I walk the line

For me, it's always so hard to tell where normal ends and too much begins.

Because so much of my life is on the slightly too much side.

So I saw one of the OBs this morning to talk about it. Because I was pretty sure that all the crying and struggling were on the other side of normal.

And she was in agreement.

I'd been wondering if it's just hormones and stress and sleep deprivation or the beginning of postpartum depression. So I made an appointment thinking that if I got on a more even keel, I'd cancel.

But with one thing after the other, I had to be honest that I was not getting evener-keeler.

Because don't you think that things like these can only be signs?

1. You cry over spilled milk.

Seriously.

The spilling, it throws you into a fit of hysterical sobbing. And although you are able to pause briefly to see the humor in this, it only makes you cry harder.

And while you are crying, and trying to assure your crying baby that breakfast is honestly on the way, you start thinking things like "Bird in the hand, two in the bush. A stitch in time saves nine. And what the fuck does that really mean anyway?..."

This makes you feel even crazier.

2. The DC DMV seems like a relaxing little break.

You had to go so that you could change your address and thus have the correct zone parking to park on your own street. You dreaded and postponed until it got to the point where you simply could not put it off any longer.

And so your mom hangs out with your baby while you go. And you stand in the line that stretches out the door, and you explain what you need and show your documents, and you take your number.

And then suddenly, as you're sitting there in this big old building in Southwest, crammed in with the rest of the driver's-license-needing hoi polloi, you catch yourself thinking the following:

"This really is a nice, quiet, organized place they have here."

3. Once you're out! alone!, you never want to go home.

Because on the way to the DMV, you realize the following: You have $40 in your wallet. You have two credit cards. You have your passport, in case they need another form of ID.

And you are not that far from the airport.

It takes every last shred of your self-control to return from aforementioned errand.

I put this all lightly, but the truth is, it's not. I've been crying and resenting - both the kid and Nick - and just wanting to LEAVE. And then feeling so guilty, because I have husband I used to really enjoy and I have this gorgeous, lovely baby.

And I kept having these fantasies of just walking away.

But I believe this will all get better with a little help. And better living through chemicals, you know? So please keep us in your kind thoughts. We're all trying.

Hugs to all, and happy weekend.