Cranky pants are on. Feeling a bit like a big ol failure at life, and the mom game.
This effing yoga b.s. is really starting to get on my nerves. Haven't lost a single pound. Not one. I sweat my ass off and I get nothing. I am not even more peaceful. I sit there the entire time looking at all the skinny people and get enraged. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE!? And why do they even come to yoga....I know why, to make fat people like me sad.
Ugh, and to make matters worse I suck at balance, I can't bend right and I can't do this....
Can you do that!? Wait, don't tell me, I'll just get more depressed.
It is literally IMPOSSIBLE for me to put my legs like that and bend over. And, that wouldn't be so horrible, if I weren't literally the only person who couldn't do it (well, mom can't do it either, but she doesn't count). What is defective in my body that makes this an impossibility!? I suck.
Another thing that's buggin is my freakish tendency to check on my child every hour or so. Why can't I get it through my thick skull that he is breathing, and will continue to breathe! I will be laying in bed and this freak feeling and visions of Joey sitting in his crib not breathing and us walking into his room finding him dead in the morning will bombard my brain. I get up at least 4 times a night to check on my snoring baby. I even go so far as to ask Rick to check on him. I ask him things like "you think Joey is breathing," "he wouldn't just die would he?" Who does that!? I am so annoying.
Then there is the ever present freak out about bills and how much shit costs. Gas is BUGGIN and seriously screwing with my budget. I plan and plan and plan and we still spend too much money. Then I sit here and freak out about it and hate the feeling of failing at life. We have money, we do fine, but I obsess about it and I dread going to the gas station or having to buy formula. Its like spending money on tampons. They are so damn expensive, but you have to buy them. Ugh!
Is your house a puke factory? Mine is. Everything has puke on it. We have done nothing to help Joey with this and he is still squeaky as ever. I failed at fixing him and now I feel guilty for giving him this medicine that hasn't helped him at all.
And, lets get real, I still can't believe I pissed myself. My pee hole should be stronger than this. My baby couldn't have damaged it that bad....I am 25, I'm not supposed to be a pee'er yet. My "ladies," are pee'ers and they are almost twice my age! And they only pee with the occasional sneeze and cough, I peed catching my kids pee.
UGH UGH UGH.
And, I can't even drown my sorrows because then I would be convinced I am a horrible drunkard of a mother. Whaaaaaa
OH, and how about this little gem....after our 3 and a half hour creepy Sunday extravaganza, we're watching a DVD on our new DVD player and Rick has the odacity to say, "do you hear that." I try to pretend I don't hear the extremely large amount of noise coming from the super high quality, one of a kind, top of the line, new DVD player (it cost 29.99 give me a break...the budget!!). So he says, "huh, must have a family of gerbils in it...running super fast to make the DVD spin." What. A. Douche.