Dear ... Everyone Who Wants Me To Do Things

Dear Everyone,

I am tired.

I am very tired.

And I am tired during almost every minute of the day in which I am not asleep.

I try to do my job without yawning and although mornings are often blurry, I don't let my children leave the house with syrup smeared across their faces. But still ... I nap at least three times a week and have contemplated whether or not it would be a misuse of sick time to go home and sleep during the work day.

Supposedly, going under general anesthesia results in several months of fatigue. I went under three times. Menopause causes hot flashes, night sweats and insomnia. Anxiety and depression are known to hinder a good night's sleep. And Tamixofen, the cancer drug that I will take for five years, has tiredness as a side effect. So, I guess this shouldn't be shocking to me.

But it's been eight and a half months! I am a zombie.

Also, I'm sad. And pretending all day that I'm not is exhausting.

To those of you who are wondering if I'm okay, I am. I'm healthy. I don't have cancer. I'm not undergoing any horrific treatments and don't have any surgeries scheduled. But in case you were unsure, it is not very helpful to say: "Are you all right? You don't look good." You can all just stop that. No one wants to hear that they look like crap.

Plus, the next time someone says that to me, I will either cry or smack them. I'm not saying which ... it's a surprise.

Pink Glove Dance - The Sequel

If you haven't seen this video, yet, you should. Click on the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTyIhMLp3FA

Minnesota even has a couple of cameos.

Wishful Thinking

My friend is sick with the stomach flu. Her husband is off on a business trip to a tropical island, which isn't fair in the best of times, but is especially unjust when the one left home isn't well.

In an attempt to repay a tiny amount of the kindness shown to me when I needed it, I took her two exceptional children for the day so that she could sleep.

While I'm sorry that she doesn't feel well, I must confess that I'm delighted to have a chance to have some extra little ones around. I got out the high chair and the pack-and-play and the Baby Bjorn. We pulled out the rattles and rubber blocks. Every room of our house is littered with dolls and markers and toys of every kind. It's very colorful.

All afternoon, the girls have been playing together beautifully. I got to feed the baby a bottle and rock him to sleep in my arms. And it just about broke my heart when I snuck back upstairs and saw two doors closed, each one keeping quiet a room for a sleeping boy.

As I type this, there are squeals of laughter from the three older kids in the playroom -punctuated by an occasional argument - and there is a delicious squawking noise coming from the baby as he crawls around and drools on the floor. I wish that they could stay forever. And as Scott pointed out, if their parents were true friends, they would allow it. After all, he argued, "they can always make more and we can't."

So, I ask you: why did God feel that it was okay to take away my ovaries? I'm really good at being a mother. I could have done it a few more times, quite happily.

No fair.