Perhaps you know what repointing is?
If not, it's when you remove the old cement from between bricks and put new cement in. It's a labor-intensive, messy process.
I myself had never heard of it until we bought a 110-year old house which, among other everythings, needed to be repointed. So much cement had taken leave of our house that in some places, luck was just holding the walls together.
It never occurred to me that cement between bricks wouldn't be forever. I mean, it's cement, right? It is not something to which one pays much attention, you know? It's just there because it's there.
But it turns out to be just there just holding up your house. It keeps it all together.
And time and weather and what-have-you chip away at it. You can let it go to a certain point, and then you really really have to tend to it.
I myself have gotten thin on mortar lately. My fortitude has been eroding in such little, but continuous flakes, that I hadn't really noticed. I'm not underwater yet, but I'm heading there.
I walk a thin line in life. You know this about me. I'm an up-and-down-er, buffeted by the vicissitudes of life. Nick, he is strong like bull. Me, I'm rather a delicate flower.
I need a lot of sleep. I need to exercise regularly. I need sunshine. And I need to eat well. As long as I can maintain most of those things most of the time, I do well. My friend Mr. Zoloft gives me a little leeway.
But with a delicious little girl who wakes up a lot, I've rarely gotten more than three or four hours of sleep in a row since she was born 18 (19? I can't count) weeks ago. I know 18 or 19 weeks is not that old...but I am old. I'm too old for this.
There have been a few nights where she's woken up only once, at 2:00 or 3:00 am, and slept until 6:00. This was fantastic.
HOWEVER. Lately, she's been up five or six times a night.
I've been nursing her to stop the crying, although lately Nick has been going in and soothing her so we can break her of all the night nursing. She doesn't need it. She's just used to it.
But he can't manage all night. He works way too much to be a zombie.
I need repointing, stat. Because I woke up a couple mornings ago thinking how much I hate my life. I've had this thought a number of times since then.
And I love my family, and I love my life. Just not right now. I know this isn't coming from a place of rationality.
I'm constantly on the verge of tears. I'm angry and impatient and I just hate everyone. Myself most of all.
I've upped my Zoloft, with my doctor's blessing. I'm still on a very low dose, so there's room to go up - but I don't want to just keep pumping more drugs into myself and my milk just to keep myself from falling apart.
I returned to the office on Monday. Today one of my colleagues dropped a piece of ice in the kitchen, and it landed near my foot. He told me not to move while he got it, lest I slip.
And I thought, oh, but if I slipped, maybe I'd wind up with a concussion, or something else bad but not life-threatening, and then they'd put me in the hospital for at least a day or two, wouldn't they? I could sleep and sleep!
There would be no infant waking repeatedly in the next room! No potty and meal negotiations! Nobody would scream at me for buttering his toast on the wrong side! Nobody would neeeeeeed me for anything!
You know, a friend of mine and I were extolling the virtues of epidurals after I gave birth. And she said she thought it would be lovely if you could just go in and get one when you were havnig a terrible day. Just check out.
It really would. You'd have that slightly out it warm feeling, and you'd be all, "Sorry, I can't help you with that. I can't feel my legs. So could you pass the remote and get me something to drink?"