Perfection.

My brain has been a busy place lately, a myriad of ideas and self conversations bouncing off the walls in there.  

Whether we like it or not, we're all judged by other people.  Some that know us, some that don't, some who think they do, some who tell us what they think and some who keep it to themselves.  

In the last few years I've had countless emails, phone calls to my hubby, and comments made to me by some perfect people.  Probably my favorite "you two are the WORST parents and all I hear about is how messed up your kid is," along with "fake" and a ton of other accusations.  To say "oh just blow it off they don't matter" is one thing.  I have a husband who is way better at that than me.  I take EVERYTHING personally, I dwell, I rationalize, I create scenarios in my head...It's been almost 18 months since the aforementioned email.  The words are somewhere in my head every day.  It gets to the point where you start believing them.  You get looks from strangers and you're pretty sure they think your kid is messed up and we're pretty crappy parents too, they probably saw the email.   

I should probably mention, there is no worse judge of myself than myself.  I analyze and over analyze and research every freaken thing I do.  So having others throw in their two cents pretty much makes me think I've totally missed something.

Having an infant does not make this any easier.  There are SO many minute details, there are diapers and food and binkies and toys and car seats and strollers and burp cloths and leg warmers and sleep training, and walkers and...I wish that was the whole list.

I can't do it ALL!

There is really no human way to be perfect.  I "know" that...but I can't say I wasn't still trying. I have made it a point to not put too much negative on facebook.  I know how blessed we are, and I know how good we've got it compared to the greater population.  Then I hear people say "man I wish I had your life."  Mine?  What the heck do you want with MY life?  

We have a super itty bitty budget

A little house built in 1880

1/10 (ONE TENTH) of an acre.

I look out my dining room window to see my neighbors used-to-be-a-shed falling into the canal

I'm pretty sure I run on fumes 5 times a month

My hubby works EVERY day...Christmas and Thanksgiving mean he only works 8-10 hours rather than 14-18.  

I've got a bungie holding my dryer shut, a broken washer gasket that causes leakage with every wash

no cable 

no trust fund

not enough life insurance

I'm up to five pairs of pants now...

A brain injury

I'm lucky if I take a shower 3 times a week  (don't tell my mom, we've agreed to lie about it)

I'm proud of myself if I leave the house with a shower, proper undergarments, clean clothes and shoes.  (I may have brought Wayne lunch this week, arriving there realizing I was wearing no socks, his slippers....and I was kinda stinky...I did have my camera.)  If I actually remember my cards and phone, keys and a bottle we might as well stay out all day because it won't happen again.

I'm thrilled my hubby has a job that he loves, that it provides us shelter and some food, we have three vehicles (two running) that are properly insured.  I'm thrilled with all we have.

With a brain injury EVERYTHING is work.  There are conscious decisions and systems to make everything happen.  I can't just say "oh I need broccoli" and run downstairs and grab it.  I get downstairs...if I'm lucky I open the freezer and stare blankly into it.  Usually I'll end up doing laundry or something and not remember it was broccoli until I get back to cooking again.  

Seeing as how my hubby isn't here all day, he thought I was exaggerating my trips up the stairs.  The right elbow in all of my shirts and some sweatshirts has a hole in it.  Why?  because when I'm flying down the stairs, I hit my elbow on the wall.  There is a slanted ceiling at the top of the stairs so speed requires a duck and hug the wall move...and results in bare elbows.  Why am I not 83 pounds?  

I'm sure there is BPA in my house, we have clothes that aren't made in the US, George wore a disposable diaper last night, we don't eat organic food, I'm overdue for an oil change, there are blankets and stuffed animals in George's crib, we rear-face but not in the center, he ate baby food out of *gasp* a jar yesterday, the sauce I bought this month has HFCS in it because I forgot to read the label, I haven't paid off my student loan, I should probably change the sheets more often, I haven't moved the monitor into G's room since he moved in there 3 months ago, I own a blow dryer but don't use it, I avoid consigning clothes because I don't want to iron them all...

So to my judgers...maybe you're right.  Pick me apart.  This is all I've got.  I can't live paranoid anymore that you'll find out I did something wrong...or if I do something right, maybe we'll get invited somewhere?  I can't make you love me.  

Take me for what I am

Who I was meant to be

and if you give a damn

take me baby or leave me

-Jonathon Larson