Crazy is as Crazy Does

Things have been boring around here, too, but I don’t know it because I’m too *crazy*.

Every so often (I’ll refrain from mentioning how often) when I get into a “snit” and I have the run-away-screaming-from-my-own-life feeling, I mention it to My Dear Husband and he says something compassionate like, “Do you need to talk to someone about this?”

I assume, since I am talking to someone, him, that he is referring to a competent medical professional in the field of mental health. ahem.

Which begs the question, Am I crazy?  Nuts? Have I gone ’round the bend?  Come unglued?

I think with motherhood *crazy* is all relative.

Is it crazy to constantly think you hear screaming in the background of every conversation?  It sounds kind of like a good plot for a thriller, doesn’t it? 

Is it nuts to see little people darting around in your peripheral vision?

Have you gone round the bend if you panic when you hear silence?

Can it be normal to have post traumatic stress disorder from someone asking for a snack, looking for a marker, or mentioning the words, Potty Training? *shudder*

Can it be sane to think that inanimate objects have a life of their own and move from their places every time I’m not looking?

Am I losing a few bricks from my load when the sound of children happily laughing sends a shock of terror and adrenaline right down my spine?

Do I only have one oar in the water if a simple email from a well meaning teacher gives me a severe case of eye twitching and hyperventilating?

Am I nuts to believe that my van could drive carpool without me because it seems to “know the way?”

I suppose I may need help from some kind of professional. . .  but probably not what My Dear Husband has in mind.  I’m thinking along the lines of  Doctor Pepper.  Mr Goodbar.  The company of Ben and Jerry’s.  Maybe Snickers, MD.