But your baby changes your ways, your heart, and your life.
"You're telling me, that I'm supposed to let my child get dirty? Um. NO."
Those were my thoughts before I had my little boy.
Hi, my name is Faith and I have diagnosed Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.
*Note: This is not a pity-poor-me party. I don't think I'm a victim of this world or that everyone hates me. I'm am just expressing another part of my life and sharing another part of my heart.
The Wiki explanation for it is: "Obsessive–compulsive disorder (OCD) is an anxiety disorder characterized by intrusive thoughts that produce uneasiness, apprehension, fear, or worry, by repetitive behaviors aimed at reducing the associated anxiety..."
Essentially my brain plays repetitive games of "what if" and that causes anxiety and in turn I wash my hands (or clean, or etc.). How does washing my hands solve a stressful situation? Well, it doesn't. In my years of having OCD, I concluded that there is no rhyme or reason to it. It's just something my brain did/does in efforts to grasp control of something. I can control how clean my hands are so that's how I cope. Crazy, huh? Some people do not believe that OCD is real, but I assure you it is. There have been days where it has caused me to feel as though my heart has been constricted. Yes, it is very real and very difficult to deal with. It makes life hard on you and the people around you and takes a very understanding and patient person (AKA Matthew!) to deal with it from the outside. But keep in mind that it does effect different people, different ways.
When I got married to my super awesome husband, my anxiety (therefore my OCD) cut WAY down! I felt so incredibly free and light hearted! Then the concerns of life, troublemakers, and daily factors kind of wedged it back into my life again, but still not as bad!
Then I had this precious little boy that I call my son...and it's nothing for him to take hold of my face and get drool over half of it, I've had spit up projected on to me, and lets not even talk about the poop! So much poop! Surprisingly, I have embraced motherhood with open arms and even look forward to having future children.
So now lets circle around back to: "You're telling me, that I'm supposed to let my child get dirty? Um. NO."
Yes, I'm saying that I'm supposed to. I'm saying: dump those Puff snacks or Cheerios on his tray and let him spill 75% of them over the house, if that toy fell on our living room floor, it's okay, and if he wants to gnaw on frozen muscadines and get juice and stickiness absolutely everywhere, who is it really going to hurt?
I feel no need to instill my anxiety into Gage. It's not his problem, so why give it to him? I'm choosing to let him be a baby and soon enough he's going to be a rough n' tough boy playing in the dirt and I'll let him do that too.
...He's just taking a bath afterwards! All things in moderation!
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