Meredith Syndrome

I've been feeling pretty dark and twisty, a la Meredith Grey, for the last week-ish, culminating in my embarrassing public breakdown yesterday. Last night one of my besties came over to watch our high-maintenance munchkin so that the hubs and I could go on a date. While I was grateful for the opportunity to get away and hopefully de-stress, honestly, I was probably a major dud. I was exhausted, sad, and overwhelmed. Disneyland was the obvious choice. About half-way through the evening I started to perk up a little. But we cut the night relatively short because I could barely keep my eyes open. We got to the tram just in time for some live entertainment.

I asked Matt to be on Benjamin duty for the night. If Ben woke up coughing or crying, I would simply beat the crap out of Matt until he woke up and took care of the sweet little man.

Ben did not wake up.

I have a love/hate relationship with this fact. I'm so excited that Ben finally slept. I hope it is the new norm. But I'm bitter that it happened on Matt's night. So just to be clear--Matt's on duty forever now.

While I did get a long night's sleep, I still awoke this morning feeling awful. Emotionally, mentally, physically awful. So after we went out to breakfast and my funk was persisting, I asked my sweet hubby, since he would be playing at church for most of the weekend and I would be flying solo with McWheezy, if he would take care of Ben for the morning while I curled up in bed and slept and read. He happily obliged. So I spent my morning doing just that--I read my mindless entertainment magazine, slept for a half an hour, and got started on my book club book. We had lunch together then I holed up once more until Ben went down for his nap. Then I watched a stupid romantic comedy. Then Ben woke up. 90 minutes before he normally does. Right when Matt needed to leave for church. I fought back the panic. I wasn't ready yet. I could still barely move and I was still fighting back un-instigated tears. But press on I must. This is motherhood. Taking care of your child when you can barely prop yourself up.


So that's what I did. Ben watched Sesame Street while I slept next to him on the couch. We went outside and played during a rare calm moment (it's been a torrential downpour for most of the day). We did his breathing treatment. We had dinner then played. Well, he played. I sat in a half coma on the floor, the couch, or the chair in whatever room he happened to want to be in and made sure he didn't eat anything poisonous. It was not my finest hour, but hey, I was impressed with the fact that I stayed awake and functioned at all.

The fresh air, however, was nice, however short. The boy is sleeping for the moment, and I plan to curl up with my book once more, possibly scrounge up some vino, and go to bed early. Matt will be at church all morning, so I'm going to need to somehow pull out of whatever hole I've landed myself in by then. Fortunately today was our last day of treatment, so tomorrow no more prednisone (or, as Matt and I affectionately call it, "Hulk Juice") and albeuterol treatments, which will hopefully mean Squeaky McCrazy will no longer be launching himself from the couch and throwing his toys across the room with his teeth.

Cheers (or, as Ben says "cheese")...