I washed Arya’s lovey last week.
I can honestly say it was one of the most nerve-wracking things I’ve ever had to do. What if Bunny falls apart? What if he doesn’t smell the same so Arya rejects him? What if Bunny is Arya’s equivalent to a towel in the Hitchhiker’s Guide universe and she needs to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth? WHAT WOULD SHE DO THEN?
She didn’t even notice he was gone. I grabbed it out of her crib nonchalantly and took it with me to the Washing of Doom. (That’s what I’m calling it, considering how much I was dreading it.)
Arya likes to suck on his ears, so those were particularly gross. I’m not going to get into details, though. Not that anyone would want them. Regardless, he’d been very loved so he definitely needed to be cleaned. It was done swiftly, with a lot of apprehension because of the worry of him not smelling the same. A lot of water was used and very little soap. Or, well, as little soap as I could get away with for how icky he was.
It was a great success, and Arya never noticed anything different. In fact, she went right back to nomming his ears like nothing had changed. Then again, I think she’s too little to fully understand that something had happened to Bunny, but hey… I’m not gonna question it. I just need to remember to spot-clean his ears more often so I don’t have to do such a thorough cleaning again. Just a little bit when necessary.
[slickr-flickr tag=”arya and bunny” items=”11″]
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After a brief stint in the realm of complete, incomparable depression, I had my psych appointment and… well. As is usual, I switched to a new pill.
If this doesn’t work, I’m done. I can’t take it anymore. I got so desperate when my previous pill wasn’t working for me. It was a(n old) low that I haven’t felt in years, and I never want to feel again. It’s hard to describe. There’s just so many facets of depression. The mental is only the most commonly thought-of one. The really crippling one (for me, at least), is the physical side.
It’s the heavy blanket of exhaustion that keeps you from getting up in the morning. As you walk around minding your business, there’s a chain tied to your soul that physically drags you down. Your legs continually feel like you just finished running a marathon. You sit on the couch and feel miserable because the dishes haven’t been done in a week, and the baby is just keeping herself entertained (I’m so thankful she’s easy) because as much as you have to do, you just can’t bring yourself to get up.
It’s commonly mistaken for laziness. It’s not. It’s terrible, is what it is.
I missed a game night with some friends I haven’t seen in a long time because of it. Out of everything, that affected me the most. I feel a burning shame to a point where I don’t even want to approach it to explain myself. I’m not sure where to go from here. Do I try to initiate another get-together? Do I just let it slide by, the way I usually do? I don’t know.
One thing I can say, is that I’m okay. It’s been a week since I started this new pill. The thing preventing me from my “Miracle Worker” Rx is a bevy of horrible, no good side effects that I literally could not live with. This one supposedly boasts low side effect rates. (Yeah, that’s what they all say.) So far… so good. Just yesterday I finally started to feel the suffocating blanket of depression being lifted, and it ended with a clean kitchen and dining room. That’s… progress, I think. (Ha!)
The problem is that this pill comes with an immediate side effect upon taking it. The issue I was warned about was nausea. I ended up with crippling stomach cramps when I take it. I do have to take it with food, but it only decreases the pain sometimes. I hate that in order to be happy, I have to deal with something negative for it. The fact that my happiness comes with a price… and that it’s seemingly unavoidable, is depressing all on its own.
At this point, the benefit outweighs the drawbacks. I can live with stomach pain for an hour a day if it means that the rest of my waking hours are not spent walking through a haze.
But… We’ll see how this new pill turns out. If it doesn’t work, I’ll be seeking a second opinion. I am tired of juggling pills. The lull between meds is not something I enjoy. Forcing myself to live under an umbrella that pours rain inside is not really my idea of a good time. So far, though, it looks promising. I increase my dosage tonight, and judging by how I feel now (I’m not quite at my peak), I can’t imagine it’ll get worse.
But there’s a feeling in the back of my head, just a little one, that taunts me, telling me it’ll be like this forever.