Anxiety and Gaps

My world is alot of diapers. I complained recently to someone about the amount of poop I deal with on a daily basis. That person told me to be glad everything's working. Seeing as how going in after it would be worse, now I'm glad when I "get to" clean it up. I read "Curious George" books and describe, over and over what color my toys are. I am constantly taking foreign materials out of little hands headed for little mouths. I wash bottles. Did I mention diapers? Oh yeah, sorry. I decide when it's time to eat, when it's time to sleep (sort of), when it's time to play and when it's time to go for a walk. I am the keeper of the cheerios. I am the merchant of tummy tickles. I am the cleaner of barf and the wiper of noses. As if picking my own wasn't a full time job already, yes I pick hers too. Those damnned boogers, you know they get everywhere.

I have to tell myself, and sometimes others also must tell me how important my work is. I mean, SOMEONE has to tend to the boogers.

Its just after Labor Day weekend, and we had a great time. My wife and I got to get out to see a hilarious musical called "Book of Mormon", which I highly recommend for everyone, even mormons. All 3 of us got a chance to go out yesterday for a nice long walk in the gorgeous fall weather. It was just a really nice weekend. For all things in my life, I am lucky and happy. Yet I sometimes strive for more things. Case in point: another boat. You see, I just sold a motorcycle, so it only makes sense I get another boat, right? To be honest, I got the boat before I sold the bike, so at one point I had 2 trucks, 2 boats and 4 motorcycles. Now, I only have 3 motorcycles. Only. I saw on ad on Craigslist a few weeks ago for an old wooden boat. How cool would it be to restore one of those, right? I mean, the beautiful woods, the classic lines. Can't you just see yourself (or me) just sublimely cruising aboard some gorgeous vessel I can call my own? I can. As if my life would have more purpose or be more important. Or just more. I can see it clearly. I contacted the owner and asked if he would consider a trade for a rifle. I had one more gun in the house; it was locked up in the attic, but it was there, and I knew it had to go. The guy said yes. I was going to let it end there. I mean, I could have another boat, and I'd get rid of the gun, and it wouldn't cost anything. Yet. My resolve is weak but I was holding ground. One evening, I told my wife of this, and she encouraged me to proceed. Well, I can say without a doubt that it didn't take long. Within the next few days, Joy and I embarked on an Odyssey to pick up Das Boot. I had a place to put it in the backyard. The opening to the gate was 10 foot 3 inches, and the boat was 10 foot 6 inches wide. You'd think this would stop me? HELL NO! If you knew me, you'd know that was just a detail in my mind. I found out I would need a CDOT permit, because this thing was so wide. Was that going to stop me? HELL NO! I got my permit, which cost 33 bucks for one day. This thing was on a home made trailer which looked like it was assembled by preschoolers. Was that going to stop me? Really, we should stop asking. I drove this thing all the way from Loveland Colorado to Centennial Colorado. Took a few hours because I had to drive slowly. You see, at 10.5 feet wide, my sides were CLOSE to other trucks on the road. CLOSE. I don't know which I watched more closely, my windshield or my mirrors. Thankfully the big Dodge was up to the task, and everyone got home safely. I had to disassemble the fence, and thankfully that one corner post was rotten, so it came right up and I was able to get er in the back. I put the fence back together and let it sit for a few days.

I started poking around. Literally. I started to get sad. Everywhere I looked this hull had rot. I mean, in every panel, every piece. Earlier rot events were covered up with epoxy, which just makes the rot worse because the wood never dries out. This went from a cool project to a hideous mess within an hour or so. Maybe that's how I was able to get a 28 foot cruiser for a traded worthless rifle. The gun could put holes in things, this already had holes in it. Lots of em. After some soul searching, some bourbon and a little time, with the help of my ever - understanding, ever - patient, ever - supportive wife, I decided to cut it up with a chainsaw. The boat itself was worthless. It had an engine that ran, and a trailer that was worth a few hundred bucks in scrap steel alone. I couldn't even sell the whole thing on Craigslist for 300 bucks. People would call, and some even came over. They would look at it with tired expressions, asking if I would take 200. I told them that at 300, I'm already losing 300, so any less than that, and I'm having some fun with a chainsaw. I started the hacking up yesterday. It's hard on my heart to do this, but I know it must be done. It's a painful process. This has perhaps been a mistake, and I hate doing dumb things. All will be well, though. In the end.

About a month ago, Joy started showing some levels of anxiety. Our morning routine was almost exactly the same every day. At 6:00 she would start mewing in her crib. By 6:30 this turned into hanging on the edge crying. So I had 30 minutes to wake up, get out of bed, and get her. The way I would do this was go in the kitchen, prepare her morning bottle, get her up, change her (of course) and take her to the waiting bottle and feed her. Then we would have some cuddle / reading / playing time while she was in my lap before she would get restless and want to be put down to challenge the day on her own terms. It was at the time I would head to the kitchen, close the baby gate behind me, and prepare the day's bagel and coffee or what have you before heading back into the playroom where she would be engrossed in whatever toy she had discovered at that moment. Life was good. All was in balance.

A few weeks ago, when I put her on the floor and headed into the kitchen, she started after me, whimpering. After a few moments, she would have herself pulled up on the baby gate and almost full volume screaming. She would be absolutely beside herself. Tears and all. We have done this the same way, every day and yet it was suddenly abhorrent.

Sleep time started to change too. Night time meant a routine. The bath was perhaps the only variable. Sometimes she didn't get a bath. Especially when she was younger, much smaller, and much less mobile. Not to mention it was colder outside. In any case, the routine meant story time, a bottle, a pacifier, and off she would go. Now it seems she is afraid to sleep. Now a process that took maybe 15 minutes can take an hour and a half or more. She has also returned to getting up in the middle of the night. Sometimes she is wet, and sometimes not. In every instance, she will not settle back down until one of us goes in there and shows our face.

She also cries angrily when someone who was in her presence leaves her presence. This is short lived, but obvious. It makes me sad because I know this is some sort of anxiety. I want to help her, but how can I tell her that everything will be ok when we're still at the Curious George stage? She is only responding to what her brain is telling her. This process is not subject to logic or reason. She feels a loss and must express her grief. Obviously history has no impact. The fact that I have been there for her every day of her life so far apparently carries no weight. She feels a void and does her best to get it filled. Now. This is just a phase. She will stop this silly behavior and see that her life is good, and full and happy. Nobody can tell her though, she has to find that out on her own. She is going to make mistakes and do dumb things. All will be well though. In the end.