WARNING! WARNING! WHINING WILL COMMENCE IN 5.......4.......3......2......1!

I am so stinking tired. And it's not because I'm out (or in) playing around doing fun stuff and not sleeping. It's more like, after sleeping for eight or nine hours, I can hardly keep awake on the way to work. I was hoping that something would show up in the huge battery of bloodwork that my new doctor just ordered, but no dice. So now I'm left sitting here KNOWING that something is wrong but having no idea what it is. Getting to work on time? Psh. Staying coherent for class? Not so much. I almost had a panic attack last week because I couldn't get the words to come out of my mouth right and I felt like an idiot. I'm sitting there KNOWING that I have to do well (I'm on academic probation due to my undergrad record) and KNOWING that I can't seem to quite get things right. I practically transcribed my reading for my Tuesday night class and I still couldn't tell you what I read. It's so frustrating.

And also, did I mention that I'm tired? It feels like a huge, whiny cop-out to say, "Well, the doctor says that I'm depressed, and so I guess that's why I'm tired." After I take medicine. And see a therapist. And a psychiatrist. And a medical doctor. And spend two weeks in a hospital, for crying out loud.

Maybe I need to do yoga. Or something. I have great admiration for people who stick with recovery for any period of time, because I am melting and my brains may be coming out of my ears and I think I would just like to cry and sleep and then cry and then sleep for a few days. Weeks. Months. Whatever. I'll come out for Christmas, because I bought a new tree. On clearance, in late January, and it is perfect for those families whose boys are EXTREMELY allergic to real Christmas trees. As both of mine are. And we may actually do icicles this year, and hope that Noah doesn't eat too many of them. I'm pretty sure they are non-toxic.

*End of Whining*

Not too sound too bipolar, but it's worth noting that my son is adorable. And a genius. He's an adorable genius. Sunday we went to church with Kyle's family, and Noah wore khakis, a polo shirt, and an argyle knit sweater vest. He didn't LEAVE worship wearing all of those clothes, but he was wearing them when we started. And he was absolutely adorable. I couldn't get over the adorable.

Then we were home in the afternoon, and a couple of our friends were over. Noah was running around, then plopped down with Mr. Bear in the living room. Since we are inordinately proud of his speaking abilities (you know, all those that they have at almost 21 months old), Kyle was trying to get Noah to answer a question. "Noah, who is your favorite baseball player?" Noah: blank stare. "Come on, Noah, who is your favorite baseball player." Noah: blank stare, wrestle with Mr. Bear. "I was trying to get him to say Pujols again, but I guess it won't work." One of our friends chimed in with, "Yeah, Dad, I'm not a trained monkey."

At which point Noah burst into monkey noises. Complete with scratching.

Awesome.