Life had been going really well for me.
Then one morning last week, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. It’s not that odd to have a bad day, it happens occasionally. I spent the day giving myself little pep talks. “Just relax! Tomorrow will be better!!!” I’d said to my myself, exclamation points and all.
Then the next day came and it wasn’t better. It has now been over a week and this terrible mood has yet to lift. The children’s voices have seemed more shrieky each day. I’m barely able to deal with their typical preschool-age behavior, everything they do seems like they are out to personally assault my sanity. Carson is going through a difficult “stage” (four years and still going strong!) and Ella vascillates between being the sweetest child on the planet and one that I’ve considered locking in the basement.
Then there’s Tate and well, Tate has been completely unable to do anything right in my eyes. He says all the wrong things, tries too hard to make me happy, and he isn’t like the pictures of my Facebook friends’ smiling husbands who I just know, surprise their wives with completely planned nights away and worship the grounds their wives walk on.
I feel sorry for him right now because it cannot be easy to be married to me.
My daily pep talks are sounding less like “tomorrow will be better” and more like “don’t hurt anyone today” and “screaming is bad for your vocal cords.” I’ve been doing things I love, like making delicious meals, taking hot baths while reading a book, taking pictures. Nothing has brought me joy, though. Tate’s even let me be in control of the remote control in the evenings (probably because he fears for his life if he doesn’t, but whatever).
I hate to complain about my life. I mean, SERIOUSLY. There are people out there with REAL issues. Other than some cold weather keeping us indoors and life’s typical up and downs, I should have nothing to complain about. My life? It’s charmed. It’s good.
“My life. It’s charmed. It’s good,” I said to myself, over and over…