You’re boring. Get outta here.

My ob/gyn specializes in…well, it’s not really infertility (as he’s not a reproductive endocrinologist), and it’s not high-risk pregnancies (as he’s not a maternal-fetal specialist). It’s more like “high worry” pregnancies.  In between my discharge from the reproductive endocrinologist at 10 weeks and his collaboration with the maternal-fetal specialists at 24 weeks, a good visit would end with him saying, “You’re boring.  Get outta here.”  That was pretty much the best thing I could hear from him.

I haven’t blogged in a bit because I’ve been back to work, and I’m still processing the chain of realizations that led me to go back on medication and into therapy.  But also…also, things are boring.  I’ve started, and failed to finish, two posts for that reason.  So, I’m going to write about how things are boring–which is very much what I want right now.

The butterflies, periods with a faster heartbeat, and adrenaline feeling are almost completely gone.  My appetite is normal again.

I still worry, I still have “negative” (pessimistic) thoughts, but they don’t race or spiral out of control. I was nervous last night before bedtime, because today was my first heavy-schedule day, and I was worried about my voice…but it went away, and I slept well enough.

I haven’t decreased my sleep meds yet.  I fall asleep okay (which is, to me, the most important part), and then I wake up 3-4 times before I’m awake for the day (usually earlier than need be). That’s good enough for me for now.  If I wake up after 5 or more hours of sleep, and that means I’m up for the day, I don’t find that distressing.

Sometimes I wonder if I was actually in a mixed episode for months.  The therapist–who I only met once, so she’s not basing this on having known me–suggested agitated depression.  If anything, I feel depressed now, but this is very tolerable.

Things are calm, quiet.  I go to work, and I like my small-group interactions with my kids. (I’m just not great with management of large groups because of my wimpy voice, and because I’m really more of a facilitator/collaborator than I am a leader).  I get to see two of my three closest work friends every day; I like being able to check in with them on their personal lives daily and face to face. After work, I get my daughter, and we reconnect.  I snuggle my cat and ask her how her day was as if she’s a human. I’m following the Mets a bit now.  I talk to a former student who’s now a mommy friend, M, and a little bit on the non-eating-disordered parts of a message board that I’ve been on for years. I don’t really go out, but I don’t feel any more lonely.  I feel like I’m kind of collecting myself.

Some of the people I care most about are going through incredibly difficult things…and that’s an understatement.  I don’t own a piece of their struggles, and it wouldn’t help them in any way for me to walk around miserable about something that doesn’t directly affect me.  I just hope for the best for them, stay up to date, and try to be a good friend.

There’s good, too.  My friend J reconciled with his wife.  I don’t want to gloss over the hard work and challenges they have ahead, but he posted a collage of pictures of them the other day, and I could feel something there in those pictures that had been missing. They’re both staying off social media, though, because it has caused problems for them. He and I really just caught up on FB chat, so I do miss talking to him. But, still, I feel a little bit like I’m getting to see a happy ending.

There are a lot of little things that make me happy–not high, not particularly excited or elated.  It’s more of a warmth, mostly from little things: watching my daughter running around with her preschool friends in the sunlight after school.  My student, who decided the other day that she wanted to be Dorothy for Halloween, updating me that she started to sew her costume. Enjoying having my daughter to myself last weekend instead of going into it worried that something will happen that makes it hard for me to handle. Waking up and realizing that my cat has been snuggled up next to me all night. Getting to sleep until 5:30 because I tweaked my morning schedule just so. Really listening to music.   Getting a goodnight kissy emoji from M. These are little pleasures that get drowned out when I feel anxious.

I’m not going so far as to say I’m content–although that’s my ultimate goal–but I do feel that way sometimes.  I felt that way when I was with M yesterday.  I think I’ve established how much I’m attracted to him, and how much I like him as a person, but also…maybe because we’re not hooking up? or maybe just because I’m silly…I find myself falling in love with the littlest things about him, like his handwriting and…literally, seriously…I found myself looking at his thumbnail and thinking it was lovely. Of course I laugh at myself at the ridiculousness of this.  If he reads this, he’ll correctly thing I’m a nut.

I was also thinking today that I took away some of the credit I had been giving myself; I did actually shed some of the crazy over the last few years.  Not everything just got re-routed; I removed some thoughts and actions from the list of options of things I can think/do once I had a child…and then even more so once my marriage ended.  I have been self-defeating, but that’s still a small step up from self-destructive.  I have plenty more to learn and unlearn, but maybe now I’m ready to do that.

The last thing I wanted to do with this post was to conclude in a sweeping conclusion or epiphany. My whole point is that my life is boring, nothing with me is epic or dramatic, and I’m grateful for this welcome change.  I want more.


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