I don’t want to arouse the attention of a universe that is clearly malevolent, so let’s just say It’s POSSIBLE we moved Bunlet to a new room. It’s POSSIBLE that both babies immediately went back to falling asleep (or at least being quiet enough that we can pretend) at 7, waking up at 7. It’s POSSIBLE that I also don’t have to deal with a rabidly escalating screaming match every morning over the position of the door to the bathroom we share. (Bunlet would get up and open it wide, causing Bun Bun to scream TOO BRIGHT and get up to close it causing Bunlet to scream TOO DARK…repeat…add pushing and wailing…add screaming mother.)
While I do feel like I have my fucking life back, I am slightly disappointed that POSSIBLY solving this problem has not made me feel suddenly happy, or at peace with the prospect of having another child, or even able to be a cheerful, interactive mother again. Alas. I saw my old therapist yesterday, and was saddened by the fact that she did not wave a magic wand over me and take all the sadness away. No. She thinks I need to WORK. On shit like finding compassion for myself so I can forgive myself for getting knocked up. FUUUUUUCK. I am so TIRED, you know?