The receptionist at the therapist’s office is an asshole.
James made a bunch of phone calls to set up appointments for me. A psychiatrist appointment for the beginning of February (soonest available opening… and I’m on a waiting list for a closer date). A postpartum depression support group every Wednesday evening. And then a therapist for 1-1 counseling.
Except the receptionist at the counselor’s office wouldn’t let him make the appointment for me. She said it had to be me because she needed proof of my consent. I refused to call, so James ended up calling then handing the phone over to me. The receptionist was rude and cold. And she wonders why I was panicking about making a stupid phone call?
I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the therapist is nicer than her bitch receptionist. If she is, I’m going to tell her to hire someone new. Because I almost called to cancel that appointment. Because that asshole receptionist scared me.
Mean people suck. I bet they don’t have a Safezone sticker hanging on their wall like they did at the crisis center.
Whatever.
I smell a bit of fresh air for the first time since I can remember. Maybe the fog is going to clear out? I am so sick of living in a constant haze. My head is still fuzzy, and the computer screen still looks a million miles away.
And this weekend I looked at April and realized that she’s going to be 5 months old at the end of this month.
I suddenly wondered where the hell I’ve been, since I can’t seem to remember much of the last several months. I mean, I saw so much, but then, at the same, I feel like I’ve been watching from a distance. She’s happy, rolling over, chubby, and beautiful. Her laugh is infectious. She has the craziest hair I’ve ever seen on a baby- almost black, thick, straight, super long… and sticking up all over the place. Teenagers pay big bucks for products to make their hair do what hers does naturally. Her hair is seriously a freaking phenomenon. She the biggest smile. And gorgeous blue-green eyes. I must be doing something right despite the depression. She is so darn amazing.
I feel bad that I’ve hardly blogged about her. I haven’t even started a scrapbook for her.
At least I’ve taken a multitude of pictures. And I went so far as to print up a bunch of them. I even *have* a scrapbook album for the pictures, along with my obsessive amount of scrapbook supplies.
Did I mention that my mom got me a gigantic mob of colored Gel Pens for Christmas? I don’t think I ever mentioned that I’m a fanatic about office supplies. Seriously, I need a pen-obsessed anonymous support group.
Okay, that’s another story.
Back to April. She’s the best baby ever. I just felt an immediate connection to her, and it’s been there ever since. She’s a total mama’s girl, and I can tell she loves me so much. When she sees me, her whole body smiles. I can’t help but to love her back with all my heart.
And holy cow, her big sister. I never imagined I would feel this warm and fuzzy about an almost-3-year-old. She is so smart and compassionate. She draws happy faces… and skeleton faces. Yes, you read that right. It’s not as morbid as you think. She’s in love with the movie “The Nightmare Before Christmas.” My dad got her hooked on it. She got the movie for Christmas, and she watches it almost every day.
They’re the greatest kids ever. One would *think* I wouldn’t be struggling the way I am. I feel horrible that I can’t be here 100%.
There’s hope, though. Appointments are set. I can almost breathe.
Nevermind the fact that I’m fighting off an anxiety attack as I type, and my heart is jumping around in my chest like it’s going to burst into a tunnel of bats fleeing from a dark cave. Yes, I watched Batman recently.
Oh my freaking gosh. I just need to hold on a little longer.
I can do this.