What A Difference A Month Can Make

I was on a walk this morning with just the small baby. I was thinking to myself... Who am I anymore? I really don't know. I have lost all concept of who I am currently. I can tell you very clearly who I used to be or who I have been in the past...but now I am only a mother.

I lost so much with Camille's death, Many of the things I loved left too.
I could list them: Athlete, reader, chef, driven career woman....I am non of those things....I am interested in them but non of them define me anymore. My main focus is keeping my children alive which is no small task when viewed from the eyes of those who have failed at that job.

I did cry while I walked because I don't even know if it is a choice...or if these things are gone like my daughter is...not by choice.

It is hard bumbling through life, so unlike "me" whoever that is. I liked having an "identity" or being so "_______"
a statement like "that is so Renel"

I can't even do that and I live in my skin. I accidentally made a peanut butter and jam sandwich the other day and found it the next day inside the bag of bread....fucking hell, I know I am functioning on less sleep, working, not blogging and not going to therapy....those combine into a morning walk with tears for sure. Sometimes I try and test myself to see where I stand... How am I without a month of therapy, a month of not blogging. Well not great. I need them both but I have little time with work and babies and realistically the lack of sleep is very dysfunctional.

I am trying to lose weight so I can regain some semblance of self...will I find who I was or a whole new me? I kind of wonder...will it be an epiphany or will I wake up someday living a completely different life and wonder how I got there. Nothing seems particularly conscious and that feeling is not a good one. Sometimes autopilot is necessary but I wish I had more direction.

Sleep...I need a lot of it and am getting very little. I think to myself: I put a sandwich back into the bag with bread and I am working on people's broken hurt bodies at work....EEEEGADS! the lack of sleep is affecting my relationship with D. Short fused and short on patience. No one else can need me right now. I have nothing to give anyone. I am all used up. I try and remind myself that this is short lived. I will get more sleep soon. I never take it out on the baby. I know better, so everyone else gets the shrapnel of fatigue and exhaustion.

I remind myself:
We loved each other.
We loved each other so much that we had Kai.
We loved Kai so much we had Camille.
We loved Camille so much we had Harlow.
Where will our love lead us next?

Because sometimes I forget about my love for anyone but the babies. I feel like a Foo Dog standing guard over them, mouth open, teeth barred. But the fierceness does not need to be focused on all people. I have to remind myself: They are not the enemy.
I have to remind myself.
I am not sure who to blame anymore...I am too tired to figure it out...and so I lash out at anyone who gets within striking distance. I have no patience for you I say. My heart is still bleeding behind my love armor.

The truth is: I cried almost everyday in the month of January. I don't really know why. Maybe my return to work and taking Harlow to daycare has me all emotionally taught. Trying to find the balance between working a job I love and being away from my baby....it makes me want to vomit. I hate working even though I like being there....I hate being away from her. I trust no-one. No matter if Harlow is in good hands, they are not mine. I have the best of both worlds. I have a great job with a fabulous schedule, I make good money, Harlow is up the street. UGH I just want to be home to have her nap on my chest.

Kai turned 4 years old last week. He is giving me a run for my money. Smart kids do this. He doesn't throw fits, he will rationally discuss with me the reasons for his disobedience or bad choices. It is exhausting. He is brilliant and funny, loving and sweet and stubborn, obstinate and loquacious with words. I know his vocabulary stems from me. He can talk you into the ground. I tune out. I feel guilt for wanting just a little quiet. I love him. He is so grown comparatively to the not quite 2.5 year old that carried my heart on his shoulders when Camille died. He is mine and not mine at all. I remind him that I grew him. He loves to hear stories of things I did with him while he was in my belly...like a far away adventure novel. He knows 50 site words and loves to read what he can. He isn't even in preschool. He has a kind heart that oozes out onto our meditation floor. He says he has 2 sisters and that he loves them both and it makes me love him even more... and when I see him giving his sister kisses and parroting in a high pitched voice what he hears me say to her, or to watch Harlow shriek with laughter because her brother is just SO funny... my heart swells with love for him.

So this past month we got the plague and recovered, I went back to work and put Harlow in daycare, Kai turned 4 and I have loved bigger and missed more. It seems a lot for a month.