Do you hear the faint ringing of wedding bells in the distance?

You guys know how I just love countdowns?  Well, in 24 days, I'm getting married.

Bizarrely enough, it does not feel like I have already done this twice.

It feels like I'm doing it for the first time.  It's kind of magical, actually.  

Yesterday I put together a ceremony script for our officiant (including the vows) and sent it to Jimmy for his approval.

He texted me, "Well, I can tell by the first paragraph that I'm going to lose it at the wedding.  I'm welling up in McAllister's."

Um, good.  Cause I'm going for sappy and sentimental because that is how being with him makes me feel.

Like, (and this is probably the most telling example of what my life is like that I will ever give), I ate too much, and I was uncomfortable, and then, like, 5 minutes later it was bed time (all of this happens regularly), and I was whining about how uncomfortably full I was on the way up the stairs.

We got into bed and he got all comfortable.  But I kept tossing and turning and adjusting and moving and being totally obnoxious (not on purpose - I could not help it!)  And instead of raising his head and saying "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WOMAN, GET IT TOGETHER AND GET STILL!" like most people probably would have done (and rightfully so), he gently placed his hand on my back and said in the kindest, gentlest, most loving voice, "Just try to think about something else, baby."

Which caused me to stop dead in my tracks and smile the biggest smile and just say a little "thank you" prayer for that man and drift off into a blissful, peaceful sleep.

Little things like that probably seem insignificant to the people around us, but it's in those small moments that I feel more loved than anyone has ever made me feel.  

It's in those moments when no one is around and it's not a special occasion, and I've been wearing the same pajama pants for two days, and I'm covered in spit up, and my hair is a rats nest, but he'd still rather hang out with me in the den of chaos that is our home than do pretty much anything else.  

It's in those moments where he is unjustly angry with me, and I can calmly and succinctly state my case and walk into the other room to fold towels or do dishes (because I clean when I'm upset).  He always truly listens and thinks about what I say, and when he comes to the conclusion that his anger is unjust, he is a true man and walks into the room where I am scrubbing squash out of a onesie and begins his apology with a hug and ends with sincere and heartfelt words addressing the situation.

It's in those moments where one of us is in an absolutely foul mood, so the other one has been picking up the slack with the kids and the house and all the little fabulous components of being an adult to the point of breaking, and the one in the foul mood suddenly sees that her/his rock is beginning to crack and that it's time to suck it up and tag in and let that person regroup....and always immediately does.  There is no turning on the other person or taking advantage of their support.  It's leaning on the other but knowing you have to allow them to lean back on you as well in order for everyone to stay upright.

It's in those moments where I see clear evidence of the fact that I live with a friend.  I live with someone who genuinely cares about me and my well being.  I live with someone who is invested in me and who dreams with me.  I live with someone who places importance on many of the same things as me but also allows me to have my differences without making it out like they are my faults.  We have different political views.  We disagree on the right approach to handle the children in some areas.  We disagree about whether or not black olives are delicious and spinach is disgusting.  We disagree about how watching football is the most entertaining thing to do on earth and how watching baseball is like watching paint dry.  

But, like true companions...true friends....we respect each other.  We can see past our differences and recognize that just because he wants to eat thin crust pizza instead of ordering deep dish like God intended, he isn't a bad person.

I'm making a lot of jokes, but the truth is, Jimmy and I are good for each other.  We're our own little quirky family, and it all works so, so well.  Our home is a beautiful place to live, and I am so grateful for every day I get to spend with all the wonderful people who make it a home.  

I sincerely look forward to becoming a wife for what feels like the first time and for what I know in my heart will be the last time.

Learning through my little one

There are certain things that having a daughter is teaching me.

If I were to describe my body, I'd call myself "solid".  My legs are thick and muscular - some might say I have "thunder thighs".

Back when I was a teenager and on into my early twenties, I hated my build.  I wanted to be tall and thin - not short and stocky.  I'd do all kinds of exercises targeted at turning my thick legs into long, willowy limbs - not quite understanding that no matter how many leg lifts I did, my legs were never going to grow six inches in length or shrink six inches in circumference. 

Vivs seems to be headed in the same direction as my mother and me.  Jimmy says aloud constantly that he hopes she is built like me because he thinks it is beautiful.  That says something to me about the fact that he means it.  If you're wishing it on your child, it means you truly mean it.

And I have come to realize that I think it's beautiful too.  

When I was talking to Vivian the other day - as I do so often because she loves to be talked to - I told her, "baby, I think you are going to be built like your momma and your Nana.  And when people tell you that you are beautiful, you believe them because you truly are and always will be."

It's one thing to say this to my daughter, but in order to truly teach her to love herself, I have to live it.  Sure, I can watch what I say and not tear myself down in front of my children.  But it means nothing if I tear myself down to my friends when my kids aren't around.  It means I'm not taking the steps to live the example that I want my children to see.

Recently I bought a swimsuit.  It's a retro style bikini that covers up my scarred tummy but is a two piece swimsuit nonetheless.  When I got it in the mail, I took a picture of myself in it and sent it to my bridesmaids to show them.  I took a good long at myself in the picture and thought, you know what, this is who I am, and it's okay.

I'm trying to learn that it's okay to just be who I am.  I watch people of all shapes and sizes at the pool.  Some far smaller than me and some far larger than me.  Some are younger, older, taller, shorter (well, not many, but some).  There are people there from all walks of life hanging out and having fun with their families in their swimsuits.  Never, not once, have I looked at anyone at that pool and thought anything negative of them because of the way God made them.  I can honestly say that.  I can almost always find the beauty in different shapes and sizes and colors and religions and beliefs.  It's something I pride myself in.

So, if that is the way I want to view the world and the way I want my children to view the world, I have to start with me.  It's not just okay that I am built the way that I am - it's beautiful.  I've realized this because my daughter is quite clearly going to be built like me, and she is perfect, and I will go scary momma bear on anyone who dares to say otherwise.

Having boys taught me a lot about the world that I didn't know because there is no way I could ever have known because, duh, I'm a female.  

Having a daughter is teaching me lessons about being a female who loves herself.  Even though she hasn't waded into her own self image journey just yet, I appreciate her so much for what she is teaching me about how to prepare her for it, and I pray I am able to set a good example and teach her to love herself exactly as she is.

Having a daughter is truly incredible, and I am so thankful for mine.

Bullying

I feel like I should write something.  Right?

I mean, what is going on with us? 

Vivian is ridiculous.  She rolls over.  She sits up.  She squeals with delight.  Once she “talked” to a bush for half an hour at the pool.

Ah, the pool.  It’s where we spend every non-rainy Sunday-Funday.  I don’t know that I can ever spend another summer without a pool again.  We have met some of our neighbors what with it being a community pool.  Most of them I like.  Some of them I wish would imbibe a few less beers and teach their children not to be bullies.

On that note, I’m in this weird space of parenting where I have to figure out how to handle seeing other children bully my children while their parents are both present and drunkish.

Part of me wants to yell at everyone – GET YOUR SCARY, TWICE-THE-SIZE-OF-MY-SON SON AWAY FROM MY SON!  Part of me wants to encourage my boys to handle the situation on their own – STAND UP FOR YOURSELVES!!!  PUNCH THAT KID IN THE MOUTH!!!

It started with the kid taunting Silas.  “You’re four, and you still don’t know how to swim?!” and escalated to the boy physically picking up Silas and throwing him into the pool (Silas was wearing floaties, but he flipped his shiz all the same - and rightfully so).  The boy also continuously shot Gavin in the face with a water gun full of water from the water fountain (i.e. it was cold).  His mom did make sure to half-heartedly slur “make sure everyone else’s gun has cold water too, Kid’s Name.”  Except my kids weren't armed with water guns at all.  (Oh make no mistake, there will be a trip to Target prior to the next Sunday-Funday.  We will not be caught unarmed again!)

I think it wounded Jimmy’s pride more than he wanted to admit.  When it comes right down to it, blood and DNA matter not a lick.  Your people are your people, and those boys are his people. 

Silas is sensitive and bull headed.  Jimmy wanted Silas to just swim and prove to the bully that he could do whatever he put his mind to.  He quietly encouraged Silas to let go of the wall/rail/me and let his floaties support him.  

Silas didn’t care a thing about proving a thing to the bully.  He hung out on the steps with his floaties and would only jump to one of us and then cling to us for dear life when he decided to stray from the steps.  To which I say, “good for you.  Stay true to yourself.”

But that is the logical, “that is probably the right approach” part of my brain.  Because the momma-bear part of my brain wanted to throw the bully and his mother both in the pool and then shoot them repeatedly in the face with water guns full of cold water.

So, probably the best approach to handling bullying with my kids is to hover on the outside of it and let them handle it in their own sweet way unless and until I see absolutely no other choice but to throw folks into pools and shoot them with water guns.

Better

There is just not much time to blog these days.

Since the last thing I talked about was my new meds, I'll update you on that.

To sum it up: my give a damn done got up and went.  Mostly that is a good thing.

For example:
The momfail moments?  Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuch less frequent.  It is amazing how much more I enjoy my children and am able to spend real, quality time with them now that I'm not obsessing about things I can't control or things that I can control but that really aren't that important in the grand scheme of things.  I can just put things on hold that aren't absolutely necessary and sit in the floor and play with them or talk to them or read to them.  I can focus on meeting their needs/demands one at a time when they are all screaming/clammoring/climbing me like a jungle gym (whereas before I would lose it completely in a situation like that, and even if I kept my composure, I'd be internally seething with anger - but no longer).  I can completely overlook the things that used to drive me crazy and just laugh at their silliness and revel in their childlike behavior.

Remember a while back when I told you I had not been able to stop obsessing about money since my first panic attack in college?  Yes, well, I have found the magical cure for that.  For the last almost decade and a half, I have started worrying and obsessing and figuring and planning and crazy-making about my bills far in advance of pay day.  Now?  I don't worry about my bills until we get paid.  Then I immediately pay everything that is due out of that check and move on with my life.  Sometimes we have more money left over than other times.  Sometimes it gets seriously tight between paychecks.  But I am finally able to embrace the fact that everything has been okay financially for my entire life and everything will be okay going forward.  One way or another, we'll keep a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, gas in our tanks, and my kids will have everything they need.

Television does not mess with me as bad.  Certain anxieties creep up on me now and then when I'm watching certain things.  For instance, an episode of Cops where a two year old got hit by a car that I watched while my boys were with their dad almost sent me into a tailspin.  But most of the time, I am far more able to rationalize with myself.  And when that doesn't work I say a prayer for, say, my children's safety - especially while in the care of others - and leave it with God.

One thing I didn't realize I obsessed about until I wasn't obsessing about it anymore was making mistakes at work.  I'm pretty good at my job, but I'm also human.  I make mistakes.  We all make mistakes.  And while it is actually a pretty infrequent occurrence, I used to become paralyzed with fear that even the slightest (very fixable) mistake was going to cost me my job (I'm sure you can imagine the tumble down the rabbit hole that that provoked).  Now, I am better able to put my mistakes in perspective, fix them, and move on with my day.

Most importantly, I can let the trivial things go.  

Child: "Mom, I spilled X/broke Y/lost Z."
Me: "It's okay.  We can clean it up, fix/replace it, look for it together."

That is the kind of parent I have always wanted to be.  I just want to let my kids be kids and know it's totally okay to make mistakes, spill things, break things, lose things - not be perfect.  I don't want to give them anxiety disorders of their own.  I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy much less those who are most beloved to me.  And I was seriously getting concerned about Silas.

So, the best thing about this has been watching my kids relax and enjoy spending time with me more.  It has been setting a good example for them of how to react in the face of adversity or making a mistake.  It has done wonders for my relationships with them.

This medication has not made me a zombie.  I can still cry, but I don't cry at the drop of a hat.  I can still get angry, but I have a good reason or can quickly rationalize the situation if I don't.  I still worry, but it's over normal things and it's worrying, not obsessing.  And I can absolutely still feel love and joy and excitement and pride.  I actually feel like the total opposite of a zombie.  I feel like I'm engaged in life again.

My kids are incredible.  Each of them has qualities and characteristics unique unto themselves.  I'm happy they have a better mom now.  Not a perfect mom by any means but definitely a much better mom.  And I will fight to keep being this person or a better person than this for them.  

I will try to write more about what is going on in our lives.  Just wanted to say that things are really good right now (in the most long-winded way possible).

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!