I have been becoming increasingly aware of how neurotic I am. I am completely ridiculous about it too. Now that I have a wonderful new job with wonderful coworkers and am away from a crazy destructive coworker who liked to very randomly insult everything from my clothes and looks to my lifestyle and storytime techniques, I am realizing more and more how little my belief that everyone secretly hates me and everything I do is wrong is rooted in reality. OY WITH THE CONVOLUTED SENTENCES, YO! To sum that sentence up in smaller more manageable bits: I tend to think badly of myself. I tend to think everyone secretly finds me supremely annoying. I used to work with a woman who fed those beliefs on a daily basis. NOW I work with wonderful, amazing, sweet people who are crazy supportive of me and crazy sweet and beyond amazing ... and I am realizing that I am neurotic.
SO instead of going to a therapist which I really don't have time to do, so that the therapist can say "wow, you're neurotic! Get over it!", I have started saying to myself "wow, that was such a neurotic thing to think! Get over it!" But wouldn't it be much more therapeutic for one such as myself who really finds writing and sharing WAY TO MUCH WITH THE WORLD to be cathartic if I told y'all about my crazies and y'all could say "wow, Qsie the librarian pirate is NEUROTIC! She should get over it!" I thought so too.
I had a moment recently that convinced me I was the worst mother in the history of bad mothers. Note that this was not because I was actually doing something that made me a bad mother, but because I AM CRAZY!!!
A few weeks ago, The Kins woke up screaming around midnight. My husband and I were staying up watching Bones way later than we should have - but sometimes it happens, ya know? So anyway, I go running into her room and grab her up and she's had a cold for a few days and now she's burning up. I'd been noticing for a bit how warm it had gotten in the house that night (our thermostat is a hair unreliable) and she was wearing a blanket sleeper, so I took off the hot, sweaty, fleece pajamas and she immediately fell asleep on top of her daddy (Isn't she beautiful? Isn't he handsome? Ignoring the fact that she was really sick when she took this picture, I love it). The next morning she still felt a little warm to me, but nothing like the night before and I have a very low normal so I'm really bad at judging whether or not she's warm. We have a thermometer that will take her temperature orally, rectally (with special plastic sleeves on, of course), or under her arm. She totally isn't up for under her tongue, I totally don't want to try rectally, so armpit it is. She squirms and yells, but it tells me she's a healthy 98.4. I stop worrying and bring her to daycare ...
Two hours later I get the call from her daycare saying "your daughter has a fever of 102.6. Come get her, please." Of course I do and knowing that a fever combined with as much coughing as she has been doing could mean strep or it could be an ear infection so I bring her to the doctor's office where they diagnose her with a double ear infection and a throat infection that isn't strep.
At Meyers picking up her antibiotics, I buy a new thermometer because under the arm is unreliable and I need a thermometer that can do ear or forehead or something better! The only ear thermometer there is Meyers brand, but I don't want to drag the sickie off to another store so I go for it, bring it home, and take her temperature. 93 degrees and a smiley face. First off, if she was really 93, she would NOT be this hot. ALSO, if she was really 93 degrees - that is NOT a good thing and I should be worried! I take my temperature - 91 degrees and a smiley face. My husband and I spend days trying to get this thing to work, lose the receipt, and are now stuck with an ear thermometer that tends to choose a number between 90 and 94 whenever you use it and goes with that. You can take your temperature twice in succession and get 90.3 and then 93.5. It's insane, but it is also the Kins's new favorite toy. She calls it "EARS!" and will try and take my temperature for hours on end, completely happy. Somehow she gets what this is for, but she wears her toy stethoscope as a belt. Whatever - I won't judge what she likes if she won't judge what I like.
Why does all of this make me neurotic, you may ask? What bit of this story has convinced me that I am a terrible mother? The fact that I cannot get a thermometer to properly take my daughter's temperature. In all thruthfulness, before the thermometer I was using at the start of this story, I'd had two OTHER thermometers that were just as bad as Kinsie's beloved EARS! I spent a whole weekend convinced that I am a failure as a mother and that EARS isn't defective, I just obviously shouldn't be allowed to parent because I can't figure out how to use at thermometer.
"Wow. Qsie, you're crazy. Get over it. The thermometer was defective."
Thanks! I really do feel so much better now that I've told you all that incredibly pointless story. Thank you for being my therapist!