Punky's Roaring Halloween

As soon as I got home from work today, we got Punky dressed in her costume and headed to town.  She was so excited to go trick or treating; she'd been practicing for weeks.  This was her first year going door to door and I didn't know what to expect. 

I've always hated Halloween.  Trick or treating, for me, was borderline traumatic.  In my town, people didn't give you candy for no reason; you had to earn it by singing a song, or telling a joke, or otherwise embarrassing yourself.  For an extremely shy kid like me, it was brutal.  I hated making a fool out of myself in front of total strangers.  I was uncomfortable in their houses.  Just knocking on the door was enough to scare me half to death. 

Roar!

When we approached the first house, I saw no hesitation from Punky.  Her dad's outgoing nature seems to have trumped any shy genes she may have inherited from me.  She went right up the steps and knocked on the door.  When it opened, she let out an excited "Trick or treat!" followed by a very convincing "Roar!"  I, on the other hand, felt the same lump in my throat that I did as a child.  Just watching her made me feel seven years old all over again. 

We hit about fifteen houses in the next half hour.  Each one went off without a hitch; she was scared of no one.  Not of their houses, not of their masks, not of their barking dogs.  Nothing but roars and smiles from my adorable little lion.  And she couldn't get over the amount of candy piling up in her pumpkin.  She was in her glory. 

We decided to run up to his mom's house for a few minutes so she could see Punky's costume and we could sneak a bathroom break.  We stopped at three more houses on the drive home and it was obvious Punky had her fill of trick or treating.  She was getting antsy, it was getting cold, and she was dying for a bite of candy that we wouldn't let her have until we had the chance to check it over at home.  So, we called it a night. 

She had a great time and she's already looking forward to next year.  We didn't even have the lion costume off when she announced her desire to be a dinosaur next year.  As promised, we checked the loot and let her enjoy a few pieces of her treasure.  She spent the next two hours bouncing off the walls and driving us nuts while we patiently waited for the sugar high to wear off so we could get her to bed.

Once she finally fell asleep, I faced a Halloween scare of my own.  I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight.  The explanation, though, will have to wait.

The Greatest Snow On Earth

We planned to go home this weekend for a visit, but I had some hesitations while packing the car on Friday.  The weather forecast for that part of the state looked grim.  Snow was on the horizon and they were calling for at least six inches yesterday. 

I debated a bit, but ultimately decided to go.  We had tickets for the circus and Punky was looking forward to it all month.  I couldn't bring myself to disappoint her.  Plus, we both had a haircut scheduled for Friday night and cancelling would have led to a disastrous tango with the scissors.  We both needed it so badly and it couldn't be put off another month.

When we woke up on Saturday morning, the snow had already started and was sticking to the roads.  I made sure we were ready and out the door early.  My sister and her family were coming with us to the circus but they weren't quite ready to leave when we got to their house.  The circus was a half hour drive away, and I wanted to take it slow, so I told them we'd meet them there.

The ride up was uneventful.  Once we came down off the mountain, the roads were only wet.  We arrived in plenty of time to wait in the car for a half hour until they finally opened the doors to the arena, but better safe than sorry I suppose.  

The circus itself was a bit disappointing.  I had never been to one of that magnitude and I expected it to live up to it's name.  It didn't.  It was far from the greatest show on earth.  It had a few exciting moments but they were few and far between.  The kid in me really looked forward to the trapeze act, but when it finally came time they had only one guy, all alone, jumping back and forth between two swings that were ten feet apart at most.  Talk about under-impressive. 

Punky was so excited to see the circus; we talked about it all month.  I really expected it to hold her attention, but twenty minutes in she seemed as bored as I was.  While I was content to sit there and watch anyway, she opted to jump around in the aisle, kick the chairs of the people in front of us, and harass her cousin instead.  By intermission, I was ready to leave.  When the circus was finally over, I wished I had.  

By that point, a couple inches of snow piled up on the cars and the roads were no longer just wet.  Just thinking about the drive home made me shiver.  If it was that awful in the valley, I could only imagine how much worse it would be as we made our way up the mountain.  Unlike the circus, it lived up to my expectations.

The roads were terrible, the snow was blinding, and people were driving like idiots.  I was so thankful Punky fell asleep for the ride; I needed the silence to concentrate on not killing us.  In one particularly rough spot, I had a brief anxiety/panic attack but I managed to talk myself out of it instead of just pulling off the road and waiting to die.  The half hour drive in good weather turned into an hour and a half return trip, but we finally made it in one piece.

My sister wanted us to come over when we got back into town, but I wasn't facing the snow any more that day.  I had enough.  Plus, my niece was very sick and I wanted to keep Punky's exposure to a minimum.  She's been doing well lately, a minor cold here and there but no unexplained fevers and such.  So, I offered to have my nephew over instead so the kids could spend the day together and play. 

They really don't get to see each other very often since apparently my sister would rather die than make the two and a half hour ride up to visit us, even though I used virtually every hour of my vacation time each year for three years to go visit her when she lived across the country, but that's another post entirely.  The important thing is that the kids had fun together and my nephew ended up spending the night with us.  

By this morning, the snow finally stopped.  The official total?  Sixteen inches.  I was more than ready to get packed and leave the winter wonderland.  It still amazes me that we live over one hundred and fifty miles north, but get a quarter of the snow they do back home.  One call to Punky's dad confirmed what I suspected: not a single flake was on the ground at our house.  

So, the circus was a bust, the weather was atrocious, and I didn't get to spend any time at all with my adorable niece, but we had a nice visit with my nephew and Punky's godfather, plus a delicious lunch with my mom before heading back home today.  

And we both got kickin' haircuts, as Punky told her dad when he met us at the door this evening.

Thirty-Four Months

This month can be adequately summed up with one small word:

No!

No! I won't eat my dinner! 

No! I don't like that! 

No! I won't hug you! 

No! I don't want to do that! 

No! I won't take a bath! 

No! I don't want to wear that shirt!

No! No! No!

And the one that cuts like a knife...

No! I don't love you, Mommy!

Ouch.

We made it almost to the end of the infamous terrible two's with very little terrible, but apparently she's been saving it up for one magnificent grand finale.

Seriously, I have no clue what happened to my sweet, loving, agreeable, little girl.  It's like someone flipped a switch this month.  She disagrees simply to disagree.  No task is easy these days.  Mundane routines that went off without a hitch for months are now individual battles of wits.  She fights with us over every little thing for the sake exerting her independence.  I know she's trying to understand and confirm her identity in the world, but these power struggles are getting old quickly.  

I've always tried to let her make decisions when possible.  Instead of asking her open-ended questions, I offer her choices of a few acceptable acceptable answers.  When she picks one, it's a win/win.  She feels like she is in control of her world and she ends up eating something healthy for a snack.  This tactic has worked so well that I smugly thought I had it all figured out, but she turned the tables this month.

"Sweetie, do you want an apple or banana for a snack?"

"I want cookies!"

Shit.  She cracked the code.  Thankfully, reverse psychology is still working to a degree.  She is so determined to drive us mad, she'll choose anything that we don't offer.  

"Do you want to wear your pink jacket or the purple one?"  Both are light and it's really getting too cold for her to wear them now.

"No! I want to wear my princess coat, Mommy! That's the one I want!"  Her heavy winter coat, the one I wanted her to wear in the first place.  Success in this case, but it's not a fool-proof method.  It's backfired several times.

I really hope she gets through this stage quickly.  We both hate to resort to yelling but at times she gives us no other choice.  She tantrums, and cries, and screams over the silliest things, and the only way to get her attention is to yell louder than she is.  It takes forever to calm her down and get back to the task at hand.  She completely tunes us out and refuses to listen to anything.  It's exhausting. 

I know it's probably normal and something she just needs to work through, but I still can't help but wonder if something triggered this immediate turn in her behavior.  By no means is it constant but we can count on a few outbursts each day.  Her dad asked the teachers at daycare about her behavior and she's had a few incidents there, too.  

Other than her sudden over-appreciation of the word 'no', everything else is going well.  Potty training is a thing of the past and diapers seem like a distant memory at this point.  We are about seven weeks into this new world and there has been no signs of regression whatsoever.  She's had no accidents, night or day, so I think it's a done deal.  I gave all my leftover diapers to my sister for my niece, the changing table is gone from her room (well, actually I'm using it in her closet for storage), and I've thrown away the diaper bag.  There's no going back now.

Punky has been been really into coloring again lately, and I've had to buy her some new books and tablets.  I swear she colored for six hours off an on one day recently.  She tries to draw letters and shapes.  Sometimes she's close, sometimes she scribbles, sometimes she uses her imagination and sees things no one else would even consider in her works of art.

Our bedtime reading has been taken over by longer and longer books these days and by a greater variety than she's allowed in the past.  She's taking a greater interest in words and can recognize a handful on sight now.  I still say she'll be reading before age four.  

Here's to hoping next month brings an end to her sudden defiant streak.  My hair is graying far more quickly than I'd like.  If this behavior continues, I'll need a full dye job by Christmas.

Priority at the Pole

Determined to keep the ball rolling, I tackled more Christmas shopping yesterday.  Before hitting the stores, Punky and I went for lunch and chatted about the holidays.

She keeps asking for one specific toy and I keep putting her off, partly because both Christmas and her birthday are coming up quickly, partly because I don't want her to expect a toy every time we go shopping, and partly because the toy is extremely loud and annoying and I'd rather not listen to it for the next two weeks straight until the batteries suddenly die (meaning one of us removes the damn things because we can't stand it any longer). 

So, when she mentioned the toy again over lunch, it was the perfect opportunity to tell her all about making a list for Santa.  I explained how we'll write a letter to tell him she's been a good girl this year, and that in the letter she can tell Santa a couple wishes she has for Christmas.

"Christmas is still two months away," I told her, "but we need to get started on your letter soon.  It will take a long time to get to where Santa lives."  In other words, we need time to shop.  

"Can we mail it to him?" she asked.

"Yes, that's exactly what we'll do.  When we finish the letter, you can put a stamp on it and we'll take it to the post office.  You can put it in the mailbox all by yourself."  

 

"Wow!"  That peaked her interest.  "But how will it get to Santa?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, sweetie.  Santa lives so far away, the letter may travel by truck, boat, train, and plane to get all the way to the top of the world.  But don't worry, Santa will get it in time for Christmas."  

Her blank stare told me I needed to elaborate a bit more.  She has a ball with a globe printed on it.  Many times we've talked about where we live, where we went on vacation, where China is, etc.  I thought it may be a good reference.

"Think about your earth ball," I said.  "When you look at the globe, Santa lives all the way at the tippy-top of the world at the North pole, so your letter has a long way to travel to Santa's house."

I could see the wheels spinning as she thought for a minute.  I waited patiently to hear what questions she would have about the North Pole and Santa's house.  And once again, my child managed to leave me speechless.

"Mommy?" she asked, "Does he get cable?"

So, either I'm the proud mom of an extremely smart two-year-old who thinks way outside the box for her age, or I've failed miserably as a parent by allowing her far too much time in front of the idiot box.  Think what you will, but I'm going with the first one.

Much Needed R & R

Before Punky came along, our relationship was still fairly new.   Her dad and I dated a while, but we were only living together about four months when we conceived our perfect, little girl.  And those four months went as you would expect with any couple who recently moved in together.  Sure, we started noticing the little things that can typically cause spats, but they were easily overlooked with the passion of a new relationship.  We had discussed the possibility of a baby down the road, but by no means were we trying at that point.  Given the outcome, I guess we weren't really trying to prevent it either.

His hesitations stemmed from his age and the fact that he already had two older boys, ages 12 and 19 at the time.  He'd been down the new baby road before, he had a much better understanding of the changes it brings to a relationship, and his days of diaper changes and three a.m. feedings were long behind him.  He wasn't sure he wanted to start all over again.  My hesitations were fueled by the fear of another loss.  While I truly believed another pregnancy would end that way, I also knew I would never go the medical intervention route.  I applaud women who have the strength to endure loss after loss, treatment after treatment, and even failed adoption after failed adoption in their pursuit to become a mother.  I didn't have it in me.  I just didn't.

But nevertheless, there we were, completely in shock, just staring at the flashing pregnancy test.  Ready or not, we were strapped into the roller coaster and it departed from the station.  We hung on tightly through the ups and downs those nine, long months.  There were plenty of curves along the way and I, of course, was fully prepared for derailment at any point.

The first eight weeks postpartum went well as we adjusted to life with a newborn.  Yes, we were tired but at least I was off work so he managed to get enough sleep to function at his job.  When I had to return to work full time, things started getting rough.  It broke my heart when I had to leave Punky every day, but staying home wasn't an option.  We simply couldn't afford it.  I sunk into a deep depression as the months passed and her dad and I grew further apart with each passing day.  We were both exhausted.  I was miserable.  He was angry that I had basically written us off at that point.  Then when Punky was six months old, right about the time I started this blog, he got laid off from work and financial trouble was added to the pile of discontent.

Over the last two years, we've had our share of disagreements.  We've had extremely rocky times, followed by periods of indifference, followed by peaceful times.  It's cyclical, really.  Each of us blames the other, of course, but there is some truth on both sides of the argument.  I've struggled with my own identity since becoming a mom.  At times I'm so focused on that role, and I've let many other aspects of my life simply vanish in the wake.  Our relationship was one of those things that got pushed to a back burner.  I just needed to put it on low and let it simmer while I worked through the new world of motherhood.  

On the flip side, he wasn't content to simmer.  The more I withdrew into my own world, the more he felt neglected, and the higher he turned the heat. Once in a while the pot would boil over.  A few days of yelling, a few of not speaking, a few more just existing.  Eventually the water would return to warm and we'd like each other again.  We would kiss and make up, so to speak, and things would be calm for a while.  But then life's pressures would bear down once again, and I'd retreat into hiding, and tensions would build, and the cycle would repeat.  We just couldn't seem to fully reconnect post baby.  We just couldn't get it right.

The last few weeks have seemed different.  We're taking life less seriously.  We're working like a team instead of playing tug-of-war over every little thing.  We're making time to spend together, alone.  We're flirting through text messages like silly teenagers.  We're laughing more.  We're talking more.  I can't even remember the last time I thought about whizzing a steak knife his way.  It's a whole new type of calmness around here these days. 

Nearly three years in, maybe we finally figured it out.  And maybe we haven't.  I can't pinpoint an exact cause, nor do I care to.  Maybe it will last; maybe it won't. 

For now I'm simply enjoying the R & R.  In this case, reconnection and romance.  By my calculations, rest and relaxation are still years away.

Ahead of the Game

If I tell you what I spent the afternoon doing, you'll think I'm nuts.  Of course, I'll tell you anyway.

Not to create the illusion that I'm on top of things, organized, and in the mood for winter, I assure you today's activity was fueled by utter boredom, plain and simple.  I didn't fall down and hit my head or anything.  I swear.

Today I spent two over two hours wrapping Christmas presents.

A few weeks ago I picked up a few gifts for the holidays.  As it happens most years, I had a sudden burst of motivation when we had our first cold fall weekend and my thoughts immediately landed on the shitty weather soon to come.  Start shopping, I told myself, get it done early this year.  Don't wait until the last minute and rush around like an idiot.  Beat the crowds.  Get the good toys before they're gone.  Finish by Thanksgiving and have a nice, relaxing December.

I'll be sure to come back and read that last paragraph when there's five days till Christmas and I still have fifty percent of my shopping to do.

Anyway, that day I bought some things for my niece, nephew, and my friend's two kids. In all, I had eight gifts stuffed in my closet.  While I was trying to figure out what the hell we were going to do the rest of the day, Punky asked me something about Christmas.  The day was only half over and we had already played with most of her toys.  We read books.  We colored.  We built a block tower.  We did her Elmo puzzle.  We played Candyland.  We chased each other around the house.  

Truth is, I'm awfully bored with her toys.  It seems like we do the same things over and over.  And over.  I'm out of ideas on how to keep her busy the next two months until Santa's visit brings some variety to our playtime.  When she mentioned Christmas, I got the idea to wrap presents.  I thought it would be a fun activity to do together and kill some time.  Scotch tape is one of her favorite things, after all.  

She helped me carry the gifts into the dining room.  She crawled under the bed and retrieved the rolls of wrapping paper that were just out of my reach.  She carefully selected which paper to use on the first present.  She listened intently to my "how-to" explanation, and held the paper steady while I cut it to size and taped it in place.  She read the letters aloud as I filled out the name tag.

"And that's how you wrap a Christmas present!" I declared, expecting her to be impressed or something.  

"Mommy?" she asked sweetly, "Can we do something else now?"

So, for the next hour and a half, I wrapped presents while she made tape balls, wrinkled the hell out of a brand new roll of paper, colored on a few loose sheets, and unwrapped a present I had just finished wrapping because she forgot what was in it and she wanted to practice for Christmas.  Her words, not mine.

I think the rest of the holiday wrapping will be done at midnight when she's sound asleep.  Probably a day or two before Christmas when I finish the rest of my shopping.

Just Say No

I thought we were done with this shit for the year, but here we go again. 

Another daycare field trip is on the schedule for Friday.  Apparently when they informed us about the three field trips per year, they meant more like six or seven and we failed to read between the lines. 

If you remember, each of the previous outings was the source of great stress and debate in our house.  Okay, more like in my mind.  But, still.

The first was resolved when my mom volunteered to accompany Punky on a trip to a local campground for the day.  The second crisis was averted when, after we went ahead and signed the permission slip for her to go to the children's museum, she backed out herself because my parents came for a visit and she wanted to stay home with them instead.  I was able to get the day off from work to go with her on the third field trip to the county fair in August and, after witnessing first hand the chaos that resulted from a complete lack of organization on the part of the daycare, I was so relieved we wouldn't have to deal with the issue again until next summer.

When I found the permission slip in her cubby, my stomach instantly turned.  This time they are going to a pumpkin patch for some autumn/halloween activities.  Once again they are looking for parents to volunteer to provide transportation, which means Punky could end up in a car with someone we don't even know, let alone trust, because neither of us can take the day off to go with her.  When you layer on my experience with the last field trip, saying I'm hesitant is a gross understatement.

Her dad and I talked about it for nearly a week before finally signing the paper.  Okay, I talked about it and he nodded a lot, tossed out a few supportive grunts, and changed the subject at every available opportunity.

We checked the "no" box.  She isn't allowed to go.

Our plan is to take her to school a little later than usual on Friday to spare her the tantrum that would surely ensue when all the kids get ready to go and she has to stay behind.  Yes, I know she's smart enough to realize something isn't quite right when most of the kids aren't there that day, but I'm trying to minimize the blow.  I'm sure she'll ask questions and I hope her teachers answer them carefully.  Punky is a sharp cookie.  One wrong answer could lead to one very long day for the teachers.   

I'm confident I made the best decision for her safety, but I can't help feeling guilty.  It's not like we never tell her no; she hears it a lot.  But, just in case she puts two and two together and realizes that all the other kids got to go somewhere fun and she couldn't because her mommy has paranoid delusions that a mildly intoxicated soccer mom with a suspended license and a minivan not capable of passing state inspection will drive them off a cliff while sexting her secret lover on the way to the pumpkin patch, I've lined up something fun for us to do on Saturday.

Out of Touch

It has come to my attention lately just how out of touch I am with the outside world.

I don't generally write about things like current events, pop culture, reality TV, or politics, partly because I could give a rat's ass about most of it and partly because I haven't a clue what's going on these days.  I've become completely disconnected from life outside the walls of work and home.

In some ways, that's good.  I mean, the things that matter most to me exist within those barriers.  Taking care of Punky to the best of my abilities became my priority the minute I found out she was cooking.  I knew there would be sacrifices.  I was prepared for that.  But I don't think I understood the scope of it.  Every aspect of my pre-mommy world has been altered in one way or another.  And three years into this journey, I hardly remember that life as it was.

Do you know I haven't watched one single prime-time TV show in about a year and a half?  I was never really into TV, but there were a few shows I enjoyed.  Sometimes I miss them.  Prime-time in this house consists of block building, car racing, doll house playing, book reading, hiding and seeking, and whatever other activities Punky thinks up to keep us entertained.  If the TV's on, she's watching something animated while I do the dishes, pay bills, fold clothes, attempt to have a phone conversation, or sneak some me-time online. 

Recording shows doesn't do us any good.  We went that route when we first discovered we were losing the ability to focus on a program without an interruption every thirty seconds, but all we ended up with was a stack of tapes with weeks worth of shows and no time or desire to watch them.  By the time Punky gets to sleep at night, I'm either too tired to watch or I have a list of other things I'd rather do to occupy the whole twenty minutes or so I get before going to bed myself.  

The last time I watched the evening news, the coverage was of Michael Jackson's death.  And that's only because I heard it on the radio while driving home from work and I had to see if it was really true.  That hour usually falls during dinner time, and since we enforce the "no TV during dinner" rule with Punky, it would hardly be fair for us to watch the news.  Depending on her mood, she can stretch her meal out to forty-five minutes some nights. 

We buy the Sunday paper faithfully.  He steals the crossword puzzle so he has something to do on the john over the next week.  I clip the coupons.  He flips through the sales papers.  I tuck a section or two away so I'm prepared if Punky has the desire to paint, color with markers, or use play-doh in the days ahead.  He checks out the cars for sale; I check out the houses.  We can't afford either but it's nice to dream.  One or both of us may glance at the employment listings, especially if it follows a particularly shitty work week.  But to actually read the paper?  Who has time for that?

Once in a rare while I catch a few glimpses of the news before work.  But honestly, I was never a morning person.  A few more minutes of sleep is more valuable to me than a few minutes of news.  Plus, I'd rather not spend my day dwelling on all of the awful shit going on in the world.  Ignorance is bliss, people.  Truly.  

But, I do feel a bit left out around the proverbial water cooler.  

I have no opinion whatsoever about who's the best dancer, singer, or survivor.  I don't even know the names of the choices.  No, I didn't hear about the bad accident that happened nearby at three in the morning.  I have absolutely no clue what the weather will be like tomorrow.  That new commercial with the dog sounds hysterical, but no, I haven't seen it.  I've never even heard of the movie you saw with your hubby last Friday for date night.  And I really can't say if Ashton Kutcher is a suitable replacement for Charlie Sheen.

I have nothing to bring to the lunch table.  

Unless, of course,  you want to talk about snotty noses, potty training, daycare issues, tantrums, or how the hell you convince a two-year-old to sit down and be quiet for thirty seconds while Mommy makes a seventh attempt to balance the checkbook, since the first was interrupted by a loud scream that implied a severed limb but turned out to be nothing, the second by a request for a snack that couldn't wait or she'd die of hunger, the third by a sudden dash to the potty because she waits till her bladder's about to explode before acting on the feeling, the fourth by little fingers hitting buttons on the adding machine, the fifth by another potty run to squeeze out the three whole drops she missed the first time, and the sixth by a smashing sound as the lamp committed suicide by throwing itself off the end table.  It had nothing to do with the red ball next to it on the floor or the little girl that sprinted across the living room to hide behind the recliner. 

Right now I don't need the outside world; I'm barely surviving the inside one. 

Paying the Piper

After exactly four weeks of consistent potty use, it was time to pay up.

Sticker-filled potty paper

The deal was that if Punky filled her potty paper with stickers, she could get anything she wanted at the toy store.  And if you remember, she completely out-smarted me and chose something expensive.

She worked hard for it.  She earned it.  She deserves it.  And a deal's a deal.  

In all honesty, I wish she would've chosen something else.  With the holidays quickly approaching and our financial situation a bit rocky, it was a large chunk of cash to spend right now.  Plus, this isn't exactly the best time of year for an outside toy.  She'll probably only get to use it a few times before it's locked away until spring.  

But, as I said before, I couldn't change the rules after I put the offer on the table.  I want Punky to trust me.  I want her to understand the process of setting goals, working hard, and enjoying the reward for a job well done.  And I want her to believe what I say.  That will come in handy years down the road when we face the heavy issues like peer pressure, dating, alcohol, and drugs.  When I tell her I'll know if she kisses a boy because her nose will turn purple, I want her to believe it, dammit.

Punky's stylin' smart-car

It took her dad a few hours to assemble it while she danced around in circles and tried to help.  The battery needs to charge overnight before she can really use it, but this evening she was perfectly content playing with it in the living room.  She'll be counting the hours tomorrow until her dad comes home from work to carry it outside and hook up the battery.  I just hope she steers it better than she did her bike this summer.  It's more expensive and much easier to break.

Mid-Life Crisis

I think I may be having one.  

For months now, actually.  I just finally labeled it.

If it's not, then I'm not sure what else to call it.

I know I usually get in a funk this time of year, but this started months ago when thoughts of cold and snow were furthest from my mind.  So, it's more than a funk.  

I admit to having issues with depression, especially when my thyroid get out of whack, but I don't necessarily feel sad or moody.  It's more like regretful and disappointed.  So, it's not a thyroid problem.

I don't think I'm angry.  If I am, it's solely directed inward and not at others.  I don't feel anyone else is at fault for how I'm feeling.

I'm simply not satisfied.  With anything.  Aside from Punky, that is.  This surely has nothing to do with my beautiful little girl.

I just daydream a lot.  I never used to.  Not at all.  But now, it's almost constant.  And always about the past.  Never the future.

It's almost like I'm questioning every decision I ever made it life, and wondering what would've been if I had chosen differently.  I'm stuck in a what-if mentality and I can't shake it.

If someone asked me at eighteen about where I thought I would be in twenty years, I wouldn't have said here.  Nothing about my life turned out how I thought it would.  I had dreams, but I didn't follow them.  Maybe now I'm trying to understand why.  Maybe now I'm trying to figure out what I still have time to fix.  If any of it even can be.

Forty is lurking just sixteen months away.  My rational mind knows it's only a number, yet I seem fixated on it somehow.  Like it's some sort of deadline or something.  The "it's now or never" argument is gaining momentum in my psyche.  If I don't get a handle on it, the results will be drastic.

Mid-life crisis? Nervous breakdown? Good old-fashioned mental illness?

I suppose only time will tell.