Parenting With Anxiety: Park Edition

So, I bet this will probably shock every one of you.
I have anxiety.

I know, right?

You were all thinking that I am so COMPLETELY easy going, and carefree, and relaxed. My writing style, my self love... and BAM, outta nowhere I just hit you with that nugget.

It's true. It's crippling. It's hard to navigate.

Now, try having to deal with that AND a child who fuels/nourishes herself solely on that anxiety. And maybe some booby milk and pasta, too. But definitely lives for thrills.

Those two things combined lead me to be frazzled and fizzled out EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. By 11am.

Here's a look inside my head during a trip to the park.

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*unbuckles Baby D from carseat*

I hope this is installed right. I can't imagine the horror if something were to happen and I had just been too lazy or forgetful or tired to look up the proper parameters and installation. That's probably why I hate taking her in and out of her car seat so much.

Did I just say hate? Like as if I hate having to haul her around? That's just dumb. 

*tells Baby D to be careful and wait a second because we are near a road and she needs to hold my hand before crossing*

Jesus I should have grabbed my wallet first, I hate having her behind me out of her seat. I know if I let my guard down, that'll be when she bolts into traffic. But we've taught her traffic danger. But maybe I need to reiterate it again? Make it scarier so it sticks? No, she'd need therapy later in life probably. Jesus, pay attention woman.

*holds her hand, crosses street toward park entrance*

Uuuuugh. Those after school daycare ladies are judging me already. Do I look extra fat in this? Probably. They'd better not judge my parenting. They will. Who cares? Well, I'm thinking about it, so I guess I care.

*watches Baby D climb high ladder, effortlessly, simultaneously standing close enough to catch her while trying not to be her shadow*

That's awesome this kid is so fearless and agile. I hope she slows down though on that tall ladder. Once she knows she's got it, she looks around too much. Geez that makes me nervous.

*reminds Baby D to watch where her feet are and not to go too fast. Tells her she's doing a great job and that she is soooo strong. Asks if she needs help*

I bet I'm hovering over her too much. But this is a playground designed for 5 and older and munchkin is only 3. But tall. She's so tall. I hope that boys still play with her when she's school aged. I hate all the gender bullshit. She's tougher than kids older than her. She's tougher than me.

*sits on wood edging of playground*

Ah crap... that was close. She's so fast. Why did The Hubs teach her to raise her feet when she's going down the slide like that? She almost flew off again. She loves it, but that'll hurt if she lands on her back on the ground. Friction. Geesh, this kid needs NO MORE SPEED.
My butt crack is hanging out again. I should have worn a longer shirt. I'm so gross. I bet all the skinny moms think I'm just a lazy pig. I guess I kind of am, but I don't mean to be.

If you think this is scary, you should try watching her speed climb a seven foot rock wall.

*shouts for Baby D to STOP! Don't make that 4' jump straight down!*

Oh god. I looked down for a second and she almost fell. I cannot let my guard down. She's so fast and crazy. Man I love her. Jesus my heart in is my throat. That other little kid wants to play with her. Oh man, I hope I don't have to parent anything with the other kid. Especially if she's with the daycare and not her own parent(s). She seems nice enough.
 How can the daycare people watch so many kids at once? Dalia would have run away by now if I weren't here.

Am I creepy? I'm staring at them both. And smiling. All creepster. It's cute this kid wants to play with her, but I feel like most kids can't totally understand what she's saying. But I don't want to follow them around. I have to pee. There are no bathrooms here, dammit.

I hope I'm doing this right. Should I be letting her climb all this at 3? I can't stop her wild, fearless nature. I don't want to stifle her or scare the adventure out of her. Man she's running fast up there. I hope she doesn't bang heads with anyone. Is she too little to be here? She overpowers the little tot lots around here now. She's so tall and strong that she kind of hops and she's at the top. I don't like those older girls hogging the rings. Pretty sure they just told them to go away. Grrr, don't make mama bear step in. Why isn't the daycare lady saying anything? Okay, they ran away and don't seem to care. 

Aw man, I wish that girl would slow down on the curved ladder. Baby D is trying to keep up with her, but she's at least a few years older.

*Reminds Baby D to watch where she is putting her feet. Baby D slips off but gets caught. Regains footing*

Ohgawd that was close. I don't know what I'd do if she got really hurt or broke something. I can't keep her in a bubble but...

*tells Baby D NOT to climb over the 7' tall rock climbing wall railing to imminent injury*

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Okay. That was approximately 7 minutes at the park. Good times. I got super anxious just typing that and it was literally just the tip of the iceberg of thoughts.

I'm so chill.

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Now Is The Time

For what?

Fucked if I know.

I read it on a fortune cookie Sunday night.

It could mean now is the time to get rid of my clutter. In my house and in my mind. One would make Hubby happy, and the other would make both of us happy.

It could mean just give up already, WTF, more attempts at success/health/fun/fitness that resulted in epic failures, so FFS, just toss in the ol' towel already and stop the broken record from spinning like it does.

It could mean the time is right for another glass of wine. But probably not. My poor girlfriends who attended the Eve & Gwen Stefani concert with me could tell you that. Until I clean out that brain clutter, wine might just make me emotionally barf everywhere... and let's just say I'm a VERY ugly crier/emotional barfer.

To put down the wheat-filled fortune cookie?

It could mean it's time to let a family member go. And I'd be okay with that. I know they have already moved along, so perhaps it's time for me to accept it and set the boundaries for my own mental health. Learning at 36 that someone so close to you is the textbook definition of a narcissist is pretty tricky. Kind of completes that HUGE missing link in therapy for the last 20 years, but, hey, WHO'S COUNTING!?!

It could mean I should write a blog post again. But I doubt it. I feel like that fortune cookie probably doesn't even KNOW something like Blogger exists.

Maybe I will at least try to tackle the first point. While writing out the last point.
Now, to play the lottery with the numbers on the back or not....


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Goddammit. All the things.

You have no idea how many times I have mentally prepared myself to sit down at my dusty-assed laptop to write a blog post.

About things. So many things. All the things. ALL THINGS. But then, in my head, I can't justify spending time doing something so purely for myself with no tangible benefit without first accomplishing one of my many failed tasks around the house. So I start by tidying up, or loading and starting the dishwasher...

(which is a masterful skill if you ask me because I manage to fit EVERYFUCKINGPOSSIBLE dishwasher-safe dirty dish in there, if it's the last thing I do. And when I'm feeling particularly risque, I toss in one or two dangerously NOT dishwasher-safe items. I like to spice it up and play Russian Roulette with deadly melty plastic in the components of the machine. Will it melt? Will I ruin the 17-year old dishwasher and HAVE to get a new one? Will it all work out fine? Oooooh, who knows, I am SO living on the edge right now*. 

Usually this thought process is interrupted by Baby D requesting that I help wipe her bum.

But, as I was saying, I'm WILD, y'all).

So, at least if I have accomplished something, then I feel like it's not so bad to sit down and blog.

#nofilter bwhahahaha

Funny thing though, once I tidy the counter minimally and try to get the dishwasher started, my bird brain sees something shiny and then gets totally derailed. And not in the oh-hey-I'm-on-a-roll-Imma-keep-cleaning type of derailment. It's so much like an old forwarded email I read. I see one thing I really wanted to deal with so I pick that up, and walk to the location where I wanted to file/read/call/clean/complete it, and I remember that I need to do something more time-sensitive, like start laundry then while I know I'll be home long enough for the machine to run.

To the basement I will go, but realize I forgot those two items on the top floor I needed, so go get them, and then this process repeats itself until it's time to get Baby D from Preschool, or she needs me in some other form, and tasks are stopped because, well, crazy preschooler.

I manage to never fully complete ANY task, nor do I get started at the laptop. Nope. I get 893,274 things 10, or 20 or 50% completed. I create more mess in the process. I feel even more like a failure for being so discombobulated**, stressed at the mess, and worse off at the end of the day.

That blog post? I remember it as my drowsiness-inducing allergy medicine kicks in, while I am in bed, at a time later than it should be. And the idea dies for another day.

So far, this post has taken one preschool trip, one laundry round, two preschooler negotiations, an indoor dog shit, a urgent foam fill spill vacuuming, and one pee being painfully held in, just to get here.

Anyway, I'm sure that most people who used to come here once and a while and read have given up on me. And I wouldn't blame them. But I really miss writing. I miss brain-vomiting all over this here Blogger page. I need to write more and want to write more. Even if it is just for the sake of cleaning out a dusty corner in the ol' bird brain.

* I am not a completely reckless person. I still make sure that plastic shit is top rack. I'm not a madwoman. Geesh.
** That word is so much fun.


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