As I write this post, the blog is still currently offline. I'm basically blogging to myself. A dressed up journal, if you will. I have not decided if it is actually going to go online or not. I thought I'd start and see where it went. If I blogged often enough to make it worth while. If I had enough thoughts that I deemed worthy enough to make public. And also, if I had enough thoughts that I was okay with people seeing.
So, as an exercise to figure out if I did want to make this public again, I went back to the beginning of the blog and started reading. And I'm not finished yet - not sure that I will. Ugh. It really was terrible when it started. The mundane things I wrote about.
And I apologized a lot. Not that I said the word sorry, but I would say an opinion and then back away from it as if to say, if you disagree, then that's ok. I hate that about myself. And I was constantly writing lists about what I was going to do and the chores I had to do before I could do it. And I explained more than I needed to. And after I ranted, I then would say that it was all okay and I'll be better tomorrow. Ugh. I just wish I could have an opinion and stand by it. So I'm going to try to take my own notes and be less annoying to myself.
But one thing is for sure, I have enjoyed the posts about my kids. Whether anyone else is interested or not, what wonderful memories. Things I had forgotten. My kids were so little and sweet.
So, if you're reading this, then I decided to go back online. And go back online with everything intact. No going through and taking out the cringeworthy posts - as tempting as that is. That was me back then... or at least the me I chose to portray. Irritating or not, that's who I was.
Today we have our first respite. She hasn't cancelled yet. I am anxious. I don't know how to act. A person? Coming into my home? Doing stuff with my kid? And what am I supposed to do while she's here. I just don't know. And I'm fighting the urge to clean up. What kind of respite will if be if every time she comes over I am cleaning. That won't be helpful. Not helpful at all.
But my floor is sticky. And that is gross.
I've been trying to get some outside help for a year now. It's finally here. And now I'm not sure I want it. The SMS diagnosis gave me the impetus to really push for it, otherwise we still would not have it. I'm pretty sure I need it. I'm pretty sure it will be good for all of us, including Finleigh. But its something new. And new things make me nervous. And I hate being nervous. Or anxious. Or feeling out of control.