I have had the "Drama Queen" label attached to my name since, well, pretty much birth. At times I have embraced it, at times I have denied it, and at times I have sarcastically said with raised eyebrow "Who, ME?"
Today, I have worn the label well. Tomorrow I will be six month post partum, so I'm pretty sure I can't blame my latest emotional breakdown on hormones anymore. Jacob is thriving, he's recovering from his monstrous cold and showing no signs of the RSV that is making the rounds of his daycare, and work is going as well as I could hope for right now. I'm still stressed about not having enough time to "fit it all in" most days, but it is getting easier. He can sit up, he can amuse himself for about 15 minutes at a time, and he's started sleeping through the night again. His dad and I have gotten a pretty solid morning and bedtime routine going, and part of that includes dad washing the godforsaken bottles every evening while I put baby to bed. (Trust me, you don't know how valuable that simple act can relieve stress right now. I HATE washing bottles with a passion.)
So how did I find myself crying at 12:24 today, standing in the rain on my lunch break at Advance Auto? It's my own fault, really. My beloved car is 4 years old, has close to 80K miles on it, and has been sluggish to start for the past 2 weeks. So, I knew it needed a battery, but I have put it off each day this week with the "I'll do it tomorrow" mantra. Until this morning, when it nearly didn't turn over as I was leaving daycare to head to work. Of course, even though I knew I was procrastinating, it didn't make my internal wrath towards the auto parts store (who, incidentally, has "we have hard to find parts...just challenge us" emblazoned across their front door) when they told me that battery was not in stock. They could have it delivered from a store across town and I could come back after work. If my battery makes it through 2 more cranks.
For 20 minutes I sat there chewing my hangnail, growing weepier and weepier by the second, while the manager looked to make sure they were really out of the battery, convinced me to get the next one down, gave me a discount on it, and told me that the salesclerk (who was on the phone with a problem customer) would install it for me as soon as he got a chance. All I could think about the whole time was whether or not I would have time to pump and/or eat lunch when I finally got back to work. I was reminded that this is one of those down supply weeks and that I had pumped less than an ounce on my morning break, and couldn't afford to miss this one, too. As the clerk fumbled around changing my battery, I just stood on the sidewalk willing my tears not to fall.
Which made me feel even dumber. Like a stupid, emotional, wreck of a drama queen crying because they wouldn't just HURRY UP and do what I asked them to do, RIGHT NOW. It was like an internal battle inside my head, with one side saying "hurry up, imbeciles, can't you see that I'm busy and only have a limited amount of time" and the other half saying, "seriously? Who the hell do you think you are? Is your time really that much more valuable than everyone else's?" That attitude is exactly my pet peeve in my own clients. Sheesssshhhhh....
I guess the difference now is that at least I can admit that I'm a Drama Queen.
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