stuck

Sometimes, when I try to take a deep breath, it feels like it catches in my throat.  Like something is physically blocking the air.  And I know, with every logical part of my brain and body, that I should know how to breathe.  That breathing should be easy.  That I shouldn't have to muscle my way through it, to force it, that it shouldn't take any effort at all.

But still I gasp and sigh and yawn and gulp air as of my life depends on it.

Sometimes writing feels the same way.  And parenting.  And, yknow, life.

I'm feeling stuck lately.  Like my life is catching in my throat.  I am feeling irrelevant and useless and lonely and outside and just ... Sad.

I know that I'm supposed to be grateful for my life.  That I'm supposed to recognize the value of the little everyday things I do. That I just need to remember who I am, that the things I've chosen not to do are okay.  That I don't have to live up to anyone else's standards to be good enough.

I know.  I know this.

But.

My kid

In the back of the car, BG is sobbing and wailing, "but I don't want peanut butter and jelly!  I won't eat anything! No one will eat anything!"

We pushed back lunch and quiet time, so I'm pretty sure the meltdown is only nominally about the menu.

I breathe out my exasperation and rising rage.

"You're having a hard time, huh, sweetie?"

She immediately quiets. "Being a kid is hard."

I barely suppress a giggle and affect my most sympathetic voice. "I hear you.  Being a kid IS hard."

"Being a baby is hard. Being a grown up is hard."

Now I'm grinning. "You are so right, kiddo."

She continues. "Being a dinosaur is hard.  Being a robot is hard."

And that about says it all, folks.