This isn’t the post I was going to publish.
That one will have to wait. That one was positive and proud and praising. I’ve been working on it for days.
To publish it now I would be a hypocrite. Because I’m crying and sad and angry and I just pushed my daughter to get her away from me. I think I may have smacked her hand, I can’t remember.
I only remember her crying because it’s not even 7pm and she wants to go to sleep and I won’t let her because if I do she will be up in the middle of the night. I need my fricken sleep.
So she’s crying and she’s angry and I could see the crazed look in her eye so I turned away from her so she wouldn’t grab and squeeze my hand. So instead she grabs the bottom, sensitive part of my arm and pinched so hard I yelped and burst into tears.
She made instant marks. I pushed her away. I sent her to her room. I cried all over the front of my husband’s sweatshirt.
Now my arm is turning black. And I am blue. And the tears still come as I write to try to calm myself. And she is still crying upstairs. I fight with myself over whether to take an anxiety pill or pour a glass of wine because I can’t stop the tears. So I breathe deep and write some more.
I am not in the mood right now to pretend all is well and I have this all under control. Maybe tomorrow.
Leave a Reply