I am sick. Z is sick. G is sick. S is sick.
Z's social worker is freaking me out. I got a copy of her report for next Tuesday's court hearing. It says the agency's recommendation for adoptive placement is "confidential." Our attorney confirmed this is not a good sign. It makes me want to throw up. Also to hide. I am trying to ignore this and shore up our defenses. This week we saw a family therapist in Modesto and secured her commitment to testify that moving Z at this point would create substantial risk for an attachment disorder.
I still feel like I am walking on eggshells at work. Whenever I take a day off, be it sick or vacation I feel worried. Things have changed. I just don't feel as comfortable as I used to. No one is rude or mean or harassing. But *I* know I have bitten off more than I can chew in the last year, and I am sure others do, too. It creates some pressure. And as my workplace grows, relationships are naturally less personal and casual. I miss that, and the new dynamic also creates more pressure for me.
I am tired of people saying to me, "I don't know how you do it." I don't know, either. Most of the time I feel like I don't do it, at least not well. I am just going to stop telling people I have four kids.
This pace is going to kill me.
I am getting all PMS bloated and crampy not to mention asthmatic, thanks to the amazing, beautiful valley in bloom. I have a new theory that if you catalogued all my whiny posts you would find them on a pretty reliable 29-day cycle.