I know that one day I will look back and laugh at it all.
Actually, I'm pretty sure I won't laugh, but at least I will have made it through so that I can look back rather than look down and not really even be able to see my feet.
Most days, I'm fine. I get up and do my stuff. The kids have their routines and things progress and get done and the day weaves its way from breakfast to dinner and bedtime without incident (unless you call Gabriel climbing up on top of the table in the library and jumping off yelling 'And beyond!' an incident. If things like that are an incident, then yes, we have them every day. If not, then we're good. Since Gabriel was born, I've had to change my definition of 'incident'. And for the record, I had only turned my back to him for a split second to fasten Jesse into his stroller when said non-incident happened. This, folks, is why he wears the monkey leash every time we leave the house and, to add further the record, he was wearing the leash, I had just dropped the tail to have both hands free to fasten the buckles.)
But some days, it all gets to me and I feel like I am going to go crazy! I feel like the house is closing in on me and I begin to feel claustrophobic. I feel like I am tripping over everything and every one. My clothes feel too small and I notice every noise like it is coming through a megaphone right into my ears. The aquarium bubbling, my in-laws TV in their room, the washing machine tumbling its way to clean all feel like too much...sensory overload. I feel overwhelmed, incompetent and completely out of control.
And it doesn't help that the living room looks like this:
We had to pull everything out of our bedrooms upstairs about 3 months ago, and we have still not recovered enough to be able to put things back, so everything is in our living room. Yes, that's right, we are living out of boxes in the living room. Everyone has their basket of clothes, and that's what they get. But with winter coming on, the clothes themselves are larger, so they take up more room and don't really fit in the baskets anymore which means that there is always overflow. And have you ever tried to keep something organized in a basket that stays in the most highly traveled area of the house? And what happens when you have one half naked kid balanced on your hip and you realize that the article of clothing that you need is in his basket that is on the bottom of the pile? Or what happens when you tell Jo to put on her socks and HER basket is on the bottom of the stack?
Needless to say, this whole thing is driving me crazy. But then I think, what if all the clothes were put away? Would that REALLY ease my problems? Would I then be able to avoid these 'don't touch me, don't talk to me just let me curl up in the corner in the fetal position' times?
I honestly don't think so. I think that it's just me and a part of who I am, and I just need to develop strategies to help me deal with these times.
So far, I haven't come up with any strategies, and of course I wait til I'm in the thick of it to try to think of one.
So for right now, if you need me, I'll be curled up in the corner. Approach with your hand extended in a sign of friendship, and speak gently.