It's a funny place to be, this space between barely functioning crazy and still crazy but not Crazy crazy. I catch myself holding my breath sometimes, like even I can't predict my reactions. I worry about Shawn and Grady. I worry that Shawn is tiptoeing around me. I'm terrified that Grady will grow up afraid of my crazy.
Things are getting better. The sadness and anxiety that held me hostage through the summer and autumn are retreating. I barely remember the days spent hiding in my bedroom because the world was too scary and unpredictable. I spend more time smiling now than crying.
But here I am, holding my breath.
We're starting Grady on solid food next week. I'm heading back to work in a few weeks and Shawn is leaving his job to be home with Grady. I'm dieting and exercising to try to get my pre-pregnancy body back and I'm scared that doing so will affect my milk supply. Last month a meth lab was busted in our building (on our floor!) What would have been my Gram's 96th birthday just passed. My brother hurt his back so badly that he can barely walk. I can't breathe through these things. I try to ignore them because thinking about them twists me up and pushes me back towards barely functioning crazy.
So I don't think about them. Instead, I hold my breath.