Hello there! I DO still exist. And so does Nathan. Here’s a little video of his recital performance from earlier tonight.
If you scroll down a bit, you may notice a video from a little bit ago. He was so little! He still seems completely unfazed by playing in front of a room full of strangers and so far practicing most every day is something he enjoys instead of the chore I always thought it was. (Odd, I wonder if that is why I was so mediocre at clarinet and oboe… nah, that can’t be it.)
Nathan had a cello recital last week. He was adorable and very composed. In front of a room full of people, he just got up there and played his song. I couldn’t be more proud or more impressed. He didn’t seem at all concerned about being up there in front of a room full of people he didn’t know. Here’s a little video of the event.
In case you’d like to sing along, here are the words — Five little snowmen fat.
Each with a funny hat.
Out came the sun and melt’d the one.
What a sad thing was that.
Down, down, down.
And that’s all the explanation we need these days when Evan is around. He is still my hilarious little bundle of boy, but right now he is primarily my little bundle of rage. I’ve been told that some mornings at daycare it takes him 45 minutes to calm himself enough to come to the table. Calm himself from what, you ask? No one knows. Everything and nothing makes him mad these days. I guess we have that in common at the moment. =) Most nights we can’t convince him to sit in his chair and eat dinner. He will sit there before dinner is served, but as soon as we are all ready to eat, something will happen and he’ll throw himself on the floor screaming and then wander off to play. Any attempt to talk to him will result in a repeat of the tantrum. Last weekend at the grocery store he demanded to be both in and out of the cart at the same time. He wanted me to hold him until I was holding him and then only Dad would do. He did’t want a cookie but then was mad as soon as we walked by and didn’t get one. He’s exhausting.
But then tonight he insisted that he wouldn’t sit with Mike and Nathan to read stories unless I stayed. He just sat there, looking at me and holding out his hand for mine and whining. And when Mike tried to sit with him in the rocking chair for one last song and a snuggle, he screamed for me. And made me sing lots of songs. I’ve missed my Evan-snuggles. He’s pretty sweet when he wants to be.
I suffer from depression.
I am Moderately Depressed.
There’s another even more official sounding diagnosis, but I don’t remember it.
I’m not sure if it’s “appropriate” to announce such a thing on the internet. I’m hoping that it’s easier, though, than actually telling people about it. Because I need people to know about it. Not everyone, certainly, but I’m an over-sharer by nature and this is something that it would be nice if people just knew so I didn’t have to keep explaining it.
I have heard from a couple of people who already know that I don’t seem depressed and I don’t act like I am depressed. I think my husband would disagree with that assessment. My depression doesn’t look on the outside like sadness. It looks like anger. I get unreasonably angry about things much more easily than I used to. I yell. A lot. I pick fights with Mike and swear a lot at work. These are not good things.
I have so many things to be happy about. Trust me, I am completely aware of why I should not be sad. A fantastic job where I am respected and get to use my brain (it’s not without it’s frustrations, but so much better than any other job I have had), a beautiful home and loving family (who have been putting up with more of my rage than they should have to), a pile of friends who get me off my couch and out of my house to do fun things on a regular basis. I don’t stay in bed all day crying. I don’t skip work or hide from social events and when I am out with my friends I have a good time. And yet…
In the past couple of months, more often than not, I don’t want to do anything. I do all the things I used to do, but it takes more energy than it used to. And I don’t want to do most of it. It’s not even that I would rather be doing something else. Describing this is so much harder than I thought it would be. It sounds pretty lame as I’m typing it.
One of the tools doctors use to diagnose depression is the Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9). I’ve taken it a few times throughout my adult life and I have never had to honestly check any of the boxes in the “more than half the days” or “nearly every day” categories. This week I had check marks in those columns for 4 out of 9 questions. That’s what makes this official. I’m no longer just sometimes down and in need of a good cup of coffee and a shoulder to cry on. Now I’m Moderately Depressed.
What does it mean? Don’t know. Probably for now it means that I will try some anti-depressants and see if they help. For sure I’ll be making appointments for some therapy. The biggest question/concern that I have is whether or not this will be something temporary that I will work on for a while and recover from or whether I will continue to struggle with it for the rest of my life. Either way, my family, friends and co-workers deserve better and I need to be better. I’m tired of being so tired. I’m officially sick of it.
Seriously. They are so cool and terribly hilarious. Sure, we have our moments, but I expect that bragging about them on the internet makes up for at least one of the afternoons that I have spent yelling, right?
Evan has had a language explosion since the week of Christmas and he just gets funnier with each word. We are really enjoying discovering his personality and I’m becoming more and more certain every day that he is a miniature Mike. Scary, I know.
Tonight at bedtime, both kids were clearly exhausted, so we only read three little books. Evan dove out of my arms and into his crib (one stuffed Stitch under each arm) and then demanded a book. He snuggled himself into the corner of his crib with his dinosaur book and started “reading” it to me and was super mad when I turned his light off on him.
As I walked past Nathan’s door and said good night, he stopped me to ask a stalling question. This is where I usually get a request for a different stuffed animal than the 10 who are already in bed with him or a book even though it is too dark to read. I told him he could have one question and then I was leaving. There was a very long pause while he thought, and then he said, “Penguins can’t fly. um. because. well. They can only fly in the water.”