Okay. Maybe not the leaky faucet. But they do make darn good therapists.
For a number of reasons (menopause, menopause, and menopause) my emotional life has been…a roller coaster of deteriorating states of angst. Nothing is wrong.
I’m reliving puberty without the sense of invincibility and entitlement. I think Nature made an eensy mistake with the timing. Moms should not go through hormonal roller coasters at the same time as their kids. That is so wrong.
Yesterday Shaun suggested we hire help for the house cleaning. What would most women feel in this situation?
What does Jane feel?
FAIL. I can’t even keep the house clean. I SUCK. I don’t want no stinkin cleaning service. I can do it! Really!!
It’s almost like I’m looking for angst.
- Hudson has an abscess! On no! I’ve only treated thousands of abscesses!! Whatever will I do??!
- Oh no! I can’t get the entire house clean in one day anymore. I’m becoming elderly!! I’m going to start forgetting everything any day now!!!
- Friend and I find we agree on some things, agree to disagree on others. We are not perfectly aligned! The friendship is doomed!!!!
- The dog hasn’t been walked before noon every day this week. Bad, bad mom. I do not deserve to be loved.
- I forgot to meet Micah in an online game on Monday (the family that kills together…no that can’t be right?). He’ll spend the rest of his life resenting me, and develop abandonment issues. I missed helping him maim and slay!!!
- I have age spots. I’m going to start forgetting everything any day now!!! (But not the age spots, those I’ll remember.) What was I saying?
By the time I arrived at the barn, I was trying not to cry, and fully aware that I was completely psycho.
I turned the boys out into the sunshine (not fully registering it’s warm and sunny, helllllooooo…nice opportunity for cheering up…), and watch them roll and kick up a bit. Hudson looks fairly sound, that’s good. I let them play in blanket-less joy and go ready what we’ll need for today’s care.
I ride Dinero bareback, and pony Hudson. I can watch H move, stretch Dinero out, and don’t have to hike. (Oh Lord. I’m lazy too! Lazy and forgetful! What did my mom say was next? Oh yeah, shiftlessness. Doomed. I’m doomed.)
Dinero helped. He’s sweet and kind, and doesn’t ruffle easily. He walked out happily and ignored my perfect storm of feelings about absolute balderdash. Hudson looked sound.
I stop sniffling. Hudson looks sound! Dinero was making me laugh. Part of “getting stuff ready” was putting Dinero’s grain in their paddock. He goes in solo first, so Hudson doesn’t muscle him away from his food.
Dinero decided that the better he marched, the faster he’d get his grain.
March march march march. I half expected John Phillip Sousa to pop out of the tack room with a band. Hudson had to break into bits of trotting to keep up. By the time Lily arrived, I’d stopped sniffling, noticed it was warm and pretty, and began to understand the real problem: I’m psycho, can’t help it; gonna have to ignore it.
I stop the boys and talk to Lily. Dinero cocks a hoof and yawns. He’s sleepy, warmed by the sun. Hudson does something he’s never done with me before. With Dinero starting in on the ZZz’s, Hudson sidled up, and lays his head across my lap, listening to Lily and I talk, looking a little sleepy himself.
Lily said “Do you have a camera on your phone? We have to get this!” I gave her my cell. And Hudson hugged me, thrilling me to pieces. It’s the first time.
It was the best possible dose of Psycho No More.
They do fix everything.