A bad witch

I can't feel the seasons anymore. They come and go, and the only thing that changes is the temperature. It goes from hot to hotter and then back to hot again. We sweat at night in our sleep, and I feel guilty because my son deserves better.

Wil thinks my depression is coming back. I think I'm just tired. But again, it isn't fair that my one day off out of the week and I'm too damn exhausted to even enjoy it.

Wil says, "Take the baby to my mother for the day. Relax, read a book. Rest."

I can't do that. I need to be with my son. I need him near me, otherwise I'd spend the day agonizing over the fact that we're apart, and it's really our only day to be together. Then I'll feel guilty for not being a good mom, not loving him enough.

Summer today. It's grey, raining. The grass creeps up in the yard, tries to conquer the sidewalk, the flowers choke on the weeds. They are overwhelmed, just like me.

The house is messy. Not exactly filthy, but I wouldn't let my mother in if she knocked. There's no sense in trying to have a Martha Stewart home with four animals and a baby running around inside. We've got to get rid of these cats. God bless them. They're good pets. I love them, and I didn't take them in with the intention of it being a temporary thing. But they've got to go. I just can't do it anymore. I can't spend every spare moment being needed by something or someone else.

I'm going to get an aquarium. Fish are easy. They swim, they eat, occasionally you have to change a filter, clean the water. No big deal. They die and you flush them. I wonder if fish get bored? Do they yearn for freedom from their little glass oceans, or are they content in a ten gallon paradise?

Am I content in mine? I don't know. I don't know. I don't think I feel much at all. To do so would take up all the extra energy I have. I want to sleep for days. Sleep this headache away, sleep this back pain away, sleep the laundry and the dishes and the dirty floors clean. I want to sleep all of the broken stuff fixed, and then I want to hit the snooze button and sleep some more. So damn tired.

And I don't want Jonas to remember me this way. A tired old hag of a mother who barely has the energy to smile at him. The mother who sometimes skips dinner and opts for a bottle because bottles can be consumed lying down. The mother who wants to take him to the park, or the zoo, or hell, even to the store, just for a change of atmosphere, but looks at the prospect of having to pack a diaper bag, and put a stroller in the car, and actually drive wherever we're going, and instead, decides that the livingroom floor is a much more fun place than any park. I don't want to be my mother. I don't want to make Jonas feel guilty for wanting to do things just because I'm too tired to do them.

I'm not off to a very good start. And I'm tired... so damn tired.