I have been depressed all morning. Questioning my life choices. I arranged my entire life so that I could stay at home with my baby. I got degrees suitable toward a part time teaching career. Period. I’m not employable in any full-time kind of way, despite having gone to grad school. I spend the day cleaning the house, watching my baby mess the house up, then cleaning it again. We watch Baby Einstein and then drive around the block until the kid falls asleep. Then I sit in my car alone in the driveway. You wouldn’t think that that would be the best part of the day, but it is. I read books. Check my email. I used to write stuff, but I’m still on strike now. Tired of failure.
Everyone says that raising babies is oh-so-important, oh-so-meaningful.
It never once occurred to me at any point previous in my life that everyone was full of shit.
Raising babies completely annihilates you. Raising babies is boring. And worst of all, raising babies is a temporary gig. It is not some divine life-calling. They grow up. They move out. Marry some ho.
I just want to shake the next person who tells me that when you lose yourself you find yourself. That’s a load of crap.
Because I am gone. And I haven’t heard a single fracking little squeak from anyone remotely like some stupid new found self.