If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude. ~ Maya Angelou
I'd like this to be my happy thought for the day, and write a little inspirational blog about how I changed my attitude and achieved world peace. But I haven't and I didn't. If she were here right now, I'd like to tell Maya Angelou to stuff it.
I am not in a happy place emotionally at the moment. I'm very discouraged about my health--ever since John was born something has been off kilter in my body. I feel like I'm a computer in need of a reboot. After researching my numerous annoying health complaints ( some of which are incredibly dry skin, poor skin healing, light sensitivity, temperature sensitivity, stubborn weight gain, and body puffiness) I think I might have an out-of-whack thyroid. Something's up anyway, because my body isn't doing anything I'd consider normal.
For example, my feet have become unbearably dry--especially the big toe and heels. They itch incessantly. When we first moved into this house (in early July) I spent a lot of time walking on our wood floors barefoot. This roughened up the skin on my big toe, which resulted in tiny open sores that refused to heal. The skin around the little wounds got drier, the wounds got bigger, until finally the whole pad of my toe was a raw open wound covered in dry skin. It took a month and half for it to heal enough that I had a new layer of skin on my toe (and that required twice daily foot soaks, lots of moisturizing, and Neosporin). I went running for 30 minutes, got a blister, and the whole thing started all over again. My toe is finally starting to heal now, weeks later (thanks to Australian Papaw ointment. Thanks, Nicole!). Earlier this week, I walked outside barefoot to throw a diaper in the trash, stepped on a microscopically teeny little pebble, it broke through the skin on my other toe, and the whole thing is starting over again on the other foot. This is ridiculous. I want to start running, but I can't do that with open sores on my feet that take two months to heal!
I'm going to the doctor in a couple of weeks for a physical and I hope we can figure out what is going on in my body. But this will be a new doctor for me, and I'm feeling anxious that she won't take my complaints seriously, and I'll be stuck in this health-limbo indefinetely. From my research, getting a diagnosis of hypothyroid requires a blood test, which I dread. When I thought I was having trouble with gluten, I took a blood test for that and the results were inconclusive. I don't have time for inconclusive test results right now. I'm tired of feeling sick and tired.
I'm also about at my wit's end with the effort of trying to accomodate the gym's (absolutely unhelpful, and dare I say, retarded) work out schedule. You would think that at a YMCA there would be more than one class offered per hour. And you would also think they'd be staggered throughout the day to appeal to a variety of schedules. As would the childcare offered to members. Not so. Our Y has one group exercise class scheduled at a time--at 8:30am, 9:15am, 10:10am, and 11am respectively. I cannot make the 8:30 or 9:15 classes because Sam has to be dropped off at preschool at 9am, and there's no conceivable way I can get from the preschool to the gym in 15 minutes. I could easily make the 10:10 class but it would inconveniently cut right into the middle of my morning, and with the commute, I'd have almost no time to get anything useful accomplished between preschool drop off and pick up. I couldn't make the 11am class because I'd be picking Sam up then, not that it's even an issue because the 11 o'clock classes are all part of the Y's elderly exercise program. The childcare at the Y is unavailable after noon until it reopens again in the late afternoon (going until 7pm). And when do they start group exercise programs again? Could they possibly coincide with the hours childcare is available? No again! Group exercise classes start at 6pm most nights--right in the middle of dinnertime!
So I am, to put it colloquially, shit out of luck.
You wouldn't think a little thing like an inconvenient gym schedule would put me into instantaneous freefall, but it was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.
There's a whole lot I don't like about my situation right now. I don't like the fact that Sam's preschool (and seemingly every preschool in Upstate NY) thinks 2.5 hours is a sufficiently long school day. I am mad as hell that there aren't any 2-year-old programs for John and I have to keep him home with me for a year, when LAST YEAR, he was perfectly capable of spending 2 mornings away from me, and I actually got a break from motherhood twice a week with regularity. I am filled with rage at the local library, which should be a sanctuary, and someplace I can take my children to foster their love of books, but instead is a hell hole of epic proportions that sado-masochistically put the children's section at the farthest end of the library and a full-tank-of-a-fresh-water dispenser (complete with millions of little paper cups) right in front of the freaking check out desk.
But my options are suck it up or just stay home. And such is the fate of the stay-at-home mom. I've got nowhere else to be and nowhere else to go. And it feels like the fates conspire at every turn to keep me here.