At around 3am Sunday morning, I no longer felt like my heart was swollen and taking over my body. I mostly felt exhausted, and a bit embarrassed by my behavior. I woke up to Timmy crying and stood up from the couch and immediately sat back down, placing my hand on my throbbing head. I tried to remember why I was asleep on the couch and how long I had been there, but Timmy's cries grew stronger and stronger, and I decided it didn't really matter why I was there.
I forced myself up again and stumbled into the bedroom. I nursed him, put him back in his crib and crawled in bed for the first time that night. It was close to 4am. I looked at Tim sleeping peacefully, and I resisted waking him to apologize, but oh how I wanted to apologize. I had acted like a maniac. It closely resembled what we call "black-out rage" in our girls.
Morning came too quickly, and I found myself out of bed making chocolate milk for the girls as if nothing had happened. I was calm. Sad, but calm.
Moving is so hard. I am terribly lonely, but I am so grateful for my kids. Without them talking to me, I think I'd go crazy! Things will get better. I know that from experience. It's just going to take awhile before we find a routine again.
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"Be kind and considerate with your criticism... It's just as hard to write a bad book as it is to write a good book." Malcolm Cowley