B’s “Ugh” face

It’s not that I like to complain.  I’ve just always felt that you can get over something more quickly if you vent about it.  My poor husband quickly mastered the ability to look like he is actively listening to my dilemmas, while he is quietly reviewing the details of his fantasy football team.  And without fail, I will pause from my rant to get his feedback and he will give me an appropriate response like “that sounds tough, babe” so that I cannot accuse him of daydreaming about Donald Driver’s reception stats.  He’s good.

I once had a therapist tell me that your significant other is not there to listen to your complaints…that’s what friends are for.  He said I should be focusing on positive conversation with my husband, as complaining is just boring.  When I told my husband what the therapist said, I think the co-pays we had been forking over finally became worth it.  So what is a frazzled new mom to do with all of her stress?  Who the hell really wants to hear about chronic fatigue, the overwhelming hampster wheel of work and home, and my son’s sneaky fraternal twin who showed up with him unannounced: cellulite.

I’m trying to work through my inclination to sink into my ugh’s and feel sorry for myself some days.  I think this habit comes from my Mediterranean heritage.  My Yaya (Greek for grandmother)  seemed like she could never fully appreciate the peaks of her successes until she tore them down and received some positive encouragement.  “This shrimp and rice I made is okay, but the rice is undercooked and I put too much salt in it.”  “No, Yaya, it’s perfect!”

However I’m feeling, I’m always able to smile around my son.  He makes ugh’s worth it.  But I don’t want to just rely on him to snap me out of a pity party.  I want to be able to do it more for myself, counting my blessings more naturally.  I want to roll around in my gratitude and project some positivity. I mean, I’m not walking around all the time like that sad donkey, Eeyore, but I have been feeling a little gloomy lately–like I have so much to do that I’ve been doing everything half-assed.

So I’m writing to acknowledge that I’m forgiving myself for getting comfortable under my gray cloud and that my intention is to tell that cloud to “scram”.  After all, intention is half the battle.  “Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.” -Abraham Lincoln