Heal these scars

Some people have scars that cannot be hidden, ones that mark their bodies in a way that they cannot cover up. Others stare at the mismatched flesh on their faces, their heads, their arms, or their hands, and wonder what tragedy caused them to carry that reminder around forever.

For the rest of us, life deals us whatever set of circumstances that leaves us wounded inside, where no one can see. Every one of us is left scarred in our own way, each to our own extent.

It can be easy to conveniently forget about the pain that caused these injuries, or the fact that you need to deal with them, when they don't stare back at you in the mirror every day. But sometimes, they come screaming back to the surface when you least expect it.

It's not always a bad thing, though.

I'll explain.

Some friends of ours had their first baby on Thursday night. I used my lunch break on Friday to go visit them at the hospital and take them a gift. The new baby was adorable. He slept with a sweet little smirk on his face and just seemed so happy. I was really glad for my friends as the new mom talked about how the baby was barely fussing, was nursing like a champ, was perfectly healthy....

But....there are these other feelings. Like the fact that I wanted to cry in that room, because everything was so relaxed, without everyone worried about things like, "Oh, the baby won't eat, what's going on with this, she doesn't want to eat...." "Nursing just isn't working right now, we're going to have to go ahead and supplement...." "She isn't strong enough for this bottle, you're going to have to feed her from this syringe..." "She has a heart murmur, she's going to need an echo, we can't discharge her until it's been sent up to Dallas to be evaluated by the pediatric cardiologists there...."

It's hard to explain exactly how I was feeling, because I wasn't expecting it at all. Sad, because this baby was only 18 hours old, and their family was already having experiences we were somewhat cheated out of? Or does that make me jealous?

At any rate, it's simple to say that as wonderful and incredible as Brooklyn is, our life with her as a baby has not been what most people would consider normal, although it continues to improve all the time. It was not what I expected or pictured when I imagined having a newborn. I have a million and one beautiful memories. But I have a lot that have also, I guess, scarred me as well.

So, this sweet baby's mom asked me if I wanted to hold him. Of course I did. But I have not held a brand new little one since Brooklyn. I took him in my arms and sat down in the chair by the window and let the sun warm my face. The most peaceful feeling had overcome me, pushing away the stress that I usually cannot rid myself of. The baby boy smirked and smiled and made his tiny baby squeaks as I rocked him back and forth. I just let myself feel....relaxed and calm and happy.

And I started thinking.

Time doesn't heal all wounds. Maybe a better experience, a second chance, is what really does.

I feel like time isn't the answer. More than three years since I had delivered my daughter, I was standing there in that recovery room ready to bawl. I felt like I needed to cover my scars like the man who is ashamed of his old wounds that stay exposed for the world to see.

So, for the very first time since having my daughter, I thought that I might be ready to try to have another child. The thought has not so much as crossed my mind in three years; when other people ask me about it, it completely overwhelms me. I can't handle it, I think. But the reason is, my brain has always automatically thought that everything would be just the same as it was the first time for us. We don't know parenthood any other way.

My worries are many.

But I have hope. I have faith that it could be different this time.

And I want to heal these scars.

Leaving my mark

She is a nearly-blank slate, this beautiful little girl.
She is starting to make a few marks of her own.

But...

someone has to show her how.

So,

by the words I speak,

by the way I say them,

by the way I touch her,

by the way I treat others,

by telling her how proud of her I am,

by telling her what a great job she is doing,

what a beautiful, wonderful, smart, lovely little girl she is,

and that I will love her more than anything, no matter what,

by giving her hugs,

kisses,

attention,

and time,

I will draw on the slate that is my amazing daughter.

I want her to have the pieces that are missing from my own work of art.

I will tell her the things that I wanted to be told so badly.

I know how important these words are to a little girl...

And to a girl who is not so little anymore.

I have to be careful that my lines are drawn perfectly straight,

that my curves are perfectly rounded.

I hold my breath and pray

that I don't make any mistakes.

Because I can't erase any marks I make on this canvas.

There is no room for error with a responsibility of this magnitude.

I want her to love everything about the beautiful painting that she becomes,

and know that every mark I ever made

was with complete and utter love

for everything that she is

and will become.

Doing it on my own: EPIC FAIL.

I have been an extremely bad blogger and reader lately. But I've been bad at a lot of things in my life, and I'm finally going to attempt to explain.

About four months ago, I finished breastfeeding Brooklyn and was able to switch antidepressants. I wanted to get off Lexapro because my doctor had told me that after a year, it caused weight gain. I had suspected that it was already responsible for the weight that had been creeping on and would not go away, no matter what I did. So my doctor had said to call when Brooklyn was weaned, and they would switch me to Wellbutrin, which is better for the weight issue. But when I called, they said I couldn't just switch, I had to wean myself off the Lexapro slowly. I had been taking 20 mg a day. I had to drop back to 10 mg a day for a 2 weeks, then one every other day for 2 weeks, then one every third day for a week. I was supposed to call them for the Wellbutrin prescription when I got down to every third day.

But by the time I got down to that one pill every third day, I decided that I was doing all right. And here's the thing: I was prescribed that medicine for post-partum depression. Can you really say you have post-partum depression anymore when you have a toddler? Hardly. I was a bit more emotional, I cried at more things, both happy and sad. I figured it was just the fact that I didn't have the pills acting as a numbing barrier between me and my life anymore. I decided that I was ready to feel everything again. I stopped taking the Lexapro, and I did not call for the Wellbutrin. I was done.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for feeling like I was all right to turn into feeling miserable. I was sad and unhappy and overly sensitive and angry at everything, I didn't want to go anywhere, I wanted to sleep all of the time, I fought with my husband about ridiculous things that normally wouldn't upset me. I cried countless times every day, again, often about things that weren't even that big of a deal.

Dave didn't get the carseat out of my car before I went to work, so he couldn't go get Brooklyn's prescription like I had asked him to. She was going to miss a dose. It was his off day. Why did he have to be so damn lazy? I was so, so angry. Why should she have to suffer because he doesn't listen to me? Meltdown.

Brooklyn had diarrhea on her Tucker sling an hour before bedtime. I didn't know how I was going to get it clean before she had to go to sleep. Dave was leaving for work. Brooklyn was pulling on my leg screaming and fussing. I stood there bawling.

I don't know. There are probably dozens of these scenarios I'd rather not think about because they just aren't me. Normally. But I let it go on for months. Stubbornness.

I sat at my friend's house and cried and told her about what was going on. "You know what you have to do," she said. "You already told me you're not okay. That's what these medicines are for. You told me that before."

"But how are you ever supposed to know when you can stop? Am I just supposed to be on these pills forever or something? I don't want that. That's ridiculous."

"You tried it without them, it didn't work. You're not ready. You have a lot of stress. You have too much going on. Maybe you can try again in a year or something."

I still did nothing.

On a day when I was at work and had treated my husband particularly badly, I had been ignoring his calls for some time. I finally picked up the phone to talk to him. He told me how frustrated he was with me, but that he knew how bad I had been feeling. "I really think you weren't ready to stop taking your medicine," he said. "You need to call your doctor."

"I'm not same damn psych patient that needs to be monitored on their meds," I snapped back.

"I'm not saying that! You're the only person who thinks that! You're so hypocritical! You work in this job where you tell people they need to get help, where you tell people it's okay to be on these medicines, that they help them, and then you think you're the only person who's above taking them. You won't even tell your own mom about it because you're so damn ashamed of it! I don't get you!"

Here come the tears. "That's easy for you to say. You don't have to take them."

"But I would. If something happened at work or something, and it affected the way things were at home between me and you and Brooklyn, I would do it, and I know you wouldn't judge me for it, right?"

"Hold on." I had to get up and close my office door before the serious waterworks started.

"Okay," I said, "I just don't get it. How can Brooklyn be 18 months old and I still have post-partum depression?"

"Baby. You don't. You just have depression now."

Now I was bawling like a baby. "W-w-w-whyyyyyyy???"

"I don't know why, baby. We just have to deal with it."

"That's not fair. I wasn't like this before."

"I know."

"I hate me. I hate this."

"I know. But Brooklyn loves you, and I love you. And we need you to be happy."

It still took me two weeks to make myself go to the doctor. I did it though. I'm taking Cymbalta now. It's been three weeks, and I'm having a hard time on it. I am starting to feel less depressed, but I'm very, very sick to my stomach and exhausted all of the time. I'm also taking a new medication for my migraines along with it, so I'm not sure if they're working together to make me feel awful. The 14 pounds I've lost is not too shabby though. I'm working through it. This too shall pass, right? Just bear with me, bloggy friends.

So much for doing it all by myself.

Night watch

My husband moves to night shift tonight. Full-on, 6 pm til 6 am overnights. And I am full of anxiety and fear over it.

I do not want to be at home alone. I am scared. No, make that terrified.

Let me explain why.

I didn't blog about it, but there was a night back in May of this year when a man tried to break into our house at three in the morning.

We were home, asleep. Our dogs woke suddenly and ran to the foot of our bed, barking wildly. We quieted them, then there was another sound. We weren't sure what it was. The dogs went crazy again. We got them calmed down again. Then there was another noise that sounded like someone walking on the wood laminate floor in our living room. "Okay," I whispered, "That sounds like footsteps."

Dave got out of bed and let the dogs down. They charged out of the room, growling and barking. But it was as if there was an invisible perimeter on the living room rug that they would not pass. They absolutely would NOT go any further. Dave picked up his flashlight and shone it around the living room. He would later tell me that someone else flashed a different colored flashlight on our dogs. He hurriedly came back in the bedroom. I was still sitting on our bed. "Call 911," my husband hissed. "Someone's here. I don't know if they're inside or outside, but someone's here."

"What?", I whimpered. "Brooklyn...Brooklyn...." Her bedroom is on the opposite side of the house. "Call 911. Now," Dave growled.

Dave grabbed his shotgun and went to the edge of the living room. He cocked it and roared, "GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!!!"

My trembling fingers fumbled with the cell phone. First I dialed 811. Then 911. The dispatcher answered and asked what my emergency was. I told him my full address and that someone was either trying to break into our house or was already in our house. I was practically hyperventilating as I told him, "My baby...I can't get to her...she's on the other side of the house...my husband's a cop....he's trying to clear the house....I can't get to my baby....my baby...."
Then the dispatcher asked me if I was calling from within the city limits of the major city about 10 miles away from us. UM, NO. I GAVE YOU MY FULL ADDRESS, INCLUDING TOWN, WHEN I CALLED!!!! "Then you need their police department, ma'am. Let me transfer you." AND HE PUT ME ON HOLD!!!

So by then I was definitely hyperventilating and shaking harder than I probably ever have and I had to relay the whole situation to the dispatcher in my actual town. And I could no longer hear Dave....I could occasionally hear a door or see flashing lights and I had no idea what was going on, I just needed to get to my Baby Bear so, so bad.

I think once I was on the phone with the proper dispatcher for all of three minutes before the police arrived at our house. But....oh my God, you want to talk about time creeping by. I slumped against our closet door. "Oh my God...please make them hurry...please, please, my baby, my little baby girl, please, I can't get to her, please, I have to get to her, please, please make them hurry, oh my God, I'm so scared...."

As it turned out, no one had gotten inside of our house. They had been in our backyard, they had come through our back gate. There were footprints in the mud leading up to the window where Dave had seen the flashlight shining in.

And that was that. The police couldn't find him. A man was arrested breaking into houses in a neighboring town with a similar M.O. a few days later. Maybe it was him. Maybe not.

Brooklyn never woke up once through the whole ordeal. Not even after the police left, when I collapsed next to her crib, crying.

And THAT is why I do not want to be home alone at night. I can't do this. What am I supposed to do if something like this happens again and my husband isn't home? I am absolutely terrified of not being able to protect my baby girl.

So. Do I take a sleeping bag into her room and sleep on her floor? My alarm will wake her up when I have to get up for work. Dave won't let me move her crib into our room. I have thought about putting her Tucker sling/wedge that she sleeps on onto our bed next to me so that she can sleep there, but Dave would have to move her and the whole apparatus when he gets home at 6 or 6:30 a.m., and I'm sure it would wake Brooklyn. I hate to shake up her sleep routine in any way whatsoever when she has just started sleeping so well the past few months, but I am just so afraid that I don't know what to do. The worry and fear are absolutely suffocating me this week. I am petrified of tonight. Ideas??????

This machine cannot communicate these thoughts and the strain I am under....

I knew I hadn't blogged in a while, but I was shocked to get on here and see that it had been just a couple of days short of a month since my last entry.

Allow me to attempt to explain myself.

No, I can't give you a single specific reason why I haven't been writing. I will tell you that I started this blog to be my personal, somewhat-anonymous space where I could say what I wanted, where I could vent and worry and talk about things that I am normally too afraid to talk about in real life. Well, either afraid to talk about or I just don't feel like anyone wants to hear about it. And now, apparently I am getting that way with my blog too.

I could write about how more often than not, my marriage seems to be crumbling. How my husband and I fight for hours at a time, days at a time, yell at each other, and how I want to hit him so badly for saying the hurtful things he says to me. How I have cried so hard that I cannot stop and end up having panic attacks in the middle of the night, because I never, ever thought that we would be like this, and I never would have dreamed that I would feel the way that I do about him so often now.

I could blog about how my brother was living in a Wal-Mart because he has been kicked out of overy homeless shelter in town because he refuses to stop using drugs. I could tell you about the call my parents got from one of my brother's friends, saying that my brother had a cyanide pill and planned to take it soon to end his life. How my parents asked me to help, and so I knew nothing else to do but to use my connections at work to have a probation violation warrant issued for his arrest. I went and told his probation officer's supervisor about every violation that I knew of. I found out where he was going to be dropped off and when on the day said warrant was released. I stayed on the phone with the officers as they found and followed him, and arrested him. How my brother said he would kill himself in jail and my guilt related to that. What kind of person orchestrates her own brother's arrest? Me, apparently, when I see no other way to try to save him from himself. But if something happens to him behind those bars, I will never be able to forgive myself. Because although I am not the REASON he is in jail, I put him there.

I could write about my worst fear in the world right now...that at sixteen months, my baby girl has stopped using all of her words. How every word with the exception of "Dada" has seemingly disappeared from her little mind. That it has been nearly a month since I have heard her sweet, tiny baby voice say "Mama", "baby", "apple", "hi", "hey", "bye", "puppy", "egg", or "fish". That she no longer points at pictures in books, asking to hear the words for everything by saying "This? This?" How I am completely terrified of that horrible, ugly A-word...autism. That my husband is sick with worry over it because it runs in his family. "If she has it," he says, "it would be all my fault." And that it is taking what seems like a million years to have her evaluated or seen by her pedi. That I truly don't know if I could handle that diagnosis. I am so afraid to even think of it as a possibility, to type or speak the word. As if doing so will curse her with that condition or make it suddenly real. It tears me into a million little pieces.

I could write about any of those things.

But I end up pushing it all back down inside, rolling my fear and anger and guilt and sadness and worry into a ball in the pit of my stomach, and not using this blog for what it was intended to be - my only outlet for all of these feelings and fears. I tell myself that no one wants to read whiny, negative entries. That if I write the things that I am thinking, that people will think I am some kind of self-pitying, bitchy, crybaby drama queen.

And then I can't think of anything else I have to say, because all of these horrible feelings seem to consume me completely these days.

And no one wants to hear about that, right?

My disappointing Mother's Day

Today it is dreary and drizzly outside, and it just seems appropriate. I am just having one of those days.

Mother's Day was really disappointing for me. My husband is usually so great about making me feel special and planning sweet little surprises on important days. But yesterday, he said nothing about Mother's Day. We had been up for a couple of hours when I finally asked him if he knew what day it was. "Yeah, it's Mama's Day," he replied. And that was that.

I didn't need him to make a big huge deal out of the day or anything. I didn't need him to buy me an expensive present or plan anything elaborate. I just needed him to acknowledge the day. To give me a card from my daughter or something like that, since she isn't old enough to do so herself. Just to tell me that he knows how hard I am working to be a great mommy to our sweet baby girl. Just....something.

Instead, I pretty much ended up feeling like I must be doing such a shitty job as a mom that I wasn't worthy of a Mother's Day sentiment. If it wasn't for my daily dose of the emotion-stifling Lexapro, I think I would have been doing a lot of crying yesterday. Last night, while my husband slept soundly beside me, I laid in bed staring at the ceiling fan and feeling increasingly worse about myself and my (lack of?) motherly abilities. Today, I feel like I have a hangover from the sadness and disappointment of yesterday. And the weather seems to understand.

A year later....

I looked back through my sparsely-updated Myspace blog today and found something that I wrote almost exactly a year ago:

I'm scared! The closer I get to the end of this pregnancy, the more aware I am of how it all has to end. I am terrified of giving birth. I'm scared to death of the pain, contractions, episiotomies, pushing the baby out, tearing, all the possible complications for the baby and for me, and all the gory aftermath of childbirth. And it's going to happen SOON. I do not feel at all ready for this. It's supposed to be easier if you relax, but I don't see any possible way for that to happen.

And then...she won't be in my belly anymore. I know she will be here...but how weird, after 9 months. A friend told me this week, "You're going to miss rubbing that belly." I hadn't really thought about how strange that will be until then. I love feeling her move around inside of me, and it will be kind of sad to not have that anymore!

I'll be a mommy then. Will I do okay? Can I love her enough? I see so many messed up people who had messed up childhoods in my line of work. I am terrified that I will do something wrong and ruin her life. I don't know if I am ready or capable. I just want to do everything right.

I love her so much already. It's hard for me to explain how afraid I am of messing up. It's like as long as she stays inside of me, she is safe, she is innocent, and I can protect her from everything. And as badly as I want to meet her and see her and hold her, it makes me feel better to be able to keep her safe for now. There is so much to look forward to, and yet so much to be afraid of. Such is my nature, I guess. Sigh.

Isn't it amazing how so much changes, yet so much stays the same. You get safely past some of your fears only to have them replaced with new, bigger things to be afraid of.

And some of them stay the same.

It seems so strange to think that this is where I was one year ago. Some days, it seems like yesterday. But when I think of everything we have been through this year and how far we have come, it seems a lifetime ago.

My 100th Post!

100 things.....

Ten things I love about Brooklyn:
1. Her beautiful smile
2. Her hilarious laugh
3. Watching her learn and discover new things
4. Snuggle time
5. When she holds my hand
6. Taking naps with her
7. Her sweet little voice, talking in a language no one else can understand
8. Her friendly personality
9. Her soft blonde hair
10. Her bravery and strength

Ten goals for myself:
1. Lose weight
2. Be happy
3. Be the best mommy Brooklyn could ask for
4. Be a good wife
5. Organize more
6. Be more patient
7. Worry less/Be more optimistic
8. Be more active
9. Spend more time with the friends I have
10. Make new "mommy friends"

Ten "addictions":
1. Coca-Cola
2. My iPod
3. Taking pictures
4. Google Reader
5. Baked Doritos
6. Facebook
7. The Office
8. Pineapple
9. Blogging
10. Lipstick

Ten things I like to spend my money on:
1. Anything that makes Brooklyn smile. Anything that would look cute on her. Anything for her, really :)
2. Music
3. Educational toys
4. Anything PINK (a girl can never have too much pink)
5. MAC eyeshadow
6. Lotions and perfumes
7. New healthy/low-fat foods
8. Picture frames
9. Scrapbooking stuff (that I never get around to using)
10. Getting Brooklyn's pictures done

Ten places I want to visit:
1. Hawaii
2. Cayman Islands
3. Bahamas
4. Vegas
5. Italy
6. Australia
7. New York City
8. Ireland
9. Switzerland
10. Iceland

Ten things I love about my husband:
1. His eyes
2. His great sense of humor
3. That he is the best friend I've ever had
4. That he loves to surprise me
5. But that he usually ruins all of the surprises because he can't wait to tell me! It's so funny.
6. His dedication to his goals
7. How easy he is to talk to
8. That he is a sweet and fun Daddy to Brooklyn
9. His smile
10. His devotion and love for me. I trust him 1,000,000%.

Ten favorite foods:
1. Enchiladas
2. Eggplant Parmesean
3. Spinach
4. Fiesta Lime Chicken
5. Mac and Cheese
6. Pineapple
7. Queso
8. Garlic butter shrimp
9. Bartlett pears
10. Shivers from TCBY

Ten baby items we couldn't wouldn't want to do without:
1. Peanut Shell sling
2. BabyLegs
3. All things Gymboree! It's a sickness, really.
4. BebePod seat
5. Exersaucer
6. Trumpette socks
7. Fisher Price baby piano toy
8. Fisher Price Aquarium
9. Robeez shoes
10. Lullaby GloWorm!

Ten qualities I envy admire in others:
1. Self-confidence
2. Optimism
3. Unshakable faith
4. Entrepreneurship
5. Creativity
6. Resilience
7. A peaceful spirit
8. Patience
9. Musical ability
10. Quick wit

Ten reasons that I am happy I started a blog:
1. My bloggy friends GET ME.
2. They offer me advice.
3. Or they just listen.
4. They are going through many of the same things as I am.
5. And that makes me feel like I'm not alone.
6. It's given me a place to just be me.
7. I can fret and vent and cry and say what I really feel.
8. I can do all of that and not be judged for it.
9. I can show off my beautiful Baby Bear.
10. It's helped me enjoy writing again!

Robot Baby

So I got some exercise 3 days last week....I got to take Brooklyn out on walks since the weather was nice. But tonight, it was raining, so no walks for us. I got all motivated and decided that I would try our mommy and baby workout DVD. Brooklyn was fed, changed, and bathed, so I figured it was a good time to give it a shot.

Okay. So first of all, I really don't think that I like the host lady. Is that really your six-month-old baby? Workout Lady, you are completely spandex-clad and tight and toned. It's probably to give us flabby mommies something to work toward, or to make us think that the video workout is going to morph us into cute little fit and taut mamas. Honestly, it just makes me feel even fatter and grosser than I already did. Workout Lady's baby is younger than mine. And she looks awesome. I look disgusting. Damnit, Workout Lady! How are you so much better than me?

I told myself to get over my inadequacies and just do the damn workout. Workout Lady sat there telling me about the DVD with her baby sitting happily in her lap, munching on his paci and occasionally grinning and cooing sweetly for the camera. Brooklyn did not follow the baby's lead. She screamed when I tried to sit her in my lap like Workout Lady was doing with her baby. Then she started crawling around, pulling on cords, splashing in the dog's water, throwing Daddy's X-box games, eating the remotes, and headbutting her reflection in the entertainment center.

In between chasing my super-active daughter around, I heard Workout Lady say that I needed to watch this little segment that would teach me some of the basic moves that are used throughout the video. I decided to put Brooklyn in her exersaucer for a few minutes so that I could learn the moves before we did our workout together. This did not go over well. Brooklyn did NOT want to be in the exersaucer. She much prefers tearing the house to pieces. At first she was throwing a big fit. Then she decided that she would just make as much noise as she could so that I could not hear Workout Lady guiding me through the moves. I could see Workout Lady's mouth moving, but all I could hear was Brooklyn yelling as long as she could, over and over. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" No tears. Just very loud, non-stop yelling.

Okay, fine, Brooklyn, you win, I thought. Let's just try the workout together and I will try to wing it on these pilates and yoga moves.

The workout begins. Workout Lady starts with some breathing exercises. She tells me to breathe in and out and feel my body relax. Feel the stress leave my body. I actually laughed out loud because at that point, Brooklyn was screaming and thrashing in my arms. I felt anything but relaxed as she pulled my hair and wailed. I did NOT feel the stress leaving my body.

Then I learned that Workout Lady is not the mommy of any ordinary baby. No, she is the proud mother of Robot Baby! Robot Baby loves to work out with his mommy. He is so happy to have her lift him up and down and back and forth and use him as a human weight. Robot Baby has so much fun when his mommy sits him on her thigh while she does "Flamingo Kicks." Robot Baby coos with delight when his mommy lays him on the floor and plays with him while she does yoga stretches over him. I suppose it is only fitting that perfect Workout Lady would have given birth to such a perfect little well-behaved and adaptable Robot Baby.

I do not have a Robot Baby. Brooklyn was very angry at the idea that I would use her as a human weight. She screamed at me even though I kissed her every time I brought her face to face with me. She was very upset when I laid her on the floor and tried to play with her while doing the yoga stretches. She cried and rolled over and cried some more. The only part she liked was when I was holding her against my body. But unfortunately, you can't do much of the workout that way. And that made Brooklyn very, very mad at me. I don't get it. Robot Baby loved it.

So I gave up, 5 minutes into the DVD. I turned the TV off and collapsed on the couch with my ticked off daughter. I am stressed out and frustrated and have not done anything to help get rid of the nasty fat that covers my body. I am angry at myself and annoyed with Brooklyn. And I feel guilty for being so annoyed at Brooklyn. Whatever. Fine. Great. I'll just be a fat disgusting slob for the rest of my life. Why can't I be like Workout Lady? She was so happy and skinny and a great mommy. She didn't get mad at her baby. How did she make him so happy? I suck. I'm fat and I suck.

I don't know if I will torture myself by trying this again tomorrow.

Maybe Robot Baby could have a talk with Brooklyn?



(Oh - on a totally unrelated note...my next post will be post #100! Any ideas?)

Fatty McFatpants

Yesterday at work, I started having the nosebleed from hell. It was horrible...I have never had anything like it before. I had been having nosebleeds for the past couple of days, but had attributed it to the fact that several buildings right by my workplace had burned down this week and our building was smoky. Anyways, my hubby had already been on my case trying to get me to go to the doctor before the nosebleed from hell, so he really freaked out when that happened. He made me promise to go to the doctor right then. I still didn't really want to, but then I started coughing up blood. Okay, fine. I decided that Dave was right and that it was worth a call to my doctor.

The nurse said that if I would leave work right then, she would make sure I was worked in. So I did.

My doctor's verdict? Sinus infection. She said it is the most common cause of nosebleeds. Now, I have no medical training of any sort, but if I have a sinus infection, shouldn't my sinuses hurt? Shouldn't I be congested? I have nothing of the sort. I really don't think I have one and don't want to take the antibiotics she prescribed. Is that stupid? I don't know. I had another horrible nosebleed when I got up this morning, so my hubby is picking up the medicine.

So. To the point of my "Fatty McFatpants" post. The nosebleeds were not the most upsetting part of my day yesterday. At the doctor's office, I weighed 19 pounds more than I did the last time I came to see her...which was 5 weeks postpartum!!! I weight what I did the week that I gave birth! I weigh more than I ever have in my life! What the hell???!!! Why am I such a disgusting fatass???? How could I have possibly gained all of that in nine and a half months???? And I should weigh less than that now - for heaven's sake, I had just had a baby last time I was there! I am so angry and frustrated with myself. So disgusted. And I just don't get it.

Beating up on myself was not enough though....my doctor wanted to talk about my weight too. She kept saying that is was "very bad" for me to weigh what I do. That I have to get this off because "that's just not Amanda." She asked me about my diet and didn't see any problems there since I eat healthy almost all of the time. I'm sure all the Cokes I drink don't help....but damnit, I'm operating on about 4 hours of sleep most days. She said that she thinks my main problem is physical inactivity. I told her about my frustrations with trying to exercise. That it was too hot to get Brooklyn out for walks in the summer and it made her breathing worse. Then we had about two nice weeks and then it was too cold to get her out and we cannot afford for her to get sick. How I can't do an exercise video because if I set Brooklyn down and move a foot away from her, she screams like her world is ending. My doctor's response? "Well, you're just going to have to do it."

Gee, thanks. You're so helpful.

Then she guilted me further by saying that I have to lose weight because she doesn't want Brooklyn to grow up in a house where everyone is overweight. And discussed how bad that is for children.

I KNOW!!!! I am TRYING! I absolutely hate myself for the way I look right now! I am sickened every time I look in the mirror or look down at my gigantic stomach and thighs. I am such a gross, nasty, fat pig. I hate, hate, hate, hate myself for it. But I don't know what to do. Somebody help me.

New 'dos for the girls

Whatcha think? It's five or six inches shorter and oh-so-much lighter feeling!

I think I like it.

Brooklyn has a new hairstyle too.

It's much cuter than mine.

Here's her first ponytail!

And two minutes later....

Fingers crossed....

I called Brooklyn's pediatrician on Wednesday and talked to the nurse. At first she told me to bring Brooklyn in, but then changed her mind and said that she didn't think that Brooklyn needed to be seen yet. She told me to watch for fever and wheezing, and if either of those things started, then Brooklyn would need to be seen. As far as the fever goes, it hasn't gone above 99.5. She is coughing, sneezing, has a runny nose and watery eyes. She is pretty cranky. Would someone please tell me how I am supposed to know if my baby is wheezing since she is already a noisy breather due to her laryngomalacia? Sigh.

She doesn't seem to be getting any sicker, so hopefully she will get over it this weekend. I am scared that it will worsen over the weekend. I probably should have just insisted that the pediatrician see her, just for peace of mind about the RSV situation if nothing else.

Anyway. My fingers and toes are crossed that it just goes away.

Baby Bear is 10 months old now. How incredible is that? Double digits, baby girl!

Oh, and on another note, I get to go have my hair done tomorrow. My mom is coming so that she can hold Baby Bear while I am getting my haircut. It's been 6 months since I even got it trimmed. I miss having time to do things like that to take care of myself. I'm not a high maintenance girl by any means, but I appreciate the little things that just make me feel a little bit better about myself, like painting my nails, or trying out a new hairstyle, or putting on more makeup than just powder and lipstick (the bare minimum....so that I don't scare people.) Those things that I can never find time for anymore. You know? I'm not sure what kind of cut I am going to get, but I need a change. Maybe something that won't make my face look so fat? Something that will minimize my 18 chins? I can hope for it.

The other side of her

So, I have this coworker who I USED to be very close friends with. I will call her Amy. She started working here about nine months before I became pregnant with Brooklyn. I helped her learn her job and was a friend to her when she wasn't fitting into the little clique on her floor. We went out to lunch and ran errands together a lot. We started walking around downtown together during our lunch hour to get some exercise. We hung out at work every day and talked on the phone most days too.

By the time I got pregnant with Brooklyn, Amy was one of my closest friends. She was one of the first people to find out the night I got my BFP. She was so excited with me, she screamed with happiness and talked on and on about how great it was going to be. "Oh my God," she said. "I can't wait. We're going to throw you a baby shower. We'll have so much fun shopping for baby clothes. We'll paint a big smiley face on your belly and take pictures of it. I want to hold the baby and give the baby a bottle. This is going to be so much fun!"

And it was. Amy calmed my first trimester freakout fears. She helped me decorate Brooklyn's nursery. She did co-host my baby shower. She bought us an expensive baby gift, even when I told her not to. I invited her to be one of the 10 people we could bring to my 3D sonogram.

I was there for her too. I babysat her son. My husband went to her son's "Grandfriends" day at school with him because he didn't have an adult besides Amy to be there with him. She was going through a lot of problems with her son's father and a major custody battle ensued. Her son started having behavioral problems. I was her support. She would always call me to cry and vent and yell about her ex, her son, and other things too.

Amy was at the hospital to see Brooklyn within hours of her birth. She came to see her the next day, also. We had to go to my office to fill out some paperwork when Brooklyn was a week old. Amy held her for an hour and wouldn't let anyone else take a turn. But then, my maternity leave had begun, and I stopped hearing from Amy. I think she called me two or three times for the entire twelve weeks that I was off. During those conversations, she would tell me that she was going to come over. But she never did. And I needed her. We were having such a hard time. Brooklyn had feeding and weight gain problems. Then the reflux started. Then the respiratory problems kicked in, and we didn't know what was wrong with her. I was terrified. I needed her. I couldn't understand why Amy wasn't there for me anymore.

It's true that the phone works both ways. But I was in the throes of postpartum depression. I isolated myself. I couldn't reach out to anyone. Amy is actually the only friend that I told about my PPD. But she still wasn't there.

When I came back to work, things were not the same between Amy and I. We talked, but not as often, and it was just different. We went out to lunch occasionally. We didn't see each other outside of work.

Then, at the end of July, Brooklyn became very ill and was hospitalized for several days. I talked to Amy for a few minutes after Brooklyn was admitted. She didn't come visit. She didn't call to check up on Brooklyn.

Amy came to my office the day after Brooklyn got to come home from the hospital. "So," she said, "You never called me. What's going on with the baby?" I was hurt by the fact that she hadn't even checked on us. I said, "She's home. She's getting better. I never heard from you, so...." Amy got mad and said something about the fact that I could have called. I told her that I was busy taking care of a very sick baby. She acted all taken aback and stormed out of my office. A few minutes later, I sent her a message saying that I didn't understand what she was mad about. She sent back a long reply that she wasn't mad, she was disappointed. That she had done so much for us, and she couldn't believe that I could act this way. That she was angry that I hadn't called her to babysit when she had offered to do so. That I had used her. She said that she knew what it was like to have a very sick child, but that the way I was acting was unexcusable. That I had treated her badly, she didn't appreciate it, and she damn sure wasn't going to take it.

I replied back that I had not used her, that I had been there for her too, that I didn't understand where all this was coming from. She never answered me.

Amy has not spoken to me since. In fact, she has refused to even look at me since then. Even when I have brought Brooklyn by the office to visit a couple of times. She has ignored me, turned around, and walked out of the room. I knew that Amy is a bitter person with a lot of hurt. I knew that she had a quick temper and an angry tongue and got into a lot of confrontations. A lot of people we work with don't like her because of that. But before all of this, she had never been that way to me. She had been a good friend to me.

I really don't understand what happened. And I don't know what to do. It still hurts me. I do miss her. I have thought about apologizing, but honestly, I never so much as said a cross word to her. I don't know what I could possibly have done that would warrant an apology. I have thought about going upstairs to her office and telling her I want to talk the whole thing out and make it all okay again. I've thought about asking her to lunch and telling her I want to put this all behind us. But now it's been over five months since we have spoken. And maybe that's just too long. I don't know if I should just leave things the way they are now. I wonder if all of this should tell me that Amy isn't the kind of person I should be friends with. I don't know what to do. Is it over for good? Why is it so hard for me to have and keep any true friends?

Boredom killer personality quiz

I took this personality test to kill some time while Brooklyn is laying here napping in my arms (Thanks, Liz!) It's frighteningly accurate. It even included my job and degree (social work) as ones that are appropriate for people with my personality type. If you decide to take it, let me know so that I can snoop on your results too!



ISFJ - The "Defender"

ISFJs are traditional, loyal, quiet and kind. They are very sensitive to other people's needs because they are very observant. They have rich inner thoughts and emotions. They value stability and cultural norms. They are very adept at giving attention to detail. They do not seek positions of authority.

About the ISFJ -
"ISFJs are characterized above all by their desire to serve others, their "need to be needed." In extreme cases, this need is so strong that standard give-and-take relationships are deeply unsatisfying to them; however, most ISFJs find more than enough with which to occupy themselves within the framework of a normal life."
- ISFJ Profile (TypeLogic)"modest, not confrontational, easily hurt, observer, prone to crying, not spontaneous"
- Jung Type Descriptions (ISFJ) (similarminds.com)"ISFJs have a rich inner world that is not usually obvious to observers. They constantly take in information about people and situations that is personally important to them, and store it away. This tremendous store of information is usually startlingly accurate, because the ISFJ has an exceptional memory about things that are important to their value systems. It would not be uncommon for the ISFJ to remember a particular facial expression or conversation in precise detail years after..."
- Portrait of an ISFJ (The Personality Page)
"The primary desire of the Protector SJ is to be of service to others, but here "service" means not so much furnishing others with the necessities of life, as guarding others against life's pitfalls and perils, that is, seeing to their safety and security."
- The Portrait of the Protector Guardian (iSfJ) (Keirsey)"At work, ISFJs contribute loyal, sympathetic, consistent, and considerate service to others. They are know for their kindness and for their willingness to go to any length to help those in need. They take the practical needs of people into account when they do their work, and their strong follow-through skills allow them to carry out organizational goals. They do at least what is expected to them and oftentimes more, without attracting attention to themselves. They are painstaking and responsible with detail and routine, and feel it is important to have the right things in the right places at the right times."
- ISFJ - The Nurturer (Lifexplore)

The List

When Brooklyn is all finished with breastfeeding, I will:

1. Diet. Lose some weight. And I will take some diet pills if I want to! In fact, I will probably take every diet pill I can find (Yes, I'm exaggerating there). I am so grossed out by my fat ass right now. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Hate it.

2. Get my tattoo! I'm so excited about it. I'm going to get Brooklyn's footprints from the day she was born on my back. I don't have any tattoos yet. I have always wanted to get one, but could never think of something that I truly wanted on my body forever. My baby's tiny first prints are perfect. I know that I will never regret that.

3. Get my draaaaank on. Come on, it's been a year and a half :)

4. Shrink back down on top. I HOPE. Not that they were ever small.

5. Take medicine when I don't feel good. It's been quite a while since I could take much of anything besides Tylenol.

6. Say "Adios" to the big old hospital grade pump I've been lugging back and forth from the office every day for the past six months! Along with that...I won't have to schedule pumping time twice a day at work.

7. Be kind of sad. After all, there is only one time in life that you get to bond with your baby in that way. When it's over, you can't go back to it. I've struggled so, so, so hard to make it work for us. It was not this easy, natural thing that just happened for us like I thought it would. And our situation may not be ideal...she is not exclusively breastfed. We have had to supplement with formula from the very beginning because of feeding problems and her weight. But we have worked so hard and pushed through all of the obstacles so that she could have as much of the very best nutrition as she possibly can. There are things I look forward to about weaning her, but I'm not in a hurry for it to happen. It's important for her. It's important for her health. We're on her timing, not mine.

Don't let it pass you by...

Last night, I dreamed that Brooklyn learned to crawl, walk, and run all in the same day. One minute, I was holding a tiny baby, and the next minute, she had taken off running around the house. She was so fast that I couldn't catch her. Her legs grew long and she was nearly as tall as me. When she came near to me, I tried to hold her, but she wriggled out of my grasp. She was too big for that now.

In my dream, I was proud of my daughter for learning all of these new skills. But I cried because I was mourning the loss of her as my sweet little baby. She was growing up, and she didn't need me the way she used to.

I've been thinking about this all day. It weighs heavy on my heart and makes me feel profoundly sad. I need to take my dream as a sign that I need to enjoy having a baby while I can. Other things in my life can wait. No one is going to die if I can't get all of the laundry done, if I can't vacuum as often as I want, or if my email doesn't get checked every day. I can live with those things. But I won't be able to live with myself if I don't fully enjoy my baby and if I don't love on her and bond with her as much as I possibly can while she's still small. While she's still a little baby.

Brooklyn won't always need me the way that she does right now. When she wakes up every hour during the night, I need a better attitude about it. I need to think about how lucky I am to have someone who needs me so much, instead of being irritated about lost sleep. I need to remind myself of how fortunate I am to have this little person in my life who cries out in the dark just because she wants so badly for me to cradle her in my arms and make her feel secure. I can make her world okay by holding her little body to mine, nursing her, stroking her hair, and touching her little face. When I think about it....that's such an incredible privilege. My beautiful baby is showing me the purest form of love and complete trust.

This time in her life will be over so soon, and I don't want to regret a single thing about it. I won't get another chance to do it the right way. I want to make everything perfect for her. I want to have the most wonderful memories possible. Because when it's all said and done, Brooklyn is all that really matters to me.

Blah.

I feel like crap. I don't know what's wrong.

I am exhausted. I got sick after dinner last night. I just slept through my lunch hour, which was fine because the idea of eating the lunch I brought completely turned my stomach. I'm five days late. I have no signs that AF is on her way.

My hubby made me take a pregnancy test last night. It was negative. It was the first time I had ever been relieved to have a BFN. And yes, we're using birth control, but you know, nothing is 100% foolproof.

So if it's not that, then what's wrong with me? I feel YUCK.

My first bloggy award :)

So, Trish at My Little Drummer Boys gave me this bloggy award last month and I have been a very bad blogger by not reposting it and passing it along! Trish is such a sweetheart. She always has encouraging words for me. She has a blog full of insightful posts, daily advice, and pics of her darling twins. Thank you for thinking of me, Trish!

The rules of the award are this - fill out the little four-item questionnaire attached to the award, and pass it on to four friends. So here goes:

1. Do you have the same friends since childhood?
My best friend and I have actually known each other since we were six years old. We weren't really close back then, but we started working together when we were 15 and have been inseperable ever since.

I wish that I had more friends that I have known for that long, but you know how it goes...people grow up and grow apart, people change and people move on, both geographically and emotionally. So most of my other friends I met either in college or after college.

2. What do you value most about your friends?
They accept me, they listen to me, they support me through hard times, and I can trust them enough to show who I really am and how I really feel.

3. Are your friends your sounding boards?
Yes! I think that is such a wonderful part of friendship. Friends can show you a whole other perspective on a situation in your life.

4. What is your favorite activity to share with your friends?
I honestly don't care what I am doing when I get to spend time with my friends. Seriously. Going out to dinner, going to a movie, getting a drink, just hanging out at someone's house...to me, it doesn't matter where, it just matters who you are with.

So like I said, I'm supposed to pass this award on to four bloggy friends. This is a toughie because I have made so many wonderful friends in the few months that I have been blogging. I think you are ALL so fabulous and wish that I could hug you all in person :) Your kind words and encouragement are such a blessing to me!

Anyway, I am passing this award on to:

1. Hope at Taking a Deep Breath...Hope is mommy to sweet little Ava, who has laryngomalacia, just like my Brooklyn. She has been such a great source of support and information. I swear she knows more than our doctors sometimes...or at least she just tells me more than they do! I don't know anyone in real life who is dealing with the same things we are and Hope always lets me know that she truly understands what we are going through!

2. Sarah at And Baby Makes Three...Sarah is a total sweetheart and mommy to cutie pie Claire. I think she comments on pretty much every post I make and I always know she is out there reading! From issues with sick babies to in-law troubles, I know she gets me!

3. Sam at E Squared...Sam is mama to Edie and Ella, twin beauties born the same week as Brooklyn. However tired I am, I know she has to be twice as tired, LOL. Her posts are full of pictures of the girls and always bring a smile to my face. She was also one of my first bloggy friends!

4. Jennifer at We're Growing!...Jennifer is the mommy of adorable Avelyn. I'm so glad we found each other's blogs a couple of months ago! She has been such an encouragement and has been through many of the same things I have as a new mommy. Her blog is so funny and honest. I'm hoping we will get to meet for real soon! Yay!

I'm sorry, does this make you uncomfortable?

Sometimes I wonder what the right answer is when people ask how Brooklyn is doing. I'm asked this about a dozen or so times a day at work. When I first came back from maternity leave, Brooklyn was having so many problems, and of course we didn't know what was wrong. So people would ask, "How's the baby?" The first few days, I would actually try to explain what was going on with her health. But after getting some blank stares and some odd responses, I quickly shortened my answers to things like, "Well, she's okay. She has an appointment with a specialist next week." Or..."She's all right. We are about to have some tests done to try to figure out what's wrong with her breathing and why she isn't gaining weight." Things like that. But I keep it short and sweet. People still seem uncomfortable with that. If something positive is going on, I tell them that...for example, "Well, she gained some weight!" Or, "No, she's not better yet, but we found out what's wrong, and that's a huge step in the right direction." Or I'll tell them how excited I am about her sitting up or saying "Mama" or reaching some other milestone. If I go that route, they usually ask about her health next, but it seems like they still don't REALLY want to know.

I don't lie to people. I don't just say everything is great or good or fine with us. Honestly, I don't really feel like I should have to. I know that's the acceptable answer...but am I alone in feeling like if people are going to ask, they deserve a real answer? No, I'm not going to go into detail, but why should I have to give you a fake perfect picture of what my life has been lately? When you specifically ask me how my child is, why should I have to lie to you about it? Just because you might not know what to say?

I know we all do it. When we ask people how they're doing, we generally don't want to hear the truth. It's just a formality most of the time, and all we really want to hear is "Fine."

I wonder what it must be like for parents with terminally ill or very, very sick children. I wonder how they handle the everyday questions about how their kids are without making people squirm. Trust me, I know our situation is nothing compared to these. And I think that's what makes me feel kind of guilty about giving people a real answer. Then they might not think that I'm happy enough about being a mother. They might think I'm just feeling sorry for myself, or that I'm not grateful to have my sweet baby bear. What if they think I am fixated on the negative and don't think that I am totally crazy in love with my adorable daughter?

A few months ago, when we still didn't know what was going on with Brooklyn, when we had tons of tests coming up, when I was terrified of what could be wrong, a former coworker came by my floor at work to visit. He had retired about a year prior, but we had occasionally exchanged emails since then. He knew that I had just returned from maternity leave and that Brooklyn had been having some problems. He asked me how things were going with her. I gave him a little bit longer version of our situation, because I felt like he would be understanding. He was a parent and his first grandson was just a bit younger than Brooklyn. I told him about all her medications, breathing treatments, lack of weight gain, the tests she was having to go through. And his response was, "You know, there are a lot of parents that go through much worse. It's not that bad."

You don't think I know that? You don't think that I feel guilty all of the time because I know there are so many parents suffering through so much more? That I don't think I should be happier or less stressed because other mommies lose their babies, or live with the reality that they could lose their babies any day? I KNOW these things. This man made me feel about two inches tall. I felt like I should never tell anyone anything other than "Everything's fine."

Really and truly though...I don't feel like we should have to apologize or feel bad about for things in our lives that are beyond our control. I don't think that we should have to create a false reality, especially when it comes to our children.

Right now, my reality is this: I have a beautiful, sweet, smart-as-a-whip eight-month-old baby girl. She's the most wonderful thing I could have ever imagined having in my life. Unfortunately, she has some health problems right now. She has laryngomalacia, a problem with her arytenoids, severe reflux, and "failure to thrive." She's been through all kinds of tests and procedures and she has several specialists. She takes multiple medications, but they really don't seem to help. I don't know whether she will outgrow this or whether she will have to have surgery. I hate that I can't fix her and that no one else has yet either. And I get stressed out, and I get scared. And if you're going to ask me how my baby is, I'd appreciate it if you would validate my feelings instead of making me feel like a terrible person for telling you the truth. I'm not asking you to feel sorry for us, because Lord knows there are many, many others who you should feel sorry for before us. But please, just don't make me feel worse about a situation that already makes me feel bad. Thank you.

Thoughts, anyone???

Moo.

There's nothing better to start your morning than going to the jail to interview an inmate and having the officer at the front desk ask whether the baby you are currently pregnant with is a boy or a girl. She's not confused with your previous pregnancy, because she just asked to see a picture of your eight-month-old. She laughs when you tell her you aren't expecting, and says again, "Well, you sure looked like you was in a motherly way!"

I knew I was fat, but I really didn't think I looked 5 or 6 months pregnant (at least). I guess I was wrong.

She crushed what little self-confidence I had.

I feel too gross to even be seen in public. I have GOT to lose some weight.

And you know what else? That rude bitch didn't even apologize.