Sometimes there are days like we had this weekend: everything is perfect. We go for walks, we play, we read books together, we spend time together as a family. On Saturday, Josh and I even took Zeke to the pool for the first time, and he LOVED it! Here is a picture of the sheer delight:
Sunday was great, too. Josh preached, Zeke and I went out to get lunch for him, and we all had a relaxing afternoon. Monday? Also pretty good. Zeke skips his nap on Mondays so I can teach my class at the gym, and he had a great time playing with Miss Alex and Miss Kate. His afternoon nap was a little bit short, but he went straight to sleep when it was time. And then there are days like Tuesday that make me wonder, "Who is this little alien child, and what the heck did he do with my sweet baby boy?" It's on these days that Zeke refuses to sleep, thus rendering him completely exhausted and unable to function like a normal one-year-old--whatever that means. He hits, he pulls, he tries to bite me, and he has incredible emotional melt-downs that rival any case of PMS I have ever seen.
You see, on days like we had over the weekend, or even on Monday, I start to think I'm doing okay. This "mommy" thing doesn't seem so bad, and I can see a light at the end of the tunnel wherein I might, maybe, possibly, someday be able to stop taking my medication. I feel alive, energetic, fit, healthy, and awake. But then I have a Tuesday. A Tuesday filled with anxiety over whether or not my child is going to ever go to sleep, and worry because I know I'm coming up on the time when I will have to spend 3 hours straight with him and I have no idea what we are going to do. I feel lazy, slow, bloated, fatigued, and tired. I don't want to get out of bed. If I am out of bed, I want to get back in. The tears, oh the tears, they rush in quickly then disappear. And then they come back; and then they go. And then they come back. And back. And back. And once the tears are gone I'm left with the sadness. The pit in my stomach and heart that let me know I'm not as "better" as I thought I was.
Yes, I have SO MANY MORE good days than I did when Zeke was first born. But the bad days can be really really bad. Maybe they're so bad because I have so many good. I guess then it's worth the trade. I've come a long way since last May, and thank God for that journey. But it's a journey I am still walking, and a fight that I am VERY much still in. On days like Tuesday I am reminded that the fight is not over, and I still have to claw my way out. I have to rely on the Lord to supply my strength, and my Husband to give me some much-needed relief by taking care of the baby while I get out for a while.
Oh, to feel "normal" again. Oh, to have never experienced this in the first place.