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So, um, apparently post-partum ovaries can get quite cranky about starting up again. That's another one for the "weird stuff they don't tell you" files... but aside from the random abdominal pain not being anything life-threatening (not that I thought it was, but grauwulf made me call the doctor after three days of intermittent abdominal pains) that might explain why I've been feeling particularly despairish this week.
I mean, there have been perfectly good reasons to feel despairish, too-- my one remaining grandparent ended up with emergency eye surgery over the weekend due to some kind of nasty glaucoma/migraine combination and then my mother had the joys of food poisoning to end our visit on Sunday. And I have now got a professional opinion that the oak tree is not even worth trying to save; this is relatively understandable given that the *only* place it doesn't look thoroughly dead from is the bedroom windows. And it has some kind of boring beetles. The current thought is to do what they call a "4-inch trim" and pull down most of the crown so that we can let the rest of it die with dignity without endangering the neighbors. But yeah. That's the third 80+ year-old tree we've lost from this lot since grauwulf got it, plus everything from the lot next door and the big maple across the street.
(There's nice stuff too-- the Megatherium has her half birthday today, and we made it to the silly "Babies in Bloom" library program where she got to spend half an hour listening to silly rhymes and watching other small children with great fascination. She also clearly demonstrated both toy preference and the ability to reach for and acquire her toy of choice this morning, and has thoroughly outgrown the bouncy chair by trying a little too hard to climb out of it. Nothing traumatic happened, but we've given that back to the cat, who is far less likely to fall out of it onto his head. Oh, and watering the trees seems to have worked, as it's actually raining now. And there's a great and glamorous repotting of house plants going on...)
I find that I've progressed to the point where I sort of want to talk about some grief-process stuff, only I still don't want to have the conversation that goes, "...and my father died in May--" / "OMG! I'm so sorry!!" This is the societally programmed thing to do, but it's not a conversational rock I want to throw, besides treading too close to the line of things that pander to the speaker at the expense of the injured party. I want to have the conversation that goes "these are the weird things that grief/depression does to my brain, aren't they peculiar?" / "huh, really? I had this other experience." Instead, I seem to end up saying things like, "I was just getting my head back together after having this baby and then there was some other family stuff, and now my writing-brain has given up for the duration." Or "this year has been about major life changes." All of which is true, but somewhat disingenuous, and not conducive to talking about it.
I mean, there have been perfectly good reasons to feel despairish, too-- my one remaining grandparent ended up with emergency eye surgery over the weekend due to some kind of nasty glaucoma/migraine combination and then my mother had the joys of food poisoning to end our visit on Sunday. And I have now got a professional opinion that the oak tree is not even worth trying to save; this is relatively understandable given that the *only* place it doesn't look thoroughly dead from is the bedroom windows. And it has some kind of boring beetles. The current thought is to do what they call a "4-inch trim" and pull down most of the crown so that we can let the rest of it die with dignity without endangering the neighbors. But yeah. That's the third 80+ year-old tree we've lost from this lot since grauwulf got it, plus everything from the lot next door and the big maple across the street.
(There's nice stuff too-- the Megatherium has her half birthday today, and we made it to the silly "Babies in Bloom" library program where she got to spend half an hour listening to silly rhymes and watching other small children with great fascination. She also clearly demonstrated both toy preference and the ability to reach for and acquire her toy of choice this morning, and has thoroughly outgrown the bouncy chair by trying a little too hard to climb out of it. Nothing traumatic happened, but we've given that back to the cat, who is far less likely to fall out of it onto his head. Oh, and watering the trees seems to have worked, as it's actually raining now. And there's a great and glamorous repotting of house plants going on...)
I find that I've progressed to the point where I sort of want to talk about some grief-process stuff, only I still don't want to have the conversation that goes, "...and my father died in May--" / "OMG! I'm so sorry!!" This is the societally programmed thing to do, but it's not a conversational rock I want to throw, besides treading too close to the line of things that pander to the speaker at the expense of the injured party. I want to have the conversation that goes "these are the weird things that grief/depression does to my brain, aren't they peculiar?" / "huh, really? I had this other experience." Instead, I seem to end up saying things like, "I was just getting my head back together after having this baby and then there was some other family stuff, and now my writing-brain has given up for the duration." Or "this year has been about major life changes." All of which is true, but somewhat disingenuous, and not conducive to talking about it.