I have very little patience. It’s a flaw, yes. Believe me, it’s not something I’m proud of. I’m simply a realist.
I believe I’ve gained a little bit since I’ve headed down the path of battling with my anxiety and depression. Being sad and angry probably wouldn’t increase anyone’s level of patience. So there can only be improvement, right?
I’m beginning to see signs of progress.* Things that would normally set me off I’m lately able to shrug off a bit more easily. I find myself reacting with less anger and more reason.
Good thing. Because although temporary single-momhood isn’t all that bad, hustling the preschooler out the door, strapping him into his car seat, and then turning the key and not getting a response? That is bad. I had a very mild tantrum. Not even a tantrum. I simply saw dollar signs flashing before my eyes and was slightly defeated that I wouldn’t be able to go to work and make some money to cover the expense.
Until I spied Scott’s car right there in the driveway next to mine.
We exited the Accord and piled into the Civic and off we went. And I’ve been fairly relaxed about it all day long.
Just a smattering of pride there, can’t ya tell?
*I haven’t made as much progress with my poor kiddo lately, though. He says, “Hey, Mom!” every two minutes. I try to be attentive. I really do. But sometimes I just want to explode and I do end up taking a bit of a tone with him. So I obviously still have some work to do. I guess I always will.