The bad news is that aside from my love affair with the Bialetti, I'm not in such a good place right now. Ironically, I think this is probably a good thing. I've been edgier and moodier since meeting with the social worker, so I think that poking around at the tip of the iceberg that is my grief has made me somewhat . . . let's just call it volatile. It takes pretty much nothing to push me over the edge of hanging on to screaming madwoman. [Aside: is this how Riley feels all the time? Yikes!] Hopefully working through some of the hidden depths that are the source of the volatility will eventually calm it down. The likelihood that I will be patient with the process—and easy on myself throughout? Slim to none. But I will try. And I will drink lots of lattes. And really, what else can a woman do?
Maddie and Riley have been patient with me, more so than kids their age should have to be. I've been open with them about how I feel sad, and if I say, "Mama is sad right now," they will come over and give me hugs, which is very sweet. And when I yell or act petulant and bitchy, I apologize and explain to them that I'm not the two-year-old in our family, even though I act like I am a lot of the time lately while expecting them to act like the grown-ups.
While sleep overall has been better lately (knock on wood, knock on wood, knock on wood), getting the kids to sleep has become a production. I've been spoiled by kids who, since we did CIO at six months, have pretty much been happy to be tucked in, told they are loved, and that's that. Maybe some happy chatter, maybe straight to sleep, but once the door is closed, they're fine. Not so much lately. Riley has moved his screaming routing to bedtime. The door gets closed and all hell breaks loose. People want books. People want a hug. People want to scream for no reason that I can discern. While I don't give in to all of what I hear over the monitor, I do go in when Riley does the terrified cry, about twice a night. It's been averaging about 35 minutes between the door closing and kids falling asleep. I'm sure that to some, that doesn't seem like long. But I'm used to my me time starting when I walk out of their room, and now it starts a good bit later, and a good stressful bit later. This is wearing to me. Mantra: it's just a phase, it's just a phase, it's just a phase . . .
It did occur to me that there might be a link between me being less patient and Riley's disturbed sleep patterns. As noted before, that kid picks up on everything. I have been noticeably more sad of late, and that could be upsetting to him. The double-edged sword here is that if I were in a better emotional state, I'd handle his riled-up emotions better. It sucks that we're both down at the same time. I think some of the bedtime antics might be related to the time change, too, although that's been a while now. Who knows. Phase, that's it, phase.
At least there's dinner with my girlfriends to look forward to tonight. That couldn't come at a better time.