This isn't a post I particularly want to write, but I feel like I should. It's not about kids. Or being gay. Though it affects both of those areas of my life.
Just over a year ago, I was diagnosed with depression - a diagnosis long overdue, once I looked back over my high school and college years. I went through some medicine trial-and-error, and finally settled on one that worked for me. It took awhile to get past my hangups that I just wasn't trying enough; once I did, though, I had the sensation that I was finally feeling like I was supposed to all those years. Not happy all the time, just balanced. At peace - mostly - with the world.
In the intervening year, I've learned that my medicine has a two-day delay: the pill I take one morning impacts me forty-eight hours later. I forgot to take one on Sunday. I didn't want to wake up this morning; I procrastinated showering and work; I snapped at the kids (who whined like no other today anyway). I was grouchy.
Around eleven, I remembered my forgotten pill of two days ago. It hasn't made today all better, but having a reason for my mood has helped me deal with it. It explains why there won't be any cute kids stories today, though, nor any happy moments (even though V's class was canceled and we've spent the evening together).
Okay, I lied. One happy moment: V and I went to the thrift store tonight to buy random clothes to start a dress-up box for Bug. Her birthday is tomorrow. Everything is washed and now drying, and I get to take it with me in the morning. That does make me smile.
Moral of the post? I still need to be on my medicine. Understanding why my body does what it does helps me greatly. This too shall pass.