion to people I disagree with because I'm afraid of not being able to get the words out right, and my voice gets shaky and I'm just better at writing things than saying things. I feel sort of unfortunate looking right now because baby weight and falling out hair and some new wrinkles.  I feel unworthy of the little girls that I have the privilege of loving and raising, and frankly I don't know what the hell I'm doing so how can I teach them anything?  What is the effing point of life, guys?  WHAT IS IT?


And that's frankly the gist of it.  For today.  And here I am, forty five minutes later, and I feel lighter.  Freer.  I feel a little more like myself. I feel like anxiety doesn't have to be definitive.  I feel like the questions I have for God aren't quite as scary.  And they're going to be there tomorrow.  They're probably going to be there on the day you die, Erin. Huh.  What is it about the act of pen to paper or finger to key that is so therapeutic?

And now.  To publish or not to publish.

Life Hack #4: Summer Edition

Guys, it's getting to that point in summer where I'm getting a little panicky.  It's August 7th.  IT'S AUGUST SEVENTH!  IT'S GOING TO BE OVER SOON.  This panic, this anxiety makes me a little cuckoo, makes me want to control things.  I want to remodel my living room and I'm contemplating getting rid of my piano....however, there's no earthly way I can remodel my living room and I adore my piano.  So, in my infinite wisdom and 8 minutes of spare time I have per day, I realized the one place I have ultimate control is MY BLOG.  Oh my little blogitty blog, I love you.  Thank you for doing exactly what I want and for not hiding your favorite doll in a drawer and then demanding her at nap time.  Please teach your sisters and dad a thing or two, okay?

This is what 4 months looks like

Elle, you giant, darling little girl...please stop growing so fast!

I think she looks like my Uncle Willie.  Which is another way to say she is all Schuette.

This is what 10 years looks like

Once upon a time, on a very hot summer day ten years ago, two crazy kids tied the knot.

It was literally 100 degrees that day.  Photo cred to the fabulous Front Room Photography.