Like turning on my computer with a purpose greater than mapping my run or talking and salivating over food trends with Chef Jessica; the Take Five bars stashed in my desk drawer and the crushed ice at the beverage bar; the satisfaction of creating a beautiful power point, delivering a presentation that ends in a pat on the back, and saying TGIF like I mean it; and having a cadre of colleagues to spew thoughtless dialogue at. Whenever something pops into my mind at work, good or bad, I always feel like I have someone to share it with. And generally speaking, the recipient of my projectile new flash is able to respond, relate, or better yet, remove it from my brain.
This week, I feel like my mind was spinning with stuff. And most of the time it wasn't good stuff. Every day seemed to bring a new stress that I wished I could ping at someone over the wall. Instead I found myself letting everything fester within the small frame of my house.
Within the past week ...
I entered the unpaid part of my maternity leave.
I lost my debit card.
I was accosted by a drunk homeless man in Chicago.
I was told I have three more cavities. Not including the massive one in my upper left wisdom tooth which is very close to hitting the nerve.
I scheduled a follow up exam with my doctor.
My 'social' life told me that everyone was moving up and on, looking better than ever, relocating to the house of their dreams, and toasting the fine life with trendy cocktails ... all while I nursed my baby in the wee hours of the morning.
I was discouraged that on the heels of the stomach flu, I got sick. Congested, stuffy, feverish, depressingly sick.
And it snowed all over spring today.
On Saturday evening, if you asked me to fill out the are-you-too-sad-to-get-on-with-life questionnaire the doctor asks you to fill out as you are discharged from the hospital after giving birth, I think I would have circled some of the less optimistic answers.
That is, until Peter snapped me out of it. He told me that bad moods are contagious and in short that I needed to turn my attitude around. It only took a couple hours to see that my mood was really just a function of blurred vision; dwelling on the negative and not opening my eyes to the bigger, better picture.
Say that within an hour, a friend of a friend had found my debit card on the sidewalk and it was back in my hand. Or that Bobby rolled over for the first time and Mary went tinkle in the potty (twice!) That the corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick's Day was delicious. And the hash Peter fried up after church on Sunday was even better. That my performance review went well and that I'll surely have an impact when I return in May. That life in all of it's stages and with all of its stress isn't just manageable, it's beautiful.
I believe that part of your job as a parent is to be an eternal optimist. To make life as carefree as possible for the little ones growing up under your imperfect roof. And it's my job as a spouse to make sure that my partner knows that the congestion will clear up, a neighbor will return the debit card, and the tulips out front will still bloom when the snow melts.
Lo.
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