*Addendum (which I know goes at the end but that doesn’t work on a blog very well, and also, I just really like the word): I should never post about anxiety without (1) eating, (2) exercising or (3) drinking heavily. Life is way better after a run and some Chik-Fil-A (and some coconut rum, but I’m fresh out of the Captain. Maybe tomorrow.). Actually, everything’s better after some Chik-Fil-A.
I’ve been feeling so good these last few weeks. Dane’s been on a pretty consistent sleeping schedule (in his crib, even!), he’s eating well and gaining weight and is all active and trying to crawl and such, and so lately I’ve been congratulating myself for being the best mommy on the block, and then these last few days, BAM, I go to playgroup and realize that even though Dane looks huge to me, he’s still only the size of a five-month-old in the 95th percentile, and then I get a few comments about how tired he looks and start questioning our sleep schedule, and all of the sudden here I am trying to restrain myself from calling the pediatrician, my sister, my mother, Dr. Weissbluth et. al. and the Wake County fire department. I know you can’t compare your child to other children and every child develops differently and there’s nothing wrong with having a tiny little baby boy as long as he’s growing and developing like Dane. I know we’re blessed and I know he’s healthy, I really, really do. It’s not like I’m trying to let this stuff bother me, or looking for something to worry about (like my parents used to tell me). It just gets me sometimes, you know?
Screw this. I’m going for a run.