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Browsing Tag: anxiety

And Yet I’ve Never Been Diagnosed With Anxiety

The night before last, Quinlan, still recovering from allergies or a cold or something, appeared beside our bed (always my side) and said she could’t sleep because she’d had a bad dream. So she spent the night (again) with us (on my side. Of course). It’s become a pattern that, frankly, I’m too tired to break. Judge not unless you’ve heard a weeping child say that the shadows in her room give her nightmares. Last night, Quinlan slept through the night, in her own bed (well, not her own bed. She was in the bottom bunk in Saoirse’s room. Because this child has some issues with being alone that we should probably work on, if we weren’t so tired to do so). Cian, though, was up at 3:17, fussing because of a wet diaper and a chilly room. David went in to get him. Fastest one out of bed wins. Or loses. Whichever. My alarm went off at 5:30. I was going to get up and work on Book #2 (a new project is finally, finally, starting to bloom), but when your eyelids don…

‘Tis the Season

I had about five ideas for posts that were about funny things, cute things (Quinlan said to me the other day, “Your boots are UGLY.” And then she must’ve seen the look on my face, and added, “I didn’t say your body was ugly. You are non-ugly.”). But the last couple of days, when I’ve been rocking Cian in his room before bedtime (the child is almost two and still likes to be held before he goes to sleep. Isn’t that awesome?), I’ve found myself in tears like a weirdo, silently sniffling, hoping nobody walks in and notices (and here I go telling you about it. Swift, Leah). See, here’s the thing. I had what I’m fairly certain was an anxiety attack in the car the other night, just driving with the girls in the back seat, preoccupied and worried and scared because I always feel like I’m drowning. Some of you know the drill: heart racing, chest tightening, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. It was fun. Santa Stress, you’ve succeeded. But there I was…

Because It’s Really Not That Hard

Last night, around six o’clock, David and I were cleaning up from an early dinner. His mom and cousin had come up to visit for the day and had just left, and now all three kids were playing, quietly, in the next room over, building towers and castles with some big baby blocks we’d unearthed from the basement. They call it “the new playroom,” the kids. The girls had stopped going down to the basement to play with their toys once it got cold and school started (funny thing, how young kids always want to be around us. I’m going to miss that one day, aren’t I?), and Cian’s at the age where he wants to do more, but I still have to be a responsible grown-up type and make sure he’s not climbing up bookshelves. Not the high ones, anyway. So Dave and I did what we said we weren’t going to do (HA), and shoved our giant dining table over to one wall to use as a craft table, threw down a rug (and by “threw down” I mean…