2002-08-26
So, I just kind of fired my therapist. Since I'd only seen her three times, I felt it was okay to break up over the phone; I really don't feel like using one of the limited number of sessions my insurance will pay for to discuss why I don't think she's the one for me.
I'd been having my doubts and then I talked to a friend--one with a social work degree, in fact--who has worked with this woman in the past. I asked what she thought of her. "As a person, I think she's great." And as a therapist? I asked. "As a person, I think she's great," my friend repeated.
I think I've been spoiled by having really brilliant, really professional shrinks in the past; I know what therapy can be like. A nice, caring lady to listen to me and offer common-sensical observations falls pretty far short. Not that it's not pleasant; when my mother was alive that's pretty much what I enjoyed with her and I miss it terribly. However, my insurance will reimburse 24 sessions a year and I'm not ready to accept that this is all there is. If I can find someone really good, I will kick myself for having used up those sessions on this woman.
So, I'm going to try to find someone else. Maybe not this week, but soon. I think maybe I will try to find a man this time.
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Lots of new stuff for Clay lately. He now takes baths in the big tub and rides in the cart at the grocery store. Last week when shopping he grabbed a peach and punctured it several times with his two bottom teeth so yesterday I gave him a plum expecting him to do the same. Imagine my surprise when I glanced down and found half the plum gone! He was a plummy mess, of course, but I was so proud.
B thinks I'm too attached the idea of the kid as special. When the daycare director tells me that Clay is superbaby, I get a bit puffed up, I admit. Is this not a normal parental reaction? Or maybe, I hypothesize, I seek reassurance that he's developing well despite my working full-time.
I had a mini breakdown one evening last week, lots of sobbing. I felt so lonely, missing my mother, overwhelmed by this whole parenting thing. B suggested I stop reading books about babies, that they are doing me in. That I need to relax, to take breaks that have nothing to do with the baby. It's an interesting idea and I've declared a temporary moratorium on that kind of reading. So far, it seems to be going well.
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