when I feel the craziest
The psych ward was interesting, because of it's implications. No plastic containers?
My therapist's office. Ah, the tears (when the depression is having a party). And the "the tears are just under the surfice and why do we have to discuss this and why did my brain come to such an unhelpful conclusion and how do I change it and it hurts not to cry" moments.
The Psychiatrist's office. No, right after being in the Psychiatrist's office, when I'm leaving and crying.
Church/religious issues or paperwork to fill out and sign my name to (yes, I have to verify my FAFSA information; suffering through the initial form was not enough). Scrupulous OCD, you're like the princess and the pea.
But what really seems crazy to me? Working with six to eight toddlers by myself, or with help, and liking it. Why on earth do I like it? Changing diapers, contemplating the misteries of healthy discipline (that nobody's really figured out, but some moms are probably closer), eating snack so that I don't loose my temper (not always successful, but worth a try), controling my lost temper, getting in trouble for what a toddler did (crying, throwing a fit, biting), getting them to take a nap, putting on sunscreen - esp. if the child tries to bite me while I do it - but that only happened once - wiping their noses again. Why do I like it? What makes the hard hours and, um, not the largest paycheck worth it? Some psychologist has some theory, but I prefer my own. I like seeing their smiles. I love their hugs. I like how they call my name when I come in. I love hearing them go from using no words at all to two and then three and then more word sentences. I really enjoy watching them sing. How this all overcomes the negatives, I still don't understand. And that is probably why I sounded "like it's a bad thing" when I told someone I liked my job. Some sort of feeling like life is worth living around them might be involved. And now, please let me sleep those ten hours a day that I like. Pretty please? Please with a fit, lots of tears, and a show of teeth? Just kidding. (Have you ever watched two kids open their mouths, simultaneously threatening to bite each other? That's pretty cute. Especially since it didn't get past the threat stage.)
My therapist's office. Ah, the tears (when the depression is having a party). And the "the tears are just under the surfice and why do we have to discuss this and why did my brain come to such an unhelpful conclusion and how do I change it and it hurts not to cry" moments.
The Psychiatrist's office. No, right after being in the Psychiatrist's office, when I'm leaving and crying.
Church/religious issues or paperwork to fill out and sign my name to (yes, I have to verify my FAFSA information; suffering through the initial form was not enough). Scrupulous OCD, you're like the princess and the pea.
But what really seems crazy to me? Working with six to eight toddlers by myself, or with help, and liking it. Why on earth do I like it? Changing diapers, contemplating the misteries of healthy discipline (that nobody's really figured out, but some moms are probably closer), eating snack so that I don't loose my temper (not always successful, but worth a try), controling my lost temper, getting in trouble for what a toddler did (crying, throwing a fit, biting), getting them to take a nap, putting on sunscreen - esp. if the child tries to bite me while I do it - but that only happened once - wiping their noses again. Why do I like it? What makes the hard hours and, um, not the largest paycheck worth it? Some psychologist has some theory, but I prefer my own. I like seeing their smiles. I love their hugs. I like how they call my name when I come in. I love hearing them go from using no words at all to two and then three and then more word sentences. I really enjoy watching them sing. How this all overcomes the negatives, I still don't understand. And that is probably why I sounded "like it's a bad thing" when I told someone I liked my job. Some sort of feeling like life is worth living around them might be involved. And now, please let me sleep those ten hours a day that I like. Pretty please? Please with a fit, lots of tears, and a show of teeth? Just kidding. (Have you ever watched two kids open their mouths, simultaneously threatening to bite each other? That's pretty cute. Especially since it didn't get past the threat stage.)
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