I was on the mend. I swear, I was. But then I got sick again... and then The Kid got it... and one of my mom's cats is dying a slow death... and there's The Kid's birthday party to plan... and The Kid's dad to keep from killing (and, really, you have NO idea how much effort that takes)... and my evil grandmother in town... and the weeds that mark where once there was a yard...
And so I fell off the wagon and reentered a momentary warm and cozy depression. I am feeling ever hopeless, and I fear that the reality of the situation is that this single mother gig is killing me. I simply can not work, raise a child, keep track of his father, maintain a home, and reclaim a back yard all by myself. In my naivety, I had believed that the parenting thing would get easier as The Kid got older; that the diaper changing and sleepless nights and retrieving foreign objects from his mouth was the hard part. But the ugly truth is this: the older he gets, the more there is to deal with. More attitude, more homework, more summer camp, more inadequate father, more friends' birthday parties, more sleep-overs, more everything.
But, as it turns out, I love the little monster. As much as he drives me crazy, he is the only thing that keeps me sane. And so - because something must change before even The Kid isn't enough to save my marbles - I have seriously begun to consider selling my house and buying a much smaller, much less yardy condo. The only thing that keeps me from it, is the knowledge that I'd have to do a hell of a lot MORE yard work in order to put the thing on the market.
And so here I sit, feeling exhausted, inadequate, and alone, and with no idea how to fix it.
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