I have a colleague who has suffered a great deal and is very sweet, so I try to always be pleasant to her…but she possesses one of those relentlessly positive attitudes that I find difficult to stomach. When we talk about how exhausting children are, she might say “But then you see them, and it’s all worth it.” Is it? Is it really? I’m not saying I’m not crazy about Baby, but when he doing something like say, kicking me pretty hard in the boobs, the voice in my head is not going “awww, my sweet angel.”

What I realized this morning (and I’m pretty sure I’ve written about this previously) is that it’s not so much that I have a problem with her being positive, but more that she insists that I also be positive. To me, that’s like having a cup of coffee with a religious fanatic with no mutual listening going on – and me and positivity have a checkered past. I enjoy reading about it online and in books (see self-help fetish). I find it relaxing, the way some may enjoy bodice-ripping, paperback romances…but in reality, I will most likely always toggle somewhere between Paralyzing Anxiety About the Future; Good Spirits; Not So Bad; Cranky from Lack of Sleep; Could Be Better, Could Be Worse; Happy/Punchy….and Drunk from Two Glasses of Wine.

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