I’m not at my best lately.
But I’m at my best during a pandemic.
And the pandemic isn’t over, and may never be, and so im free to blame it as I please.
Until I don’t want to anymore.
Until I forgive it for the emotional rollercoaster it’s kept me and mine on.
Until I can trash my mask and my itch to follow the news for any new developments.
Until I can attend a packed concert without having to take a COVID test or show my vaccine card for entry.
Until I can take a plane flight or take a cruise without having a panic attack.
Until I can process and deal with normal life stress without an undesired side dish of extra heavy stress.
Until then…I might not be at my best.
And that’s okay.
I’m at my best during a pandemic.
And even if that looks like more
and under-the-breath swearing,
I’m still me.
I’m still here.
I’m still showing up.
Worried, you betcha.
Done with corona, f*ck yes.
But still standing. Damn straight.
And when I’m not standing, you can find me lying next to one of my three children who, each, at the end of every day at bedtime, tell me that I’m the best mommy.
I know I’m not.
I know there’s plenty I get wrong. PLENTY of ways I’m screwing up and plenty of things I can/should do differently.
I’m not at my best lately. I told you that, right?
But you wouldn’t know that if you asked my kids, and I guess that means I’m doing something right, right?