As we near the end of the year, there's a lot to sit back and think about. It's usually the time when everyone thinks about what they're going to do differently next year, what their resolutions will be, and what were the highest points of their previous year.
Highlights - by order of appearance
1. House being completed before baby was born.
2. Baby being born.
3. Turning 30.
4. Getting mostly settled, mostly organized, and mostly level.
5. Being able to spend time with my children.
Lowlights - by order of appearance
1. Yet another major abdominal surgery due to a stubborn little baby being breech, followed by 10 days of absolute agony because of a lovely gastro bug I picked up either while in surgery or in the hospital in general.
2. The terrible feeling of not being in control of myself - aka post-partum depression.
3. Mr. M getting so sick for such a tiny human.
4. Money. By god, money is the root of all our absolute shitty fights.
5. Realizing how few close friends I have, and how hard it is to make more.
What are my resolutions for next year? To be better in general. A better mother, a better wife, a better person to myself. If nothing else, I just want to be content.
I did one round of 21 day fix from December 1 - 22. I lost 3 lbs and 19.5 inches, which is a huge motivation for me to do more. I want to be able to keep up with my kids this summer, even if Mr. M is going to have extremely limited outside time because of his antibiotics.
Another thing I'm reflecting on is me. Who am I? Who do I want to be? At 30 years old, I feel like I should have the answers to these questions, and I really don't.
So small goal will be to figure out my place. I'll be home for at least another year, possibly more, depending on when Mr. M's surgery is and how we fare financially. But I'd like to find my place beyond that. Determine who Paige is underneath the layers of blond hair, boobs, and Frappucino's. And hopefully once I get down to the base level, I can build it up stronger and better than before.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
Friday, November 13, 2015
Ups and Downs and In-Betweens
I don't know if you realise this, but making new friends as an adult is HARD. Especially once you're into your 30s. Interests have changed and/or blossomed, and it's a little less likely to find a friend that you just click with despite having nothing in common. Throw in some kids and a marriage or a long term relationship, and that makes everything so much more difficult.
One of my online mom friends has been campaigning to set me up on a mom-date with one of her friends who moved out here. She had mentioned this woman several times before, but it was only after I was having a really bummy day that she took the initiative and sent this woman my information. And I'm grateful because I feel like we definitely could be friends going forward.
The hardest part for me is that I'm so much better online or via text. I'm so awkward in person, never quite knowing if I'm crossing a line with my sarcasm or cussing. When I am able to edit myself, that's almost better.
Now what does that tell you? That I'd prefer to edit or censor myself rather than be real? Maybe I really should try to get in with a psychologist/psychiatrist. Get them to Freud me up and figure out just what is so broken in my brain that I don't like being organic.
Am I even using that phrase correctly?
This week has been both good and bad. Mr. M is teething and we're all STILL sick from whatever plague it is that has taken us over. So he's been waking up at night again, Miss O needs more sleep but she just won't take it, and both T and I are coughing and sniffling and phlegming all over. It's just a great place, this house of sickness.
I had a really horrible realization this week, and I honestly don't know how to tell T about it. We were having our annual family pictures done on Wednesday, and they just weren't going as planned. Mr. M was hungry but there was nowhere around that was open for us to heat up his bottle. Plus he was tired so he just didn't want to eat somewhere new. Miss O was refusing to smile except when her cousin (our photographer is our sister-in-law) was in the pictures with her. T was just getting so frustrated about everything - and I mean EVERYTHING - and I was getting terribly embarrassed by how he was reacting.
We were in the car on our way home and he says to me "I hate pictures. Have I told you how much I hate pictures?" and I just kind of gave him a side-eyed look and say "Yes. Your hatred of pictures is noted, seeing as you tell me every single time that I mention pictures how much you hate them". And then it hit me. When is the last time he's said that he likes something? When is the last time he was excited about something that involved all of us? When did he last offer me a compliment or a nice comment in general? And all of these questions boiled down to - If he hates/doesn't like so much stuff in his life, when is it going to come to him hating/not liking me? When will I evoke the same feelings as pictures?
I mentioned this to the friend I was talking about above, and she just straight up said that T loves me. End of story. But I can't help having this tiny fear in the back of my head that it's only a matter of time. And that's terrifying to me.
One of my online mom friends has been campaigning to set me up on a mom-date with one of her friends who moved out here. She had mentioned this woman several times before, but it was only after I was having a really bummy day that she took the initiative and sent this woman my information. And I'm grateful because I feel like we definitely could be friends going forward.
The hardest part for me is that I'm so much better online or via text. I'm so awkward in person, never quite knowing if I'm crossing a line with my sarcasm or cussing. When I am able to edit myself, that's almost better.
Now what does that tell you? That I'd prefer to edit or censor myself rather than be real? Maybe I really should try to get in with a psychologist/psychiatrist. Get them to Freud me up and figure out just what is so broken in my brain that I don't like being organic.
Am I even using that phrase correctly?
This week has been both good and bad. Mr. M is teething and we're all STILL sick from whatever plague it is that has taken us over. So he's been waking up at night again, Miss O needs more sleep but she just won't take it, and both T and I are coughing and sniffling and phlegming all over. It's just a great place, this house of sickness.
I had a really horrible realization this week, and I honestly don't know how to tell T about it. We were having our annual family pictures done on Wednesday, and they just weren't going as planned. Mr. M was hungry but there was nowhere around that was open for us to heat up his bottle. Plus he was tired so he just didn't want to eat somewhere new. Miss O was refusing to smile except when her cousin (our photographer is our sister-in-law) was in the pictures with her. T was just getting so frustrated about everything - and I mean EVERYTHING - and I was getting terribly embarrassed by how he was reacting.
We were in the car on our way home and he says to me "I hate pictures. Have I told you how much I hate pictures?" and I just kind of gave him a side-eyed look and say "Yes. Your hatred of pictures is noted, seeing as you tell me every single time that I mention pictures how much you hate them". And then it hit me. When is the last time he's said that he likes something? When is the last time he was excited about something that involved all of us? When did he last offer me a compliment or a nice comment in general? And all of these questions boiled down to - If he hates/doesn't like so much stuff in his life, when is it going to come to him hating/not liking me? When will I evoke the same feelings as pictures?
I mentioned this to the friend I was talking about above, and she just straight up said that T loves me. End of story. But I can't help having this tiny fear in the back of my head that it's only a matter of time. And that's terrifying to me.
Thursday, November 5, 2015
What Now?
Apathetic. It's a word that I've always used to describe other people, like my brother, but never for me. I've always been kind of all over the emotional scale, highs and lows and rarely the in-betweens.
But for some reason, in my journey with depression and anxiety and all of those fun things, apathy has reared its head.
It's not that I'm apathetic towards everything. Far from it, in fact. I get excited about things, I get sad about things, I get really happy about things. But when it comes to thinking about myself, I just don't care. When did I last shower? Who knows, and who cares because it's not like I ever leave the house. Do I look like a hot mess? Probably, but no one will judge and if they do I just don't care.
I spent two solid days in thermals from Old Navy because oh well. Every time I looked in the mirror, in the loose and unflattering lounge wear, I just didn't care. My kids aren't going to tell me I smell; my husband isn't going to comment on it, just to be polite. And let's be honest - I see him for roughly an hour or two on weekdays. He leaves for work before we wake up, and gets home shortly before bedtime.
I know that I need to kick this apathy. My bestie has been great, suggesting things to help me kick my own ass. Hopefully tomorrow the kids and I will get out for a walk. Even just a short one. Something to get us out of the house, and kick me out of this funk.
I'm not going to hold my breath though.
But for some reason, in my journey with depression and anxiety and all of those fun things, apathy has reared its head.
It's not that I'm apathetic towards everything. Far from it, in fact. I get excited about things, I get sad about things, I get really happy about things. But when it comes to thinking about myself, I just don't care. When did I last shower? Who knows, and who cares because it's not like I ever leave the house. Do I look like a hot mess? Probably, but no one will judge and if they do I just don't care.
I spent two solid days in thermals from Old Navy because oh well. Every time I looked in the mirror, in the loose and unflattering lounge wear, I just didn't care. My kids aren't going to tell me I smell; my husband isn't going to comment on it, just to be polite. And let's be honest - I see him for roughly an hour or two on weekdays. He leaves for work before we wake up, and gets home shortly before bedtime.
I know that I need to kick this apathy. My bestie has been great, suggesting things to help me kick my own ass. Hopefully tomorrow the kids and I will get out for a walk. Even just a short one. Something to get us out of the house, and kick me out of this funk.
I'm not going to hold my breath though.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Double Entry (Because the Last One Sucks)
I was out for coffee with a friend of mine yesterday, one who I haven't seen in "like, forever" and who is a strong voice and presence for the mental health community. She lives out in BC now and is working towards being a mental healthcare helper (that's what I'm calling it anyway).
The topic of depression did not come up organically in our conversation. But I knew that of all the people I have in my life, she would know the most about what I was going through with the PPD. The worst part about having post-partum depression instead of your "run of the mill" depression or anxiety is that you just don't know what is normal. When I'm feeling at my wits end with both kids crying at the same time, I don't know if that's the PPD kicking in and feeling overwhelmed, or if it's just a normal feeling because honestly two kids crying at the same time for completely different reasons is just a sucky situation to be in.
One of the things that came up is how post-partum depression is still kind of swept under the rug. It's ridiculous, but true. It is increasingly common to be diagnosed with it - that is, if the mother (or father, let's not throw that out either) actually goes to get diagnosed. I feel like a lot of women hide behind their old beliefs of "I'm fine" and "It's just baby blues" and "It's okay to be overwhelmed, parenting is hard". But it has taken celebrities like Hayden Panettiere being public about their struggles with it for it to be acknowledged.
Every doctor I dealt with during my pregnancy - my general practitioner and my obstetrician - made sure that I knew that there were resources available should I find myself suffering from PPD or PPA. So when I was going slightly out of my mind, and did the questionairre that they use to get an idea what they're dealing with, I made sure to tell both the GP and OB what was going on.
But why couldn't I talk with my friends about it? Why can't I still? There are a few friends that I feel comfortable telling them I'm having a rough day... but in general, I myself try to keep it under the rug. Am I embarrassed by the fact that I am on medication? Yes. Truthfully, I am. I don't like that I can't keep shit together by myself. It bothers me SO MUCH that I don't know if the meds are working or not some days. And that my attention span is gone, that I have no motivation to get myself in shape, and that I am this lazy fat blob that does nothing.
So treating the post-partum depression/anxiety is working, but it's making me depressed with my daily life instead. And I honestly don't know which one is worse.
The topic of depression did not come up organically in our conversation. But I knew that of all the people I have in my life, she would know the most about what I was going through with the PPD. The worst part about having post-partum depression instead of your "run of the mill" depression or anxiety is that you just don't know what is normal. When I'm feeling at my wits end with both kids crying at the same time, I don't know if that's the PPD kicking in and feeling overwhelmed, or if it's just a normal feeling because honestly two kids crying at the same time for completely different reasons is just a sucky situation to be in.
One of the things that came up is how post-partum depression is still kind of swept under the rug. It's ridiculous, but true. It is increasingly common to be diagnosed with it - that is, if the mother (or father, let's not throw that out either) actually goes to get diagnosed. I feel like a lot of women hide behind their old beliefs of "I'm fine" and "It's just baby blues" and "It's okay to be overwhelmed, parenting is hard". But it has taken celebrities like Hayden Panettiere being public about their struggles with it for it to be acknowledged.
Every doctor I dealt with during my pregnancy - my general practitioner and my obstetrician - made sure that I knew that there were resources available should I find myself suffering from PPD or PPA. So when I was going slightly out of my mind, and did the questionairre that they use to get an idea what they're dealing with, I made sure to tell both the GP and OB what was going on.
But why couldn't I talk with my friends about it? Why can't I still? There are a few friends that I feel comfortable telling them I'm having a rough day... but in general, I myself try to keep it under the rug. Am I embarrassed by the fact that I am on medication? Yes. Truthfully, I am. I don't like that I can't keep shit together by myself. It bothers me SO MUCH that I don't know if the meds are working or not some days. And that my attention span is gone, that I have no motivation to get myself in shape, and that I am this lazy fat blob that does nothing.
So treating the post-partum depression/anxiety is working, but it's making me depressed with my daily life instead. And I honestly don't know which one is worse.
Where Do We Go From Here
I've been struggling a lot lately. Trying to think of what to write, and then censoring myself to the point of deleting an entire post and walking away for the rest of the day. There's always a moment of wondering if you're sharing too much about your life, or not enough, or if you're even reaching anyone out there.
So sometimes, this blog might just seem like the diary that I need.
The struggle for me lately has been with my sense of self and, in all actuality, my sense of self-worth. We made the decision that I would stay home for the next couple years at least, and where that's actually a huge relief when it comes to outbound expenses (such as daycare, additional fuel, additional food, parking, etc) it's also left me a little bereft. If I'm not working to help support the family - and, subsequently, helping us get towards the next step of our "forever home" - then what can I do to pass the time? Yes, there's a house that needs keeping. But I can only do so many loads of laundry and scrub so many toilets before that becomes daunting in the tedium.
I mentioned wanting to go back to school, or take some online courses, but even that is futile. The classes that I would enjoy - and excel at - are pointless to gain any sort of applicable and quantifiable skills. I like working in an office environment, but there's no way getting an arts degree or the like would make finding employment after a 3 - 4 year hiatus easy. Yes, I have a diploma in Accounting from a local business college - but even that will be outdated soon just based on the programs that we learned.
With two kids, I don't have any time to myself. That's not true, actually, because I get time alone at night to do whatever I want to. But half of that time is spent with me thinking about what I should be doing and the other half is spent wondering what I could be doing instead. T and I spend hardly any time together, and that's because I just need time away to decompress. I don't think he quite understands just how much of myself I'm giving every day with the two kids, but there's no way that I can explain it without him thinking it's ridiculous.
I also just don't like him very much right now.
It's daunting to be married with children. Young children. It's exhausting because it's no longer just the one relationship that needs work. It's the spousal relationship, plus the relationship between the child/ren. I definitely know that my relationship with T is not in the greatest shape right now. But we don't have any time that we spend together away from the kids. We went out for our anniversary two weeks ago, and it was great. And it made me yearn for the easier times of just the two of us, where we could go see a movie when we wanted to or I could go to the gym without having to worry about setting up childcare. And then I felt bad for yearning for that. I love my children, I truly do, but sometimes I just don't want to be a mother. Sometimes, I just want to be one of those childless couples that has so much fucking money and all the time in the world to do whatever they want to.
Selfish, hey.
So sometimes, this blog might just seem like the diary that I need.
The struggle for me lately has been with my sense of self and, in all actuality, my sense of self-worth. We made the decision that I would stay home for the next couple years at least, and where that's actually a huge relief when it comes to outbound expenses (such as daycare, additional fuel, additional food, parking, etc) it's also left me a little bereft. If I'm not working to help support the family - and, subsequently, helping us get towards the next step of our "forever home" - then what can I do to pass the time? Yes, there's a house that needs keeping. But I can only do so many loads of laundry and scrub so many toilets before that becomes daunting in the tedium.
I mentioned wanting to go back to school, or take some online courses, but even that is futile. The classes that I would enjoy - and excel at - are pointless to gain any sort of applicable and quantifiable skills. I like working in an office environment, but there's no way getting an arts degree or the like would make finding employment after a 3 - 4 year hiatus easy. Yes, I have a diploma in Accounting from a local business college - but even that will be outdated soon just based on the programs that we learned.
With two kids, I don't have any time to myself. That's not true, actually, because I get time alone at night to do whatever I want to. But half of that time is spent with me thinking about what I should be doing and the other half is spent wondering what I could be doing instead. T and I spend hardly any time together, and that's because I just need time away to decompress. I don't think he quite understands just how much of myself I'm giving every day with the two kids, but there's no way that I can explain it without him thinking it's ridiculous.
I also just don't like him very much right now.
It's daunting to be married with children. Young children. It's exhausting because it's no longer just the one relationship that needs work. It's the spousal relationship, plus the relationship between the child/ren. I definitely know that my relationship with T is not in the greatest shape right now. But we don't have any time that we spend together away from the kids. We went out for our anniversary two weeks ago, and it was great. And it made me yearn for the easier times of just the two of us, where we could go see a movie when we wanted to or I could go to the gym without having to worry about setting up childcare. And then I felt bad for yearning for that. I love my children, I truly do, but sometimes I just don't want to be a mother. Sometimes, I just want to be one of those childless couples that has so much fucking money and all the time in the world to do whatever they want to.
Selfish, hey.
Monday, October 19, 2015
Struggles
Today is just one of those days. Mr. M woke up at 4am and where I was getting ready to roll out of bed to get up with him, T did so of his own accord which meant that I got to sleep in for a while longer. But that's where the good news ended.
Mr. M has been a fussy butt today, not finishing his bottles, whining about everything, typical baby stuff. Miss O decided to jump in on that fussy butt action, as she's currently coming down with a cold and could really use a nap but refuses to take one. Instead she's crying over everything and whining.
It has taken all of my power not to snap at the two of them because honestly, it was stacking up. I haven't had a chance to take a shower today, I had big plans of going for a walk or SOMETHING active... and here I am, watching Netflix in bed.
I'm thinking that I might start taking my meds in the morning instead of at night. I've been having issues falling asleep lately, and I'm wondering if the Zoloft has anything to do with it. So I figure I'll start taking it when I wake up and see how the days go then.
Side note - I'm going to fucking nut punch the monitor we have in Mr. M's room. Apparently our WiFi signal interferes with it so it blips and says "out of range" constantly if we're using the WiFi. It's incredibly annoying and pretty much defeats the entire purpose of us having a video monitor if it doesn't work.
Mr. M has been a fussy butt today, not finishing his bottles, whining about everything, typical baby stuff. Miss O decided to jump in on that fussy butt action, as she's currently coming down with a cold and could really use a nap but refuses to take one. Instead she's crying over everything and whining.
It has taken all of my power not to snap at the two of them because honestly, it was stacking up. I haven't had a chance to take a shower today, I had big plans of going for a walk or SOMETHING active... and here I am, watching Netflix in bed.
I'm thinking that I might start taking my meds in the morning instead of at night. I've been having issues falling asleep lately, and I'm wondering if the Zoloft has anything to do with it. So I figure I'll start taking it when I wake up and see how the days go then.
Side note - I'm going to fucking nut punch the monitor we have in Mr. M's room. Apparently our WiFi signal interferes with it so it blips and says "out of range" constantly if we're using the WiFi. It's incredibly annoying and pretty much defeats the entire purpose of us having a video monitor if it doesn't work.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Respect & Raising Your Kids Right
There's been a lot on my mind the last little while. Everything from worrying about everything and anything (thanks a lot, anxiety) to getting my dander up about things that have been irking me for awhile. It took all of my power not to write a couple scathing emails today. I'm not usually scathing, but I've just been letting things fester.
Today, I'm upset about respect.
It's not that I've been disrespected per se, but rather an inadvertent disrespect. Everyone has that one (or at least one) relative who makes everything about them, and every little thing that doesn't go their way is seen as a personal affront on their person. They also can't lift a damn finger to fix things themselves, or the fixing has come too late. What happens is they usually choose one person to latch on to, to convey their messages of "hurt" to those who have wronged them and make that person's life a living hell.
The person of the hour is my paternal grandmother, and she's making my dad absolutely miserable.
My aunt had already distanced herself from her mother years ago, simply because they butted heads about everything and she didn't want to put up with that bullshit anymore. More power to her, but that meant that my dad had to deal with all of the additional drama.
Grandpa is in hospice, essentially, as he's kind of falling apart physically. He's bored, and his brain isn't being challenged like it needs to be, but because he needs the help physically he really needs to stay in the care home. Grandmother lives in the same town as him, easily a 10 minute drive from this home, and she never goes to see him. They fricking Skype. She also peaces out for 6 months of the year to go down to Arizona for the winter - something they were doing together until Grandpa got too sick to join her.
The audacity and selfishness just makes me so mad. It makes me mad that she's abandoning her sick husband so that she can go and have fun; it makes me mad that she refuses to sell their trailer down there; it makes me mad that she just spends all of their money so they can't even afford to buy a house - they're renting some house that is not conducive to Grandpa ever getting to come home because their bedroom is up a flight of stairs or something; it makes me mad that she's trying to buy our (being her grandkids & great-grandkids) love with items and money rather than spending time with us or caring about our lives.
Even as a child, she was rarely around. I saw my maternal grandmother consistently, albeit a little less when she moved out of town. I still saw her more often than the paternal grandparents though. As I got older, I didn't want to go see them - yes, that makes me selfish too - because everything was always about them and their bickering and drama. I bowed out of family gatherings at their place, or tried to at least. My parents took me out for supper for my 18th birthday and invited them along, and the entire night was ruined because they were arguing about something completely mundane like the brand of binoculars that they owned. Like catty fighting about that bullshit. Regardless, they chose to stay "up north" rather than come in and see their family. As such, the relationship between them and us was always a little weak. Not to mention grandmother liked to comment on my physique and make me feel like shit, so that's always something great. My Gramma was more upset about that than I was, I think.
Lately, my mom has been letting me in on the little things that Grandmother has been saying to my dad. How she complains that we never see her, or message her, or call her, or or or. The list goes on. But relationships go two ways, and it takes nothing for her to email or call or set up a visit. Apparently I'm the worse offender over my brother and sister because I have kids and she wants to see them. I'm busy, and the last thing on my mind is contacting some lady who is rude and judgemental about seeing my kids. I honestly don't want to set my little lovelies up to get their feelings crushed later. My dad and I had a really tumultuous relationship growing up, but we've gotten much better as I've gotten older. And seeing the effect of this on him is just killing me. I feel bad talking about his mom because it's his mom, for Christ's sake, but she's treating him like a piece of garbage.
And this is where the respect comes in.
How can we teach our children to respect other people, when we don't respect them as people? How can they learn to cope with society if we're shoving them down? The relationship I have with my parents, now, is very respectful. Yes, okay, we can now joke around and swear with one another - which still feels weird, by the way - but I respect them as my parents. I love them as my parents. Some parents try to act as a friend first, parent second, and I'm glad that I don't have that. I'm hoping that that's the kind of relationship that I'm building with my children: one where I respect them as children, not peers, and they respect me as their parent. I never want to tell Miss O to lay off the treats because she is getting fat, or that Mr. M needs to get out and play more because he's getting weird. Yes, these are things that Grandmother said to me and my brother. Sure, I'll encourage them to do other things... but I want my kids to be happy when they grow up, not miserable.
It's times like these that I miss my Gramma SO FUCKING MUCH. She was so caring and nurturing, and she loved with her whole goddamn heart. She would spend her last dime on her grandkids because she wanted to. And even if she thought that we might need to do something differently or eat better, she'd never say it in a way that would make us feel criticized.
Today, I'm upset about respect.
It's not that I've been disrespected per se, but rather an inadvertent disrespect. Everyone has that one (or at least one) relative who makes everything about them, and every little thing that doesn't go their way is seen as a personal affront on their person. They also can't lift a damn finger to fix things themselves, or the fixing has come too late. What happens is they usually choose one person to latch on to, to convey their messages of "hurt" to those who have wronged them and make that person's life a living hell.
The person of the hour is my paternal grandmother, and she's making my dad absolutely miserable.
My aunt had already distanced herself from her mother years ago, simply because they butted heads about everything and she didn't want to put up with that bullshit anymore. More power to her, but that meant that my dad had to deal with all of the additional drama.
Grandpa is in hospice, essentially, as he's kind of falling apart physically. He's bored, and his brain isn't being challenged like it needs to be, but because he needs the help physically he really needs to stay in the care home. Grandmother lives in the same town as him, easily a 10 minute drive from this home, and she never goes to see him. They fricking Skype. She also peaces out for 6 months of the year to go down to Arizona for the winter - something they were doing together until Grandpa got too sick to join her.
The audacity and selfishness just makes me so mad. It makes me mad that she's abandoning her sick husband so that she can go and have fun; it makes me mad that she refuses to sell their trailer down there; it makes me mad that she just spends all of their money so they can't even afford to buy a house - they're renting some house that is not conducive to Grandpa ever getting to come home because their bedroom is up a flight of stairs or something; it makes me mad that she's trying to buy our (being her grandkids & great-grandkids) love with items and money rather than spending time with us or caring about our lives.
Even as a child, she was rarely around. I saw my maternal grandmother consistently, albeit a little less when she moved out of town. I still saw her more often than the paternal grandparents though. As I got older, I didn't want to go see them - yes, that makes me selfish too - because everything was always about them and their bickering and drama. I bowed out of family gatherings at their place, or tried to at least. My parents took me out for supper for my 18th birthday and invited them along, and the entire night was ruined because they were arguing about something completely mundane like the brand of binoculars that they owned. Like catty fighting about that bullshit. Regardless, they chose to stay "up north" rather than come in and see their family. As such, the relationship between them and us was always a little weak. Not to mention grandmother liked to comment on my physique and make me feel like shit, so that's always something great. My Gramma was more upset about that than I was, I think.
Lately, my mom has been letting me in on the little things that Grandmother has been saying to my dad. How she complains that we never see her, or message her, or call her, or or or. The list goes on. But relationships go two ways, and it takes nothing for her to email or call or set up a visit. Apparently I'm the worse offender over my brother and sister because I have kids and she wants to see them. I'm busy, and the last thing on my mind is contacting some lady who is rude and judgemental about seeing my kids. I honestly don't want to set my little lovelies up to get their feelings crushed later. My dad and I had a really tumultuous relationship growing up, but we've gotten much better as I've gotten older. And seeing the effect of this on him is just killing me. I feel bad talking about his mom because it's his mom, for Christ's sake, but she's treating him like a piece of garbage.
And this is where the respect comes in.
How can we teach our children to respect other people, when we don't respect them as people? How can they learn to cope with society if we're shoving them down? The relationship I have with my parents, now, is very respectful. Yes, okay, we can now joke around and swear with one another - which still feels weird, by the way - but I respect them as my parents. I love them as my parents. Some parents try to act as a friend first, parent second, and I'm glad that I don't have that. I'm hoping that that's the kind of relationship that I'm building with my children: one where I respect them as children, not peers, and they respect me as their parent. I never want to tell Miss O to lay off the treats because she is getting fat, or that Mr. M needs to get out and play more because he's getting weird. Yes, these are things that Grandmother said to me and my brother. Sure, I'll encourage them to do other things... but I want my kids to be happy when they grow up, not miserable.
It's times like these that I miss my Gramma SO FUCKING MUCH. She was so caring and nurturing, and she loved with her whole goddamn heart. She would spend her last dime on her grandkids because she wanted to. And even if she thought that we might need to do something differently or eat better, she'd never say it in a way that would make us feel criticized.
Monday, October 12, 2015
Upcoming Events
My wedding anniversary is coming up this weekend, and I find myself kind of bummed about it. It's not that being married is a bummer, or that we've been together for 6 years as man & wife (and 9 years since we first started dating), but the fact that we can't really do anything for it. The same thing happened when we had our anniversary after Miss O was born - babies kind of put a damper on any romantic plans. My parents have said that they'll watch the kids so we can go for supper, and then Miss O can spend the night... which is great, don't get me wrong. But there's no spur of the moment trips or overnights at a hotel.
I can't explain why this bums me out. Part of me feels selfish for wanting to completely leave both children with my parents for the night, whereas the other part is thinking "Why can't we just be alone for once".
No real point to this post today. Just that I'm feeling a little pre-emptively let down about all of this. Here's hoping that T actually plans something (it's his turn, after all) and doesn't just leave it until the last minute or wants me to plan it the day of.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Being Me, Right Now
On the mom group I joined when pregnant with Mr. M, one of the mom's shared an article (here) where someone had written about how she was taking the time to be herself now when the kids were young so that she could be 100% present and there for her children when they were teenagers and it really has me thinking.
This entire time of being on maternity leave, I've been under the assumption that I'll try to find work again once my one year is up. T and I have talked a bit about the financials behind that, and as I've mentioned before I would need a really lucrative job opportunity for it to be worth it. But why am I only looking at the financial aspect? Why can't I look at the well-being of my family FIRST and then look at the money?
Having two kids is exponentially different than having only one. I know that everyone had told me this before and I sort of brushed it off - why did I do that?! We're starting to get Miss O into different activities, and with that comes needing to get her to said activities. Once Mr. M gets bigger, he'll be going into other activities as well which means more and more running around. So, let's hypothesize that the kid/s will have activities five nights a week (dear God I hope not). Most of those will occur after school/around supper time. With T working until 7pm most of the time, that means that I'm running around with them. If I'm working until 4 or 5, that leaves zero time to get food into them (or myself). That also means that I'm potentially shipping the kids off to daycare at 7am only to get to work for 8am... and I'm looking at waking up at 5am. If kids are done their shit by 7pm, we go home and eat which takes us to 8pm and then it's bed time. By then, I'd imagine, I would be exhausted and probably go to bed at 9pm.
Where the hell is the me time? Where am I able to exercise or crochet or even go grocery shopping? Where can I take a moment to read a book, watch a TV show, do SOMETHING that doesn't revolve around my children? The idea of losing my identity and "just" being mom is kind of a daunting idea. But it HAS made me dig into myself and try to figure out who I am right now, and the answer is "Mom". I have no hobbies or interests, I don't do anything exceptionally well. When people ask me what I've been up to, my lack of an answer is embarrassing to me. I'd love to have more going on, but I'm just fucking exhausted by the idea. Yes, Mr. M is only 6 months old and we've had one hell of a rough go at it thus far. But why haven't I found my niche yet? Unless said niche is spending money, in which case I have really found that.
I feel like going back to work after my maternity leave is done would create more hostility in my brain. Rather than getting over the post-partum depression and anxiety, it could potentially morph into actual depression and actual anxiety. I want to be able to function without the anti-depressants, and I feel, deep down, that if I'm working full time I won't be able to control it.
I want to be able to be the best parent I can be. And I am hoping that I'm taking steps in the right direction to do so.
This entire time of being on maternity leave, I've been under the assumption that I'll try to find work again once my one year is up. T and I have talked a bit about the financials behind that, and as I've mentioned before I would need a really lucrative job opportunity for it to be worth it. But why am I only looking at the financial aspect? Why can't I look at the well-being of my family FIRST and then look at the money?
Having two kids is exponentially different than having only one. I know that everyone had told me this before and I sort of brushed it off - why did I do that?! We're starting to get Miss O into different activities, and with that comes needing to get her to said activities. Once Mr. M gets bigger, he'll be going into other activities as well which means more and more running around. So, let's hypothesize that the kid/s will have activities five nights a week (dear God I hope not). Most of those will occur after school/around supper time. With T working until 7pm most of the time, that means that I'm running around with them. If I'm working until 4 or 5, that leaves zero time to get food into them (or myself). That also means that I'm potentially shipping the kids off to daycare at 7am only to get to work for 8am... and I'm looking at waking up at 5am. If kids are done their shit by 7pm, we go home and eat which takes us to 8pm and then it's bed time. By then, I'd imagine, I would be exhausted and probably go to bed at 9pm.
Where the hell is the me time? Where am I able to exercise or crochet or even go grocery shopping? Where can I take a moment to read a book, watch a TV show, do SOMETHING that doesn't revolve around my children? The idea of losing my identity and "just" being mom is kind of a daunting idea. But it HAS made me dig into myself and try to figure out who I am right now, and the answer is "Mom". I have no hobbies or interests, I don't do anything exceptionally well. When people ask me what I've been up to, my lack of an answer is embarrassing to me. I'd love to have more going on, but I'm just fucking exhausted by the idea. Yes, Mr. M is only 6 months old and we've had one hell of a rough go at it thus far. But why haven't I found my niche yet? Unless said niche is spending money, in which case I have really found that.
I feel like going back to work after my maternity leave is done would create more hostility in my brain. Rather than getting over the post-partum depression and anxiety, it could potentially morph into actual depression and actual anxiety. I want to be able to function without the anti-depressants, and I feel, deep down, that if I'm working full time I won't be able to control it.
I want to be able to be the best parent I can be. And I am hoping that I'm taking steps in the right direction to do so.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Bump in the Road
Sometimes it takes me a couple days to figure out what I want to say, and how I want to say it. Especially when things are tough and I don't know just how I can put into words how hard it is.
Last Thursday, Mr. M got his 4-month immunizations. Yes, he's almost 6 months but because he was still in the hospital plus still on IV antibiotics and blood thinners and yadda yadda yadda, we decided to delay his immunizations to give his body a wee bit of a break.
I digress.
He got his shots, and was totally fine with them that day. We went to my parents afterwards because Miss O has dancing on Thursdays, and my parents look after Mr. M so that I can be at the studio should she need me. He was normal and in a good mood.
Friday morning, I took the kids grocery shopping. Had Mr. M in the carrier, Miss O in the cart, and all was fine and dandy until we got home. Then he started screaming and crying and not eating and just being a fuss pot. He did fall asleep around his normal time, but it was a fitful sleep. And I knew he was hungry, but he just wouldn't eat. I was getting extremely overwhelmed just dealing with him, and then Miss O decided she was going to pipe in every 5 minutes that she was hungry. At some point Mr. M was screaming and Miss O was crying and I just couldn't take it. I screamed myself. Which really wasn't a good idea because that scared Mr. O and made his crying worse, plus Miss O thought it was all her fault.... yeah. So the entire day, and night, Mr. M was miserable. I told T that he was on night duty, and that Miss O and I were going to be gone the next day (Saturday) so he and Mr. M could have a day to themselves.
All was fine and dandy, until about 3:30pm when T messages me saying that Mr. M won't stop crying and that he won't even finish a bottle. He was worried that Mr. M was getting dehydrated and thought he might have to take the little dude to the hospital. So I'm worried the entire drive home, driving as fast as I feel the law will allow. We get home, and Mr. M is sleeping. T says that he messaged me afterwards that we could have stayed at my parents for supper but as I was driving, I didn't get the message. Thankfully, that night Mr. M slept straight through the night. And Sunday was much better for eating and not being as irritable.
Selfishly, I don't want to put myself through these immunizations again because when I've got two kids being incredibly demanding of me, it's really hard to keep myself in check. But I know that we need to keep on top of this because that's just what we do. We're going to go through this all again in November when Mr. M gets his 6 month shots, plus his flu shot AND Miss O will get her flu shot. Gluttons for punishment I guess.
Other highlights of this week, though, have been few and far between now that I think about it. I really need to pick up a hobby or something! We've had some serious discussions (we being T and I) about when/if I go back to work. With my former position only being casual, not to mention within a union, even if they opened the job up again there's no guarantee that I would get it. That is, unless they kept it casual and then they could pick whoever they want. But that's neither here nor there. We don't know when a good time for me to go work would be, simply because of Mr. M and his doctors appointments and surgery and antibiotics and special care... Financially we could certainly swing living on one salary, but could I do so and keep my sanity in check? I guess we'll see once Mr. M gets a little bit bigger. Plus next year Miss O will be going to preschool... ugh. On one hand, I'm incredibly grateful that we do actually have the choice between me staying home or going back to work. There are a lot of families or instances where there's no choice. But that's what makes it all the more difficult. We would also need to crunch numbers to see if it would, financially, make sense for me to go back to work. Daycare costs for 2 kids plus extra gas, potentially parking if I'm working downtown again, purchasing work appropriate clothing... not to mention the idea of getting both kids up and ready and myself up and ready and everyone out the door by 715 so I would potentially be at work for 8 just hurts my everything.
It's too late for my brain to work like this. I'll give it some more thought in the morning.
Last Thursday, Mr. M got his 4-month immunizations. Yes, he's almost 6 months but because he was still in the hospital plus still on IV antibiotics and blood thinners and yadda yadda yadda, we decided to delay his immunizations to give his body a wee bit of a break.
I digress.
He got his shots, and was totally fine with them that day. We went to my parents afterwards because Miss O has dancing on Thursdays, and my parents look after Mr. M so that I can be at the studio should she need me. He was normal and in a good mood.
Friday morning, I took the kids grocery shopping. Had Mr. M in the carrier, Miss O in the cart, and all was fine and dandy until we got home. Then he started screaming and crying and not eating and just being a fuss pot. He did fall asleep around his normal time, but it was a fitful sleep. And I knew he was hungry, but he just wouldn't eat. I was getting extremely overwhelmed just dealing with him, and then Miss O decided she was going to pipe in every 5 minutes that she was hungry. At some point Mr. M was screaming and Miss O was crying and I just couldn't take it. I screamed myself. Which really wasn't a good idea because that scared Mr. O and made his crying worse, plus Miss O thought it was all her fault.... yeah. So the entire day, and night, Mr. M was miserable. I told T that he was on night duty, and that Miss O and I were going to be gone the next day (Saturday) so he and Mr. M could have a day to themselves.
All was fine and dandy, until about 3:30pm when T messages me saying that Mr. M won't stop crying and that he won't even finish a bottle. He was worried that Mr. M was getting dehydrated and thought he might have to take the little dude to the hospital. So I'm worried the entire drive home, driving as fast as I feel the law will allow. We get home, and Mr. M is sleeping. T says that he messaged me afterwards that we could have stayed at my parents for supper but as I was driving, I didn't get the message. Thankfully, that night Mr. M slept straight through the night. And Sunday was much better for eating and not being as irritable.
Selfishly, I don't want to put myself through these immunizations again because when I've got two kids being incredibly demanding of me, it's really hard to keep myself in check. But I know that we need to keep on top of this because that's just what we do. We're going to go through this all again in November when Mr. M gets his 6 month shots, plus his flu shot AND Miss O will get her flu shot. Gluttons for punishment I guess.
Other highlights of this week, though, have been few and far between now that I think about it. I really need to pick up a hobby or something! We've had some serious discussions (we being T and I) about when/if I go back to work. With my former position only being casual, not to mention within a union, even if they opened the job up again there's no guarantee that I would get it. That is, unless they kept it casual and then they could pick whoever they want. But that's neither here nor there. We don't know when a good time for me to go work would be, simply because of Mr. M and his doctors appointments and surgery and antibiotics and special care... Financially we could certainly swing living on one salary, but could I do so and keep my sanity in check? I guess we'll see once Mr. M gets a little bit bigger. Plus next year Miss O will be going to preschool... ugh. On one hand, I'm incredibly grateful that we do actually have the choice between me staying home or going back to work. There are a lot of families or instances where there's no choice. But that's what makes it all the more difficult. We would also need to crunch numbers to see if it would, financially, make sense for me to go back to work. Daycare costs for 2 kids plus extra gas, potentially parking if I'm working downtown again, purchasing work appropriate clothing... not to mention the idea of getting both kids up and ready and myself up and ready and everyone out the door by 715 so I would potentially be at work for 8 just hurts my everything.
It's too late for my brain to work like this. I'll give it some more thought in the morning.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Who'd Have Thunk?
Today is my best friend from high school's 30th birthday. We've known each other for 16 years at this point (or thereabouts - I can't remember when we actually met!), and it's kind of thrown things into perspective about how far we have come.
16 years ago, I could never have foreseen the life that I'm living now. Being 14, I imagined all sorts of difference scenarios and pipe dreams. I had an inkling that I'd be married with kids, but I also had the naive mindset that I'd have all my baby making done by the time I was 25 so I could be 30 and involved in a career. What career, I honestly can't remember. Pretty sure when I was in grade 9 I had no clue what I wanted to be when I grew up, as opposed to above-mentioned best friend who has known she wanted to be a doctor since she was a tiny human.
I digress.
Once we graduated high school, we both went off to Ottawa for university. She was going towards her B.Sc. in order to get into med school at University of Ottawa, whereas I was at Carleton University pursuing a degree in Film Studies of all things. For some reason, that just sounded a lot better than a general Arts degree, but in Canada they're equally as useless. Or rather, mine would have been useless. I got the big idea in my head that I would be a film producer - yes, in Canada - and then didn't really put 2 + 2 together when I was failing Economics that perhaps both of those would be needed to be a producer.
Best Friend completed her first year of university in Ottawa, only to find out that they only let like 6 out-of-province students into the medical program each year. Even if her grades were amazing, the chances of her getting in were very slim because of this. So she decided to move back to Saskatoon (where we had met) and go to the University of Saskatchewan instead, even though it set her back a year because her credits didn't transfer over right.
Anyway, in 2015 she's now a second year resident. And where am I? I never went back to university because it was too expensive and I didn't know what I wanted to take. Now that I'm 30, I STILL don't know what I would take because want and need are two different things. Not to mention there's no way that we could afford for me to go to school plus not be working plus put two kids in daycare. Yes, there are night classes, but it's 8pm and I'm ready to go to sleep. There's no way I'd make it through night classes.
I guess the point of this whole post was that who would have imagined that 16 years after meeting, not only would we still be good friends but she's a doctor and I'm a stay at home mom. When I put it that way, it makes me feel inadequate. Yes, I went to a business college and got a diploma in Accounting, but I did diddly squat with that. And the only reason I took accounting was because I thought it would be the most practical diploma to have - make me more diverse in office knowledge. But the shitty part is that no company will hire someone to do their accounts or accounting (the parts not requiring a CGA) if they have no experience. I can talk about how quickly I pick up on things or how competant I am with computers until I'm blue in the face - if my resume doesn't say "5 years experience", they just don't care.
Further to this, though, is that I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Ideally, it'd be payroll or human resources... but both of those fields require more education AND experience to get the job. So... it's a fucking catch-22.
I think I'm going to call it a day on this post. I'm getting bummed out at the fact that I'm 30 with no forward motion career-wise.
16 years ago, I could never have foreseen the life that I'm living now. Being 14, I imagined all sorts of difference scenarios and pipe dreams. I had an inkling that I'd be married with kids, but I also had the naive mindset that I'd have all my baby making done by the time I was 25 so I could be 30 and involved in a career. What career, I honestly can't remember. Pretty sure when I was in grade 9 I had no clue what I wanted to be when I grew up, as opposed to above-mentioned best friend who has known she wanted to be a doctor since she was a tiny human.
I digress.
Once we graduated high school, we both went off to Ottawa for university. She was going towards her B.Sc. in order to get into med school at University of Ottawa, whereas I was at Carleton University pursuing a degree in Film Studies of all things. For some reason, that just sounded a lot better than a general Arts degree, but in Canada they're equally as useless. Or rather, mine would have been useless. I got the big idea in my head that I would be a film producer - yes, in Canada - and then didn't really put 2 + 2 together when I was failing Economics that perhaps both of those would be needed to be a producer.
Best Friend completed her first year of university in Ottawa, only to find out that they only let like 6 out-of-province students into the medical program each year. Even if her grades were amazing, the chances of her getting in were very slim because of this. So she decided to move back to Saskatoon (where we had met) and go to the University of Saskatchewan instead, even though it set her back a year because her credits didn't transfer over right.
Anyway, in 2015 she's now a second year resident. And where am I? I never went back to university because it was too expensive and I didn't know what I wanted to take. Now that I'm 30, I STILL don't know what I would take because want and need are two different things. Not to mention there's no way that we could afford for me to go to school plus not be working plus put two kids in daycare. Yes, there are night classes, but it's 8pm and I'm ready to go to sleep. There's no way I'd make it through night classes.
I guess the point of this whole post was that who would have imagined that 16 years after meeting, not only would we still be good friends but she's a doctor and I'm a stay at home mom. When I put it that way, it makes me feel inadequate. Yes, I went to a business college and got a diploma in Accounting, but I did diddly squat with that. And the only reason I took accounting was because I thought it would be the most practical diploma to have - make me more diverse in office knowledge. But the shitty part is that no company will hire someone to do their accounts or accounting (the parts not requiring a CGA) if they have no experience. I can talk about how quickly I pick up on things or how competant I am with computers until I'm blue in the face - if my resume doesn't say "5 years experience", they just don't care.
Further to this, though, is that I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Ideally, it'd be payroll or human resources... but both of those fields require more education AND experience to get the job. So... it's a fucking catch-22.
I think I'm going to call it a day on this post. I'm getting bummed out at the fact that I'm 30 with no forward motion career-wise.
Friday, September 25, 2015
Envy and Other Emotions
Lately, I've been finding myself envious of single people. It kind of hit me at the weirdest time - I was sitting at a traffic light, both kids in the car with me, and the driver in front of me was a solo woman, putting her hair up as we waited for the light to change. All of a sudden I was like "I wish that I could have my own vehicle by myself. And that I could be free to leave the house and drive whenever I wanted to". And I've had these feelings a lot more, too. Maybe it's because the group of friends that I have been hanging out with lately are ones with minimal commitments - as in they're dating, only a couple own houses, etc - and they're free to hang out whenever they want. Weeknights and all.
It's not that I don't love my husband or my kids... it's more that I wish I had more independence and the opportunity to be independent. I wish I could just go on a shopping trip by myself or even run to the post office... but nope. I've got the two life-suckers that I have to bring with me.
I've been wondering, too, if I'm dealing with normal emotional ups and downs or if my medication needs to be increased. I'm at 50mg once daily right now (started at 25mg once daily) and I'm feeling a lot more frustrated with my kids and life now than I was before. It's the kids that are getting me down, as they are usually demanding things of me at the same time although I'm 90% sure that Miss O is doing it on purpose and waiting until Mr. M is settling/fussing before she starts asking for snacks or drinks or attention in general. I've also had times of sadness for no explicable reason, but I make sure that I mention it to T so that he knows that I'm feeling off. His first response has been "Have you been taking your meds?". I also find that I've got a mild case of apathy towards my fitness and weight loss, although my muscles and joints are really wishing I would exercise at least a little bit. But I just don't care. I mean, one part of my brain cares that I don't have any clothes that fit and that I mildly resemble a potato crossed with a hippo, but the other part just tells me to go to bed and read myself to sleep. I might try to do some of those Bikini Body Mommy workouts, as they're short and sweet, and I've gotten the go-ahead from a physical therapist friend to do abdomen workouts (I was avoiding because of the c-section).
I'm tired of my own whining so I'm going to stop blabbing now.
It's not that I don't love my husband or my kids... it's more that I wish I had more independence and the opportunity to be independent. I wish I could just go on a shopping trip by myself or even run to the post office... but nope. I've got the two life-suckers that I have to bring with me.
I've been wondering, too, if I'm dealing with normal emotional ups and downs or if my medication needs to be increased. I'm at 50mg once daily right now (started at 25mg once daily) and I'm feeling a lot more frustrated with my kids and life now than I was before. It's the kids that are getting me down, as they are usually demanding things of me at the same time although I'm 90% sure that Miss O is doing it on purpose and waiting until Mr. M is settling/fussing before she starts asking for snacks or drinks or attention in general. I've also had times of sadness for no explicable reason, but I make sure that I mention it to T so that he knows that I'm feeling off. His first response has been "Have you been taking your meds?". I also find that I've got a mild case of apathy towards my fitness and weight loss, although my muscles and joints are really wishing I would exercise at least a little bit. But I just don't care. I mean, one part of my brain cares that I don't have any clothes that fit and that I mildly resemble a potato crossed with a hippo, but the other part just tells me to go to bed and read myself to sleep. I might try to do some of those Bikini Body Mommy workouts, as they're short and sweet, and I've gotten the go-ahead from a physical therapist friend to do abdomen workouts (I was avoiding because of the c-section).
I'm tired of my own whining so I'm going to stop blabbing now.
Friday, September 18, 2015
Fashion Funks
I will freely admit that I have no idea what is going on when it comes to fashion. Sometimes I feel like I'm riding the wave along with everyone else, and then I see someone in high-waisted denim cutoffs with a plaid shirt tied about their waist and I find myself exclaiming "What the hell year is this?!"
I can't, for the life of me, figure out why the 90's fashion came back. From the sloppy flannel shirts to the combat boots, the circle sunglasses to the dark purple lips. Why the fuck did that come back to haunt us? I thought the unshowered grunge days were over, but apparently I'm wrong.
I have found that lately, with my (sadly)increased size - shut up, I'll work on losing this baby weight next month! - I have no direction when it comes to fashion. I've recently taken up decluttering my wardrobe because I have a closet and dresser and a huge plastic bin FULL of clothes, yet I find I am saying "I have nothing to wear". It doesn't help that I just plain don't want to put on some of my clothes for fear that I'll look like a potato in it. I've fallen into the mom habit of leggings and a t-shirt, with skechers slip ons for shoes. Or runners because my arches don't much care for the Skechers.
So I'm looking at the very few sites I can shop from, and I'm completely spacing out on what clothes I could actually wear. I know for a fact that I don't need dress pants until I'm looking at jobs again, but on the other hand should I not have some in my closet for when I need to "dress up"? And what about casual pants? I've got leggings and one pair of yoga pants, and then pajama pants. I recently sold all of my jeans because I know that I feel like a frump when I wear them... but what am I going to wear outside now that it's colder? Why can there not be casual pants that aren't jeans and aren't leggings but are as comfortable as leggings but have the leg shape - read: bootcut or straight fit - of jeans? And if any of you chime in and say jeggings, I will be forced to come through the internet and punch you in the throat. I know that Old Navy sells plus-sized khakis... but would I look like an absolute idiot showing up to a casual friend gathering in khakis and a sweater? I can hear the comments now... "Oh, look who dressed up to come out" and "What, you off to church?"
Ugh.
I promised my best friend that when I was on mat leave, I wouldn't fall into the mom-clothes trap. That I'd put in some effort and wear more than just yoga pants and a food-stained t-shirt. I have failed thus far.
But I just don't know what my fashion is anymore! With nowhere to be specifically (like work), I feel like any effort is kind of wasted while I am at home with the kids. Why wear an uncomfortable bra - that's a whole other post - and jeans and a blouse when I'm just going to be chasing after kids and sitting on my ass? Why wouldn't I try to be as comfortable as possible?
And therein lies the rut, I think. Comfort. I just need to find comfortable clothes that don't look like I gave up on life. Unfortunately, that costs money. Money that we don't have. Yes, I've been clearing out my clothing left right and centre... but I'm cutting the cost on that because I want it out of my house more than anything. I'm selling shirts that I've only worn a handful of times for a fraction of what I paid, simply because I want it gone.
When it comes to doing my hair, I laugh at that concept. Spending the hour it would take to blow dry & straighten is absolutely pointless unless I'm headed out for the night. And even then, I'm more likely to just toss it into a bun and say to hell with it. I've been growing it out for nearly 2 years and it still isn't quite long enough.
Makeup, again, is another thing I laugh at. Which is fortunate because my Sephora spending was getting out of control when I was at work. Thankfully I have a fully stocked makeup drawer, I'll just need to replace a couple items within the next couple months - mascara, concealer, and powder. Everything else will be just fine, and I do use it on occasion when I have to run out for all of Mr. M's appointments.
But let's get back to clothes. Help a sister out, how can I style this frump of a dump of a body? Especially just for the time being until I lose weight again and start feeling better about myself?
I can't, for the life of me, figure out why the 90's fashion came back. From the sloppy flannel shirts to the combat boots, the circle sunglasses to the dark purple lips. Why the fuck did that come back to haunt us? I thought the unshowered grunge days were over, but apparently I'm wrong.
I have found that lately, with my (sadly)increased size - shut up, I'll work on losing this baby weight next month! - I have no direction when it comes to fashion. I've recently taken up decluttering my wardrobe because I have a closet and dresser and a huge plastic bin FULL of clothes, yet I find I am saying "I have nothing to wear". It doesn't help that I just plain don't want to put on some of my clothes for fear that I'll look like a potato in it. I've fallen into the mom habit of leggings and a t-shirt, with skechers slip ons for shoes. Or runners because my arches don't much care for the Skechers.
So I'm looking at the very few sites I can shop from, and I'm completely spacing out on what clothes I could actually wear. I know for a fact that I don't need dress pants until I'm looking at jobs again, but on the other hand should I not have some in my closet for when I need to "dress up"? And what about casual pants? I've got leggings and one pair of yoga pants, and then pajama pants. I recently sold all of my jeans because I know that I feel like a frump when I wear them... but what am I going to wear outside now that it's colder? Why can there not be casual pants that aren't jeans and aren't leggings but are as comfortable as leggings but have the leg shape - read: bootcut or straight fit - of jeans? And if any of you chime in and say jeggings, I will be forced to come through the internet and punch you in the throat. I know that Old Navy sells plus-sized khakis... but would I look like an absolute idiot showing up to a casual friend gathering in khakis and a sweater? I can hear the comments now... "Oh, look who dressed up to come out" and "What, you off to church?"
Ugh.
I promised my best friend that when I was on mat leave, I wouldn't fall into the mom-clothes trap. That I'd put in some effort and wear more than just yoga pants and a food-stained t-shirt. I have failed thus far.
But I just don't know what my fashion is anymore! With nowhere to be specifically (like work), I feel like any effort is kind of wasted while I am at home with the kids. Why wear an uncomfortable bra - that's a whole other post - and jeans and a blouse when I'm just going to be chasing after kids and sitting on my ass? Why wouldn't I try to be as comfortable as possible?
And therein lies the rut, I think. Comfort. I just need to find comfortable clothes that don't look like I gave up on life. Unfortunately, that costs money. Money that we don't have. Yes, I've been clearing out my clothing left right and centre... but I'm cutting the cost on that because I want it out of my house more than anything. I'm selling shirts that I've only worn a handful of times for a fraction of what I paid, simply because I want it gone.
When it comes to doing my hair, I laugh at that concept. Spending the hour it would take to blow dry & straighten is absolutely pointless unless I'm headed out for the night. And even then, I'm more likely to just toss it into a bun and say to hell with it. I've been growing it out for nearly 2 years and it still isn't quite long enough.
Makeup, again, is another thing I laugh at. Which is fortunate because my Sephora spending was getting out of control when I was at work. Thankfully I have a fully stocked makeup drawer, I'll just need to replace a couple items within the next couple months - mascara, concealer, and powder. Everything else will be just fine, and I do use it on occasion when I have to run out for all of Mr. M's appointments.
But let's get back to clothes. Help a sister out, how can I style this frump of a dump of a body? Especially just for the time being until I lose weight again and start feeling better about myself?
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Goddamn Threenagers
I think I might need to up my Zoloft dose again. I've been getting so overwhelmed with everything lately, but most especially with the way that Miss O is acting.
Easily 10 times a day, she's throwing a temper tantrum and storming off to the corner to scream/cry. 10 times. In the 12-14 hours that she's awake in a day, we have at minimum 10 tantrums. It's no wonder I'm exhausted as all hell once 7pm rolls around.
What makes it worse is just the sheer amount of housework that needs to get done. I feel like it's piling up and that I'm the only one tackling it. Which, when it boils down to it, is kind of true. Yes, T helps out with dishes and childcare on the weekends and at night... but it's still mostly up to me to take the initiative. And I would love to have just a lazy day where I don't have to do anything. No chores, no child-caring, no nothing. Ahhh to be young again.
I spent a couple days this past weekend hanging out with some friends of mine. All of which are single or in dating relationships, none have kids. And I envy them their flexibility. We have a group hangout where we can all chat and make plans and stuff, and over the summer there were multiple invites for weekday hangs... which is pretty much impossible for me. Weekends, I can usually get out at night every so often, but I kind of miss just casual patio drinks. The girls from work wanted to get together at some point during the summer but I just couldn't.
It's not that I regret having kids, or regret the path that my life has taken. It's just that I remember what it was like when things were easier and I miss it. I wouldn't change a thing about how we are right now... I just miss being able to drop everything and go.
A big part of what is going on in my head right now is that I don't feel like I'm doing anything. Which is ridiculous because I feel overwhelmed with all that I am doing, but I mean mentally. My big plan was to start writing a novel and I've just completely blanked on that. I get started and then have to close the program because I feel like everything I'm writing is just confusing garbage. It totally could be, seeing as having babies sucks out some of your brains each time. It's a scientific fact; the internet told me. I mentioned to T last night that maybe I would take some classes, like Records Analyst or something comparable, and he kind of sighed. He asked what my end game was, and I couldn't answer. I still, at 30 fucking years old, have no idea what I want to do with my life. I liked working where I did before having Mr. M. The job was good, the hours flexible, the co-workers were wonderful. But I was under-utilized. It was nice to hear, from one of my old co-workers, that management finally realized just how much I was doing in the office once I had left. I guess it's a good thing that I was kind of a behind-the-scenes person, so to speak, an invisible cog. Secretly keeping things running smoothly. It'll help me when it comes time for interviews and references.
Interviews. Ugh.
I so do not look forward to the job hunt again in 6 months. I was technically in a casual position in my last job, even though I was there Monday-Friday for the better part of two years. But that means that I don't have a job to go back to, and we're still uncertain if I will be going back to work right after my mat leave ends. I keep going back and forth if I want to or not, and I know that it's going to come down to finances. Can I make enough for it to be worth it to have both kids in daycare? And what about Mr. M's long-term care? He'll still be on antibiotics at that point, and we'll still be on high alert for illnesses and stuff. So would I be taking a lot of time off of work to take care of him, or would I be able to find a job with enough flexibility that I can leave at the drop of a hat?
Not a lot of options with that criteria. But... can we afford for me to not work? Probably not.
Easily 10 times a day, she's throwing a temper tantrum and storming off to the corner to scream/cry. 10 times. In the 12-14 hours that she's awake in a day, we have at minimum 10 tantrums. It's no wonder I'm exhausted as all hell once 7pm rolls around.
What makes it worse is just the sheer amount of housework that needs to get done. I feel like it's piling up and that I'm the only one tackling it. Which, when it boils down to it, is kind of true. Yes, T helps out with dishes and childcare on the weekends and at night... but it's still mostly up to me to take the initiative. And I would love to have just a lazy day where I don't have to do anything. No chores, no child-caring, no nothing. Ahhh to be young again.
I spent a couple days this past weekend hanging out with some friends of mine. All of which are single or in dating relationships, none have kids. And I envy them their flexibility. We have a group hangout where we can all chat and make plans and stuff, and over the summer there were multiple invites for weekday hangs... which is pretty much impossible for me. Weekends, I can usually get out at night every so often, but I kind of miss just casual patio drinks. The girls from work wanted to get together at some point during the summer but I just couldn't.
It's not that I regret having kids, or regret the path that my life has taken. It's just that I remember what it was like when things were easier and I miss it. I wouldn't change a thing about how we are right now... I just miss being able to drop everything and go.
A big part of what is going on in my head right now is that I don't feel like I'm doing anything. Which is ridiculous because I feel overwhelmed with all that I am doing, but I mean mentally. My big plan was to start writing a novel and I've just completely blanked on that. I get started and then have to close the program because I feel like everything I'm writing is just confusing garbage. It totally could be, seeing as having babies sucks out some of your brains each time. It's a scientific fact; the internet told me. I mentioned to T last night that maybe I would take some classes, like Records Analyst or something comparable, and he kind of sighed. He asked what my end game was, and I couldn't answer. I still, at 30 fucking years old, have no idea what I want to do with my life. I liked working where I did before having Mr. M. The job was good, the hours flexible, the co-workers were wonderful. But I was under-utilized. It was nice to hear, from one of my old co-workers, that management finally realized just how much I was doing in the office once I had left. I guess it's a good thing that I was kind of a behind-the-scenes person, so to speak, an invisible cog. Secretly keeping things running smoothly. It'll help me when it comes time for interviews and references.
Interviews. Ugh.
I so do not look forward to the job hunt again in 6 months. I was technically in a casual position in my last job, even though I was there Monday-Friday for the better part of two years. But that means that I don't have a job to go back to, and we're still uncertain if I will be going back to work right after my mat leave ends. I keep going back and forth if I want to or not, and I know that it's going to come down to finances. Can I make enough for it to be worth it to have both kids in daycare? And what about Mr. M's long-term care? He'll still be on antibiotics at that point, and we'll still be on high alert for illnesses and stuff. So would I be taking a lot of time off of work to take care of him, or would I be able to find a job with enough flexibility that I can leave at the drop of a hat?
Not a lot of options with that criteria. But... can we afford for me to not work? Probably not.
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Getting Out
I feel like the hardest thing to do, as a mom, is get out of the house. With or without kids, doesn't matter. Doesn't matter that I'm a second-time-mom or when I was a first-time-mom. Getting out of the house is just so bloody difficult. Let me kind of break this down...
With Kids, Have an Appointment
- shower in the morning when T is still home (so yeah, that's showering at 530am)
- wake up Miss O with the shower
- deal with Miss O opening and closing the door ten thousand times all while asking what I'm doing
- depending on what time the appointment is, and what kind of appointment, I either deal with feeding Miss O before or after changing her pull-up and clothes while simultaneously trying to keep Mr. M happy (and/or asleep)
- Sometimes I've had to drop Miss O off at daycare before an appointment, in which case I have to basically throw her into the car and ignore her cries and temper tantrums
- But before daycare, it's getting Mr. M ready to go (he usually spits up on his clothes and I just don't have time to change them. Or I just don't care), and making sure that the diaper bag is packed appropriately.
- At some point I have to get myself dressed. And maybe do my hair? Or put my makeup on? I can usually scrape my hair into a ponytail and slap on some mascara in a hurry
- Finally leave the house.
In all honesty, I have to give us usually about an hour to get everything done and that's without driving to the appointment. So an 1145am appointment requires starting this whole process by 10am so we can leave the house by 11. Exhausting.
With Kids, No Appointment
Or: Why Are You Even Leaving If You Don't Have To
- Maybe shower. Maybe.
- Deal with Miss O, change diaper & clothes, attempt to feed.
- Deal with Mr. M, change diaper and feed
- Put hair in a messy bun, make sure I'm wearing a bra
- Toss kids in car and leave
This is our routine when I need a coffee from Tim's. Which is, ashamedly, more than I would like
I leave the house so infrequently without kids that I'm not even going to write it down. If nothing else, I tend to take at least one kid with me so that T can have his time with just the one. But lately, I've been able to sneak away for a couple hours and go for a drink with friends.
It's a totally different ballgame to go out with friends who don't have kids; who aren't married; who aren't really even in serious relationships OR have just gotten into them. I'm envious, in a way, of the freedom their lives allow them. However, it also makes me appreciate what I've got now. I'm way too fat and lazy to attempt to date anyone now - T can attest to the lazy, as we never go out on dates anymore. I'm glad that I own a house, and a vehicle, and I'm so glad that I have my two kids. Although I will definitely need reminding of that when they drive me absolutely nuts.
With Kids, Have an Appointment
- shower in the morning when T is still home (so yeah, that's showering at 530am)
- wake up Miss O with the shower
- deal with Miss O opening and closing the door ten thousand times all while asking what I'm doing
- depending on what time the appointment is, and what kind of appointment, I either deal with feeding Miss O before or after changing her pull-up and clothes while simultaneously trying to keep Mr. M happy (and/or asleep)
- Sometimes I've had to drop Miss O off at daycare before an appointment, in which case I have to basically throw her into the car and ignore her cries and temper tantrums
- But before daycare, it's getting Mr. M ready to go (he usually spits up on his clothes and I just don't have time to change them. Or I just don't care), and making sure that the diaper bag is packed appropriately.
- At some point I have to get myself dressed. And maybe do my hair? Or put my makeup on? I can usually scrape my hair into a ponytail and slap on some mascara in a hurry
- Finally leave the house.
In all honesty, I have to give us usually about an hour to get everything done and that's without driving to the appointment. So an 1145am appointment requires starting this whole process by 10am so we can leave the house by 11. Exhausting.
With Kids, No Appointment
Or: Why Are You Even Leaving If You Don't Have To
- Maybe shower. Maybe.
- Deal with Miss O, change diaper & clothes, attempt to feed.
- Deal with Mr. M, change diaper and feed
- Put hair in a messy bun, make sure I'm wearing a bra
- Toss kids in car and leave
This is our routine when I need a coffee from Tim's. Which is, ashamedly, more than I would like
I leave the house so infrequently without kids that I'm not even going to write it down. If nothing else, I tend to take at least one kid with me so that T can have his time with just the one. But lately, I've been able to sneak away for a couple hours and go for a drink with friends.
It's a totally different ballgame to go out with friends who don't have kids; who aren't married; who aren't really even in serious relationships OR have just gotten into them. I'm envious, in a way, of the freedom their lives allow them. However, it also makes me appreciate what I've got now. I'm way too fat and lazy to attempt to date anyone now - T can attest to the lazy, as we never go out on dates anymore. I'm glad that I own a house, and a vehicle, and I'm so glad that I have my two kids. Although I will definitely need reminding of that when they drive me absolutely nuts.
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Sad
I'm kind of depressed again today, and I don't know if it's just the weight of everything finally crashing down on me or if I need to up my meds again. Or maybe it's just being tired.
We have so many appointments and things to do, people to see and things to just think about, with all of M's health issues that it's kind of overwhelming. And the worst part is that I am quite literally on my own for getting it done, as T needs to be at work after missing all that time. I really want to ask him if he can take the morning off on the day of M's follow-up MRI, but I don't know how I can ask that of him when I really don't need him there AND he did the first one all by himself (as I was at home sleeping or something). Trying to get to the hospital with two kids is just exhausting. I took them both on Monday as a follow-up blood test was required to determine of the blood thinner level needs to be adjusted, and of course they both fell asleep an hour before we were supposed to leave. When I woke up Miss O, she was just a grumpy butt (understandable), and then when we finally got the hospital, she started pitching a fit because I forgot her seat for the stroller at home and she had to walk. I honestly thought that she would WANT to walk, but nope. Mom fail.
Did I mention that my day had started at 350am because M has been a pooping machine and somehow managed to poop in his sleep so he woke up with a diaper full of it?
So last night I went to bed moderately early, and T was nice enough to sleep upstairs with M so that I could get some solid hours in. The downside of T doing this (and he does this about once a week) is that it almost seems like he thinks it's a trade off to get out of doing something. Dishes, for example. Or cleaning of any kind. Yes, I appreciate getting the extra hours of sleep in especially because Miss O is apparently done with napping and doesn't think that M needs them either. But I can't be solely responsible for both kids PLUS all of the housework during the day, right? I'm not out of line to expect some sort of 60/40 split when it comes to household chores?
I don't know, maybe I am out of line. I'm the one on maternity leave whereas he's the one working long hours. But that's just his job. If he didn't take the overnights with M sometimes, he would see him for an hour or two a day tops.
I guess I should probably talk to T about this before it spirals out of control. My meds are doing good at keeping the OCD and anxiety at bay, but I feel this creeping bit of depression that just won't go away. I know that it's linked to my hangups on physical appearance, but I feel like I can't get out and exercise because I'm constantly worried about M. It seemed like he got sick after being outside for long periods of time, and even though we know that's NOT the case (the stage 5 VUR is), it's still in the back of my mind that maybe it is linked somehow. But I can tell that Miss O needs to get outside and play, and I KNOW that I need to get some fresh air and vitamin D... Maybe I'll just suck it up one of these days and go out for a small walk. Not the 5 mile ones that we were going on before, but maybe a nice 2.5.
We have so many appointments and things to do, people to see and things to just think about, with all of M's health issues that it's kind of overwhelming. And the worst part is that I am quite literally on my own for getting it done, as T needs to be at work after missing all that time. I really want to ask him if he can take the morning off on the day of M's follow-up MRI, but I don't know how I can ask that of him when I really don't need him there AND he did the first one all by himself (as I was at home sleeping or something). Trying to get to the hospital with two kids is just exhausting. I took them both on Monday as a follow-up blood test was required to determine of the blood thinner level needs to be adjusted, and of course they both fell asleep an hour before we were supposed to leave. When I woke up Miss O, she was just a grumpy butt (understandable), and then when we finally got the hospital, she started pitching a fit because I forgot her seat for the stroller at home and she had to walk. I honestly thought that she would WANT to walk, but nope. Mom fail.
Did I mention that my day had started at 350am because M has been a pooping machine and somehow managed to poop in his sleep so he woke up with a diaper full of it?
So last night I went to bed moderately early, and T was nice enough to sleep upstairs with M so that I could get some solid hours in. The downside of T doing this (and he does this about once a week) is that it almost seems like he thinks it's a trade off to get out of doing something. Dishes, for example. Or cleaning of any kind. Yes, I appreciate getting the extra hours of sleep in especially because Miss O is apparently done with napping and doesn't think that M needs them either. But I can't be solely responsible for both kids PLUS all of the housework during the day, right? I'm not out of line to expect some sort of 60/40 split when it comes to household chores?
I don't know, maybe I am out of line. I'm the one on maternity leave whereas he's the one working long hours. But that's just his job. If he didn't take the overnights with M sometimes, he would see him for an hour or two a day tops.
I guess I should probably talk to T about this before it spirals out of control. My meds are doing good at keeping the OCD and anxiety at bay, but I feel this creeping bit of depression that just won't go away. I know that it's linked to my hangups on physical appearance, but I feel like I can't get out and exercise because I'm constantly worried about M. It seemed like he got sick after being outside for long periods of time, and even though we know that's NOT the case (the stage 5 VUR is), it's still in the back of my mind that maybe it is linked somehow. But I can tell that Miss O needs to get outside and play, and I KNOW that I need to get some fresh air and vitamin D... Maybe I'll just suck it up one of these days and go out for a small walk. Not the 5 mile ones that we were going on before, but maybe a nice 2.5.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
I Am Disappoint
Today I've come to the realization that I am disappointed in myself. I'm boring. There's no pussyfooting around that. But I did that to myself. I'm the one who chose to not get involved in anything, or to take up a hobby and stick to it. I have all of these huge goals like writing a novel (can't even get the first page written), finishing a couple baby blankets via crocheting (haven't even finished Miss O's yet... and she's 3.5!), getting into shape (kind of gave up for the entire month of August, but I feel like M being sick is a good enough excuse for that one)... And none of these things are actually interesting.
I just don't have anything interesting to say, or do. I feel like being a mom has taken over my entire life (which is obviously has), but I've left no room for myself. I've shoved all of the concerns about my own well-being to the side, and have focused on my kids. I know this is a normal mom thing, but Jesus it is depressing! Knowing that I identify first as a wife, then as a mother, and then as Paige is just... disheartening. Where did I go?
I'm hoping that once we get into a good routine with both kids at home and pray to fucking God that M stays healthy(ish) I can take some time to discover who I am aside from wife and mother. And hopefully it doesn't cost a lot of money.
I just don't have anything interesting to say, or do. I feel like being a mom has taken over my entire life (which is obviously has), but I've left no room for myself. I've shoved all of the concerns about my own well-being to the side, and have focused on my kids. I know this is a normal mom thing, but Jesus it is depressing! Knowing that I identify first as a wife, then as a mother, and then as Paige is just... disheartening. Where did I go?
I'm hoping that once we get into a good routine with both kids at home and pray to fucking God that M stays healthy(ish) I can take some time to discover who I am aside from wife and mother. And hopefully it doesn't cost a lot of money.
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Supportive Spousing
I belong to a couple Canadian mom groups on Facebook, more specifically they are birth clubs for both Miss O and Mr. M. I've known the ones in Miss O's birth club for the last four years or so, and the ones for Mr. M for the last year. We've gotten to know one another, and share things about ourselves and our spouses all the time.
I complain about the little things that T does, like not help with the housework or lose his marbles over money. But one thing I am incredibly, completely, surprisingly grateful for is just how supportive he has been throughout my whole PPD period.
He's the one who forced me (I say forced lightly, seeing as all he did was demand I call my doctor to get the medication rather than me faff about saying that I'm going to book those counselling sessions) to get help for this rather than try to do it unsuccessfully on my own. While Mr. M was sick, he was concerned about M but also about me. He was telling me to go sleep and relax and do things for myself so that I wouldn't get too stressed about everything. He was asking how I was doing with everything and how he could help.
I had a headache one day this week, and he told me that he and Mr. M would sleep upstairs so that I could get an uninterrupted sleep in. We traded me doing the dishes for that.
When I read about this women whose significant others brush off their PPD concerns, or send them articles about women who are "much worse off" than they are, it really hits home just how much T has helped me through this whole thing.
Having a child is stressful in itself, but having two kids is like 3 times the stress. It's not double like people try to tell you. Having a supportive and equal partner to share the load is amazing.
Someone please remind me of this the next time I go off on a tangent about things that piss me off about him.
I complain about the little things that T does, like not help with the housework or lose his marbles over money. But one thing I am incredibly, completely, surprisingly grateful for is just how supportive he has been throughout my whole PPD period.
He's the one who forced me (I say forced lightly, seeing as all he did was demand I call my doctor to get the medication rather than me faff about saying that I'm going to book those counselling sessions) to get help for this rather than try to do it unsuccessfully on my own. While Mr. M was sick, he was concerned about M but also about me. He was telling me to go sleep and relax and do things for myself so that I wouldn't get too stressed about everything. He was asking how I was doing with everything and how he could help.
I had a headache one day this week, and he told me that he and Mr. M would sleep upstairs so that I could get an uninterrupted sleep in. We traded me doing the dishes for that.
When I read about this women whose significant others brush off their PPD concerns, or send them articles about women who are "much worse off" than they are, it really hits home just how much T has helped me through this whole thing.
Having a child is stressful in itself, but having two kids is like 3 times the stress. It's not double like people try to tell you. Having a supportive and equal partner to share the load is amazing.
Someone please remind me of this the next time I go off on a tangent about things that piss me off about him.
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Fat - Nope, Not With a Ph
One thing I find myself struggling with internally - and externally, if I'm being honest - is weight. The hardest part about this post-baby thing is the weight loss journey, and the fact that it just isn't all that easy to find time or motivation when you've got two kids running around. Not to mention it has been the least of my worries since M got sick.
It's really tough to feel good about yourself when you know that you look like garbage... but then you have no motivation to change anything about that. I don't know if that's the Zoloft talking, or if I really am sucky at prioritizing, but exersize is kind of the last thing on my mind. I hate how I look, hate the size of the clothes I have to wear, hate that I look so frumpy and dumpy ... and I hate how I feel about hating it.
Step one is more than likely to change our eating habits, which are absolutely deplorable. But I have had zero motivation (there's that word again!) to make real food. Maybe it's because Miss O is such a picky pants that I'd rather serve her an Eggo for supper than deal with her whining and complaining about not liking what I've made. Actually, that's exactly it. So I'll serve her an Eggo, and then I'll eat cereal. Or get takeout. Or eat nothing. And then I'm forcing T to do the same because he gets home later than we typically eat supper.
September 1 is when I turn this fat ship around. I can see you all rolling your eyes and scoffing at me, but for reals! Imma do the thing! Because then I can finally quit bitching about it.
It's really tough to feel good about yourself when you know that you look like garbage... but then you have no motivation to change anything about that. I don't know if that's the Zoloft talking, or if I really am sucky at prioritizing, but exersize is kind of the last thing on my mind. I hate how I look, hate the size of the clothes I have to wear, hate that I look so frumpy and dumpy ... and I hate how I feel about hating it.
Step one is more than likely to change our eating habits, which are absolutely deplorable. But I have had zero motivation (there's that word again!) to make real food. Maybe it's because Miss O is such a picky pants that I'd rather serve her an Eggo for supper than deal with her whining and complaining about not liking what I've made. Actually, that's exactly it. So I'll serve her an Eggo, and then I'll eat cereal. Or get takeout. Or eat nothing. And then I'm forcing T to do the same because he gets home later than we typically eat supper.
September 1 is when I turn this fat ship around. I can see you all rolling your eyes and scoffing at me, but for reals! Imma do the thing! Because then I can finally quit bitching about it.
Monday, August 17, 2015
Testing The Ol' Anti-Depressants
Okay. I finally have some time that I can write down what happened that tested how my anti-depressants/anti-anxiety meds were working.
Basically, between July 13 and August 7, we were spending more time at the hospital than any other year combined.
In mid-July, M was diagnosed with a UTI. We had to go back to the emergency room for IV antibiotics until they could determine what strain of bacteria was giving the UTI - later found out it was e.coli - before giving us oral medication. On the third day- July 15 - M's fontanelle puffed up pretty badly, so we did a head ultrasound that showed a bit of swelling but nothing that the doctors were super concerned about, so they sent us home with a script for oral antibiotics for the UTI and we thought we'd be in the clear.
Wrong. So wrong.
July 26, M is fussy and has smelly urine like he did before the intial UTI. As he had just come off of the antibiotics on the previous Wednesday, I wasn't going to fuck around with whether or not I should take him in. So we get to the ER around 8ish, and sure enough he's got another UTI. So he's given a dose of IV antibiotics and we're told to come back again the next day for the next dose around 4pm (as we were being discharged at midnight). We get home, and he's still struggling and fussing. I give him Tylenol and he starts shivering, and his fever has skyrocketed. He won't eat, and he hasn't had a pee diaper. So I get our shit together and head back to the hospital. There was no pediatric emergency doctor on at that time (roughly 3am), so the adult emergency doctor came in and basically said that they'd be keeping him comfortable and giving him some fluids as he wasn't eating. We crashed for a bit, until about 730am when the staff shift change happened and the doctors and nurses for the day started coming on.
The pediatric emergency doctor, Dr. Siemens, took one look at the chart, one look at M, and said that we'd for sure be spending a couple days at the hospital as he didn't want to mess around with this. M's fontanelle had puffed up again, and everyone could tell that he was just miserable. Not to mention his fever wasn't going away with Tylenol, and Advil decreased it very minutely. At this point, I had gotten maybe an hour of sleep overnight so I called T and explained the situation, and asked if he could come sit with M so I could go home and crash out. He got O to a friend's house to be looked after, and came just in time for the CT scan to be done. Once that was complete, I went home and just zonked out for a couple hours.
Once I got back to the hospital, we were admitted into the Acute Care Pediatric wing - as in the isolation wing. The CT scan showed them that M had bacterial meningitis, caused by the e.coli UTI. It's believed that M had built up a tolerance to the first antibiotic and that the UTI was just kind of kept at bay by it, rather than being killed off completely.
We were in the hospital for 12 days.
T and I switched shifts during this time, he did the days and I did the nights. Thinking back, we probably should have switched off seeing as all of the tests were done during the day and I would be the one to take M to all of his follow-up appointments after, but hindsight is 20/20. During the 12 day adventure, M had an MRI which found a clot in his brain. He also had a renal ultrasound that showed that his kidneys were just barely enlarged, but any enlargement was not good. The last test that was done was a VGUC, which basically tests the path of the urine. Normally, it goes kidneys, bladder, ureter, out. M's is backing up into his kidneys, badly enough that on a scale of 1 to 5 with 1 being minor, his is a 5. So my precious little man is on antibiotics (to keep the UTI's at bay) for the next 18 - 24 months, until he's big enough to get corrective surgery.
So when we were discharged on August 7, we were still on IV antibiotics for the meningitis (which we were taught to administer at home 3 times a day for 10 days), oral antibiotics for the UTI (twice a day for 3 days, then once a day until surgery happens), blood thinner injections for the clot (twice a day), and then vitamin D and BioGaia (for his poor tummy with the antibiotics). Today, this afternoon, was the last dose of the IV antibiotics. And we're sooooooooooo happy about that. We're keeping up the blood thinners until he has a follow-up MRI to determine what's going on with the clot. Hopefully it's been absorbed and the blood thinners can stop.
What did this experience teach us?
1. That our marriage is strong as fuck.
Sickness in a relationship is tough, but sickness of a kid is just the absolute worst. Through all of this, we stuck by each other and did what we could to make things a little easier. We made notes for what had happened during the day/night, gave updates to one another when we would switch off. We made sure to just be kind to one another even if we really weren't feeling that way, because it was just a given that the other person was feeling just as shitty as we were about this whole situation. It's like there was a whole new level of understanding and growth that we reached during this, and where the situation was a terrible one that I never ever want to repeat, it helped us grow closer as a couple and stronger as a parental unit.
We were concerned about money, too, because there was no way that we could be there for Miss O and be there for M if T was working all day. I would have basically had to live at the hospital by myself, which... I don't even want to think about it. One of my girlfriends set up a GoFundMe on our behalf to raise money for us so that T could be at the hospital too. It raised more money than we could even believe, and we are still incredibly grateful for it. We also had a lot of help from our parents and friends, watching Miss O for us.
2. Kids are resilient.
Miss O knew that something was not 100% good with M, but she was full of love and kisses for him when we had her come to the hospital to see him. M is also back to his smiley self, full of laughs and kicks and noises. Miss O's resilience showed when she was spending a week with my parents, then back with us for switching shifts, then back at daycare or at a friends house, then back to my parents... she was carted all over and handled it amazingly well.
3. Our family doctor is amazing.
There's always a lag in information getting from the hospital to the family doctor. The reason behind this being that they don't send any notes to the family doctor until the patient is discharged from the hospital. However, the doctor is cc'd on any tests that are done... so imagine the confusion of our doctor receiving ultrasound, CT, MRI, bloodwork, and VCUG results on a 3 month old patient of his without any context whatsoever. We played phone tag for a bit and we finally got in touch with one another about 4 days before we were discharged. I explained the situation to him, and he was so incredibly blown away by the course of illness. After seeing him for a follow-up appointment this past week, he mentioned that he discussed it with some of his colleagues around the office and they couldn't believe what had happened either. He had also dropped an "Oh shit" when we were chatting on the phone, and that just made me laugh because despite the fact that he's only a couple years older than me, he's always very proper with his bedside manner.
4. These anti-anxiety/anti-depressants are doing their motherfucking job, and doing it WELL.
At some point during our first day as an admitted patient, they were giving M oral painkillers to bring the fever down. M refuses to take any medicine orally, which Miss O did the same thing at this age. Not to mention they use the flavoured shit, which of course is going to be weird as fuck to an infant who has only ever had formula (or breastmilk). So he would spit it all out and we never knew how much he got. So we had administered a failure dose of Tylenol, and he was being super fussy so we asked about Advil. They said you bet, gave us the syringe and peaced out. Mom and I were trying to get him to take it but he kept spitting it out, and then he ended up choking on it. So we ring the buzzer for the nurses because buddy is choking and vomiting up all of the formula he had consumed that day and is having issues breathing... the nurses weren't coming so mom and I were yelling for help and we get like 3 nurses and 2 doctors rushing in. Of course, because we're in isolation, they're rushing to put on gloves and masks and the cape-coat thingie (okay, for the life of me I cannot remember the actual word for it). M is fine, but Mom was traumatized by the situation. I kept my cool because honestly and truly, my mentality during this entire ordeal was "How will it help anyone if I'm bawling my eyes out and a basketcase?". The rational part of my brain that had disappeared while pregnant was back, and my mom said that I was a lot stronger than her in this situation. My doctor said the same thing when we saw him last week, that I was holding it together a lot better than even he would be, given the circumstances. I then jokingly said that we upped the dose of the Zoloft at the right time and he kind of just smiled at me.
We are so incredibly grateful for all of the friends and family that helped us during this horrible time. We have several friends who work in the medical field - most of which at the hospital that we were staying at - and it was a huge relief to be able to bounce the technical jargon off of them for a better understanding of what was going on. It was also nice to have a familiar face around when all was tough.
The worst part of this experience, aside from the fact that our son was sick, was the condition of the hospital room. Dated and falling apart, humid as all get-out, and I got to sleep on a mattress on the floor for 12 days. This old body just can't handle that any more.
Basically, between July 13 and August 7, we were spending more time at the hospital than any other year combined.
In mid-July, M was diagnosed with a UTI. We had to go back to the emergency room for IV antibiotics until they could determine what strain of bacteria was giving the UTI - later found out it was e.coli - before giving us oral medication. On the third day- July 15 - M's fontanelle puffed up pretty badly, so we did a head ultrasound that showed a bit of swelling but nothing that the doctors were super concerned about, so they sent us home with a script for oral antibiotics for the UTI and we thought we'd be in the clear.
Wrong. So wrong.
July 26, M is fussy and has smelly urine like he did before the intial UTI. As he had just come off of the antibiotics on the previous Wednesday, I wasn't going to fuck around with whether or not I should take him in. So we get to the ER around 8ish, and sure enough he's got another UTI. So he's given a dose of IV antibiotics and we're told to come back again the next day for the next dose around 4pm (as we were being discharged at midnight). We get home, and he's still struggling and fussing. I give him Tylenol and he starts shivering, and his fever has skyrocketed. He won't eat, and he hasn't had a pee diaper. So I get our shit together and head back to the hospital. There was no pediatric emergency doctor on at that time (roughly 3am), so the adult emergency doctor came in and basically said that they'd be keeping him comfortable and giving him some fluids as he wasn't eating. We crashed for a bit, until about 730am when the staff shift change happened and the doctors and nurses for the day started coming on.
The pediatric emergency doctor, Dr. Siemens, took one look at the chart, one look at M, and said that we'd for sure be spending a couple days at the hospital as he didn't want to mess around with this. M's fontanelle had puffed up again, and everyone could tell that he was just miserable. Not to mention his fever wasn't going away with Tylenol, and Advil decreased it very minutely. At this point, I had gotten maybe an hour of sleep overnight so I called T and explained the situation, and asked if he could come sit with M so I could go home and crash out. He got O to a friend's house to be looked after, and came just in time for the CT scan to be done. Once that was complete, I went home and just zonked out for a couple hours.
Once I got back to the hospital, we were admitted into the Acute Care Pediatric wing - as in the isolation wing. The CT scan showed them that M had bacterial meningitis, caused by the e.coli UTI. It's believed that M had built up a tolerance to the first antibiotic and that the UTI was just kind of kept at bay by it, rather than being killed off completely.
We were in the hospital for 12 days.
T and I switched shifts during this time, he did the days and I did the nights. Thinking back, we probably should have switched off seeing as all of the tests were done during the day and I would be the one to take M to all of his follow-up appointments after, but hindsight is 20/20. During the 12 day adventure, M had an MRI which found a clot in his brain. He also had a renal ultrasound that showed that his kidneys were just barely enlarged, but any enlargement was not good. The last test that was done was a VGUC, which basically tests the path of the urine. Normally, it goes kidneys, bladder, ureter, out. M's is backing up into his kidneys, badly enough that on a scale of 1 to 5 with 1 being minor, his is a 5. So my precious little man is on antibiotics (to keep the UTI's at bay) for the next 18 - 24 months, until he's big enough to get corrective surgery.
So when we were discharged on August 7, we were still on IV antibiotics for the meningitis (which we were taught to administer at home 3 times a day for 10 days), oral antibiotics for the UTI (twice a day for 3 days, then once a day until surgery happens), blood thinner injections for the clot (twice a day), and then vitamin D and BioGaia (for his poor tummy with the antibiotics). Today, this afternoon, was the last dose of the IV antibiotics. And we're sooooooooooo happy about that. We're keeping up the blood thinners until he has a follow-up MRI to determine what's going on with the clot. Hopefully it's been absorbed and the blood thinners can stop.
What did this experience teach us?
1. That our marriage is strong as fuck.
Sickness in a relationship is tough, but sickness of a kid is just the absolute worst. Through all of this, we stuck by each other and did what we could to make things a little easier. We made notes for what had happened during the day/night, gave updates to one another when we would switch off. We made sure to just be kind to one another even if we really weren't feeling that way, because it was just a given that the other person was feeling just as shitty as we were about this whole situation. It's like there was a whole new level of understanding and growth that we reached during this, and where the situation was a terrible one that I never ever want to repeat, it helped us grow closer as a couple and stronger as a parental unit.
We were concerned about money, too, because there was no way that we could be there for Miss O and be there for M if T was working all day. I would have basically had to live at the hospital by myself, which... I don't even want to think about it. One of my girlfriends set up a GoFundMe on our behalf to raise money for us so that T could be at the hospital too. It raised more money than we could even believe, and we are still incredibly grateful for it. We also had a lot of help from our parents and friends, watching Miss O for us.
2. Kids are resilient.
Miss O knew that something was not 100% good with M, but she was full of love and kisses for him when we had her come to the hospital to see him. M is also back to his smiley self, full of laughs and kicks and noises. Miss O's resilience showed when she was spending a week with my parents, then back with us for switching shifts, then back at daycare or at a friends house, then back to my parents... she was carted all over and handled it amazingly well.
3. Our family doctor is amazing.
There's always a lag in information getting from the hospital to the family doctor. The reason behind this being that they don't send any notes to the family doctor until the patient is discharged from the hospital. However, the doctor is cc'd on any tests that are done... so imagine the confusion of our doctor receiving ultrasound, CT, MRI, bloodwork, and VCUG results on a 3 month old patient of his without any context whatsoever. We played phone tag for a bit and we finally got in touch with one another about 4 days before we were discharged. I explained the situation to him, and he was so incredibly blown away by the course of illness. After seeing him for a follow-up appointment this past week, he mentioned that he discussed it with some of his colleagues around the office and they couldn't believe what had happened either. He had also dropped an "Oh shit" when we were chatting on the phone, and that just made me laugh because despite the fact that he's only a couple years older than me, he's always very proper with his bedside manner.
4. These anti-anxiety/anti-depressants are doing their motherfucking job, and doing it WELL.
At some point during our first day as an admitted patient, they were giving M oral painkillers to bring the fever down. M refuses to take any medicine orally, which Miss O did the same thing at this age. Not to mention they use the flavoured shit, which of course is going to be weird as fuck to an infant who has only ever had formula (or breastmilk). So he would spit it all out and we never knew how much he got. So we had administered a failure dose of Tylenol, and he was being super fussy so we asked about Advil. They said you bet, gave us the syringe and peaced out. Mom and I were trying to get him to take it but he kept spitting it out, and then he ended up choking on it. So we ring the buzzer for the nurses because buddy is choking and vomiting up all of the formula he had consumed that day and is having issues breathing... the nurses weren't coming so mom and I were yelling for help and we get like 3 nurses and 2 doctors rushing in. Of course, because we're in isolation, they're rushing to put on gloves and masks and the cape-coat thingie (okay, for the life of me I cannot remember the actual word for it). M is fine, but Mom was traumatized by the situation. I kept my cool because honestly and truly, my mentality during this entire ordeal was "How will it help anyone if I'm bawling my eyes out and a basketcase?". The rational part of my brain that had disappeared while pregnant was back, and my mom said that I was a lot stronger than her in this situation. My doctor said the same thing when we saw him last week, that I was holding it together a lot better than even he would be, given the circumstances. I then jokingly said that we upped the dose of the Zoloft at the right time and he kind of just smiled at me.
We are so incredibly grateful for all of the friends and family that helped us during this horrible time. We have several friends who work in the medical field - most of which at the hospital that we were staying at - and it was a huge relief to be able to bounce the technical jargon off of them for a better understanding of what was going on. It was also nice to have a familiar face around when all was tough.
The worst part of this experience, aside from the fact that our son was sick, was the condition of the hospital room. Dated and falling apart, humid as all get-out, and I got to sleep on a mattress on the floor for 12 days. This old body just can't handle that any more.
Monday, August 10, 2015
I Haven't Forgotten
We've had one hell of a stressful month, or so it seems, so I've somewhat fallen off the face of the earth with blogging. I'll get a big update in sometime soon, but in the mean time... it's good to know that the increase in my meds happened when it did and that they work just fine.
More later.
Edit: August 17, 2015
I'm leaving this post here as an indication of just how messed up our brains were during this time. I had previously posted that shit was hitting the fan, but apparently completely forgot about that as I put this post up that reiterated basically everything in the previous post.
Yaaaaaay brains.
More later.
Edit: August 17, 2015
I'm leaving this post here as an indication of just how messed up our brains were during this time. I had previously posted that shit was hitting the fan, but apparently completely forgot about that as I put this post up that reiterated basically everything in the previous post.
Yaaaaaay brains.
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Putting the Meds to the Test
I'm sorry I haven't been updating as much as I was before and/or would like to. We're currently going through an absolutely hellish situation with baby M, and it's just... it's tough.
It's good to know, and good to note, that the anti-anxiety/anti-depressants are doing their job. I think we upped the dose at the right time.
I'll have a whole massive post another day about what we're going through, but all we need to know right now is that M is very sick, and could use all sorts of thoughts and prayers. So... please do that.
It's good to know, and good to note, that the anti-anxiety/anti-depressants are doing their job. I think we upped the dose at the right time.
I'll have a whole massive post another day about what we're going through, but all we need to know right now is that M is very sick, and could use all sorts of thoughts and prayers. So... please do that.
Friday, July 24, 2015
Perfect Family
"Million Dollar Family"
Of all the phrases thrown at a parent, that's the one that gets me the most. It's the phrase used to describe a family with two parents - I'm assuming they meant heterosexual parents, but I'm not certain - and one child of each sex. And everyone just assumes that other people want this type of family. They assume this so much that when a couple is expecting a child after the first one, they ask "Are you hoping it will be a (insert other sex than first child)?". They continue to ask this after each subsequent child of the same sex that is born to the family. Other variations are "Are you going to try for a boy/girl this time?" or "Are you sad that you have (insert number) of boys/girls?"
I'm going to be perfectly honest. When pregnant with baby number 2, I was actually hoping it was a girl. I know girls, I have girl things, another girl would be a piece of cake. Or as much a piece of cake as a newborn baby can be. I wouldn't have to spend a bunch of money on clothes or toys or things, and O would have a sister to teach how to do things. My co-workers, however, thought it would be "so cute" to have a boy because then I'd have that "Million Dollar Family". They didn't quite understand why I wanted another girl. Don't get me wrong, I don't resent having a boy. I'm... oddly indifferent about it. I'm not thrilled nor upset, I'm just incredibly happy that I have a baby.
I don't know where society decided that speaking up about this sort of thing was a good idea. There are so many women dealing with infertility or miscarriage issues, I'm so grateful I was able to carry two healthy children to term with minimal effort on our part. Why anyone would question if I preferred a certain sex of child over another is not cool, and I always feel bad for my mom friends who have several children of the same sex and keep getting asked if they're going to try for the other one or if they're hoping they have a boy/girl next time.
I'm happy with what I've got, end of story.
Of all the phrases thrown at a parent, that's the one that gets me the most. It's the phrase used to describe a family with two parents - I'm assuming they meant heterosexual parents, but I'm not certain - and one child of each sex. And everyone just assumes that other people want this type of family. They assume this so much that when a couple is expecting a child after the first one, they ask "Are you hoping it will be a (insert other sex than first child)?". They continue to ask this after each subsequent child of the same sex that is born to the family. Other variations are "Are you going to try for a boy/girl this time?" or "Are you sad that you have (insert number) of boys/girls?"
I'm going to be perfectly honest. When pregnant with baby number 2, I was actually hoping it was a girl. I know girls, I have girl things, another girl would be a piece of cake. Or as much a piece of cake as a newborn baby can be. I wouldn't have to spend a bunch of money on clothes or toys or things, and O would have a sister to teach how to do things. My co-workers, however, thought it would be "so cute" to have a boy because then I'd have that "Million Dollar Family". They didn't quite understand why I wanted another girl. Don't get me wrong, I don't resent having a boy. I'm... oddly indifferent about it. I'm not thrilled nor upset, I'm just incredibly happy that I have a baby.
I don't know where society decided that speaking up about this sort of thing was a good idea. There are so many women dealing with infertility or miscarriage issues, I'm so grateful I was able to carry two healthy children to term with minimal effort on our part. Why anyone would question if I preferred a certain sex of child over another is not cool, and I always feel bad for my mom friends who have several children of the same sex and keep getting asked if they're going to try for the other one or if they're hoping they have a boy/girl next time.
I'm happy with what I've got, end of story.
Twofer
I've got a couple things to write about today, so I'm actually going to write two separate posts just so that it isn't one giant one.
Yesterday morning was rough. After M's UTI and treatment, we were finally on the mend until the little dude decided that waking up once during the night to eat is now his new thing to do. I mean, I understand because he lost several days of full feeds while he was really sick. But on the other hand, momma is tired! Plus, O has a bit of a cold with a lovely cough so she wakes up doing that and/or starts her awful whine-cry thing and so I have to get up and comfort her with that. So I'm easily up at least twice a night, which makes me just so exhausted. Everyone says that I should get T involved and have him take one of the kids... But honestly, he never hears them. So even if we did make that deal, it would be me waking him up to go deal with the child and then I'm up anyway. It's somewhat of a pointless endeavour.
Back on to the topic at hand though. Yesterday, aside from the sleepies, was fine for the morning. Everything was as it normally was. Up until it wasn't. For some reason, around 1030am M decided that scream crying was how it was going to do things. It was potentially around a time that I thought he would want to eat, so I made him a bottle and settled down to give that to him. He wanted none of that. I changed his diaper, and he was still screaming. I had to ask O not to snuggle up beside me because I was on the cusp of a meltdown, and as it stands I did yell at M to stop screaming at some point because I just couldn't do it. But it was only that once, and I set him down several times when I felt the bad part coming over me. When I finally got a grasp on myself I just hugged him to me and had this stupid little mantra of "Stop stop stop stop stop".
I took him downstairs, hoping that the cool basement would do the trick (although honestly, our house yesterday didn't have much of a temperature difference with our central air going). No dice, still screaming. I laid him in his crib - in his bedroom - and left the room. It took about 20 minutes and he ended up screaming himself to sleep. He slept for about an hour, which gave me enough time to apologize profusely to O for snapping at her and to calm myself down. And then once he woke up, he was in a great mood.
We ended up going for a nice long walk afterwards, although O was disappointed we didn't stop at every single playground along the way. About half-way through our walk M pooped, and of course I didn't bring any diaper change stuff with me so we had to cut it short. Although, we were still gone for an hour and did about 3.5 miles. And then when we got back, M repeated the same screaming until he went down for a nap.
I guess I just haven't been reading his cues very well. Today I'm working harder to put him in his crib for naps (although he napped for an hour in his car seat this morning because we were on the go) and going forward I'm hoping we can transition him into his crib full time. I need my room back, and I need my evenings with my husband back. We realised yesterday that we haven't gone on a date since February, and even then it wasn't anything that we are really proud of - we went for lunch and did baby shopping. Oooooh so romantic. I'm hoping I can convince him that we should go to a VIP movie but we'll see.
More to the PPD point, though. I was able to calm down yesterday after one blip of overwhelmed, and for that I'm proud. I'm not proud that I screamed at my infant and made him cry harder, but I'm proud that I was able to get my shit under control so it didn't happen again. Small victories.
Yesterday morning was rough. After M's UTI and treatment, we were finally on the mend until the little dude decided that waking up once during the night to eat is now his new thing to do. I mean, I understand because he lost several days of full feeds while he was really sick. But on the other hand, momma is tired! Plus, O has a bit of a cold with a lovely cough so she wakes up doing that and/or starts her awful whine-cry thing and so I have to get up and comfort her with that. So I'm easily up at least twice a night, which makes me just so exhausted. Everyone says that I should get T involved and have him take one of the kids... But honestly, he never hears them. So even if we did make that deal, it would be me waking him up to go deal with the child and then I'm up anyway. It's somewhat of a pointless endeavour.
Back on to the topic at hand though. Yesterday, aside from the sleepies, was fine for the morning. Everything was as it normally was. Up until it wasn't. For some reason, around 1030am M decided that scream crying was how it was going to do things. It was potentially around a time that I thought he would want to eat, so I made him a bottle and settled down to give that to him. He wanted none of that. I changed his diaper, and he was still screaming. I had to ask O not to snuggle up beside me because I was on the cusp of a meltdown, and as it stands I did yell at M to stop screaming at some point because I just couldn't do it. But it was only that once, and I set him down several times when I felt the bad part coming over me. When I finally got a grasp on myself I just hugged him to me and had this stupid little mantra of "Stop stop stop stop stop".
I took him downstairs, hoping that the cool basement would do the trick (although honestly, our house yesterday didn't have much of a temperature difference with our central air going). No dice, still screaming. I laid him in his crib - in his bedroom - and left the room. It took about 20 minutes and he ended up screaming himself to sleep. He slept for about an hour, which gave me enough time to apologize profusely to O for snapping at her and to calm myself down. And then once he woke up, he was in a great mood.
We ended up going for a nice long walk afterwards, although O was disappointed we didn't stop at every single playground along the way. About half-way through our walk M pooped, and of course I didn't bring any diaper change stuff with me so we had to cut it short. Although, we were still gone for an hour and did about 3.5 miles. And then when we got back, M repeated the same screaming until he went down for a nap.
I guess I just haven't been reading his cues very well. Today I'm working harder to put him in his crib for naps (although he napped for an hour in his car seat this morning because we were on the go) and going forward I'm hoping we can transition him into his crib full time. I need my room back, and I need my evenings with my husband back. We realised yesterday that we haven't gone on a date since February, and even then it wasn't anything that we are really proud of - we went for lunch and did baby shopping. Oooooh so romantic. I'm hoping I can convince him that we should go to a VIP movie but we'll see.
More to the PPD point, though. I was able to calm down yesterday after one blip of overwhelmed, and for that I'm proud. I'm not proud that I screamed at my infant and made him cry harder, but I'm proud that I was able to get my shit under control so it didn't happen again. Small victories.
Sunday, July 19, 2015
Giving No Fucks
It's like a light switch hit me. Once I turned 30 - which was only 11 days ago - I stopped caring about the insignificant people. What I mean by that is that the people who have no impact in my life. I am stopping trying to please people who really don't want to try to please me, and I'm stopping trying to force friendships where they obviously don't want to belong.
I spent pretty much all of Saturday with a dear friend who I rarely see because a) she's a medical resident and b) she lives out of town. Yes, she still comes home to visit but her time is usually booked right up. We spent the day eating a horrible lunch at Milestones - seriously, don't eat there. Everything was awful - then watching a shitty movie at the VIP theatre. I don't even want to admit what movie we watched. As my friend was driving me home after, she says "Don't go home yet" I asked her to repeat what she said and she was like "Don't have to go home yet. Come play board games or something, just don't be home yet". Of course, because I had left T and the kids at home all day there was no way I would do that and she completely and totally understood, but it felt just so fucking amazing to have someone who really, truly, wanted to spend time with me. A LOT of time.
So now, as a grown up, I have finally realized that the people who don't treat me like this... the ones who aren't sad when we can't spend time together... are not worth my time. And they can just get bent.
Medication update: as per Wednesday's appointment with the doctor, we're increasing the dose to 50mg from 25mg. To start, I'll just be taking two 25mg pills so that if it doesn't work for me then we can go back down to 25 without it being a big deal. Thus far, adding the extra pill makes me hella sleepy right after I take it which is why I take them at night. I'm okay with this side effect because it has me going to bed at a normal time, and I can fortunately still wake up easily enough.
I spent pretty much all of Saturday with a dear friend who I rarely see because a) she's a medical resident and b) she lives out of town. Yes, she still comes home to visit but her time is usually booked right up. We spent the day eating a horrible lunch at Milestones - seriously, don't eat there. Everything was awful - then watching a shitty movie at the VIP theatre. I don't even want to admit what movie we watched. As my friend was driving me home after, she says "Don't go home yet" I asked her to repeat what she said and she was like "Don't have to go home yet. Come play board games or something, just don't be home yet". Of course, because I had left T and the kids at home all day there was no way I would do that and she completely and totally understood, but it felt just so fucking amazing to have someone who really, truly, wanted to spend time with me. A LOT of time.
So now, as a grown up, I have finally realized that the people who don't treat me like this... the ones who aren't sad when we can't spend time together... are not worth my time. And they can just get bent.
Medication update: as per Wednesday's appointment with the doctor, we're increasing the dose to 50mg from 25mg. To start, I'll just be taking two 25mg pills so that if it doesn't work for me then we can go back down to 25 without it being a big deal. Thus far, adding the extra pill makes me hella sleepy right after I take it which is why I take them at night. I'm okay with this side effect because it has me going to bed at a normal time, and I can fortunately still wake up easily enough.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Following Up
Things with M took a turn for the worse yesterday. Tuesday night, T came down at about 3am (I think? Who can even remember when it's the buttcrack of morning) and asked me to take over as he needed sleep. So M and I slept on the couches. O came upstairs at 630, and I was still so incredibly tired that I couldn't keep my eyes open and my wonderful little girl let me and M sleep until 8. She went back downstairs to her room and was quiet and good for that hour and a half. When I got up with M at that point, I noticed that his fontanel was swollen. I know that if he's dehydrated (which he would be from the UTI and the not wanting to drink a lot) it would be sunken, but I didn't know what to do about it bulging. I didn't ask Dr. Google because we had both a doctor's appointment (3 month checkup) and had to go back to the hospital for his next dose of antibiotics.
Get to the doctor, explain why the little man has the IV still wrapped on his arm, and then mention the fontanel. Doctor is concerned, but knows that we're going back to the hospital so he tell me to mention it when we go.
Get to the hospital - and spend like 20 minutes trying to find parking, end up parking in a lot 5 minutes away - get into a little room right away and then mention about the fontanel. Nurses get us settled in and mention it to the pediatric doctor working in emerg - the same doctor we had the day before - and we kind of go from there. Pediatrician gets us in for an ultrasound to look to see what's going on with the fontanel, and they find that something - I have no idea what because I both don't understand medical talk and I just had so much going on in my brain that day - is enlarged and there's a bit of extra fluid. So they want to consult with the neurosurgeon team.
Did I mention that it was just me in the hospital this whole time? Again, just me and M. They hooked him up to a fluid drip plus gave him his dose of antibiotics. My mom ended up coming at around 415 because she works relatively close, and it was SO GOOD to have her there with me.
Anyway, the neurosurgeons didn't feel incredibly concerned about it, so they ended up discharging us AND the IV came out with a prescription for oral antibiotics. I've never been so relieved.
Through all of this, I remained calm and collected. I did have a bit of tears and choking up when we were waiting for the consult with neuro, but I held it together. The pediatrician came in and checked up on us and asked how I was doing, and he seemed impressed that I wasn't losing my shit. Good thing they didn't have reason to access my records to know that I'm on anti-depressants ;)
I am, however, going to be increasing my dose by a bit starting next week. After speaking with our doctor, I mentioned that I still had moments where I had to talk myself down (although some of those moments were during M's sickness, to which my doctor said it was completely understandable) and he said we can try increasing it. So we'll see if that makes a difference in my somewhat indifference towards things that make me happy?
With regards to M, he's much better today even though his tummy is unhappy with the antibiotics. He's smiling again, and was moving around and playing. His sleeps looked more restful and he wasn't as pasty as he has been. Here's fingers crossed that he's on the mend and we can just move past this.
Get to the doctor, explain why the little man has the IV still wrapped on his arm, and then mention the fontanel. Doctor is concerned, but knows that we're going back to the hospital so he tell me to mention it when we go.
Get to the hospital - and spend like 20 minutes trying to find parking, end up parking in a lot 5 minutes away - get into a little room right away and then mention about the fontanel. Nurses get us settled in and mention it to the pediatric doctor working in emerg - the same doctor we had the day before - and we kind of go from there. Pediatrician gets us in for an ultrasound to look to see what's going on with the fontanel, and they find that something - I have no idea what because I both don't understand medical talk and I just had so much going on in my brain that day - is enlarged and there's a bit of extra fluid. So they want to consult with the neurosurgeon team.
Did I mention that it was just me in the hospital this whole time? Again, just me and M. They hooked him up to a fluid drip plus gave him his dose of antibiotics. My mom ended up coming at around 415 because she works relatively close, and it was SO GOOD to have her there with me.
Anyway, the neurosurgeons didn't feel incredibly concerned about it, so they ended up discharging us AND the IV came out with a prescription for oral antibiotics. I've never been so relieved.
Through all of this, I remained calm and collected. I did have a bit of tears and choking up when we were waiting for the consult with neuro, but I held it together. The pediatrician came in and checked up on us and asked how I was doing, and he seemed impressed that I wasn't losing my shit. Good thing they didn't have reason to access my records to know that I'm on anti-depressants ;)
I am, however, going to be increasing my dose by a bit starting next week. After speaking with our doctor, I mentioned that I still had moments where I had to talk myself down (although some of those moments were during M's sickness, to which my doctor said it was completely understandable) and he said we can try increasing it. So we'll see if that makes a difference in my somewhat indifference towards things that make me happy?
With regards to M, he's much better today even though his tummy is unhappy with the antibiotics. He's smiling again, and was moving around and playing. His sleeps looked more restful and he wasn't as pasty as he has been. Here's fingers crossed that he's on the mend and we can just move past this.
Monday, July 13, 2015
Hospitals
Today was not a good day. Or I guess it would have started last night.
Yesterday, M had a fever and his pee smelled very strongly and he was just incredibly uncomfortable and whining. We gave him Tylenol and he seemed to feel a bit better, but by evening he was an inconsolable mess. T thought it was just a tummyache, so we gave him some Ovol drops as well (which he proceeded to barf up along with some formula) and then we gave him a bath. T got him settled down upstairs.
12:30am rolls around, and T had brought M downstairs at some point, and M was making noises again. So I got up with him and he was normal temperature to touch, so I figured he just wanted some snuggles. Got settled on the couch but he kept fidgeting and then started fussing so I got up to make him a bottle. His fever was back again so I figured getting some liquids in was ideal.
I turned the light on in the living room and M's skin was not a great colour and it was really veiny (although I think the actual term is mottled? I could be wrong). Either way, mom instinct kicked in and I knew I had to take him in. So I book it downstairs to put clothes on and get him ready to go. He whimpered the entire drive to the hospital - about 20 minutes away.
We got right in, which was great, and we were put into a room with a door that closed and we saw the doctor right away too. They gave M some Tylenol for his fever and then strapped the pee bag onto him. I knew that wasn't going to fly because when Olivia had a UTI at this age, they did the catheter right away. However, that was when we were able to get right into Peds Emerg, and because it was 2am we were just in regular emerg this time.
Anyway, M drank his bottle, had a couple poopy diapers (increasingly soft poops) but still no pee. Had to get more formula from the nursing station because me in my stupidity only brought one bottle (although how was I to know I was going to be there forever).
By 8am, shift change, he still hadn't peed. At this point I had requested we do a catheter, but the nurse said that they don't like to do that. My theory now is that they didn't have a peds nurse on who felt comfortable cathing a tiny peener. I fortunately was able to get a nurse to sit with Mal so I could pee and move my car, as I had just parked in the 60 minute zone. Thankfully no tickets when i moved it 5 hours after we had got there.
The Peds Emerg section was open at 8, so they moved us over there where we sat and waited for the pediatrician to come see us. She spoke with the doctor we had originally seen, and was more than a little choked that he hadn't cath'd M yet. She expressed this to me, saying that if anything from the potentially bagged urine had come back they'd have to do a catheter sample anyway.
It took 3 different nurses 3 different tries to get the catheter in M. The poor guy was so not happy. The first two attempts were right after he had peed in the bag, so I felt like it was totally futile that we were waiting all night for that and then had to wait even longer to get pee in the catheter. Once the 3rd nurse came and did it, they got a huge sample which was great but the poor little dude had blood happening at the tip.
So we had to wait longer to get the results back, and by this point I was running low on wipes & diapers (I had a full travel wipes case and 6 diapers plus 1 of Olivia's when I got there... left with 0 of both). Then they needed our bed for a more important case, so we were shunted to the waiting room for a bit. Once another bed opened up we were moved back there, which is where the pediatrician explained that M had a very VERY bad UTI and required IV antibiotics. Because he was still drinking, they didn't need to admit him, but I have to bring him back around 10/11 for the next couple days to get the next doses of antibiotics. M was not a happy camper with the IV going in, and who can blame him. The nurse who did it was very good though, even if it took her a bit to find the vein she still got it all in and taped up right away. Once the IV antibiotics are done, they'll reassess and determine if he needs to be on oral ones as well or if the IV ones did the trick. He will also need a kidney ultrasound and an ultrasound to determine direction of how is urine is going (if it's going straight out or if it's going up into his kidneys)
I had consulted a doctor friend of mine about when to go in and the symptoms and stuff, and she was following up with me today after all of this and she was super confused as to why they didn't do any bloodwork to check on his kidneys. T is actually extremely pissed off about this whole situation, and has told me that if M has kidney problems then he's going to go after the doctors for malpractice (although I don't think he's got anything to go on for that).
All in all, I'm still exhausted and wish that none of this had happened. But I'm glad I trusted my mommy instincts that something was wrong.
While all of the fussiness from last night was happening, I had posted some clothing items on a local buy & sell which were apparently hot commodities. I received a bunch of messages for them, some people wanting to pick up that night, and it was getting to be too much. I had to verbally tell myself to relax and that it was okay, which T overheard me doing and it apparently freaked him out a bit that I was doing that. But it worked and I got myself settled.
I've realised that I don't get incredibly happy or excited about anything anymore, but I can get really sad & low easily. I think I'll need to bring this up with my doctor when we go on Wednesday for M's 3 month appointment. Le sigh. This PPD/PPA thing is just such an inconvenience. But here's hoping I can combat it and not be on meds for the rest of my life. Please.
Yesterday, M had a fever and his pee smelled very strongly and he was just incredibly uncomfortable and whining. We gave him Tylenol and he seemed to feel a bit better, but by evening he was an inconsolable mess. T thought it was just a tummyache, so we gave him some Ovol drops as well (which he proceeded to barf up along with some formula) and then we gave him a bath. T got him settled down upstairs.
12:30am rolls around, and T had brought M downstairs at some point, and M was making noises again. So I got up with him and he was normal temperature to touch, so I figured he just wanted some snuggles. Got settled on the couch but he kept fidgeting and then started fussing so I got up to make him a bottle. His fever was back again so I figured getting some liquids in was ideal.
I turned the light on in the living room and M's skin was not a great colour and it was really veiny (although I think the actual term is mottled? I could be wrong). Either way, mom instinct kicked in and I knew I had to take him in. So I book it downstairs to put clothes on and get him ready to go. He whimpered the entire drive to the hospital - about 20 minutes away.
We got right in, which was great, and we were put into a room with a door that closed and we saw the doctor right away too. They gave M some Tylenol for his fever and then strapped the pee bag onto him. I knew that wasn't going to fly because when Olivia had a UTI at this age, they did the catheter right away. However, that was when we were able to get right into Peds Emerg, and because it was 2am we were just in regular emerg this time.
Anyway, M drank his bottle, had a couple poopy diapers (increasingly soft poops) but still no pee. Had to get more formula from the nursing station because me in my stupidity only brought one bottle (although how was I to know I was going to be there forever).
By 8am, shift change, he still hadn't peed. At this point I had requested we do a catheter, but the nurse said that they don't like to do that. My theory now is that they didn't have a peds nurse on who felt comfortable cathing a tiny peener. I fortunately was able to get a nurse to sit with Mal so I could pee and move my car, as I had just parked in the 60 minute zone. Thankfully no tickets when i moved it 5 hours after we had got there.
The Peds Emerg section was open at 8, so they moved us over there where we sat and waited for the pediatrician to come see us. She spoke with the doctor we had originally seen, and was more than a little choked that he hadn't cath'd M yet. She expressed this to me, saying that if anything from the potentially bagged urine had come back they'd have to do a catheter sample anyway.
It took 3 different nurses 3 different tries to get the catheter in M. The poor guy was so not happy. The first two attempts were right after he had peed in the bag, so I felt like it was totally futile that we were waiting all night for that and then had to wait even longer to get pee in the catheter. Once the 3rd nurse came and did it, they got a huge sample which was great but the poor little dude had blood happening at the tip.
So we had to wait longer to get the results back, and by this point I was running low on wipes & diapers (I had a full travel wipes case and 6 diapers plus 1 of Olivia's when I got there... left with 0 of both). Then they needed our bed for a more important case, so we were shunted to the waiting room for a bit. Once another bed opened up we were moved back there, which is where the pediatrician explained that M had a very VERY bad UTI and required IV antibiotics. Because he was still drinking, they didn't need to admit him, but I have to bring him back around 10/11 for the next couple days to get the next doses of antibiotics. M was not a happy camper with the IV going in, and who can blame him. The nurse who did it was very good though, even if it took her a bit to find the vein she still got it all in and taped up right away. Once the IV antibiotics are done, they'll reassess and determine if he needs to be on oral ones as well or if the IV ones did the trick. He will also need a kidney ultrasound and an ultrasound to determine direction of how is urine is going (if it's going straight out or if it's going up into his kidneys)
I had consulted a doctor friend of mine about when to go in and the symptoms and stuff, and she was following up with me today after all of this and she was super confused as to why they didn't do any bloodwork to check on his kidneys. T is actually extremely pissed off about this whole situation, and has told me that if M has kidney problems then he's going to go after the doctors for malpractice (although I don't think he's got anything to go on for that).
All in all, I'm still exhausted and wish that none of this had happened. But I'm glad I trusted my mommy instincts that something was wrong.
While all of the fussiness from last night was happening, I had posted some clothing items on a local buy & sell which were apparently hot commodities. I received a bunch of messages for them, some people wanting to pick up that night, and it was getting to be too much. I had to verbally tell myself to relax and that it was okay, which T overheard me doing and it apparently freaked him out a bit that I was doing that. But it worked and I got myself settled.
I've realised that I don't get incredibly happy or excited about anything anymore, but I can get really sad & low easily. I think I'll need to bring this up with my doctor when we go on Wednesday for M's 3 month appointment. Le sigh. This PPD/PPA thing is just such an inconvenience. But here's hoping I can combat it and not be on meds for the rest of my life. Please.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
30, Flirty, and Thriving
Today is my 30th birthday and I spent the majority of it in some sort of funk. Not the good musical kind of funk, but a funk that I felt lonely and sad for the majority of the day.
Not an ideal way to spend a birthday.
I made the mistake of weighing myself before my shower this morning. The numbers on the scale depressed me not only because I've gained weight back that I had initially lost (oh wait, I lost all that weight because I couldn't eat for 2 weeks after having M) but because I know that it was due to me being a lazy fucktard when it came to exercise or diet. I should be working out daily, but I just can't. Like it's almost like I physically can't make myself get up and exercise. I don't know if that's part of getting used to an infant again, or if it's part of the antidepressants, or if it's just part of being depressed/anxious. That little bit of the unknown is actually kind of unsettling the more I think about it. I don't like not having control over why I do or do not do things, which I guess goes hand in hand with this whole PPD/PPA thing that I'm coping with.
Everyone asked me how I was spending my birthday and I told them the truth: chiropractic appointment. Don't know about supper (we just barbecued hamburgers), don't know about cake (we had ice cream cake at my insistence). No special plans. Granted, when your birthday is on a Wednesday, it's hard to plan anything. But T has apparently set something up for me and my girlfriends for Friday so we'll see how that goes.
Which brings me to my next point. Friends. T asked me who I wanted to invite to this thing, and he listed off all of the people that he had sent the information to. And that was it. I think there were like 10 people on his list. I realized that I didn't actually have a lot of girlfriends, and/or the ones that I do have are ones that I met online and so I can't just see them on a whim. Instead, it's an expensive flight or really long drive.
I mentioned this to one of my girlfriends and she countered with "Why do you need quantity when you have a few good ones?" and I found myself pondering that in itself. Why do I feel the need to have more friends? Why should it matter? If I have close friends who would be there for me no matter what, why do I need more than that? I don't.
Final point is that I always feel like I could or should have more. I'm an online shopper and I seriously need help with that. Even though I have a closet and a dresser and like 4 Rubbermaid bins filled with clothes, I seem to always go online and find myself more. I'll reason it like "I don't have a lot of pajama tops" or "I do like the way those tanktops fit". But I mean, I don't NEED this stuff especially while I'm on maternity leave. Maybe it's my subconscious way of not falling into the stay at home mom trap where I wear frumpy pants and stained tops. If I have nice clothes, maybe I'll give off the false impression that I'm put together and not losing my marbles at my toddler running around a parking lot while the infant in the bucket seat screams because he's just not happy with the current situation.
Not an ideal way to spend a birthday.
I made the mistake of weighing myself before my shower this morning. The numbers on the scale depressed me not only because I've gained weight back that I had initially lost (oh wait, I lost all that weight because I couldn't eat for 2 weeks after having M) but because I know that it was due to me being a lazy fucktard when it came to exercise or diet. I should be working out daily, but I just can't. Like it's almost like I physically can't make myself get up and exercise. I don't know if that's part of getting used to an infant again, or if it's part of the antidepressants, or if it's just part of being depressed/anxious. That little bit of the unknown is actually kind of unsettling the more I think about it. I don't like not having control over why I do or do not do things, which I guess goes hand in hand with this whole PPD/PPA thing that I'm coping with.
Everyone asked me how I was spending my birthday and I told them the truth: chiropractic appointment. Don't know about supper (we just barbecued hamburgers), don't know about cake (we had ice cream cake at my insistence). No special plans. Granted, when your birthday is on a Wednesday, it's hard to plan anything. But T has apparently set something up for me and my girlfriends for Friday so we'll see how that goes.
Which brings me to my next point. Friends. T asked me who I wanted to invite to this thing, and he listed off all of the people that he had sent the information to. And that was it. I think there were like 10 people on his list. I realized that I didn't actually have a lot of girlfriends, and/or the ones that I do have are ones that I met online and so I can't just see them on a whim. Instead, it's an expensive flight or really long drive.
I mentioned this to one of my girlfriends and she countered with "Why do you need quantity when you have a few good ones?" and I found myself pondering that in itself. Why do I feel the need to have more friends? Why should it matter? If I have close friends who would be there for me no matter what, why do I need more than that? I don't.
Final point is that I always feel like I could or should have more. I'm an online shopper and I seriously need help with that. Even though I have a closet and a dresser and like 4 Rubbermaid bins filled with clothes, I seem to always go online and find myself more. I'll reason it like "I don't have a lot of pajama tops" or "I do like the way those tanktops fit". But I mean, I don't NEED this stuff especially while I'm on maternity leave. Maybe it's my subconscious way of not falling into the stay at home mom trap where I wear frumpy pants and stained tops. If I have nice clothes, maybe I'll give off the false impression that I'm put together and not losing my marbles at my toddler running around a parking lot while the infant in the bucket seat screams because he's just not happy with the current situation.
Monday, July 6, 2015
Hiding
I think I'm afraid to connect with my husband.
That's kind of a weird statement, actually. But it's true. Every night, I put O to bed around 830 and then I just stay downstairs. Sometimes I will be doing laundry or something like that, but most of the time? I watch Netflix or read a book. Or now that I have the laptop, I write a blog post or spend time cruising the internet. Logically, I could be doing this same stuff upstairs close to my husband but instead I'm hiding in my bedroom.
I'd like to pretend that it's because M is asleep on the couch for the first part of the evening - as is our habit, as T is on baby duty between me coming downstairs and him coming to bed - but I don't know if that's all that it is. Maybe on some deeper level, I'm afraid that I'm not really anything anymore. I don't have a lot of interests; or rather, I have interests but they're sucky. I like shitty teenage drama TV shows and writing, I like yarn crafts but hate how long it takes me to make anything (which is why my kids don't have any blankets that I've made but my friends all have stuff). I love music and movies and whatnot... but apparently over the years me and T have kind of diversified with our tastes. He has expressed how we never watch the same TV shows anymore, but I can't help it that I'm just not interested in the same shows he is. Or that I'd rather watch a rerun of something than to start something new, simply because I don't actually have the time to watch the show when the kids are awake. Plus if I do watch anything new while the kids are awake (seriously it never happens that way), it has to be something that is appropriate should O look over or watch it. T has been rewatching House, and a lot of those episodes freak O out a lot. And why not? Tons of blood and people saying "Ow!" while they're at the doctor... No wonder she thinks that the doctor is scary.
Regardless, maybe I should make a goal for this summer where I actually spend time with my husband. Perhaps once we've moved M into his own room it'll be easier. God I hope so at least...
That's kind of a weird statement, actually. But it's true. Every night, I put O to bed around 830 and then I just stay downstairs. Sometimes I will be doing laundry or something like that, but most of the time? I watch Netflix or read a book. Or now that I have the laptop, I write a blog post or spend time cruising the internet. Logically, I could be doing this same stuff upstairs close to my husband but instead I'm hiding in my bedroom.
I'd like to pretend that it's because M is asleep on the couch for the first part of the evening - as is our habit, as T is on baby duty between me coming downstairs and him coming to bed - but I don't know if that's all that it is. Maybe on some deeper level, I'm afraid that I'm not really anything anymore. I don't have a lot of interests; or rather, I have interests but they're sucky. I like shitty teenage drama TV shows and writing, I like yarn crafts but hate how long it takes me to make anything (which is why my kids don't have any blankets that I've made but my friends all have stuff). I love music and movies and whatnot... but apparently over the years me and T have kind of diversified with our tastes. He has expressed how we never watch the same TV shows anymore, but I can't help it that I'm just not interested in the same shows he is. Or that I'd rather watch a rerun of something than to start something new, simply because I don't actually have the time to watch the show when the kids are awake. Plus if I do watch anything new while the kids are awake (seriously it never happens that way), it has to be something that is appropriate should O look over or watch it. T has been rewatching House, and a lot of those episodes freak O out a lot. And why not? Tons of blood and people saying "Ow!" while they're at the doctor... No wonder she thinks that the doctor is scary.
Regardless, maybe I should make a goal for this summer where I actually spend time with my husband. Perhaps once we've moved M into his own room it'll be easier. God I hope so at least...
Saturday, July 4, 2015
The Good, The Bad, and the Obsessively Clean
One good thing (I suppose?) to come out of this situation is that when I get started on cleaning something, it gets done. Like 100% done. I can't half-ass it anymore. Because of this, I give myself only one thing to clean in a day so I don't get crazy.
So today, I tasked myself with cleaning the downstairs bathroom. It's not that it was horribly dirty and would take me forever, but rather it was just something that needed to get cleaned. So I set forth with my bucket of cleaning supplies, the Swiffers - both Wet Jet and regular -, and plugged the ol' iPod in to get me going. O decided that watching mommy clean was more interesting than being upstairs with daddy and M, and also it was fun to dance to her playlist. If there's nothing else cuter than a 3 year old singing and dancing along to adult music songs, I haven't found it yet.
I deep cleaned that bathroom. I'm talking washed the bathtub twice because the first time "wasn't good enough". I scrubbed at the sink with a sponge and a toothbrush. I used the Swiffer to wipe the dust off the walls and then I washed them with the sponge.
Yeah. That bathroom is sparkling now.
I then decided to vacuum and tidy up the bedrooms and hallway, and get started on laundry. But that wasn't my task for today, it was just bonus.
All in all, today was a win. Sure, I cleaned so hard/intensely that I was literally dripping sweat. I don't know if that's impressive or embarassing though.
So today, I tasked myself with cleaning the downstairs bathroom. It's not that it was horribly dirty and would take me forever, but rather it was just something that needed to get cleaned. So I set forth with my bucket of cleaning supplies, the Swiffers - both Wet Jet and regular -, and plugged the ol' iPod in to get me going. O decided that watching mommy clean was more interesting than being upstairs with daddy and M, and also it was fun to dance to her playlist. If there's nothing else cuter than a 3 year old singing and dancing along to adult music songs, I haven't found it yet.
I deep cleaned that bathroom. I'm talking washed the bathtub twice because the first time "wasn't good enough". I scrubbed at the sink with a sponge and a toothbrush. I used the Swiffer to wipe the dust off the walls and then I washed them with the sponge.
Yeah. That bathroom is sparkling now.
I then decided to vacuum and tidy up the bedrooms and hallway, and get started on laundry. But that wasn't my task for today, it was just bonus.
All in all, today was a win. Sure, I cleaned so hard/intensely that I was literally dripping sweat. I don't know if that's impressive or embarassing though.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Guest Blog by Anonymous
*not anonymous to me, but to the world at large via my blog*
"Mental states are fluid and always changing. You think you're having a good day and think you can tackle a task. Suddenly you are panicking about everything in your life - house cleaning, social engagements, donations, even picking up your child from daycare and your friends who are traveling. When you realize this is happening, you begin to have anxiety about needing to go on meds again, whether or not you are completing the right task first, looking like a complete failure, not finding anything to wear or having a meltdown in front of your close friends and a lounge of random people. The mental illness overtakes your reasonable side and makes you turn into what you are fearful about - someone who didn't finish what she set out to do; someone who cancels her social promises; someone who isolates herself until she is despondent. #fuckmentalillness"
A close friend of mine texted that to me about 10 minutes ago. Of the two, I'd say that anxiety is much worse than depression. I mean, don't get me wrong. Depression is the absolute pits. But the way that my PPD has manifested is into anxiety about things, and getting my priorities all mixed up. Instead of feeding my child and then cleaning something, I get frantic about cleaning and then realize that i need to feed the child.
Or I randomly decide to rearrange the furniture in my daughter's room even though both my daughter and infant son are awake and could use some mommy hangout time. I legit told my toddler to take care of the baby for a minute so mommy could move her bed across the room. I had to complete the task before I could deal with either of them, which logically I should have just left it for a minute or just not started it at all. I texted T about how heavy the furniture was and his response was "It's fucking solid" which means I'm totally going to get in shit when he gets home for moving it by myself instead of waiting for him. But I had to do it. It's like I had to prove to myself that I could do it.
"Mental states are fluid and always changing. You think you're having a good day and think you can tackle a task. Suddenly you are panicking about everything in your life - house cleaning, social engagements, donations, even picking up your child from daycare and your friends who are traveling. When you realize this is happening, you begin to have anxiety about needing to go on meds again, whether or not you are completing the right task first, looking like a complete failure, not finding anything to wear or having a meltdown in front of your close friends and a lounge of random people. The mental illness overtakes your reasonable side and makes you turn into what you are fearful about - someone who didn't finish what she set out to do; someone who cancels her social promises; someone who isolates herself until she is despondent. #fuckmentalillness"
A close friend of mine texted that to me about 10 minutes ago. Of the two, I'd say that anxiety is much worse than depression. I mean, don't get me wrong. Depression is the absolute pits. But the way that my PPD has manifested is into anxiety about things, and getting my priorities all mixed up. Instead of feeding my child and then cleaning something, I get frantic about cleaning and then realize that i need to feed the child.
Or I randomly decide to rearrange the furniture in my daughter's room even though both my daughter and infant son are awake and could use some mommy hangout time. I legit told my toddler to take care of the baby for a minute so mommy could move her bed across the room. I had to complete the task before I could deal with either of them, which logically I should have just left it for a minute or just not started it at all. I texted T about how heavy the furniture was and his response was "It's fucking solid" which means I'm totally going to get in shit when he gets home for moving it by myself instead of waiting for him. But I had to do it. It's like I had to prove to myself that I could do it.
Unpretty
I have this annual tradition (is that even the right phrase? I feel like annual tradition is kind of redundant) where I get my hair done on July 1st - Canada Day, for those who don't know - because the salon is usually not as busy and my husband is home to watch the kid.
I didn't do that this year.
I tried to convince myself that the reason I didn't book the appointment was because we couldn't afford it (partially true), or that I didn't need it (again, partially true), or that I should wait until after the postpartum hair loss has finished so that I don't spend all this money on a hair cut only for it to look like shit once I lose a bunch of hair... but in all honesty, the reason that I didn't book the appointment was because I didn't feel like I was worth it.
Somehow, over the past 3 months, I've lost my sense of self. I went from wearing makeup and nice clothes every day (for work, of course, but still) to trying to decide which drapey shirt I would wear along with which set of leggings and what giant underwear I would pair it with. Oh, and which nursing bra - even though I'm not nursing anymore - I would wear because real bras are garbage.
What happened to me? I love being a girl. I've got a drawer full of fancy brand cosmetics, hair products, and various styling tools. I have a closet jammed full of gorgeous clothes... and here I am, frumping myself up and letting my unmade face be seen in public way more than it logically should.
It's because I just don't feel like myself yet. I mean, I'm getting there. And it's an adjustment being at home because I don't need to get myself all done up and T likes to tell me that he likes it better when I'm not wearing makeup or doing my hair. But that honestly can't be true. I really wish that he would be honest with me about appearance stuff for once, instead of just saying that he thinks I want to hear.
How on earth did this turn into me throwing him under the bus...
I didn't do that this year.
I tried to convince myself that the reason I didn't book the appointment was because we couldn't afford it (partially true), or that I didn't need it (again, partially true), or that I should wait until after the postpartum hair loss has finished so that I don't spend all this money on a hair cut only for it to look like shit once I lose a bunch of hair... but in all honesty, the reason that I didn't book the appointment was because I didn't feel like I was worth it.
Somehow, over the past 3 months, I've lost my sense of self. I went from wearing makeup and nice clothes every day (for work, of course, but still) to trying to decide which drapey shirt I would wear along with which set of leggings and what giant underwear I would pair it with. Oh, and which nursing bra - even though I'm not nursing anymore - I would wear because real bras are garbage.
What happened to me? I love being a girl. I've got a drawer full of fancy brand cosmetics, hair products, and various styling tools. I have a closet jammed full of gorgeous clothes... and here I am, frumping myself up and letting my unmade face be seen in public way more than it logically should.
It's because I just don't feel like myself yet. I mean, I'm getting there. And it's an adjustment being at home because I don't need to get myself all done up and T likes to tell me that he likes it better when I'm not wearing makeup or doing my hair. But that honestly can't be true. I really wish that he would be honest with me about appearance stuff for once, instead of just saying that he thinks I want to hear.
How on earth did this turn into me throwing him under the bus...
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Where There's Smoke, There's Fire
Literally, unfortunately.
Today was a good day, despite being cooped up for the 4th day in a row when I've got both kids at home with me full time. There are fires up north from us (I'd reckon about 6 hours north) and they're large enough in size that the smoke has drifted down to us. Because of kids being, y'know, kids, I haven't gone outside with them at all because it's been so bad. Monday and Tuesday were far worse as it was so thick you could only see about 1-2 kms ahead of you, but even today it was hazy and a campfire smell in the air.
I say it was a good day because, despite my threenager O having multiple melt downs over nothing and little M just wouldn't nap (probably because of all of the melt downs), it was relaxed. It was chill. There was nothing I couldn't handle. I had time to myself, got both kids into the car to pick up my new glasses, and I didn't feel stretched thin.
And then T came home with my early birthday present - a new laptop.
I had been campaigning for this because I really think that writing things down will help me get through the frantic/anxious/depressed/crazy time PLUS I have goals of writing a book. And I like the idea of being able to write for an hour or so at night before going to bed, and the current bedtime routine we've got going on leaves me room to do that.
So here's hoping that there will be more consistent updates on here, and perhaps news about book :)
Today was a good day, despite being cooped up for the 4th day in a row when I've got both kids at home with me full time. There are fires up north from us (I'd reckon about 6 hours north) and they're large enough in size that the smoke has drifted down to us. Because of kids being, y'know, kids, I haven't gone outside with them at all because it's been so bad. Monday and Tuesday were far worse as it was so thick you could only see about 1-2 kms ahead of you, but even today it was hazy and a campfire smell in the air.
I say it was a good day because, despite my threenager O having multiple melt downs over nothing and little M just wouldn't nap (probably because of all of the melt downs), it was relaxed. It was chill. There was nothing I couldn't handle. I had time to myself, got both kids into the car to pick up my new glasses, and I didn't feel stretched thin.
And then T came home with my early birthday present - a new laptop.
I had been campaigning for this because I really think that writing things down will help me get through the frantic/anxious/depressed/crazy time PLUS I have goals of writing a book. And I like the idea of being able to write for an hour or so at night before going to bed, and the current bedtime routine we've got going on leaves me room to do that.
So here's hoping that there will be more consistent updates on here, and perhaps news about book :)
Monday, June 29, 2015
Can't Stop
Today I had to do the strangest thing:
Use the one part of my brain to tell the other part to stop cleaning/organizing and feed the kids.
I decided, in my infinite wisdom, to switch the side tables around so I'd get more use out of them. I also decided on a whim to move things around in the dining room, which inevitably led to a picture frame falling off the wall and breaking but that's not the issue here.
As I was moving things and dusting and realizing that certain things didn't fit in random places that I thought they would, M was awake and happy and pre-hungry, and O was staying out of the way for the most part but it was getting close to lunch time. At some point I asked her if she wanted a sandwich and she said yes, but then I brushed that aside. I am pretty sure that I said at least 3 times "Okay, mommy's going to go make you that sandwich now"
Of course, as soon as the Thinking Brain got through to the Do Things Brain, M was on the cusp of hangry. So I started a bottle for him as I made O's sandwich, and then she decided she wanted to sit and eat at the computer so I had to deal with turning it on and getting it all set up (she watches shows on Netflix as she eats). Then M started crying and screaming and I was just kind of... not ignoring it, but definitely not treating it like I should have. I should have picked him up and soothed him and all that jazz but instead I just kept telling him to calm down and the bottle would be ready soon.
It's like my priorities aren't where they should be. I'd rather sit on my phone or clean or organize than I would play with my 3 year old or snuggle my infant.
Guess this is the next thing I should bring up with my doctor.
Use the one part of my brain to tell the other part to stop cleaning/organizing and feed the kids.
I decided, in my infinite wisdom, to switch the side tables around so I'd get more use out of them. I also decided on a whim to move things around in the dining room, which inevitably led to a picture frame falling off the wall and breaking but that's not the issue here.
As I was moving things and dusting and realizing that certain things didn't fit in random places that I thought they would, M was awake and happy and pre-hungry, and O was staying out of the way for the most part but it was getting close to lunch time. At some point I asked her if she wanted a sandwich and she said yes, but then I brushed that aside. I am pretty sure that I said at least 3 times "Okay, mommy's going to go make you that sandwich now"
Of course, as soon as the Thinking Brain got through to the Do Things Brain, M was on the cusp of hangry. So I started a bottle for him as I made O's sandwich, and then she decided she wanted to sit and eat at the computer so I had to deal with turning it on and getting it all set up (she watches shows on Netflix as she eats). Then M started crying and screaming and I was just kind of... not ignoring it, but definitely not treating it like I should have. I should have picked him up and soothed him and all that jazz but instead I just kept telling him to calm down and the bottle would be ready soon.
It's like my priorities aren't where they should be. I'd rather sit on my phone or clean or organize than I would play with my 3 year old or snuggle my infant.
Guess this is the next thing I should bring up with my doctor.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Strange Days
I think that I'm getting used to the medication. The first week was spent in a somewhat euphoric stage, where there was equal amounts of placebo effect and hormone stabilizers going through my brain and I felt good. This week there have been moments of "Oh God I can't do this" that I was able to calm down, and then there was a moment of a near panic attack while driving home from the grocery store. But I think that one was due to sleep deprivation. Can we say thank you to whoever decided that the first immunizations for infants should be during a development leap?
I've shared this blog - and subsequently my rather sordid past - with the internet at large. I gave the link to two mom groups that I belong to (one for each kid) because I feel like there would be less judgement that way. Or rather, there wouldn't be the in-my-face judgement.
I have no problem sharing my issues and trials and tribulations with complete strangers, yet I can't seem to face up to it with people I know in real life. As of right now, there are 4 people that I know face to face (aside from my husband) that I'm going through a rough time. Four. Out of all my family and friends, I've only told four people that I'm not doing okay. Why is that?
Because I can't deal with the pity. I can't deal with how they're going to react when they find out that I've been so off the deep end after this wonderful baby was born that I now require medical intervention. I can't deal with wondering what they're going to say about me behind my back to others. I can't deal with the shame.
And therein lies the crux. Shame.
I am fucking ashamed of myself for feeling this way and for needing help. Why? Why should I feel ashamed about a chemical imbalance that leaves me unable to control how I react? Because pretty much since the beginning of time, mental illness/instability has been something to be afraid of. It's been something to belittle and shame. It's been worthy of killing people, back in the good ol' days, or locking them up in a horrible institution to be experimented on - corkscrew lobotomy, amirite.
So today, I'm going to take a step in the right direction and share this struggle with my friends and family at large. I want them to know that where I may have hardships, I'm getting through it. I'm admitting that I have a problem, and that I need help and support. And dear God please let them help me.
One last thought before I close out. Everyone knows that I'm not the smallest score on the golf card. I'm big in heart and size. I wear a lot of colourful clothes, which I know has some people confused. Most bigger people tend to stick to darker colours in hopes that it will slim them down (but if you've ever watched What Not To Wear, you know that's mostly false). Not me, I love colour. And the reason for that is my (late) Gramma. I don't know how old I was, somewhere in my teenage years, and she berated me for wearing too much black. Said I should be wearing colour because I was too pretty to wear dark colours (as a Gramma is going to say regardless of if you're pretty or not). She would always compliment me on a good colour top, and give me that boost of confidence to wear it.
So there's my closet, full of colour, thanks to my Gramma. Miss you and love you every day.
I've shared this blog - and subsequently my rather sordid past - with the internet at large. I gave the link to two mom groups that I belong to (one for each kid) because I feel like there would be less judgement that way. Or rather, there wouldn't be the in-my-face judgement.
I have no problem sharing my issues and trials and tribulations with complete strangers, yet I can't seem to face up to it with people I know in real life. As of right now, there are 4 people that I know face to face (aside from my husband) that I'm going through a rough time. Four. Out of all my family and friends, I've only told four people that I'm not doing okay. Why is that?
Because I can't deal with the pity. I can't deal with how they're going to react when they find out that I've been so off the deep end after this wonderful baby was born that I now require medical intervention. I can't deal with wondering what they're going to say about me behind my back to others. I can't deal with the shame.
And therein lies the crux. Shame.
I am fucking ashamed of myself for feeling this way and for needing help. Why? Why should I feel ashamed about a chemical imbalance that leaves me unable to control how I react? Because pretty much since the beginning of time, mental illness/instability has been something to be afraid of. It's been something to belittle and shame. It's been worthy of killing people, back in the good ol' days, or locking them up in a horrible institution to be experimented on - corkscrew lobotomy, amirite.
So today, I'm going to take a step in the right direction and share this struggle with my friends and family at large. I want them to know that where I may have hardships, I'm getting through it. I'm admitting that I have a problem, and that I need help and support. And dear God please let them help me.
One last thought before I close out. Everyone knows that I'm not the smallest score on the golf card. I'm big in heart and size. I wear a lot of colourful clothes, which I know has some people confused. Most bigger people tend to stick to darker colours in hopes that it will slim them down (but if you've ever watched What Not To Wear, you know that's mostly false). Not me, I love colour. And the reason for that is my (late) Gramma. I don't know how old I was, somewhere in my teenage years, and she berated me for wearing too much black. Said I should be wearing colour because I was too pretty to wear dark colours (as a Gramma is going to say regardless of if you're pretty or not). She would always compliment me on a good colour top, and give me that boost of confidence to wear it.So there's my closet, full of colour, thanks to my Gramma. Miss you and love you every day.
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