This week I have been thinking, "Whose crazy idea was it to get to candidacy before the baby arrives?" ...oh, wait, that would be my crazy idea. I know that I can do it; it just feels a little overwhelming right now. It's not even the dissertation that's making me feel overwhelmed, but the dissertation on top of the rest of life with four children in three schools and a baby due the month after next and all the holiday organizing that has to happen between now and then and also an 85-year-old house and and and...
Anyway. My advisor says I'm in good shape, and I trust her. She's not worried about the fact that the powers that be have to approve my committee and the head of the department predicted they'd kick back the application because we requested voting privileges for an MD who's on clinical faculty and not a tenure-track academic. Worry, not adding days, hairs on head numbered -- I know all that stuff but I'm having a little trouble applying it this week.
Petely fell at preschool today, trying to slide down a pole on the playground, and doesn't want to bear any weight on that foot. I'll take him in first thing tomorrow if he still is complaining. Do you know, I have been kind of scarred by that wretched CPS experience. I was figuring out how the morning needs to run and I thought, "...and they'll need to confirm that this wasn't child abuse so I should take in both the director's cell number and the general preschool number, so the doctor doesn't think I'm just asking a random person to pretend to be my son's preschool director to cover up negligence on my part..." Which is ridiculous for a host of reasons, not least that I spent the entire day in a different area code from my son and could not have abused him even if I didn't think child abuse was heinous.
At the beginning of the week Elwood told an agitated boy that he needed to go outside if he wouldn't stop screaming, and I had a little inner freakout. What if a neighbor heard? What if a neighbor assumed the worst and reported us? So yeah. Just in case the short-term stress wasn't enough, two months later I am worried about going to the doctor and responding appropriately to a tantrum. Big sigh.
Gloom and doom and doom and gloom. Maybe I should stop grousing and go to bed. Another one of those things I know but have to be disciplined about living right now: each day has enough trouble of its own.
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