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Waiting for the other shoe to drop

I feel like I can’t write when I’m happy.  Like my ability to have something to say is contingent upon my being depressed or on the verge of a meltdown. 

Like y’all will not stick around to read if I start vomming rainbow unicorns all over the place.

(Though, *I* would stay around to see that because…I mean…ouch.)

Last week was a really, really good week.  The best week I’ve had since school started back and we had to start the daily grind again.  The kind of week I want to have all the time.

And it’s not even that we did anything fantastic. We just got to be a family. 

I got to see Joshua’s quirky little personality because there was time to spend with him in the evenings.

He came to his first game with me, but went home before kickoff.

We went to breakfast as a family. 

I got my hurr did and found a cute little friendly shark!

I watched as my TODDLER chased his friend down the sidewalk.

We went out to eat with friends and took a dragon and a shark along with us.

Even though he had a hard night last night, I just feel so…full.  My heart is full. My mind is mostly peaceful.  I feel complete. And competent. And okay.

Like this is the part of motherhood that I’ve been waiting on for so long. 

This is the “stride” I thought I’d hit instantly. 

And right now, I almost hate that I feel this way because there are so many others in the thick of this battle.  They are struggling and my heart hurts for their struggles.  I want to wrap them in hugs and listen as they pour their hearts out. I want to hand them tissues. I want to hold their hands and tell them that it gets better.  I want these women who are struggling to know that they are loved.  They are not alone.  (K–you are not alone.)

My heart hurts for my own struggles which I still remember so vividly.  The struggles that I am scared will come crashing back in on me at any moment if I let my guard down.  That will come crashing in like the tide that is bound to fall because it also rises.

I do not want to lose this.

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