In pieces

I sometimes wonder when things will ever be ‘normal’ again. If I’ll ever feel normal again. Or if, at this point, there is no more normal. Our lives have changed a lot – not just the baby, but jobs, too. It’s a lot to deal with all at once, especially when you’re not really adjusting well in the first place. I feel broken. My life feels a bit broken. I love my son. I love watching him play and grow and learn new things. I love the clever little things he figures out, like that he can get the door to the upstairs open by shoving his hand between the door and the carpet and pulling (the door doesn’t latch, we have to shove a piece of paper between the door and the latch to wedge it shut). But I don’t love motherhood. Not, at least, in the way that I feel like I should. You won’t find me ever stating that my kid is the best thing to ever happen to me, which is a sentiment I know many parents have. That feeling just isn’t there. And, since so many parents feel that way, it makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me. Something wrong with the fact that I don’t think my child makes my life complete, or that I’m not feeling over-the-top in love with being a mom.

I feel like I need to apologize to you. I’m sorry this blog has become more about my own personal issues than what it used to be. I’m sorry I’m not baking and cooking and gardening and everything else that I used to do. I’m sorry that I’ve been such a huge downer throughout all of this. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

A knitting friend of mine told me over the weekend that she can tell when I’m having a bad day by my Facebook posts. Am I really that transparent? I guess so. I don’t purposely post up over there when I’m high or low, I just post what I post. But I guess there’s a pattern.

I feel like my life, right now, is like this bunny I’m knitting. Like it’s in pieces, and I’m trying to fix it and sew it together.