Oh to be normal

What I initially thought was the baby blues or my hormones readjusting finally came to a head last week.  

By Thursday, I told Jimmy (and I quote) "It's like I want to claw my own skin off to get out of my body."  It was the only way I knew how to put it into words, and even that was not an adequate description of how desperate I was to get away from who I had become.

I don't really understand how my brain works or how changes in my hormones affect it. 

But what I began to notice was that I was either always bogged down and tearing myself apart - up, down- and sideways (depression) or agonizing and obsessing over things that were out of my control (anxiety).  I realized that I had lost all ability to live in the present.

I was right back to the angry, bitter, self-loathing person I thought I had shed last year.  I told Jimmy over and over again that I needed my medication adjusted.  I knew I wasn't right anymore, and I could feel it getting progressively worse.  

A few weeks ago, I made an appointment with a psychiatrist, but they could not get me in until July.  I thought I could grin and bear it until then.  And maybe I could have.  But the thing about depression and anxiety is that they aren't just an internal war affecting only you.  They affect everyone around you.

The people in my home deserve a much better version of me than what they were getting.  I literally couldn't stand myself, so I can't imagine what it must have been like to live with me.  Jimmy was as patient and kind and understanding as he always is.  Never once did he get angry with me, and when I would apologize over and over again and cry and swear to him I wasn't being that way on purpose, he would just comfort me and tell me he knows the real me and that he knew I wasn't doing any of it on purpose.  He would encourage me to do what I needed to do to get well again.

Just to pause here for a moment - this is an excellent example of how to treat anyone in your life who is struggling with anxiety/depression.  I assure you they are not doing it on purpose.  I assure you, they want desperately to just be normal again.

Finally, on Thursday, I broke down and made an appointment with Jimmy's PCP for the next morning.  I was sitting in my office unable to function and drowning in a pool of my own tears.  I couldn't handle it anymore.  

When I went in and talked to the doctor about the medication I was on and what was going on with me, he came up with a plan to get my medication adjusted and told me he'd work with me to make sure I stayed balanced.  So, I added another medication to what I have already been taking for over a year.

By yesterday afternoon, Jimmy said, "you have done a complete 180."  And I have.  I feel like a different person.  The racing in my head, the constant negative self-talk, the constant panicky feeling, the overwhelming irritability are gone.

When Gavin and Vivian were both having meltdowns at the same time yesterday, I was fine.  When I got stuck in traffic behind a wreck, I was fine.  When I thought/talked about the wedding, I was fine.

For now, I am okay again.  I am finally capable of fully living in the present again.

There are some people who have said to me they have coped with their depression by exercising and listening to upbeat music.  

I'm not a doctor, but to that I say this: When I use the word "depression", I'm not talking about having a bad day or a bad week or even a bad month.  I'm not talking about being bummed out.  I'm using the clinical term.  It is not something I can control or snap out of.  It doesn't matter how many happy thoughts I try to think or how many Brittany Spears albums I play on repeat or how many miles I jog.  It's not going away without professional intervention.  

Luckily for me, I have been dealing with this long enough to know what is normal for me and what is not.  But not everyone who is struggling with depression and/or anxiety has any freaking clue what is happening to them.  For the longest time, I just thought that was who I was and it was never going to change.  

Even after I was diagnosed with depression and an anxiety disorder, I thought it was something I would take medication for once for a while and then I'd be done with it.  Like the flu or strep throat.  It has been a long, slow learning process to understand that these are things I am going to have to monitor and work with a doctor over for the rest of my life.

So, my advice (and I'm sorry I'm forever shoving this down your throat, but it is just so important to me) is to please encourage those in your life who you know or think could genuinely be dealing with these issues to seek help through the proper channels.  Trivializing what they are enduring can make it so much worse.  We value the opinions of those we love, and when you already think you are going crazy or are struggling with "why can't I just snap out of this?!", having someone you love confirm your negative thoughts is quite detrimental. 

To those who judge people who take medication, I say, I will do whatever I have to do and face whatever judgment and stigma I have to face to be the kind of person my family deserves.  Not everyone has figured that out yet, so give them a chance to see what works for them.

And to those who say just give it to God...I do.  And God then sends me to medical professionals who He called to that profession to help those who come to Him desperately seeking to be healed.

Getting help can be the difference between life and death for some people, and my hope for those people is that there are people in their lives who will push them to seek that help and not further discourage them.  

But I'm not ready

None of my children have rolled over for the first time until about 4.5 months old.

Saturday, I placed Vivian on her tummy on a blanket on the floor.  She immediately proceeded to roll over onto her back.  Vivian won't be four months old for another week and a half.  So, I chalked it up to a fluke.

Well, then she did it again in front of our friends the next day.  Mmmmk.  I guess she can roll front to back.  She hasn't done it since, so I thought no more of it.

This morning, I walked in to find Vivian face down in her swing with her legs hanging over the end fast asleep.  Did you freak the freak out?!  Lil bit.  I scooped her up awakening her.  She smiled her perfect smile.  I took her over to the couch and laid her down to change her diaper.  She rolled over from her back to her stomach.

Mmmmk, I guess this is really happening.

I text all of the people who watch her and told them that under no circumstances is she to be left in any device without being strapped down, and she is certainly not to be left on furniture unattended.

And now I sit here and want to cry.  Ok, fine, I'm crying.

It's starting.  Her transition from helpless infant to mobile baby has begun.  

But I'm not ready.  I'm not ready for her to gain her independence and not need me anymore.  I'm not ready for her to sit up and roll over and crawl and walk and run and talk and head off to find her own way in the world.  I'm absolutely not ready.

Unfortunately for me, it does not matter whether I'm ready or not.  It's happening, and I have to find my  peace with my last baby starting the journey toward becoming her own amazing little person.

And so it begins.

Stuff and things

Here's a little update about what's been going on:

Vivian now smiles and laughs.  Also, she goos and coos and squeals with delight when you engage in a "conversation" with her.  She and I started what I call "gossip hour" when Jimmy was working out of town. After I put the boys to bed every night, I went down stairs and sat her up against my bent legs facing me, and we talked and laughed and made funny videos for daddy until she got cranky and passed out.  It must have brought out her inner chatter box because now she gets pissed if we skip gossip hour.  

The little traitor also seems to enjoy baseball.  If I need to do something (or want, you know, 15 minutes of blessed silence), all I have to do is track down a Texas Rangers game.  She will sit mesmerized by the game until a commercial comes on.  I told Jimmy that this is only acceptable if she likes football as well.

Gavin has taken to this little waddle-run that makes my heart hurt with the force of my love for him.  He is just the snugglyist, lovingist, most angelic, meanest, most tantrum-throwing baby you'll ever meet.  I love every, single tiny thing about him - even the tantrums.  I think it's because he's just like Jimmy and me.  He gets mad, he throws his 3 minute tantrum, gets up, and he's over it.  Completely done with it, and ready to play and snuggle and give kisses again.  There is no grudge holding.  I hope he stays like that forever.

Silas is really coming into his own.  As much as I loathe making that school payment every week, it has done him a world of good.  His social skills have developed exponentially (but I could do without hearing about which girl he is going to "marry" on any particular day...the teenage years are going to be fuuuuun with that one).  But he is also learning, like, everything.  He knows so many things that blow my mind.  We will be driving in the car, and he'll start spouting off about things I learned in probably 3rd grade.  He asks a million questions, but they are mostly intelligent questions, and he can mostly follow when I answer them (with probably far more info than he wants or needs).  The pain in the arse that has been (and will continue to be) the preschool experience seems like it is going to be well worth it when Silas starts kindergarten.

Now, as for me....ugh.

My bridesmaids suggested I might start planning my wedding what with it being three months away and all.

And....so....fine.  I'm doing that.  

It's incredible the added amount of stress that paying for your own wedding causes.  Luckily, I'm older now with more connections and resources.  So, things are actually coming together pretty well, and I am excel spreadsheeting and list making and Pinteresting and delegating my little heart out.  

I do look forward to the wedding day.  Our goal is to make it a fun day that reflects what is important to us - our family, our friends, laughter, and love.

This weekend is dress shopping with my mom, my aunt, and my lil princess Viv.  Girls day!  Can't wait!

It's finally Friday

This whole week has been a mess.  I told you about what happened Monday in yesterday's post.  The rest of the week was just one frustration after another.  My favorite example of said frustration? Yesterday, I tripped over the hose attached to the gas pump that was pumping fuel into my car and covered myself, my dress, and my car in gas.  (Sigh)

I spent yesterday's lunch break at Target.  It was my little cousin's birthday, so I needed to get her a card.  But because I felt so defeated, I decided to do a couple of nice things for myself as well.

1. I bought myself a new book.  

I have both a Kindle and an iPad, but sometimes I really miss having an actual book in my hands.  I have been wanting to read the Divergent series (yes, I have heard it all falls apart in book 3, but whatever).  The paperback of the first book was $8, so in my little basket it went.  Every time I remembered buying it throughout the day, I got a little thrill of excitement.  I could not wait to get home and read it. (Was instantly sucked in - stayed up too late reading - so much coffee has been consumed today).

2. I bought the stuff to make homemade shampoo.

If you are on Pinterest, you probably come across 10 pins about this homemade shampoo every time you get on the site.  Over the past 6 months, I have been trying to find a routine that works for my hair.  I have tried 400 types of shampoo/conditioner, changed up the frequency of washing, and was on the verge of buying Wen, which is supposed to be great, but $30 a month for shampoo is really more than I care to spend.

Anyway, I had been hearing that the homemade shampoo/"conditioner" was not as harsh for your hair as store bought.  So, I figured I'd try it.  All the ingredients were less than $2.

In case you don't have Pinterest or what not:

Shampoo - in an empty bottle, add 1 tbsp of baking soda for every 8 ozs (1 cup) of water.  Shake.  That's it.

Conditioner - in an empty bottle, add 1 tbsp of apple cider vinegar for every 8 ozs (1 cup) of water.  If you'd like it to be scented, you can add essential oils (like lavender).  If not, your hair just doesn't smell like anything.  There is no vinegar smell.  Promise.  Shake before you use.  That's it.

I was excited to try it this morning.  I got in the shower, used both products and didn't really know how to feel about the lack of lather, etc.  I decided to let my hair air dry without using any products.  When I do that with shampoo/conditioner, my natural waves look frizzy and fried and don't really "wave" properly.  I wanted to see if the same was true for the homemade stuff.

After my hair had dried, I took a selfie in the car (because I intended to blog about it and knew my hair would end up in a ponytail inside of 30 minutes when I got into my office).

These are my results.  Not bad, right?

I'm pretty happy with the low budget, low maintenance hair care thing.  I'm going to stick with it.  I do think I will add some essential oils because I miss the amazing smelling hair part of shampoo.

So, for $10, I was able to do a little something nice for myself that made me feel better about this awful week.

Tonight, my fiance returns home for good.  No more kissing goodbye and missing him for a week at a time.

TGIF, y'all. T.G.I.F.

Be still

Sunday night, Jimmy and I got into an argument.  He is still out of town, so I went to bed mad and woke up mad.

He tried calling me several times the next morning to sort things out, but I ignored his calls because I just did not want to talk.  And I am stubborn and will do things at my own pace.

For some reason, when he called me at 8:25ish, I answered.  I don't know what made me do it because I had not yet decided to deal with our argument.

After saying a grumpy hello, I heard, "I'm getting worried.  The nurse from my sister's school called and left me a voicemail, and I cannot get in touch with her."

So, I pushed thoughts of our argument to the back of my mind - although I had every intention of getting that resolved in due time - and was in the middle of advising him to call the front office when he said he had to go because her husband was calling him.

It's amazing how quickly a family emergency can bring a squabble into perspective.  The argument no longer mattered.  All that mattered was that something was wrong with a member of my family.  

And that is when I began to pray.

When the phone rang again, Jimmy's voice came over the line in sobs.  It took me a minute to get him calmed down to find out what was going on.  

"She has had a seizure and is unconscious."

"Do you want me to come get you?"

"Let me get more information about what is going on."

"I'm going to go to work to find someone to cover for me."

When I got to work, Jimmy kept me updated on the information being funneled to him through his dad and his sister's husband.  

His sister had had an aneurysm, but everyone told him that things seemed okay and to stay put (he was two hours away).  They were transferring her to a different hospital that was better equipped to deal with this sort of thing.

My gut kept telling me, GO GET HIM! But he kept telling me to just wait and asked if I could just go up to the hospital and check on her.  

So, I wrapped up work and was heading to my car to drive to the hospital when I got yet another phone call.

"They can't stop the bleeding.  She is going in for brain surgery.  They don't think she is going to make it.  They told me to come home."  He was sobbing once more.

Now, I do not know whether you have ever been tasked with a four hour round trip drive to get someone you love to the only close family member he has because there is a distinct possibility she may not survive brain surgery.  I do not wish it on anyone.  Ever.

Panic set in, and I kept thinking, what if she dies before I can get him to her?!  What if he doesn't get to see her again or say goodbye?!

It was in this panic-fueled state that I decided that I had to do something.  I called upon everyone I could think of to pray.  And then I prayed aloud while sobbing and driving.  Begging as if I were beseeching God for the life of one of my own children.  "Please, do not take her from him.  Please."  The praying was constant.  The fear was paralyzing.  And the hurt did not ebb.

To be completely truthful, I was not just hurting for Jimmy.  I was hurting because the thought of losing this woman was incredibly painful to me as well.  She is the kind of person you just feel privileged to know.  I kept thinking, she was just sitting on my couch yesterday.  She was down in the floor playing with Vivian.  I just saw her, and she was fine.

But from all accounts, things were not hopeful.

All I could do was drive and pray.  It was during all this driving and praying and beginning to feel hopeless that I heard something very familiar.  

"Be still and know that I am God."  

It was somehow comforting.  It was a helpless feeling to know I couldn't fix any of this for anyone.  I couldn't fix the bleeding in her brain.  I couldn't fix my fiance's broken heart.  I couldn't fix the terror of her entire family and all of her friends.  So, to be reminded that God was in control was comforting.  I still did not know what His will would be, but I knew that He had an eye on things.

When I finally arrived at the hotel, Jimmy and I collapsed into each other and cried some more.

And then we received a glimmer of hope.

"Your dad just text me.  She made it through surgery."  Relief flooded me.  In my head, Thank you, God.  Thank you, God.  Thank you.  Please continue to keep her safe.

We got in the car and headed back to Dallas.  My eyes flickered over to my phone screen every few minutes.  Praying that it would not go off again.  No news was good news.

The drive was long and quiet.  We never travel in silence, but turning on the radio just did not feel right.  So, neither of us did.  We both stayed lost in our own thoughts. 

When we arrived at the ICU, I peaked in through a crack in the door, and she was lying there looking quite peaceful. 

Her daughter came out and told us that she would respond to us if we talked to her.  After the rest of her family left, we went and stood next to her.  Jimmy told her we were there.  She turned her head toward us, opened her eyes, and then closed them again.  That was enough for the moment.  She was responsive, and that was all we needed for now.

We went home and marveled at the day, and I knew to my core that God had had His hand guiding the surgeons.  I knew to my core that God had played a very large role in her surviving surgery.

I wondered quietly to myself how this would affect her.  For the moment, it didn't matter because we still had her.  She was still with us.

Jimmy and I decided that we would go up to the hospital together on my lunch break the following day.

I think we were both expecting her to still be pretty much the same as the day before.

Imagine my shock when we rounded the corner and she was sitting in a chair smiling, talking, and laughing.  It was as if she had not just survived an aneurysm and brain surgery.  It was the closest thing I have ever seen to a miracle.  It felt like I had personally won the lottery, and I have only known her a year and a half.  I can't imagine the emotions coursing through everyone else.

I text her husband this morning and learned that she has been up walking.  She is making continual progress.  Things are looking very good.  It is incredible to me.

I wrote this as a reminder that there is a God up there, and He is listening, and He does care.  My heart is filled with gratitude all over again just typing this.  

I talk to God regularly about my random, trivial nonsense.  I pray all the time.  Sometimes literally just chit-chatting.  But the praying I did on Monday was a whole different kind of praying entirely.  It was a broken, desperate pleading.  It was an "I really need You to hear me here" kind of prayer.  I'm incredibly grateful that He loves me and that He listened when I called out to Him and then reminded me that He is still in control.  I had no idea how it would all play out, but He at least gave me the comfort of knowing He was there.  He was in the midst of it all.  He had not forgotten any of us.

He never does.

momFAIL stuff - what else?

I know I have been terribly quiet lately.  It's not because I don't have things to blog about.  I have tons, really.

What I don't have is time.  

I'm stealing this ten minutes while I have literally three other projects going in the background that I have to wait on to move forward.

Anyway, I came by to 1. spill more of my momFAIL crap and 2. to share a link with you.

Mostly, I have been doing really well with managing everything since I went back to work - especially considering I am doing so with my fiance working out of town (lest you are a crazy person and get any ideas, I have an alarm system, a gun, a dog that will chew your face off, and a pretty scary step dad 3 blocks away).

So, right.  It's been me and the kiddos, but sometimes it's more like the kiddos vs. mom with the score always 3-0 their favor.

Last night I had to go to the grocery store, and I (obviously) had to take all three of them.  And Silas (obviously) asked for every single thing that caught his eye despite me repeatedly saying, "we are only getting the things on our list.  Please stop asking for other things." (There were things he had specifically requested on the list, so I wasn't just being mean).  We did that about 30 times, and I was a little irritated, but still okay.

Upon turning into our neighborhood, Vivian woke up and started crying.  When we got home, I had two choices: let her cry and get the boys a quick dinner OR feed her and listen to them wailing about being hungry while trying to destroy everything in sight in protest.  Either way, someone was going to be mad.  

When Gavin was an infant, someone told me, "if someone has to wait, let it be the baby.  He won't remember that he had to wait, but Silas will remember if you always prioritize the baby over him."  That makes sense to me.  Also, it is better for the boys to be occupied when I'm feeding Vivian as that is a very vulnerable time for me/our house/the dogs as I am limited in my ability to grab up small children who are getting into things they should not.  So, I chose to put together something quick for the boys, make us all something to drink, and then go feed Vivian.

As my super amazing luck (this is sarcasm as will soon be obvious) would have it, the boys finished dinner before I finished feeding Vivian.  They mosied into the living room where I was sitting on the couch feeding Vivian.  We don't have a coffee table or end tables, so I had my glass of water in the floor.  I told Silas repeatedly to pay attention and not knock it over.  Things got increasingly chaotic while I sat there trying to feed Vivian and the boys vied for my attention.  I could feel my blood pressure rising.  I could feel myself getting overwhelmed.

Finally, it was close enough to bed time for me to declare that little boys needed to head upstairs to get ready for bed.  "Silas, watch that cup" I said as I got up to put Viv in her swing.  I turned around and the cup was on it's side.  Carpet soaked and littered with ice.

Now, this is the kind of stuff I HATE to admit to anyone because it is so shameful.  But the whole point of this is that I'm trying to change, and in order to change I need to be accountable.

I saw the cup on it's side merely 2 seconds after telling the boy to pay attention, and this:

Me, red faced, steam coming from ears: "Seriously?!  I told you to pay attention and not knock that cup over."

Silas: "Sorry, mom."

Me, irrationally angry: "that is one more mess I have to clean up now, Silas.  You have GOT to start paying attention!"  

(I hate myself just typing this).

And then I picked up the cup stomping toward the stairs yelling over my shoulder, "let's go, upstairs, now!" and then I threw the cup at the sink so hard, it broke. (Sigh. I suck.)

Once I had the kids in bed, Vivian fed, the downstairs cleaned, and had had sufficient time to calm down and feel like a complete asshole, I decided to google, "why do I yell when I get angry" in hopes of finding a way to control my temper better.  

What I got was this article.  There is some back and forth in the comments about the advice in it.  Some people think it's bad advice, some think it's good.  Personally, I like some of it and could do without some of it.  But the point was not to get a step-by-step plan to blindly follow.  The point was to get suggestions from other parents who have been where I am and have found ways to do better and be better for their kids.

I text Jimmy last night and said, "if someone offered me the choice between a free tummy tuck and the ability to have complete control over my temper and my emotions, I'd choose the latter every time."  That's saying a lot because I loathe my stomach and wish all the time that I could get it fixed.  But treating people (especially my little people) with kindness and respect in all situations is infinitely more important to me.

So, the article.  It offered some helpful tips, and this morning when I overslept, I kept those tips in mind every time I could feel myself getting frustrated.  I just made myself calm down and remember that they are kids and running behind is not the end of the world.

I was 15 minutes late to work, but I didn't start my kids' day in a way that hurt them or made them afraid or sad.  I didn't push them away and give them a reason to tune me out.  This morning, I was able to focus on rolling with it and being the kind of mom I want to be all the time.

The article warned that even when you start making an effort to be more in control of your reactions, you are going to slip up but to just keep trying.  And I think that is good.  No one needs the pressure to never make a mistake and to always be perfect.  What we need is the fortitude to get up and keep trying even when we do make those mistakes.

For now, my kids have one less memory of mom losing her shit because I actually made a real effort to not unleash my grown up temper and grown up frustrations on them.  I made an effort to be a good example and show them how I pray they conduct themselves in the face of frustration.

That is at least a step in the right direction.  And I'm going to keep trying and keep praying that God helps me take the steps to become a better mom and a kinder, gentler person.

I shared this thing about me of which I am terribly ashamed because I want to be helpful to other parents who are maybe struggling with the same issue, and I found the article helpful.

So, maybe you are judging me.  I don't really know, and I can't waste the energy to care.  I spent too much of my childhood feeling unimportant and unloved and unwanted.  If I can help in any small way to end that for another child, it's worth all the judgment in the world.

Have a nice Tuesday.

Missing stories about me failing at life?

Well, let me remedy that.

So, I kept telling myself while I was pregnant with Vivian that I was probably worried about juggling 3 kids far more than I needed to be.  After all, two wasn't nearly as bad as I thought.

I could not have been more wrong.

Three is far worse than I thought.  And I think mostly it is to do with the timing.  At least that is what I'm telling myself to make myself feel better about how poorly I am managing all of this.

Timing as in: kids born 15 months apart...just don't.  Ever.  Just. Don't.

And: Fiance now has a job that leaves him less than available for helping out very much.

And: I'm getting old and tired and my energy is rapidly dwindling.

People keep asking me how it is to be back at work.  

Um, it's amazing.  All those times I was banging on about not being cut out to be a stay at home mom?  OMG, so. so. right.  But just for funsies, I make myself feel guilty about it - about not being desperate to stay home with my children every day and about being relieved to be back at work and about not shedding a single tear when I dropped any of them off on Monday and raced like mad to Dallas and an office building with my quiet, quiet office to do my job which I actually feel like I'm pretty good at.

That is the thing though about me staying at home with them.  I felt like an unaccomplished failure every, single day.  Every day.  Over and over again, things would just fall apart and I'd sit on the couch and cry and be mad at my baby daddies for giving me my perfect, healthy, amazing children who I love with all of my heart and mad at my children for just, you know, being kids and doing kid things.  I even had a melt down at my OB's office right as she walked into the room (obviously catching me in the melt down) and made her question whether or not I had post partum and needed medication.  My response: "Honestly, I think I just need to go back to work."

Mostly, that is true.  Jimmy has been floored by the change in me.  I feel like a normal person again...most of the time.

This morning is an exception to that.  This morning, I compromised my sanity for 20 minutes of extra sleep.  (So not worth it!)  So, there was rushing and yelling and crying and being mad at the whole world and forgetting: my anxiety medication, my allergy medication, and (and this is the best one) diapers for Vivian.  

Big, fat, fabulous FAIL on my part.

But it's okay because it isn't a 24 hour, 7 day a week fail over and over and over again like my own personal Groundhog Day hell.

That is kind of the messed up beautiful part about it.  After spending two solid months feeling like a 24/7 screw up, having one of those really, really bad momfail mornings didn't bog me down like it would have pre-Vivian.

Growth, y'all.  Growth.

Tonight is operation: get my shit together so that we have fewer momfail mornings.  Wish me luck.