“That” stage

This is how I pictured motherhood would be like: Me, right here, writing on this blog as the kids played around. You know, me doing my thing… them, doing their thing. As I remembered doing it when I was a child.

It sure took a while and the sleep deprivation nearly got me to the edge of my mental health (that’s actually a lie, I went far beyond the edge) but I think we are here.

We are at that stage where the kids wanna play with each other, even though they still want our attention.

At this point, we can actually take them for a ride. They won’t be screaming, trying to get  off the car seat, vomiting, driving us crazy…. and I won’t be sitting in the back with them.

We can also do fun stuff together like play games.

They no longer make me nervous that they might need to be breast fed at the same time or throw up at the same time. Be burped at the same time. God.

No wonder I’m traumatized. Even remembering it makes kinda shaky.

But now, we are at that stage where I actually have so much time for myself (like, a whole hour)  I barely know how to handle it. I am so used to taking short showers and running somewhere that I forgot (I absolutely forgot) how to relax.

It sounds like something fun to learn again, though.

I am happy we are at this stage today.

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Do you believe in Smurfs?

I think of myself as sane. For real. No matter how much the psychiatrist is convinced there’s a schizophrenic elf messing up with the circuits of my brain, I find myself to be pretty reasonable.

Yes, sometimes I react strongly to life-threatening situations, whether the situation is a benign mole that could -in about 20 years- turn evil on me or the tiny black lines I found on my children’s poop, (that actually turned out to be banana fibers, in case you mothers are wondering)… but the only reason I do that, is because I wanna make SURE I know what’s going on and fix it. Quickly.

I mean, that’s reasonable, correct?

Fine, there WAS that day when I checked my temperature 40 times, including in the middle of the night and first thing in the morning…

I guess reassuring myself that my body temperature was normal just made me feel less nervous about the disease I never had.

Ok, fine, that’s one point to schizophrenia.

But I’ve got some good, reasonable, sane moments.

Like, the other day, when the psychiatrist asked me if I believed in the devil.

Well, like any sane person, I do not. Not 100%, anyway. But the idea is pretty scary, right? I mean… it’s the freaking devil. So, there is, I guess that 1% chance that the devil could be real and for that reason I try NOT to read much about it or join any satanic cults ’cause I figured that if there’s something there… I wouldn’t really wanna get involved.

Isn’t that what a sane person would answer? I think I was being very, very plausible.

Fine. At one point I also told her I believed in ghosts.

Well, not ghosts per-say, like… Do I believe people have a soul? Yes! That’s still allowed, right? And I also told her I believed that eventually these souls could try to communicate with us, specially the people who were close to us when they were alive, ’cause Stella (our nanny) had talked to me during a dream once. I also told her that I did not feel prepared to interact with those souls and that, again, I was not 100% sure it was real, because that kind or certainty could only come from a real contact.

I swear to God I thought I was being sane, but apparently I very much wasn’t, because based on those answers she popped up the following question:

What else do you believe in? Do you believe in Smurfs?

Yes, you read it correctly! Smurfs! Smurfs:

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At that point, I absolutely thought about answering YES ’cause my sarcastic vein was pulsing SO HARD I had a hard time controlling my mouth.

But instead, I just said: “No, I am not quite at the level yet, but check back in a few months.”

You would think that the person prescribing medication for your brain would know by now, based on your previous answers, that there it’s a long, long road between believing in souls and believing in smurfs.

I guess not.

I wish I believed in smurfs rather than obsessed about rare diseases, though. It sounds like a hell whole lot more fun!

Plus, they are super cute.