Crash

It finally happened.

C. walked into our house last night to find both of us crying. Baby in his playpen. Me on the couch.

I finally hit that point, the one I kept thinking that I was tough enough to overcome, to hold myself together, to not give into the desire to just fall apart.

But I'm not.

Poor C. wasn't sure what to do. I tried to explain it, but didn't do a very good job, in between the sniffling and whimpering. It's a combination of things, really, some within my control, some not.

It's an overload of stories at work that I'm doing neither well nor on time and have nothing to be proud of there. It's anxiety about stories, which is something that comes with the job and can often be controlled, but sometimes, you get a big helping that you have to just get through. It's missing my friends there who have left, and not feeling bonds with those who have stayed. It's needing a big heap of inspiration and not knowing where to find it.

It's feeling like I have absolutely no idea what to do with this now one year old, other than feed, change and try to keep from whacking his head on everything. I'm not a mother, I'm a goalie. And I just don't know what to do with this kid right now. I'm not a very good entertainer. I'm at a loss for games to play or things to do.

It's feeling out of touch with friends, and like life if just a series of short, difficult sprints, with some time to sleep in between before you have to get up and do it all again the next day.

And maybe most difficult, it's this dull, emotional ache that seems to have invaded everything I do. Some of it is people related, but much of it is just there. I try to fight and put it in its place, but sometimes, it's too fast for me. It's not painful enough to do anything about, but it's always there, like a nasty hangover headache that just won't finally subside.

I try to power through, and tell myself I'm tougher than this, I can keep it together, that I don't have the luxury of letting myself fall apart. I need to keep going, that I can do this. But sometimes, just sometimes, I want to just give into the sadness and cry. I know I need to be the one to make it better, but sometimes, I just wish someone else could do it for me. Just for a moment, the mother becomes the child again. I know I'll summon up the strength, but right now, the demons sank a few three-pointers when I wasn't looking.

Who's more fun to be around than me?

Seriously... ?

The trampoline is an Olympic sport? The trampoline?

I've probably seen nearly a dozen sets of Olympics in my lifetime. How can I not know this?

And which camera guys draw the short straw to get this event? "Oh, sorry, Bob, we're all full up over at swimming and track. Let's see ... oh, have we got an assignment for you! It'll pull a real, ha ha, bounce in your step..."

My particular good thoughts go out to the low angle camera guy, who spends his entire night earning himself a one-way ticket to Whiplash Street.

Must. Stop. Watching. Camera. Motions. Making. Me. Nauseous. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

There must be some synchronized diving on somewhere?