If you want to read some great writing by a wise woman, I highly recommend checking these posts out:
http://thebookofarmaments.blogspot.com/2011/11/on-kindness.html
http://thebookofarmaments.blogspot.com/2011/10/celebrating-our-differences.html
That's my sister in law, Liz. She's pretty awesome, huh? I've been thinking a lot about what Liz has written lately. And what the two of us talk about a lot. See, Liz and I both have three young kids, 5 years old, 3 years old and 1 . . . so, we have a pretty good grasp on each others day to day life. (Despite the panic attacks I've caused her with my unexpected fourth pregnancy, she thus far seems to have missed the chance to be pregnant with me yet again.) We tend to be going through things like teething, potty training and sleepless nights around the same time in life. Having Liz to go so closely through motherhood with, has been one of the great blessings of my life as a Mom. There are probably few other people in my life who I'm quite so blatantly honest about what life is like, as I am with Liz, and it's not uncommon for us to spend an hour or better on the phone, really, really regularly.
Unfortunately, hers isn't the only writing I've been dwelling on lately. I'd gotten an email recently, that kindly informed me I should probably stop complaining so much about sick kids and motherhood, 'cause at least I had kids, and was pregnant, and there are lots of people who'd happily trade me places in a heartbeat. That I should just be thankful for what I have.
My heart kinda shattered a little when I read that. It hurt. I felt guilty. I cried. And unfortunately, that's not a super rare occurrence around these parts lately, so once again, my kids just stared at me like I was crazy as I tried to compose myself.
This last several months (year?!) have been really difficult with sick kids. It's scary to feel like you have no control over how well your kids are doing. I can clean my house, wash all laundry on sanitize, use essential oils, hand washing, good hygiene, breastfeed past the American norm for immunity purposes, use a well respected line of children's supplements and herbs, consult doctors, specialists, surgeons, herbalists, naturalists and try my best to feed them a healthful diet . . . and I still can't keep them from getting sick. I've never felt so helpless in my life. There's been scary hospital and ER visits, there's been tests and doctor's appointments and lab results that have gotten screwed up and cost us our chance of finding out what was wrong. There has been more money and less sleep than I'd planned on. It's been really difficult. I try not to complain about it much; I cry to Greg, I unload on those closest to me, and in my own little world of blogs and facebook, I vent a little. My world has gotten a lot smaller this last year. I don't leave my house much anymore, it's hard when you have a kid who's had diarrhea for a month. I get Annie and Ellie off to school, play with Isaac, and maybe run to the grocery store when Greg's home in the evening (getting three kids in and out of carseats with my ever expanding belly is getting more difficult, and tiring, than feels less than worth it a lot of times). But I'm tired, and I'm run down, and I am often dealing with a child I don't want infecting anyone else, so I don't get out like I used to. I haven't made it to Church in six weeks. That, and volunteering in Annie's school, are my last two social outreaches a lot of times. You would be shocked to see how much I don't mention online. Every time I post an update about my kids, I've weighed very heavily how badly I need to vent vs. the possible cost of it (i.e., exposing myself to comments and advice that while helpful, sometimes hurts 'cause it feels like people just think that if I could 'figure this out', my babies would be all better. Which is my own issue -- the vast majority of comments are very sweet and supportive, very few have actually carried any judgement in them. But, man, those ones hurt.)
I have tried to be really conscientious about complaining about the pregnancy itself. I am very well aware of loved ones and friends in my life who would give their right arm to be pregnant. This pregnancy was a big surprise, it took some getting used to. It was mildly terrifying to feel a total lack of control in my own life that came with an unexpected pregnancy. But I am grateful. Those feelings were fleeting, and I am joyous and thankful every time I feel this little boy move and squirm inside me. I'm so completely head over heels in love with this baby, and I can't wait to meet him. But it hasn't been easy. This pregnancy has been, by far, the most emotionally and physically difficult. Couple the paragraph above with the fact that I am 33 weeks pregnant, and my stress level doubles. Only Greg could tell you how many nights I've sobbed myself to sleep, crying about how I can't keep Isaac well, what is heaven's name am I going to be able to do for a newborn? Having flashbacks to Isaac in the hospital at 7 months old with RSV, on oxygen and struggling to breathe, and realizing this new baby will be THREE WEEKS OLD at the same time of year. There is a near crippling terror that fills my most vulnerable moments. I am tired, I am stressed, I am hormonal and emotional, and I've never been so affected by it all as I am right now. I would not trade this opportunity to be a Mom to this baby, or any of any of my children, but I have never had such a hard time with it as I'm having now. I have moments of hopelessness, fear and self-pity that I have never felt before. They like to grab me in the middle of the night, and try to bury me deep into my pillow until it feels like I can't breathe. When I'm supposed to be sleeping. And trust me, I needed that sleep. Fortunately, they are fleeting. Or at least, aren't often overwhelming. I have a wonderful support system of more family than a girl could know what to do with, the world's most amazing husband, and beautiful children who remind me every day all that I have to be thankful for. But this is hard. I've never felt like this. I really think the vast majority of it is the hormones of pregnancy, and the sleep deprivation sure isn't helping. Even when I feel my most desperate and hopeless, there is still a feeling of peace that comes after the storm, that tells me these feelings aren't my whole reality. They're just one small part, and not even the most important part. I am so happy with my life, it's just never been so difficult for me. And I realize that if this is the most 'difficult' thing I've dealt with before, than I'm a very, very lucky woman. But it is my own personal trial, and therefore it feels very hard, and very personal.
So before you ever send an email to someone, telling them what they should or should not feel . . . please just remember that you probably only know a fraction of the story, see a corner of the whole picture, and that everyone is fighting their own battle. Maybe you're strong enough that the same trial wouldn't stress you out, but the other person may not be as strong as you. And having that pointed out, probably won't help the matter.
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Mommy Martyr Moments
There are some weeks you just feel dumped on. I had one such week a couple weeks ago, when Isaac was eating even more nonstop than normal (so I felt like I was preparing, feeding or cleaning up food all our waking hours), and the unfortunate bi-product of such an appetite was an astounding number of diapers that had to be changed. And, since he is self-feeding most meals, we are giving him lots of baths. And for a solid week, the kid pooped in the bathtub once TO TWICE A DAY. Every day. For a week. (And three or four times on the bathroom floor. This is on top of the many diapers I was changing. Usually right before I even put him in the stupid tub). I went through more bleach that week that I normally do in six months . . .
I was feeling a bit 'woe-is-me-ish,' a tad like I was stuck in a poop-filled Groundhogs Day that was leaving me feeling oddly, well, picked on. Which is silly. I chose the life of being a Mommy, I relish it, I'm thankful for it, it's a huge blessing and wonderful opportunity that I cherish. But cleaning up human bodily fluids and waste for hours a day does a number on you. And despite it being crazy, it was starting to feel like they were doing this on purpose (like right after Isaac pooped in the tub, Ellie would come in and sheepishly inform me she'd just had an accident on the carpet in the hall. The carpet I had SHAMPOOED TWO DAYS BEFORE.) But I snapped out of it, and life went back to normal amounts of food (which is still a ton for my tiny son, the kid ears nearly nonstop) and slightly more appropriate levels of human waste being dealt with in our home. And I got over my feelings of 'you have got to be kidding me/is this really my life?' that had been plaguing me for a few days, and things felt good again.
Then Ellie started coughing at night. She's fine all day. Happy, playful, energetic, and snot- and cough-free. Not the least bit sick. Then she falls asleep, and a couple hours later, she starts to cough. And cough, and cough so hard that she starts to throw up. And throw up. And throw up some more. I've done 6 loads of laundry in the last three days, just to keep up on the backlog of blankets/stuffed animals/pillows/towels/pajamas that she's puked on. It's most likely asthma, which is a bit depressing to me. Annie has this happen too, she's fine all day, then at night she starts to cough and will continue to cough until it makes her throw up. But, with Annie this usually doesn't happen until the weather is cold. We start her preventative inhalers twice a day sometime in October, and tend to keep using them until March, then the rest of the year she doesn't needs them. We're getting Ellie into a doctor soon, and hopefully we'll have some answers, but since the most likely answer is a steroid inhaler, I'm not too happy about it. The other night she woke up more times than I can count, and started throwing up repeatedly on five different occasions. Last night, it was fortunately only twice that she had puking fits, but it was after midnight before we got everyone back in bed, since she was so happily wired to be awake and running around after I'd cleaned her up when she threw up at 10:30. I finally fell asleep around 1AM. A third night of being up late and waking up repeatedly with a coughing child, so I was tired, and really sad that it was already 1AM. Then (and here's where I admit to feeling picked on, even though it's silly, 'cause it's not like there's an actual plot against my by conspiring children) Isaac woke up at 5:30 this morning. I was struck with such an overwhelming feeling of, "You have got to be freaking kidding me?!" I went in and took care of him, then we put him back to bed, hoping he'd (by some miracle) sleep again 'til 7AM. It didn't happen. He cried and fussed and yelled at me from his crib for most of an hour, before I finally admitted this wasn't gonna happen . . . then his sisters came wandering into my room at a quarter to seven. I looked at Ellie, who we'd just gotten to sleep a mere 7 hours ago, and thought again, "You have got to be kidding me?!" And despite being so tired he can barely function, Isaac fought me to go down for a nap from 9AM (where he complicated matters by having a blow out diaper in his crib . . . yay! More sheets to wash!), until 10:30AM, when I fed him a mid-morning snack and he finally fell asleep.
I am reminding myself today that motherhood isn't always easy, and it's often monotonous and less than fun when you focus on the jobs of changing diapers, washing dishes, doing laundry and cooking food. So, it's time to focus not on the chores, but the blessings. And I may be tired, beyond words to describe (being 24 weeks pregnant and hormonal are not helping any of this), but my children will only be this young for such a brief time. They're growing and developing at such astounding rates that I feel like I could blink and miss it. Life can be a bit overwhelming with three kids this young, and the reminder of one more on the way, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Isaac brought me a book today, and happily chattered, 'book, book!' while he opened it up to show me the animals. "Woof!" he exclaimed as he pointed at the llama. He loves to cuddle up and have me rub his back. Annie and I spent almost an hour yesterday afternoon, curled up in my bed reading a book. Ellie makes me laugh nearly constantly, and is coming up to me all the time now and asking for another page of 'homework'. (Usually worksheets where she traces letters). They are beyond amazing.
Yeah, if I focus on the lack of sleep, the poop in the tub and the endless kitchen chores, it gets overwhelming, and even a bit depressing. So, I'm working on not focusing on that . . . although, a good night's sleep would go a long ways in helping me refocus :-)
I was feeling a bit 'woe-is-me-ish,' a tad like I was stuck in a poop-filled Groundhogs Day that was leaving me feeling oddly, well, picked on. Which is silly. I chose the life of being a Mommy, I relish it, I'm thankful for it, it's a huge blessing and wonderful opportunity that I cherish. But cleaning up human bodily fluids and waste for hours a day does a number on you. And despite it being crazy, it was starting to feel like they were doing this on purpose (like right after Isaac pooped in the tub, Ellie would come in and sheepishly inform me she'd just had an accident on the carpet in the hall. The carpet I had SHAMPOOED TWO DAYS BEFORE.) But I snapped out of it, and life went back to normal amounts of food (which is still a ton for my tiny son, the kid ears nearly nonstop) and slightly more appropriate levels of human waste being dealt with in our home. And I got over my feelings of 'you have got to be kidding me/is this really my life?' that had been plaguing me for a few days, and things felt good again.
Then Ellie started coughing at night. She's fine all day. Happy, playful, energetic, and snot- and cough-free. Not the least bit sick. Then she falls asleep, and a couple hours later, she starts to cough. And cough, and cough so hard that she starts to throw up. And throw up. And throw up some more. I've done 6 loads of laundry in the last three days, just to keep up on the backlog of blankets/stuffed animals/pillows/towels/pajamas that she's puked on. It's most likely asthma, which is a bit depressing to me. Annie has this happen too, she's fine all day, then at night she starts to cough and will continue to cough until it makes her throw up. But, with Annie this usually doesn't happen until the weather is cold. We start her preventative inhalers twice a day sometime in October, and tend to keep using them until March, then the rest of the year she doesn't needs them. We're getting Ellie into a doctor soon, and hopefully we'll have some answers, but since the most likely answer is a steroid inhaler, I'm not too happy about it. The other night she woke up more times than I can count, and started throwing up repeatedly on five different occasions. Last night, it was fortunately only twice that she had puking fits, but it was after midnight before we got everyone back in bed, since she was so happily wired to be awake and running around after I'd cleaned her up when she threw up at 10:30. I finally fell asleep around 1AM. A third night of being up late and waking up repeatedly with a coughing child, so I was tired, and really sad that it was already 1AM. Then (and here's where I admit to feeling picked on, even though it's silly, 'cause it's not like there's an actual plot against my by conspiring children) Isaac woke up at 5:30 this morning. I was struck with such an overwhelming feeling of, "You have got to be freaking kidding me?!" I went in and took care of him, then we put him back to bed, hoping he'd (by some miracle) sleep again 'til 7AM. It didn't happen. He cried and fussed and yelled at me from his crib for most of an hour, before I finally admitted this wasn't gonna happen . . . then his sisters came wandering into my room at a quarter to seven. I looked at Ellie, who we'd just gotten to sleep a mere 7 hours ago, and thought again, "You have got to be kidding me?!" And despite being so tired he can barely function, Isaac fought me to go down for a nap from 9AM (where he complicated matters by having a blow out diaper in his crib . . . yay! More sheets to wash!), until 10:30AM, when I fed him a mid-morning snack and he finally fell asleep.
I am reminding myself today that motherhood isn't always easy, and it's often monotonous and less than fun when you focus on the jobs of changing diapers, washing dishes, doing laundry and cooking food. So, it's time to focus not on the chores, but the blessings. And I may be tired, beyond words to describe (being 24 weeks pregnant and hormonal are not helping any of this), but my children will only be this young for such a brief time. They're growing and developing at such astounding rates that I feel like I could blink and miss it. Life can be a bit overwhelming with three kids this young, and the reminder of one more on the way, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Isaac brought me a book today, and happily chattered, 'book, book!' while he opened it up to show me the animals. "Woof!" he exclaimed as he pointed at the llama. He loves to cuddle up and have me rub his back. Annie and I spent almost an hour yesterday afternoon, curled up in my bed reading a book. Ellie makes me laugh nearly constantly, and is coming up to me all the time now and asking for another page of 'homework'. (Usually worksheets where she traces letters). They are beyond amazing.
Yeah, if I focus on the lack of sleep, the poop in the tub and the endless kitchen chores, it gets overwhelming, and even a bit depressing. So, I'm working on not focusing on that . . . although, a good night's sleep would go a long ways in helping me refocus :-)
So today, I'm gonna focus on this:
Could they possibly be ANY cuter?!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Ugh
So, it wasn't my best day.
Both little kids are recovering, pretty much. There's still some fevers (Ellie) and snotty noses (both) and grumpiness (everyone), but it feels like we're out of the woods. I don't expect to wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, wondering if everyone is breathing well enough. Which is saying something.
But, with the snotty noses and fevers and tiredness is coming a lot of orneriness. And it's catching. Add to that, when I went to weigh in the this morning, I found my scale wouldn't work. I messed with it, replacing the battery and trying everything else I could think of to get it to work (it's been a problem since I got it -- I should've just returned it in the beginning). The entire time I'm messing with it, I'm also listening to the girls fighting, Isaac screaming because he's not being held, and we're ever closer to needing to have Annie to preschool . . . but darn it, I wanted to weigh in before I ate breakfast. I eventually had to give up to get Annie ready. Then that erupted into a big "fine, I'll just give all your toys away if you refuse to pick them up"/"you can't give away my toys, they're mine" argument that wasn't fully settled until Annie gave in and cleaned up and ended up being 20 minutes late to preschool. Then I spent the next hour dragging every toy from their bedroom, the front room and my room down into the basement once and for all. Once I'd de-toyed our entire top two floors, and Isaac had settled into playing with some baby toys (the only ones left upstairs), I tried out my stupid scale again. It dared to flash its "ERR0" message at me yet again, and I suddenly couldn't help myself, as I chucked the scale across my bathroom. Really, I threw a scale. Across the room. Like a crazy person. As soon as it landed with a crash (making Isaac start to cry in the other room) I suddenly realized how stupid I felt. I guess I couldn't take out my frustrations on my tired, grumpy, sickly children, so the scale is now officially done. I ordered a new one on Amazon about 20 minutes later. Things were uneventful for a bit, and Annie was home soon. In order to 'earn' back some of her earlier lost toys from the morning's debacle, it was now Annie's responsibility to change the laundry. She came happily skipping in, with my cell phone in hand, "Look what I found in the washing machine Mom!" she sung out. Crap. CRAP. My BRAND NEW cell phone, that I bought about a month ago, just went through the wash! And this isn't my old water proof awesome phone, but some crappy new Samsung that I don't imagine likes the rinse cycle of my washing machine. I stuck it in rice and hoped for the best. I then rearranged my bedroom furniture, but foolishly tried to attempt it while Isaac was awake, so it was mainly me trying to ignore his wailing while I frantically finished my work, and Annie danced around singing loudly (adding to the noise level of the room) attempting (futilely) to soothe her baby brother's cries. I also have some graphics work to catch up on, what with our hospital stay and sick kids adventures, and I spent an hour or so doing that. An hour of listening to my kids whine, "When do we get to play on the computer?" and "Mom, she's touching me!" and then the baby waking up screaming when I was this close to being done with one project. I asked Annie to go in and talk to her little brother in his crib for just three minutes while I finished emailing these files to my client . . . once she went in he quieted down but it was only a minute or so later I heard Isaac start to frantically scream. I rush in to find that Annie had climbed into his crib and picked him up, but while trying to help him 'stand' he pulled away and smacked his poor little head against the side of the crib and he now had a nice red mark on his forehead. A mark that felt very much like a condemnation of my neglectful mothering. Isaac calmed down as soon as I picked him up, and the red spot disappeared in no time, but it was too late -- my motherly guilt was already in overdrive. My poor, sick, fussy little boy and I sent his sister in to calm him down so I could get my work done -- and then he was injured -- I was pretty sure was the worst Mom ever. I also had just put Ellie in time out. Can you put a feverish two year old in time out? How do you balance that -- on one hand, she feels like crap and is therefore less able to handle her strong emotions on little sleep and being sick, and I should be holding and comforting and soothing her. On the other hand, she can't just go walking around smacking her sister or yelling at her brother.
And did I mention that Ellie painted her toenails. And skirt, and hands, and shirt. All a lovely shade of purple glitter.
And how I forgot all about Annie's music class until about 5 minutes before it was over. For the SECOND time in a month. And Annie cried because she missed it again.
And Isaac suddenly seems unable to keep down either sweet potatoes or amoxicillin. I don't know which was the culprit, but together they made for bright pink and orange spit up that went down my shirt, on my carpet, on my bedspread and on the stairs.
And Greg called to tell me that work had been crazy and he would be home an hour and a half later than normal.
It's just been one of those days.
Edited to add: Isaac (whom I love, and I didn't really think about trading him in for another baby at 3AM like I said I was) decided to wake up FIVE times last night. FIVE times. Stinker.
Both little kids are recovering, pretty much. There's still some fevers (Ellie) and snotty noses (both) and grumpiness (everyone), but it feels like we're out of the woods. I don't expect to wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, wondering if everyone is breathing well enough. Which is saying something.
But, with the snotty noses and fevers and tiredness is coming a lot of orneriness. And it's catching. Add to that, when I went to weigh in the this morning, I found my scale wouldn't work. I messed with it, replacing the battery and trying everything else I could think of to get it to work (it's been a problem since I got it -- I should've just returned it in the beginning). The entire time I'm messing with it, I'm also listening to the girls fighting, Isaac screaming because he's not being held, and we're ever closer to needing to have Annie to preschool . . . but darn it, I wanted to weigh in before I ate breakfast. I eventually had to give up to get Annie ready. Then that erupted into a big "fine, I'll just give all your toys away if you refuse to pick them up"/"you can't give away my toys, they're mine" argument that wasn't fully settled until Annie gave in and cleaned up and ended up being 20 minutes late to preschool. Then I spent the next hour dragging every toy from their bedroom, the front room and my room down into the basement once and for all. Once I'd de-toyed our entire top two floors, and Isaac had settled into playing with some baby toys (the only ones left upstairs), I tried out my stupid scale again. It dared to flash its "ERR0" message at me yet again, and I suddenly couldn't help myself, as I chucked the scale across my bathroom. Really, I threw a scale. Across the room. Like a crazy person. As soon as it landed with a crash (making Isaac start to cry in the other room) I suddenly realized how stupid I felt. I guess I couldn't take out my frustrations on my tired, grumpy, sickly children, so the scale is now officially done. I ordered a new one on Amazon about 20 minutes later. Things were uneventful for a bit, and Annie was home soon. In order to 'earn' back some of her earlier lost toys from the morning's debacle, it was now Annie's responsibility to change the laundry. She came happily skipping in, with my cell phone in hand, "Look what I found in the washing machine Mom!" she sung out. Crap. CRAP. My BRAND NEW cell phone, that I bought about a month ago, just went through the wash! And this isn't my old water proof awesome phone, but some crappy new Samsung that I don't imagine likes the rinse cycle of my washing machine. I stuck it in rice and hoped for the best. I then rearranged my bedroom furniture, but foolishly tried to attempt it while Isaac was awake, so it was mainly me trying to ignore his wailing while I frantically finished my work, and Annie danced around singing loudly (adding to the noise level of the room) attempting (futilely) to soothe her baby brother's cries. I also have some graphics work to catch up on, what with our hospital stay and sick kids adventures, and I spent an hour or so doing that. An hour of listening to my kids whine, "When do we get to play on the computer?" and "Mom, she's touching me!" and then the baby waking up screaming when I was this close to being done with one project. I asked Annie to go in and talk to her little brother in his crib for just three minutes while I finished emailing these files to my client . . . once she went in he quieted down but it was only a minute or so later I heard Isaac start to frantically scream. I rush in to find that Annie had climbed into his crib and picked him up, but while trying to help him 'stand' he pulled away and smacked his poor little head against the side of the crib and he now had a nice red mark on his forehead. A mark that felt very much like a condemnation of my neglectful mothering. Isaac calmed down as soon as I picked him up, and the red spot disappeared in no time, but it was too late -- my motherly guilt was already in overdrive. My poor, sick, fussy little boy and I sent his sister in to calm him down so I could get my work done -- and then he was injured -- I was pretty sure was the worst Mom ever. I also had just put Ellie in time out. Can you put a feverish two year old in time out? How do you balance that -- on one hand, she feels like crap and is therefore less able to handle her strong emotions on little sleep and being sick, and I should be holding and comforting and soothing her. On the other hand, she can't just go walking around smacking her sister or yelling at her brother.
And did I mention that Ellie painted her toenails. And skirt, and hands, and shirt. All a lovely shade of purple glitter.
And how I forgot all about Annie's music class until about 5 minutes before it was over. For the SECOND time in a month. And Annie cried because she missed it again.
And Isaac suddenly seems unable to keep down either sweet potatoes or amoxicillin. I don't know which was the culprit, but together they made for bright pink and orange spit up that went down my shirt, on my carpet, on my bedspread and on the stairs.
And Greg called to tell me that work had been crazy and he would be home an hour and a half later than normal.
It's just been one of those days.
Edited to add: Isaac (whom I love, and I didn't really think about trading him in for another baby at 3AM like I said I was) decided to wake up FIVE times last night. FIVE times. Stinker.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Loser-ish Update
I'm down 4.5 pounds. Woo hoo!
I'm eating pretty well, nothing crazy or fadish, just good foods that are good for my body.
I'm working out 6 days a week. Usually workout videos, anywhere from 20-50 minutes. I also occasionally throw on my ipod and dance around like crazy, something my kids find hilarious. (As would anybody else, but ain't nobody else getting to see that.)
And I'm feeling good.
Even if I'm in second place.
In other news, my kids are still kinda crazy. The girls are grumpy and ornery and possibly possessed. They're fighting a lot, and I'm not sleeping much, which is not a good combo.
Isaac is sick. Poor kid is dripping green gunk from his nose and eyes, and he's not too happy about it. He pretty much insists on being held during all his waking hours. And he's not sleeping much. Add to this, Ellie follows me around the house, grasping at my legs, and whining, "I need you Mom, I need you . . . " Something she says almost as often as she says, "I'm hungry Mom, I'm hungry!" Which means I have two kids grasping at me crying, while having to prepare something for Little Miss Growth Spurt something new every hour or so. I'm so sick of my kitchen.
When Greg comes home from work, I pretty much throw the kids at him and run into a vacant room for 20 minutes of nobody. freaking. touching. me.
Have I mentioned I'm really, really done with winter?
And how glad I am that I'm trying to live by a 'this is but a short season' mantra right now?
I'm eating pretty well, nothing crazy or fadish, just good foods that are good for my body.
I'm working out 6 days a week. Usually workout videos, anywhere from 20-50 minutes. I also occasionally throw on my ipod and dance around like crazy, something my kids find hilarious. (As would anybody else, but ain't nobody else getting to see that.)
And I'm feeling good.
Even if I'm in second place.
In other news, my kids are still kinda crazy. The girls are grumpy and ornery and possibly possessed. They're fighting a lot, and I'm not sleeping much, which is not a good combo.
Isaac is sick. Poor kid is dripping green gunk from his nose and eyes, and he's not too happy about it. He pretty much insists on being held during all his waking hours. And he's not sleeping much. Add to this, Ellie follows me around the house, grasping at my legs, and whining, "I need you Mom, I need you . . . " Something she says almost as often as she says, "I'm hungry Mom, I'm hungry!" Which means I have two kids grasping at me crying, while having to prepare something for Little Miss Growth Spurt something new every hour or so. I'm so sick of my kitchen.
When Greg comes home from work, I pretty much throw the kids at him and run into a vacant room for 20 minutes of nobody. freaking. touching. me.
Have I mentioned I'm really, really done with winter?
And how glad I am that I'm trying to live by a 'this is but a short season' mantra right now?
Friday, January 21, 2011
I Would Like My (Relatively) Well Mannered Children Returned Please . . .
OK, so is it the full moon or something?! 'Cause my children are just barely this side of possessed. It's nonstop crying, whining, screaming, fighting and sobbing around here the last few days. I can't set Isaac down without him crying so hard he forgets to breathe. The girls are smacking each other around constantly, which is actually quite unusual for them. Annie wakes up so grumpy that I'm half tempted to go put her immediately back in bed and lock the door behind her. Ellie is so extremely short tempered and volatile that she's a tiny hurricane of extreme emotions, leaving a wake of destruction (physical, emotional and mental) in her wake. Even the messes they make seem to be worse than normal. And I can't keep up with them! Isaac won't let me set him down without screaming bloody murder, so I'm doing most of my housework single handedly, and I'm getting more behind by the hour. I tried to work out this morning (needing an endorphin rush something fierce) and ended up getting so distressed by his frantic shrill cries from his (normally beloved) exersaucer, and the girls screaming at each other and threatening each other with bodily harm, that I only made it about 5 minutes in before I nearly melted down and had to shut off the DVD to tend to my needy, ornery children.
Have I mentioned I haven't showered or changed into regular clothes yet today?
Isaac's only letting me type this, 'cause I'm holding him up one handed so he can stare at himself in the mirror above my computer. It won't last long.
Over the last several days Greg has got to enjoy several phone calls with a minimum of two children shrieking uncontrollably in the background, and empty threats by his wife of, "You better get home on time tonight, 'cause I can't guarantee I'll be here even 10 seconds after 4:30 comes around."
Oh, it helped quite a bit that I went to a cake decorating class last night, while Greg stayed home, got all three children down for bed and then cleaned, mopped and vacuumed the entire main floor. (Probably out of fear I really would take off after another day of such torture. Either way, he's amazing.) I felt very refreshed, rejuvenated in a cleaner home, plus I proved myself to be a cake decorating genius (not really, but I was way impressed by my first attempt nonetheless.) Of course, then the children all woke up this morning just as pissy and my mood has turned foul again.
Please tell me it's the full moon . . . and that things'll get back to normal soon . . .
Have I mentioned I haven't showered or changed into regular clothes yet today?
Isaac's only letting me type this, 'cause I'm holding him up one handed so he can stare at himself in the mirror above my computer. It won't last long.
Over the last several days Greg has got to enjoy several phone calls with a minimum of two children shrieking uncontrollably in the background, and empty threats by his wife of, "You better get home on time tonight, 'cause I can't guarantee I'll be here even 10 seconds after 4:30 comes around."
Oh, it helped quite a bit that I went to a cake decorating class last night, while Greg stayed home, got all three children down for bed and then cleaned, mopped and vacuumed the entire main floor. (Probably out of fear I really would take off after another day of such torture. Either way, he's amazing.) I felt very refreshed, rejuvenated in a cleaner home, plus I proved myself to be a cake decorating genius (not really, but I was way impressed by my first attempt nonetheless.) Of course, then the children all woke up this morning just as pissy and my mood has turned foul again.
Please tell me it's the full moon . . . and that things'll get back to normal soon . . .
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Craziness & Baby Smiles
Recently, Annie has taken temporary leave of her sanity and has gone full blown four year old crazy. This, by far, has been the most challenging stage (I'm gonna say that a lot over the next 15 years, aren't I?) She's just so defiant and snotty and it's a shock to my mothering system to watch her treat her sister and I so rotten. Ellie, the brunt of much of Annie's moodiness, responds by being a mean little tease and pushing every last one of her buttons. Ellie is a ball of energy and personality -- when used for good, this makes for the single most adorable two year old in human history -- when used for evil, it's a force to be reckoned with. And combinet that with Annie's drama and attitude, and it's like the perfect storm of moodiness. Well, this all culminated yesterday, in a mess of tears and screaming (mostly the girls, but I wasn't immune), that landed both of the girls in their room at noon, with a strict 'you will not leave this room until you take the nap we all so need for you to take!' mandate. There was much screaming in protest ("Ellie! I didn't even know Mom could be this mean!" and "I don't even know if I love Mommy anymore!"), but I stuck to my guns (and also went for a walk outside with Isaac for awhile, just around the circle repeatedly, so that I didn't lose it with them), and almost THREE HOURS LATER they both finally crashed and slept. Ellie for a total of 45 minutes (so guess who was grumpy all evening?), and Annie for a blissful two hours or so. Which, of course, meant she was wide awake until about 10PM last night. I still haven't decided if it was worth it or not.
With the girls screaming in their room, I hid out in mine and made goofy faces and cooed and chatted with Isaac for hours. It was a really nice break, to just hang out the two of us without anyone wanting or needing anything else. Plus, a smiling baby was just what my beaten down mood needed! It was a nice break from an angry, ranting, dramatic, possibly-hormonal, four year old girl. That baby is so cute, and I could just sit there and smile and coo with him all day. Well, if I didn't have two other kids and a house to take care of . . .
Today he's 7 weeks old, and I was taking pictures of him and Ellie this morning. (Annie was downstairs watching 'Mickey Mouse Club', and we weren't gonna mess with that.) Ellie was a little cheese ball, per usual, and Isaac was fairly smiley . . .
With the girls screaming in their room, I hid out in mine and made goofy faces and cooed and chatted with Isaac for hours. It was a really nice break, to just hang out the two of us without anyone wanting or needing anything else. Plus, a smiling baby was just what my beaten down mood needed! It was a nice break from an angry, ranting, dramatic, possibly-hormonal, four year old girl. That baby is so cute, and I could just sit there and smile and coo with him all day. Well, if I didn't have two other kids and a house to take care of . . .
Today he's 7 weeks old, and I was taking pictures of him and Ellie this morning. (Annie was downstairs watching 'Mickey Mouse Club', and we weren't gonna mess with that.) Ellie was a little cheese ball, per usual, and Isaac was fairly smiley . . .
Ellie was sporting sunglasses with her pajamas, bright and early this morning.
They're just so cute! And lovable! And today better go better than yesterday!
Thursday, July 29, 2010
And Now I'm Tired . . .
Isaac's been a fairly decent little sleeper. Until a few nights ago.
He'd nap well all day, then at night he was going 3 and sometimes even 4 hours between feedings for the first half the night (then like every 2 hours from there). I was getting the rest I needed and feeling pretty good.
Then the kid turned 3 weeks old and decided to screw the whole sleeping thing.
His morning nap today: 15 freaking minutes. After fighting him for hours to go down for a nap, the kid slept 15 stupid minutes. It took another 30 minutes of fighting him to get him back to sleep for another half hour.
Last night he woke up nearly hourly, and stayed awake for up to an hour at a time in between.
The night before wasn't much better.
Which means that my amazing postpartum mood is now fried. I was amazed that for that first weeks I hadn't even been so much as a little bit teary eyed. In the past I've never suffered from postpartum depression, thankfully, but I've had a bit of the occasional baby blues. I felt overwhelmed and a bit lonely when I was suddenly home all day with a colicky infant when Annie was born. And then I'd look at a sleeping two year old Annie after Ellie's birth and think how much throwing a new younger sibling into her world was gonna shake things up and I'd end up weeping to Greg about how she has no idea that her whole world had changed and it wasn't just her and Mommy anymore, and Greg would start to look concerned and finally ask, "Um, is this, like, something I should be concerned about . . . like a postpartum thing?" I'd assure him I was just a bit emotional, but fine.
Since Isaac's birth, I've been surprised that although the physical recovery seemed to kick my butt much more this time, but I've never felt so good emotionally and mentally after having a baby.
Until I started to fear for my sleep. Then I start to cry. The other night, at 4AM, I was whimpering to Greg about how Isaac was sleeping crappy and I was tired and I just wanted to fall back asleep and Isaac kept fussing and wasn't sleeping and what have I done wrong that he's not sleeping and what if I somehow screwed up some motherhood thing and I somehow ruined my good sleeping baby from a few days ago and he's now been replaced with this horrible sleeper that won't nap or go back to sleep . . . I was probably rambling a bit.
See, I have near PTSD when it comes to sleep. Annie was a HORRID sleeper, and it was awful and I was so tired and almost non-functioning that it was scary. I never want to be that tired again. I also harbor intense guilt and worry that I somehow caused it. Sure, my husband points out sweetly to me that there was nothing either of us could do to make that child sleep. Trust me, we tried it all. We tried everything in the world to get her to sleep, and she just isn't much of a sleeper. At two years old on a drive back from California after a solid week of a long, exhausting vacation, she took one 30 minute nap all day. (Ellie didn't do much better -- she wasn't even a year old and even with spending ALL day in a car, she took one 55 minute nap that day. My kids just aren't big sleepers. I don't know why they don't sleep like other kids, especially somewhere like trapped in a car all day, but they just don't.) Other people, possibly not as reassuring as my husband, have how they turned out to be such bad sleepers. Did I just not put them down when they were tired? Did I not 'teach them self-soothing skills'? I mean, they're babies, they should just sleep . . . so what did I do as their mother to get in the way of that? As toddlers and preschoolers, why are they fighting bedtime this much? You should just be able to put them down and they'll eventually fall asleep? You just need a sleep routine. That's how kids work, so why are mine different? I stress about this more than you know. I should mention, I've come down clearly on the side of 'I've done NOTHING wrong' and 'I did everything I knew to do' and 'I've read every single freaking book and some kids just don't like to sleep.' But, motherhood (as you may know) is a guilt trap, and if there's something that sets our kids apart, that has people asking us "Why are they like that?", it's hard not to obsess about all your parenting decisions and wonder where it all went wrong. Funny thing is, I know it's just who they are. I was a craptacular sleeper as a baby. According to my Mom, I gave up all naps at 6 weeks old. SIX WEEKS. No matter what they tried. By a year, they wouldn't even let me nap on the rare occasion I wanted to -- 'cause if they did, I was up 'til midnight that night, and wouldn't let my parents get to sleep. I was a horrible sleeper. Greg, on the other hand, took something like two 2-hour naps 'til Kindergarten. Some kids just need, and want, more sleep than others. Greg's genetics just have not kicked in with our girls yet, and they're unfortunately a lot more like me than him when it comes to sleep. Stupid karma.
Anyway, so to suddenly be kept up much longer than usual the last few nights with a fussy Isaac has me a bit terrified. Then today, him not settling down and taking a nap for nearly four hours of fussiness this morning only amplified that terror.
And my mind immediately goes to, "What am I doing wrong?" What if he becomes a horrible sleeper too . . . three out of three, that has to be my fault, right?
Is there a way to turn off the stupid, nagging, self doubt that comes with motherhood? And turn up that voice that reminds me that I have amazing mothering instincts, and I just need to go with them and stop worrying that I'm screwing him up every time something I try doesn't work . . .
He'd nap well all day, then at night he was going 3 and sometimes even 4 hours between feedings for the first half the night (then like every 2 hours from there). I was getting the rest I needed and feeling pretty good.
Then the kid turned 3 weeks old and decided to screw the whole sleeping thing.
His morning nap today: 15 freaking minutes. After fighting him for hours to go down for a nap, the kid slept 15 stupid minutes. It took another 30 minutes of fighting him to get him back to sleep for another half hour.
Last night he woke up nearly hourly, and stayed awake for up to an hour at a time in between.
The night before wasn't much better.
Which means that my amazing postpartum mood is now fried. I was amazed that for that first weeks I hadn't even been so much as a little bit teary eyed. In the past I've never suffered from postpartum depression, thankfully, but I've had a bit of the occasional baby blues. I felt overwhelmed and a bit lonely when I was suddenly home all day with a colicky infant when Annie was born. And then I'd look at a sleeping two year old Annie after Ellie's birth and think how much throwing a new younger sibling into her world was gonna shake things up and I'd end up weeping to Greg about how she has no idea that her whole world had changed and it wasn't just her and Mommy anymore, and Greg would start to look concerned and finally ask, "Um, is this, like, something I should be concerned about . . . like a postpartum thing?" I'd assure him I was just a bit emotional, but fine.
Since Isaac's birth, I've been surprised that although the physical recovery seemed to kick my butt much more this time, but I've never felt so good emotionally and mentally after having a baby.
Until I started to fear for my sleep. Then I start to cry. The other night, at 4AM, I was whimpering to Greg about how Isaac was sleeping crappy and I was tired and I just wanted to fall back asleep and Isaac kept fussing and wasn't sleeping and what have I done wrong that he's not sleeping and what if I somehow screwed up some motherhood thing and I somehow ruined my good sleeping baby from a few days ago and he's now been replaced with this horrible sleeper that won't nap or go back to sleep . . . I was probably rambling a bit.
See, I have near PTSD when it comes to sleep. Annie was a HORRID sleeper, and it was awful and I was so tired and almost non-functioning that it was scary. I never want to be that tired again. I also harbor intense guilt and worry that I somehow caused it. Sure, my husband points out sweetly to me that there was nothing either of us could do to make that child sleep. Trust me, we tried it all. We tried everything in the world to get her to sleep, and she just isn't much of a sleeper. At two years old on a drive back from California after a solid week of a long, exhausting vacation, she took one 30 minute nap all day. (Ellie didn't do much better -- she wasn't even a year old and even with spending ALL day in a car, she took one 55 minute nap that day. My kids just aren't big sleepers. I don't know why they don't sleep like other kids, especially somewhere like trapped in a car all day, but they just don't.) Other people, possibly not as reassuring as my husband, have how they turned out to be such bad sleepers. Did I just not put them down when they were tired? Did I not 'teach them self-soothing skills'? I mean, they're babies, they should just sleep . . . so what did I do as their mother to get in the way of that? As toddlers and preschoolers, why are they fighting bedtime this much? You should just be able to put them down and they'll eventually fall asleep? You just need a sleep routine. That's how kids work, so why are mine different? I stress about this more than you know. I should mention, I've come down clearly on the side of 'I've done NOTHING wrong' and 'I did everything I knew to do' and 'I've read every single freaking book and some kids just don't like to sleep.' But, motherhood (as you may know) is a guilt trap, and if there's something that sets our kids apart, that has people asking us "Why are they like that?", it's hard not to obsess about all your parenting decisions and wonder where it all went wrong. Funny thing is, I know it's just who they are. I was a craptacular sleeper as a baby. According to my Mom, I gave up all naps at 6 weeks old. SIX WEEKS. No matter what they tried. By a year, they wouldn't even let me nap on the rare occasion I wanted to -- 'cause if they did, I was up 'til midnight that night, and wouldn't let my parents get to sleep. I was a horrible sleeper. Greg, on the other hand, took something like two 2-hour naps 'til Kindergarten. Some kids just need, and want, more sleep than others. Greg's genetics just have not kicked in with our girls yet, and they're unfortunately a lot more like me than him when it comes to sleep. Stupid karma.
Anyway, so to suddenly be kept up much longer than usual the last few nights with a fussy Isaac has me a bit terrified. Then today, him not settling down and taking a nap for nearly four hours of fussiness this morning only amplified that terror.
And my mind immediately goes to, "What am I doing wrong?" What if he becomes a horrible sleeper too . . . three out of three, that has to be my fault, right?
Is there a way to turn off the stupid, nagging, self doubt that comes with motherhood? And turn up that voice that reminds me that I have amazing mothering instincts, and I just need to go with them and stop worrying that I'm screwing him up every time something I try doesn't work . . .
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Minor Motherhood Meltdown
Annie freaks out when she gets her hair brushed. It's long and curly and in the morning filled with snarls and tangles and is pretty nasty business to get brushed out. The problem is Annie's reaction to our daily hairstyling has gone from sobs and tears to something that would make more sense if someone was taking out her appendix without anesthesia. It's obnoxious. She's screaming and thrashing and sobbing before I even touch her head now. I get that it's not pleasant, I try hard to be understanding and I use water and 'No More Tears' and patience, and yet she's busy screaming bloody murder from the first mist from the spray bottle. I've told her for a little while now that if the dramatics didn't cut down a bit (since she can apparently have her hair brushed by Grandma and others without more than an occasional whimper) that we were going to take her to get her hair cut. Nothing has improved, and this morning's freak out was particularly Oscar worthy, so I left her thrashing in the bathtub (where we'd been attempting to comb through some conditioner), grabbed a pair of random scissors, gave her one last warning, she started screaming about how I was the meanest Mom in the world, and I took her hair and cut off the bottom two inches.
We finished the haircut in the tub, she remained surprisingly calm throughout it. (Probably shock.) :-) The haircut (while I'll have checked out and cleaned up by my friend Emily) is surprisingly good, and the most ironic part is she spent the next hour admiring herself in the mirror. She loves it.
I'm hoping this makes our lives a bit easier for awhile. She's been told that if the theatrical antics keep up, we will go even shorter though . . .
We finished the haircut in the tub, she remained surprisingly calm throughout it. (Probably shock.) :-) The haircut (while I'll have checked out and cleaned up by my friend Emily) is surprisingly good, and the most ironic part is she spent the next hour admiring herself in the mirror. She loves it.
I'm hoping this makes our lives a bit easier for awhile. She's been told that if the theatrical antics keep up, we will go even shorter though . . .
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Happy Mother's Day!
Mother's Day was good. Breakfast was prepared for me. The girls painted me pictures. Annie gave me a 'Mother's Day' pin she made in preschool, and you've never seen a three (almost four) year old so excited about anything in the world. She ran around calling me the "Mother's Day Girl" and giving me lots of kisses. Ellie didn't quite get it, but didn't want to be left out, so she gave me lots of random hugs and loves too. Their competitiveness has some perks. An added bonus -- Ellie took a nap before Church, which doesn't always happen, and makes Sacrament meeting go much smoother. And then, 'cause she had a snotty nose, we dropped her off at my parent's house rather than fight her about going to nursery, so it was like we got a 'get out of parenting free' card for the last two meetings of Church. :-)
After Church, my family all met up at my parent's house for a Mother's Day barbecue. All of my grandparents, siblings, and many of my Aunts & Uncles were there. Even my sister Lacy. (Hi, Lacy!) The girls had a blast, being the youngest and, as always, the center of attention. Ellie gave all of the great grandparents an extensive lesson in sign language, and also showed off her newfound ability to refer to us (occasionally) as Mommy, Daddy and Annie (instead of Mama, Dada and Anna). She has also started calling Cody, my little brother, "Doh-dy". Which kinda makes us all sad, as we were all quite fond of (and have adopted) her previous nickname for him. "Doh-doh." We think it suits him. :-)
And in the tradition of all great family parties, there was a water fight (in the kitchen; my Mom threatened everyone's life if there were water spots left when clean up was done), a huge Nerf war complete with nefarious scheming and surprise attacks (my girls are surprisingly handy with a Nerf gun), wrestling with Grandpa (where Annie showed off some amazing fighting moves), and Star plucked people's eyebrows. The only thing we didn't do was play cards, but it was getting late and it was time to get the girls home for bed.
Uncle Karl loves a good joke -- and Annie wanted to show off her side-splitting 'knock knock' joke ("Boo", "Boo Who" "Don't cry, it's only a joke.) So, here's Annie sitting with Great Grandpa and amusing Talina and Uncle Karl with her comedic prowess.
Annie and I
Probably my favorite picture of Annie from the whole day.
Annie with Aunt Star
Ellie & I
Annie hanging out with Great Grandpa -- they just look so cute together.
Aunt Talina & Annie
Ellie looking at a picture book from our last vacation with Great Grandma.
Another couple Annie pictures I loved.
Ellie eating ice. Her favorite past time ever. 
Taking pictures on Aunt Talina's cell phone. Second favorite past time.
Ellie chilling with her Dad. Up on his shoulders, while sitting on the couch. Of course.
My Grandpa and Uncle Karl giving each other 'eskimo kisses' while Grandpa sings to Karl while putting in his painful eye drops. Grandpa is so unbelievably tender and loving with Karl, it always melts my heart.
Uncle Karl hanging out with the girls.
Annie and Grandma
Uncle Karl loves to untie people's shoes. Greg always 'accidentally' finds his foot way up on Karl's wheelchair armrest, and Karl laughs uncontrollably the entire time he unties Greg's shoes. Annie originally ran up yelling, "I'll save you Dad!" and holding her hands tightly over the shoelaces so Karl couldn't get to them. We were all laughing, and had to explain that Dad was fine and didn't need protecting. She was amused once she got the 'game'.
Here's Annie getting ready to attack Grandpa. She was making the funniest faces, then attacking him like she was fencing without a sword . . . then she'd poke him, jump back and run away, shouting, "I won! I won!" triumphantly. Her reasoning, "I didn't get hurt! I win!"
Ellie's moves were a bit more 'sumo-ish', but equally amusing as she'd also prepare to charge at Grandpa Robert.
One of the many times Star's tweezers were put to good use. Nothing says 'Mother's Day' like tweezing!
Happy Mother's Day, Y'all!
After Church, my family all met up at my parent's house for a Mother's Day barbecue. All of my grandparents, siblings, and many of my Aunts & Uncles were there. Even my sister Lacy. (Hi, Lacy!) The girls had a blast, being the youngest and, as always, the center of attention. Ellie gave all of the great grandparents an extensive lesson in sign language, and also showed off her newfound ability to refer to us (occasionally) as Mommy, Daddy and Annie (instead of Mama, Dada and Anna). She has also started calling Cody, my little brother, "Doh-dy". Which kinda makes us all sad, as we were all quite fond of (and have adopted) her previous nickname for him. "Doh-doh." We think it suits him. :-)
And in the tradition of all great family parties, there was a water fight (in the kitchen; my Mom threatened everyone's life if there were water spots left when clean up was done), a huge Nerf war complete with nefarious scheming and surprise attacks (my girls are surprisingly handy with a Nerf gun), wrestling with Grandpa (where Annie showed off some amazing fighting moves), and Star plucked people's eyebrows. The only thing we didn't do was play cards, but it was getting late and it was time to get the girls home for bed.
Mommy and her girls on Mother's Day, 2010.
Uncle Karl loves a good joke -- and Annie wanted to show off her side-splitting 'knock knock' joke ("Boo", "Boo Who" "Don't cry, it's only a joke.) So, here's Annie sitting with Great Grandpa and amusing Talina and Uncle Karl with her comedic prowess.
Annie and I
Probably my favorite picture of Annie from the whole day.
Annie with Aunt Star
Ellie & I
Annie hanging out with Great Grandpa -- they just look so cute together.
Aunt Talina & Annie
Ellie looking at a picture book from our last vacation with Great Grandma.
Another couple Annie pictures I loved.
Ellie eating ice. Her favorite past time ever. 
Taking pictures on Aunt Talina's cell phone. Second favorite past time.
Ellie chilling with her Dad. Up on his shoulders, while sitting on the couch. Of course.
My Grandpa and Uncle Karl giving each other 'eskimo kisses' while Grandpa sings to Karl while putting in his painful eye drops. Grandpa is so unbelievably tender and loving with Karl, it always melts my heart.
Uncle Karl hanging out with the girls.
Annie and Grandma
Uncle Karl loves to untie people's shoes. Greg always 'accidentally' finds his foot way up on Karl's wheelchair armrest, and Karl laughs uncontrollably the entire time he unties Greg's shoes. Annie originally ran up yelling, "I'll save you Dad!" and holding her hands tightly over the shoelaces so Karl couldn't get to them. We were all laughing, and had to explain that Dad was fine and didn't need protecting. She was amused once she got the 'game'.
Here's Annie getting ready to attack Grandpa. She was making the funniest faces, then attacking him like she was fencing without a sword . . . then she'd poke him, jump back and run away, shouting, "I won! I won!" triumphantly. Her reasoning, "I didn't get hurt! I win!"
Ellie's moves were a bit more 'sumo-ish', but equally amusing as she'd also prepare to charge at Grandpa Robert.
One of the many times Star's tweezers were put to good use. Nothing says 'Mother's Day' like tweezing!
Happy Mother's Day, Y'all!Thursday, May 6, 2010
My "Day Off"
Just an update on my weekday where I wasn't solely responsible for the children: I still didn't get in three hours of left-side-lying. I really kinda suck at that.
But, I did nap.
And I listened to my 'Hypnobirthing' CD in the middle of the day, rather than right before bed, which means whereas I'm usually out within 4 minutes and hear very little of the CD, today I listened to a full 15 minutes before I was fast asleep (on my left side -- for the next hour). Success!
I took a long bath while finishing the book I've been reading all week.
I did my hair super cute. And now I won't have to straighten it tomorrow, and possibly Saturday.
I didn't cook a single thing.
In fact, I ate breakfast in bed (while folding clothes, but still!) I didn't actually leave the upstairs until after noon.
And I got four different graphics jobs done, and there is not a single 'starred' thing left in my email inbox. (I star anything I have to follow up on. I caught up completely today. Go me.)
Greg picked me up angel food cake to go with the strawberries we have in the fridge.
I folded and put away three loads of laundry. Do you know how often I sort laundry into nice little piles all around my bedroom, and then those piles sit there for several days, making my room look cluttered and junky? The vast majority of the time. Today, while Greg got the girls breakfast ready, and (from the sound of it) played endless rounds of "Ring Around the Rosies", I got everything sorted, folded, hung up and put away.
Greg took the girls to run errands, and they ended up going to his parent's house and eating dinner, while I stayed home and had the house to myself.
And, we got a new Nikon D5000.
Today was a very good day.
The best part is -- tomorrow I'm solo again, but then it's the weekend!
But, I did nap.
And I listened to my 'Hypnobirthing' CD in the middle of the day, rather than right before bed, which means whereas I'm usually out within 4 minutes and hear very little of the CD, today I listened to a full 15 minutes before I was fast asleep (on my left side -- for the next hour). Success!
I took a long bath while finishing the book I've been reading all week.
I did my hair super cute. And now I won't have to straighten it tomorrow, and possibly Saturday.
I didn't cook a single thing.
In fact, I ate breakfast in bed (while folding clothes, but still!) I didn't actually leave the upstairs until after noon.
And I got four different graphics jobs done, and there is not a single 'starred' thing left in my email inbox. (I star anything I have to follow up on. I caught up completely today. Go me.)
Greg picked me up angel food cake to go with the strawberries we have in the fridge.
I folded and put away three loads of laundry. Do you know how often I sort laundry into nice little piles all around my bedroom, and then those piles sit there for several days, making my room look cluttered and junky? The vast majority of the time. Today, while Greg got the girls breakfast ready, and (from the sound of it) played endless rounds of "Ring Around the Rosies", I got everything sorted, folded, hung up and put away.
Greg took the girls to run errands, and they ended up going to his parent's house and eating dinner, while I stayed home and had the house to myself.
And, we got a new Nikon D5000.
Today was a very good day.
The best part is -- tomorrow I'm solo again, but then it's the weekend!
Thanks Greg! I love you! Consider the new camera your 'thank you' gift! :-)
Saturday, May 1, 2010
The Real Reason I Had Kids
And once they know how to unload the dishwasher without my help, my life will be complete. :-)Monday, March 22, 2010
Bedtime Stalling Routine That Actually Works
I was changing the laundry, in the hall outside the girls' bedroom, when I hear a soft whisper, "Mommy, I love you."
I peeked my head in (Annie knows my Achilles heel), and whisper back, "I love you too Bananie, now go to sleep."
She smiles and continues, "I love you as much as my soft, soft puppy pillow is soft. That's how much I love you."
Dang, that kid is good.
I went in and gave her a hug and a kiss, despite it being 20 minutes past lights out.
I peeked my head in (Annie knows my Achilles heel), and whisper back, "I love you too Bananie, now go to sleep."
She smiles and continues, "I love you as much as my soft, soft puppy pillow is soft. That's how much I love you."
Dang, that kid is good.
I went in and gave her a hug and a kiss, despite it being 20 minutes past lights out.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Self Esteem Booster
This morning, as I was getting ready, Ellie was diving into my makeup box, sponging on imaginary lotion, brushing on imaginary cheek blush, and slathering on very real lip gloss. Greg was playing with her, trying to distract her from anything too messy, but was a bit too slow when she grabbed my foundation and squirted it all over her hands. "No Ellie," Greg exclaimed, "You don't need any foundation! You're cute just the way your are!"
"Yeah," Annie piped in, "Not like mommies! They get out of the tub and don't look cute and need makeup!"
Thanks a lot.
"Yeah," Annie piped in, "Not like mommies! They get out of the tub and don't look cute and need makeup!"
Thanks a lot.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
My Mother's Granddaughter
I know this'll come as no shock to anyone who has kids (or has ever met any kids) . . . but they can act awfully different around others than they do around their parents. Greg and I will actually be making plans for later in the evening than the girls usually stay up, and when one of us voices concerns about the sheer craziness and off the charts grumpiness that hits after 7PM, the other will remind, "It won't be a problem, other people will be around." And true to form, our daughters hold it together an hour or two later than they'd ever dream of being civil for at home.
The biggest discrepency I see is Annie around me (and only me) vs. Annie around my Mom. It's like two completely different children. One easily set off and quick to snap, the other a picture of perfect preschooler intent on learning new stuff and saying adorable things.
My daughter: Basically now refuses to acknowledge that there is a set standard how the rest of the English speaking world forms their letters . . . and definitely will not actually attempt to write any such letters.
My mother's grandchild: Comes home with worksheets filled with practiced letter formation. She proudly shows off her page of F's to anyone who'll give her a second glance.
My daughter: We'll be reading a book, and if I dare stop on a simple word and ask her what the first sound is, she'll dramatically throw the book down and storm off while yelling, "I don't want to sound stuff!"
My mother's grandchild: Grandma will proudly look up from a book they're looking at together and exclaim, "That's like the twentieth word she's sounded out all by herself . . . she's reading these so well we're going to move on to sight words next week!"
My daugther: Turns her nose up at new foods, and even some old reliables . . .
My mother's grandchild: Comes home practically dyed pink from eating numerous raw tomatoes out of Grandma's garden all afternoon. Apparently eating them just like they were apples. And for lunch had a giant serving of brocolli with her noodles.
My daughter: Gets so grumpy in the afternoon (although refuses to nap, no matter what we've tried) that we're all either walking on eggshells or pulling out our hair in frustration with her sheer unreasonableness.
My mother's grandchild: "She was perfect! Everyone thought she was so charming!"
My daughter: Yells at her sister, "Ellie, STOP looking at me! Be nice! I'm not going to play with you NEVER again!"
My mother's grandchid: "Oh, my little dear, are you okay? Oh, come here my sweet little dear . . ." as Grandma coos, "Oh, she is so sweet with her little sister . . ."
My daughter: "Annie, how did preschool go?" "Fine." "What did you do?" "Nothing." "Did you have fun?" "Yeah."
My mother's grandchild, "Hey Grandma! I went to preschool today and we learned about apples, and the letter A, and the color red, and I learned a new song . . . do you want to hear it?"
Moral to the story: I'm sending Annie to live with my parents when she's a preteen.
The biggest discrepency I see is Annie around me (and only me) vs. Annie around my Mom. It's like two completely different children. One easily set off and quick to snap, the other a picture of perfect preschooler intent on learning new stuff and saying adorable things.
My daughter: Basically now refuses to acknowledge that there is a set standard how the rest of the English speaking world forms their letters . . . and definitely will not actually attempt to write any such letters.
My mother's grandchild: Comes home with worksheets filled with practiced letter formation. She proudly shows off her page of F's to anyone who'll give her a second glance.
My daughter: We'll be reading a book, and if I dare stop on a simple word and ask her what the first sound is, she'll dramatically throw the book down and storm off while yelling, "I don't want to sound stuff!"
My mother's grandchild: Grandma will proudly look up from a book they're looking at together and exclaim, "That's like the twentieth word she's sounded out all by herself . . . she's reading these so well we're going to move on to sight words next week!"
My daugther: Turns her nose up at new foods, and even some old reliables . . .
My mother's grandchild: Comes home practically dyed pink from eating numerous raw tomatoes out of Grandma's garden all afternoon. Apparently eating them just like they were apples. And for lunch had a giant serving of brocolli with her noodles.
My daughter: Gets so grumpy in the afternoon (although refuses to nap, no matter what we've tried) that we're all either walking on eggshells or pulling out our hair in frustration with her sheer unreasonableness.
My mother's grandchild: "She was perfect! Everyone thought she was so charming!"
My daughter: Yells at her sister, "Ellie, STOP looking at me! Be nice! I'm not going to play with you NEVER again!"
My mother's grandchid: "Oh, my little dear, are you okay? Oh, come here my sweet little dear . . ." as Grandma coos, "Oh, she is so sweet with her little sister . . ."
My daughter: "Annie, how did preschool go?" "Fine." "What did you do?" "Nothing." "Did you have fun?" "Yeah."
My mother's grandchild, "Hey Grandma! I went to preschool today and we learned about apples, and the letter A, and the color red, and I learned a new song . . . do you want to hear it?"
Moral to the story: I'm sending Annie to live with my parents when she's a preteen.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
How Happy are You?
I read a post on Blog Segullah this morning, and have been thinking about it ever since.
The article is about a recent study that states that women of today are less happy than in generations past, and men are happier. Then the author talks about the reasons she feels that is true.
I've thought about this a lot, as it seems that myself and many of my peers just seem to 'struggle' more than a lot of our mothers did in our roles and our attitudes and feelings towards being a Mom. Maybe our Moms just aren't remembering things the way they really were, or maybe they didn't feel the same conflict in roles and responsibilities that we do now. Maybe they didn't feel only the pull of a myriad of responsibilities, but more so, maybe they didn't have to deal with the same plethora of opportunities.
For what it's worth, I am much happier than I was at 20. More stressed at times, more frustrated, and I spend more time at the 'end of my rope'. But definitely happier. Life has more purpose, and I'm surrounded by people who love me absolutely.
I often wonder if I'd grown up in another time, raised my children in another era, how that would affect my frustration level. If I'd started having kids at 20, never having had a career of my own for nearly a decade, how would my satisfaction level as a mother be different? How would that affect how I rate 'fulfillment' in my role?
Being a Mom is the greatest thing I've ever experienced. I don't handle it perfectly, I make a lot of mistakes, but I've also never done something that I've felt as 'made' for . . . I look at my girls and realize on a deep, profound level, that nobody on earth could love these two people the way I do. I have a firm belief that I was created to be able to mother. I remind myself of that when there are times I feel like things are getting out of control, out of hand. But how is my experience as a mother different than my own Mom's, or Grandma's?
The post talked about several things I've given lots of thought to and how they affect me and those I care about:
• "We live in a very “me-focused” society . . . Self is pre-eminent in this day and age."
• "We live in a very “therapeutic society” . . . constantly lying down on our virtual couches, taking our own temperatures, assessing our state of happiness/unhappiness in a way that other people didn’t in the past."
• "Those who study human life cycle development will tell you there has been a marked prolonging of adolescence and a delayed assumption of adult roles."
• "You don’t have to fill all your own needs in order to really be happy and help others, in fact we’re told in service and losing ourselves, we find ourselves."
• "The interesting part of this study too is that men are getting happier (while they attribute it to decreased pressure to be the sole breadwinner), I find it interesting that men, as compared with previous generations, have become more involved in housework and the care of their children."
• "Our culture teaches us that freedom and leisure = happiness. Face it, kids and domestic life are the opposite of leisure and freedom."
The following is probably the quote that stuck out the most to me:
Are women really less happy than they were in generations past? Now that we have microwaves, minivans and don't have to wash clothes out on a line? And if so, why? I don't feel unhappy, but I know a lot of Moms who struggle with this . . . and many of us seem to find this whole motherhood gig tougher than we ever thought it'd be. I love blogging (obviously) . . . but what, if any, affect has it had on maternal satisfaction levels? My Mom is constantly 'shocked' by how many young mothers social needs are met online and through blogging, rather than face to face play dates and girls nights out. Are we pulling too far away from face to face socializing? How does that affect our thoughts on, and ability to cope with, motherhood? But, at the same time, doesn't blogging bring the whole world of human (and mother) experience right to our homes, where we can always find someone who's gone through what we are currently dealing with? I know finding others that understood extreme colic to be helpful, as I didn't feel as much like the only Mom in the world who's baby was possessed. But again, was too much time spent trying to find and read and analyze the problems we were having, rather just dealing with it and living through it and getting past it? (I'm totally just stream of conscience babbling here, I haven't actually decided how I feel about any of this.) Now that I'm out of the work force, I know I miss daily interaction and face to face time with other adults . . . do I rely too much on the internet, phone and email to connect me with others now, all the while conveniently getting my dishes done or letting the baby nap? How would my life be different, how would my experience as a Mother be different, if I got more face to face time with other adults, specifically Moms. (I actually do get together with other women at least a few times a week, while the girls are playing with their kids. And much like how once Annie got a taste for friends, she now asks me everyday when a friend is coming over to play, now that I am more used to different women coming over and just hanging out and talking, I feel a loss when that doesn't happen enough.) How would things for me be different if that time was doubled, and I took all strangers blogs out of my google reader? (I don't know where I'd start.) But again, blogging is something that I've enjoyed immensely. It has connected me with new friends, and definitely brought old friends back into my life in a way they wouldn't have been. So a blend of 'real life' and 'virtual life' is not only possible, but has broadened my social circle in a very positive way.
OK, I'm totally just randomly typing here, I've even complete focus and direction, but those are some of the thoughts shooting around in my head. That I'm now sharing with the internets! What are your guys' thoughts?
The article is about a recent study that states that women of today are less happy than in generations past, and men are happier. Then the author talks about the reasons she feels that is true.
I've thought about this a lot, as it seems that myself and many of my peers just seem to 'struggle' more than a lot of our mothers did in our roles and our attitudes and feelings towards being a Mom. Maybe our Moms just aren't remembering things the way they really were, or maybe they didn't feel the same conflict in roles and responsibilities that we do now. Maybe they didn't feel only the pull of a myriad of responsibilities, but more so, maybe they didn't have to deal with the same plethora of opportunities.
For what it's worth, I am much happier than I was at 20. More stressed at times, more frustrated, and I spend more time at the 'end of my rope'. But definitely happier. Life has more purpose, and I'm surrounded by people who love me absolutely.
I often wonder if I'd grown up in another time, raised my children in another era, how that would affect my frustration level. If I'd started having kids at 20, never having had a career of my own for nearly a decade, how would my satisfaction level as a mother be different? How would that affect how I rate 'fulfillment' in my role?
Being a Mom is the greatest thing I've ever experienced. I don't handle it perfectly, I make a lot of mistakes, but I've also never done something that I've felt as 'made' for . . . I look at my girls and realize on a deep, profound level, that nobody on earth could love these two people the way I do. I have a firm belief that I was created to be able to mother. I remind myself of that when there are times I feel like things are getting out of control, out of hand. But how is my experience as a mother different than my own Mom's, or Grandma's?
The post talked about several things I've given lots of thought to and how they affect me and those I care about:
• "We live in a very “me-focused” society . . . Self is pre-eminent in this day and age."
• "We live in a very “therapeutic society” . . . constantly lying down on our virtual couches, taking our own temperatures, assessing our state of happiness/unhappiness in a way that other people didn’t in the past."
• "Those who study human life cycle development will tell you there has been a marked prolonging of adolescence and a delayed assumption of adult roles."
• "You don’t have to fill all your own needs in order to really be happy and help others, in fact we’re told in service and losing ourselves, we find ourselves."
• "The interesting part of this study too is that men are getting happier (while they attribute it to decreased pressure to be the sole breadwinner), I find it interesting that men, as compared with previous generations, have become more involved in housework and the care of their children."
• "Our culture teaches us that freedom and leisure = happiness. Face it, kids and domestic life are the opposite of leisure and freedom."
The following is probably the quote that stuck out the most to me:
"If you see happiness pleasure, a mere emotion, something you can’t control, then having children probably will make you less happy. Yet if you view happiness a choice, something we assign to our lives when we are doing something we feel is important and has purpose, despite our momentary emotions - you probably won’t feel the same way."
Are women really less happy than they were in generations past? Now that we have microwaves, minivans and don't have to wash clothes out on a line? And if so, why? I don't feel unhappy, but I know a lot of Moms who struggle with this . . . and many of us seem to find this whole motherhood gig tougher than we ever thought it'd be. I love blogging (obviously) . . . but what, if any, affect has it had on maternal satisfaction levels? My Mom is constantly 'shocked' by how many young mothers social needs are met online and through blogging, rather than face to face play dates and girls nights out. Are we pulling too far away from face to face socializing? How does that affect our thoughts on, and ability to cope with, motherhood? But, at the same time, doesn't blogging bring the whole world of human (and mother) experience right to our homes, where we can always find someone who's gone through what we are currently dealing with? I know finding others that understood extreme colic to be helpful, as I didn't feel as much like the only Mom in the world who's baby was possessed. But again, was too much time spent trying to find and read and analyze the problems we were having, rather just dealing with it and living through it and getting past it? (I'm totally just stream of conscience babbling here, I haven't actually decided how I feel about any of this.) Now that I'm out of the work force, I know I miss daily interaction and face to face time with other adults . . . do I rely too much on the internet, phone and email to connect me with others now, all the while conveniently getting my dishes done or letting the baby nap? How would my life be different, how would my experience as a Mother be different, if I got more face to face time with other adults, specifically Moms. (I actually do get together with other women at least a few times a week, while the girls are playing with their kids. And much like how once Annie got a taste for friends, she now asks me everyday when a friend is coming over to play, now that I am more used to different women coming over and just hanging out and talking, I feel a loss when that doesn't happen enough.) How would things for me be different if that time was doubled, and I took all strangers blogs out of my google reader? (I don't know where I'd start.) But again, blogging is something that I've enjoyed immensely. It has connected me with new friends, and definitely brought old friends back into my life in a way they wouldn't have been. So a blend of 'real life' and 'virtual life' is not only possible, but has broadened my social circle in a very positive way.
OK, I'm totally just randomly typing here, I've even complete focus and direction, but those are some of the thoughts shooting around in my head. That I'm now sharing with the internets! What are your guys' thoughts?
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Strange Power I Wield
Earlier I realized it was Ellie's nap time, and usually I'd pick her up and carry her into her room, but this time before I had a chance to pick her up when I said "OK baby, time to go to your room, it's naptime . . .", I felt almost guilty as she started to whimper but grabbed her blanket and doll and started to walk her little self (like one on death row) to her own bedroom. She walked all the way in there, nearly sobbing by the time we got there. I picked her up, cuddled for a second, then laid her down. Where she began to scream uncontrollably. I was just kind of shocked though that she walked herself all the way into the most dreaded place in the house, just because I told her it was naptime. Mom's are like all powerful sometimes . . . but I felt bad, feeling like I'd used my powers for evil or something . . .
And yet I can ask her and her big sister to stop fighting, to drop the markers or to stop playing in the toilet, and they act like they can't hear me . . . weird . . .
And yet I can ask her and her big sister to stop fighting, to drop the markers or to stop playing in the toilet, and they act like they can't hear me . . . weird . . .
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The "M" Word
So, miscarriage.
Why is it that it's so rarely talked about? It happens, a lot. Some estimates put it as high as one in every four pregnancies will end in miscarriage. Most women will experience at least one in their child bearing years, yet we hear so painfully little about it, or its effects on our lives. Why has it been relegated to silence, something rarely talked about, at least not openly or in polite company? Someone going through one may feel as if they are alone, yet when they timidly bring it up among other women they are almost instantly shared a dozen of stories of similar situations. If it is so common, why is it talked about so little?
It's personal, that's part of it; and can be quite tragic and painful for people. Some may see it as merely a road bump on the road of fertility, a set back. Some may even see it as a bittersweet blessing, ending a surprise or unwanted pregnancy. Some may be angry, feeling betrayed by a body that isn't supposed to spontaneously spit out a baby that they'd started making plans for. And all of these reactions are as valid as the next, but when you're going through it, your feelings (mixed with insane hormones) can make you feel a little isolated, alone in your thinking and feelings. And you start to think, "You know what'd be nice, if miscarriage wasn't treated like a four letter word . . . something I shouldn't say or talk about in front of others . . . "
A friend recently sent me an email that ended with this line, "Miscarriage has unfortunately become a big part of my life. But it's easier when you know that it happens to other people too." As with all things in life, I believe challenges, trials, disappointments and traumas are easier when the load is shared. When things can be talked about. When you know you're not alone.
When I found out I was pregnant four weeks ago, I was already starting to bleed fairly steadily, so the writing was on the wall. And yet, the very people I would have typically found myself calling to tell I was pregnant, I was debating whether to call them to let them know what was happening to me. Was I burdening them? Was it weird, morbid, sick or freakish to call someone just to let them know I was probably losing a baby. But I wanted to talk about it. My feelings were fairly conflicted. And I was shocked. (Both to be pregnant and to be miscarrying). I hadn't had time to 'get excited' about being pregnant, before a pretty sure realization I wasn't going to be pregnant much longer hit. I was just kinda, well, confused. It was an odd realization, that I was pregnant, and yet not for much longer, to be hit with all in the same moment. I hadn't been planning on getting pregnant yet, so that was a shock . . . and nobody ever plans for a miscarriage, so that was adding to my feelings of discombobulation. I told my husband, sisters (both blood and in-law ones), and parents without so much as shedding a single tear. Yet, a day later when I had to tell a neighbor that our meeting for our Super Saturday committee might need to be cut short 'cause I had to go to the doctor's, I started to cry. For the next week, I didn't absorb much of it (although, I did cut half my hair off -- remember that?) Then the next week, I accepted that this whole pregnancy thing really was over, and started to move on. I'd had one mini-breakdown in Greg's arms, ranting about my stupid body and its stupid inability to do one of its basic functions and just carry a baby without major complications, and about my guilt about never having 'gotten excited' about being pregnant (and not having really wanted to be pregnant that month, since it didn't work with our 'plan', or our supplemental insurance), and wondering if I was 'doing this right' (as if there's a way to go through a miscarriage 'right' -- but I constantly wondered if was I grieving or mourning like I was supposed to, 'cause much hadn't changed.) I felt guilty that I had gotten pregnant so easily, when I hadn't even wanted to, when I had friends having the opposite problems. I felt even guiltier that I had felt so little going through the miscarriage, as I have recently had more than one friend whose whole worlds have been turned upside down my repeated or late miscarriages. But all in all, by the end of that week, I was done. Ready to move on.
Then something happened. Still have no idea what exactly, but my best guess is the killer-miscarriage-hormones-of-death. Oh my goodness, how my world has been flipped upside down by these pesky hormones-of-craziness. I feel pregnant . . . sick, fatigued and so emotional and easy to upset. Stuff even smelled bad. And yet I'm not (trust me, I'm spending half our grocery money on pregnancy tests just to 'assure' myself that there really is no actual physical reason for my new found insanity, it's just all mental . . .) It has been like PMS times 10 or something. The only thing I want in this world right now is to feel like myself again, to not be riding this hormonal roller coaster anymore. I keep thinking, "Any day now, this has to end . . . this can't go on much longer . . . I am so sick of crying at stupid commercials and magazine articles!" I was fully and 100% unprepared for what miscarrying would do to my body, the horrific hormonal aftermath that has made me the short tempered, weepy Mom my girls still love but are completely baffled by.
So anyway. Long story short: I miscarried. It sucked. It will hopefully be the last time it happens, though there's no guarantees. I don't want to go through that again though. But I got off easy, not having seen ultrasounds and heard heartbeats and waited expectantly to get pregnant only to have all my hopes dashed . . . my pregnancy was as surprising as the miscarriage that shortly followed. But they've left their mark. And now I'm just ready to get back to living among the normal . . . for my body to be returned, unharmed; raging hormones a thing of the past.
And I think I'm getting there. Things feel better than they did yesterday. And yesterday felt better than the day before. I have not cried once today. Yay, me! :-)
And just so y'all know . . . I always found the 'don't tell anyone you're pregnant during early pregnancy' thing confusing. I don't know about you, but that was when I needed the most support and understanding from friends, family and coworkers. I didn't tell my bosses at work for a long time when I was pregnant with Annie, 'cause it was like you were just asking to miscarry if you announced something like that at work before 13 weeks. Sometimes I just wanted to be like, "Um, I promise I'm not a bad worker, or chronically ill, or anything else that should concern you about my aptitude or dedication . . . I just have to keep running to the bathroom every 30 minutes 'cause I'm convinced I'm gonna puke 'cause I'm in my freaking first trimester. Which makes me tired and nauseous. And grumpy." And yet, I stuck with that whole 'no major announcements' about my pregnancy 'rule' until I was 'safely in my second trimester (as far as work, Church and casual friends went). Basically, what I'm saying is, whenever I do get pregnant again, I'll probably be announcing here sometime around 5 or 6 weeks. I just can't keep quiet that long. Some may find that kinda tacky or against the unspoken 'pregnancy announcing' code, but frankly, I'd want to talk about it. I don't suffer in silence all that well, and morning sickness is suffering. And, if I somehow ended up miscarrying after that point in time, I'd be needing to do some serious writing therapy about that as well, so you'd end up hearing about it one way or another . . .
Edited to add: I can already hear someone I know, speaking in my head, "These young Mommy bloggers today! Nothing is sacred! They'll talk about anything on their blogs!" Yep, I went there . . . used the 'm' word. Then talked about my feelings about experiencing a miscarriage myself. And will announce my next pregnancy sometime before the second trimester mark. And I mentioned hormones, PMS and bleeding. "That Hilary -- raised in a barn." :-)
Why is it that it's so rarely talked about? It happens, a lot. Some estimates put it as high as one in every four pregnancies will end in miscarriage. Most women will experience at least one in their child bearing years, yet we hear so painfully little about it, or its effects on our lives. Why has it been relegated to silence, something rarely talked about, at least not openly or in polite company? Someone going through one may feel as if they are alone, yet when they timidly bring it up among other women they are almost instantly shared a dozen of stories of similar situations. If it is so common, why is it talked about so little?
It's personal, that's part of it; and can be quite tragic and painful for people. Some may see it as merely a road bump on the road of fertility, a set back. Some may even see it as a bittersweet blessing, ending a surprise or unwanted pregnancy. Some may be angry, feeling betrayed by a body that isn't supposed to spontaneously spit out a baby that they'd started making plans for. And all of these reactions are as valid as the next, but when you're going through it, your feelings (mixed with insane hormones) can make you feel a little isolated, alone in your thinking and feelings. And you start to think, "You know what'd be nice, if miscarriage wasn't treated like a four letter word . . . something I shouldn't say or talk about in front of others . . . "
A friend recently sent me an email that ended with this line, "Miscarriage has unfortunately become a big part of my life. But it's easier when you know that it happens to other people too." As with all things in life, I believe challenges, trials, disappointments and traumas are easier when the load is shared. When things can be talked about. When you know you're not alone.
When I found out I was pregnant four weeks ago, I was already starting to bleed fairly steadily, so the writing was on the wall. And yet, the very people I would have typically found myself calling to tell I was pregnant, I was debating whether to call them to let them know what was happening to me. Was I burdening them? Was it weird, morbid, sick or freakish to call someone just to let them know I was probably losing a baby. But I wanted to talk about it. My feelings were fairly conflicted. And I was shocked. (Both to be pregnant and to be miscarrying). I hadn't had time to 'get excited' about being pregnant, before a pretty sure realization I wasn't going to be pregnant much longer hit. I was just kinda, well, confused. It was an odd realization, that I was pregnant, and yet not for much longer, to be hit with all in the same moment. I hadn't been planning on getting pregnant yet, so that was a shock . . . and nobody ever plans for a miscarriage, so that was adding to my feelings of discombobulation. I told my husband, sisters (both blood and in-law ones), and parents without so much as shedding a single tear. Yet, a day later when I had to tell a neighbor that our meeting for our Super Saturday committee might need to be cut short 'cause I had to go to the doctor's, I started to cry. For the next week, I didn't absorb much of it (although, I did cut half my hair off -- remember that?) Then the next week, I accepted that this whole pregnancy thing really was over, and started to move on. I'd had one mini-breakdown in Greg's arms, ranting about my stupid body and its stupid inability to do one of its basic functions and just carry a baby without major complications, and about my guilt about never having 'gotten excited' about being pregnant (and not having really wanted to be pregnant that month, since it didn't work with our 'plan', or our supplemental insurance), and wondering if I was 'doing this right' (as if there's a way to go through a miscarriage 'right' -- but I constantly wondered if was I grieving or mourning like I was supposed to, 'cause much hadn't changed.) I felt guilty that I had gotten pregnant so easily, when I hadn't even wanted to, when I had friends having the opposite problems. I felt even guiltier that I had felt so little going through the miscarriage, as I have recently had more than one friend whose whole worlds have been turned upside down my repeated or late miscarriages. But all in all, by the end of that week, I was done. Ready to move on.
Then something happened. Still have no idea what exactly, but my best guess is the killer-miscarriage-hormones-of-death. Oh my goodness, how my world has been flipped upside down by these pesky hormones-of-craziness. I feel pregnant . . . sick, fatigued and so emotional and easy to upset. Stuff even smelled bad. And yet I'm not (trust me, I'm spending half our grocery money on pregnancy tests just to 'assure' myself that there really is no actual physical reason for my new found insanity, it's just all mental . . .) It has been like PMS times 10 or something. The only thing I want in this world right now is to feel like myself again, to not be riding this hormonal roller coaster anymore. I keep thinking, "Any day now, this has to end . . . this can't go on much longer . . . I am so sick of crying at stupid commercials and magazine articles!" I was fully and 100% unprepared for what miscarrying would do to my body, the horrific hormonal aftermath that has made me the short tempered, weepy Mom my girls still love but are completely baffled by.
So anyway. Long story short: I miscarried. It sucked. It will hopefully be the last time it happens, though there's no guarantees. I don't want to go through that again though. But I got off easy, not having seen ultrasounds and heard heartbeats and waited expectantly to get pregnant only to have all my hopes dashed . . . my pregnancy was as surprising as the miscarriage that shortly followed. But they've left their mark. And now I'm just ready to get back to living among the normal . . . for my body to be returned, unharmed; raging hormones a thing of the past.
And I think I'm getting there. Things feel better than they did yesterday. And yesterday felt better than the day before. I have not cried once today. Yay, me! :-)
And just so y'all know . . . I always found the 'don't tell anyone you're pregnant during early pregnancy' thing confusing. I don't know about you, but that was when I needed the most support and understanding from friends, family and coworkers. I didn't tell my bosses at work for a long time when I was pregnant with Annie, 'cause it was like you were just asking to miscarry if you announced something like that at work before 13 weeks. Sometimes I just wanted to be like, "Um, I promise I'm not a bad worker, or chronically ill, or anything else that should concern you about my aptitude or dedication . . . I just have to keep running to the bathroom every 30 minutes 'cause I'm convinced I'm gonna puke 'cause I'm in my freaking first trimester. Which makes me tired and nauseous. And grumpy." And yet, I stuck with that whole 'no major announcements' about my pregnancy 'rule' until I was 'safely in my second trimester (as far as work, Church and casual friends went). Basically, what I'm saying is, whenever I do get pregnant again, I'll probably be announcing here sometime around 5 or 6 weeks. I just can't keep quiet that long. Some may find that kinda tacky or against the unspoken 'pregnancy announcing' code, but frankly, I'd want to talk about it. I don't suffer in silence all that well, and morning sickness is suffering. And, if I somehow ended up miscarrying after that point in time, I'd be needing to do some serious writing therapy about that as well, so you'd end up hearing about it one way or another . . .
Edited to add: I can already hear someone I know, speaking in my head, "These young Mommy bloggers today! Nothing is sacred! They'll talk about anything on their blogs!" Yep, I went there . . . used the 'm' word. Then talked about my feelings about experiencing a miscarriage myself. And will announce my next pregnancy sometime before the second trimester mark. And I mentioned hormones, PMS and bleeding. "That Hilary -- raised in a barn." :-)
Monday, September 28, 2009
Not Much to Say
So, I haven't been in a 'blogging' kind of mood lately.
My kids have been really, really difficult lately, so I have completely missed anything fun, cute, sweet or funny that they've said or done. (Except, Ellie's been hugging me a lot. And I appreciate it.) I've just been hiding in the fetal position in the corner, ditching them with whomever shows even the slightest bit of interest in them. (At a barbecue last night surrounded by family, I pounced on anyone who looked our direction, "Ha! You made eye contact with Ellie, now you have to take her outside on a walk! Yeah, yeah, I know she's screaming bloody murder, I'm sure she'd love to go with you . . .") People'll always bring 'em back after a few minutes, but at least for a little bit nobody is screaming directly into my ear. I feel bad, because they're just getting to me. So much. And I think they're a little overly tired, adding some grumpiness to their typical attitudes. Ellie's gums are bulging with a bunch of teeth that'll hopefully cut through sooner or later. And Annie has just been so obstinent lately, and refuses to nap despite barely being able to keep her eyes open. But, I can't help but wonder how much of their 'difficult-ness' is more about me. It's me who's not holding it together. Who's not patient. Who could usually handle all of this just fine, but I just am not handling it right now. I'm stressed. I'm hormonal. I'm weepy. I'm tired. Oh, so tired. Does 'fatigue' sound more tired than just tired? If so, I'm fatigued. My body is sore and tired and crappy feeling. (And no, I'm not pregnant. Although, I'm not 100% sure my body knows that, 'cause it's acting awfully pregnant . . . oooh, maybe I'm having a hysterical pregnancy, just like the lady on "Glee"!)
There are moments I almost sink into a despair, thinking, "I cannot feel like this all the time, I can't function like a good Mom at this level," or "I can't do this day in and day out if this is how I feel." I know, I know, this is temporary. I don't feel like this all the time, and everything is temporary, and this will pass. My kids will find their sleeping patterns and get some more rest, it's just a time of adjustment (it's happened before and it'll happen again, and it always shakes out fine). Ellie'll finally get some teeth in and not be the world's most demanding, weepy baby in the world. Things with my new calling will smooth themselves out as I figure things out. People may even come to the activity I'm planning. Or not, but either way, there's only four more weeks of planning left, then it'll happen no matter how much I may or may not have screwed up the finances for it. Halloween will come, and that'll be fun. Greg's company will most likely not strike this week (at least, they better not.) I don't need to be stressing as much about money as I am, I just need to remind myself that things are fine, and I'm worrying more than I need to.
Annie just walked up to me and asked me why I'm crying. Then she crawled up into my lap, gave me a hug, then said she'd be right back after she got me a tissue. I hate that she saw me like this. I hate that I'm crying. I hate that I can't seem to keep it together right now. I just need this to be over. I just need to feel like myself again. I just want to feel better.
I just need a nap.
This too will pass.
Making me smile though, Annie is sitting across the room from me, drawing Ellie a 'map of the stars', explaining the big dipper to her little sister. Ellie seemed fairly disinterested, but Annie was so enthusiastic explaining the stars to Ellie, telling her all about how Daddy and Annie laid outside under the stars with blankets last night and looked at the night sky. Annie is just so happy about what she learned, and is just bursting to share it.
And Ellie said "Zebra" completely unprompted yesterday while pointing out a toy she wanted to her Dad, adding a very clear new word to her vocabulary.
Annie just offered to change Ellie's poopy diaper for me. That was sweet of her. :-)
And I really do know that things are going to be fine. I don't know why there's this 'funk' right now, but I do know that it's temporary. And that crying occassionally, or losing my cool, with my kids is not going to scar them for life. They still think I'm pretty much the most amazing person in the entire world. And that's pretty cool.
My kids have been really, really difficult lately, so I have completely missed anything fun, cute, sweet or funny that they've said or done. (Except, Ellie's been hugging me a lot. And I appreciate it.) I've just been hiding in the fetal position in the corner, ditching them with whomever shows even the slightest bit of interest in them. (At a barbecue last night surrounded by family, I pounced on anyone who looked our direction, "Ha! You made eye contact with Ellie, now you have to take her outside on a walk! Yeah, yeah, I know she's screaming bloody murder, I'm sure she'd love to go with you . . .") People'll always bring 'em back after a few minutes, but at least for a little bit nobody is screaming directly into my ear. I feel bad, because they're just getting to me. So much. And I think they're a little overly tired, adding some grumpiness to their typical attitudes. Ellie's gums are bulging with a bunch of teeth that'll hopefully cut through sooner or later. And Annie has just been so obstinent lately, and refuses to nap despite barely being able to keep her eyes open. But, I can't help but wonder how much of their 'difficult-ness' is more about me. It's me who's not holding it together. Who's not patient. Who could usually handle all of this just fine, but I just am not handling it right now. I'm stressed. I'm hormonal. I'm weepy. I'm tired. Oh, so tired. Does 'fatigue' sound more tired than just tired? If so, I'm fatigued. My body is sore and tired and crappy feeling. (And no, I'm not pregnant. Although, I'm not 100% sure my body knows that, 'cause it's acting awfully pregnant . . . oooh, maybe I'm having a hysterical pregnancy, just like the lady on "Glee"!)
There are moments I almost sink into a despair, thinking, "I cannot feel like this all the time, I can't function like a good Mom at this level," or "I can't do this day in and day out if this is how I feel." I know, I know, this is temporary. I don't feel like this all the time, and everything is temporary, and this will pass. My kids will find their sleeping patterns and get some more rest, it's just a time of adjustment (it's happened before and it'll happen again, and it always shakes out fine). Ellie'll finally get some teeth in and not be the world's most demanding, weepy baby in the world. Things with my new calling will smooth themselves out as I figure things out. People may even come to the activity I'm planning. Or not, but either way, there's only four more weeks of planning left, then it'll happen no matter how much I may or may not have screwed up the finances for it. Halloween will come, and that'll be fun. Greg's company will most likely not strike this week (at least, they better not.) I don't need to be stressing as much about money as I am, I just need to remind myself that things are fine, and I'm worrying more than I need to.
Annie just walked up to me and asked me why I'm crying. Then she crawled up into my lap, gave me a hug, then said she'd be right back after she got me a tissue. I hate that she saw me like this. I hate that I'm crying. I hate that I can't seem to keep it together right now. I just need this to be over. I just need to feel like myself again. I just want to feel better.
I just need a nap.
This too will pass.
Making me smile though, Annie is sitting across the room from me, drawing Ellie a 'map of the stars', explaining the big dipper to her little sister. Ellie seemed fairly disinterested, but Annie was so enthusiastic explaining the stars to Ellie, telling her all about how Daddy and Annie laid outside under the stars with blankets last night and looked at the night sky. Annie is just so happy about what she learned, and is just bursting to share it.
And Ellie said "Zebra" completely unprompted yesterday while pointing out a toy she wanted to her Dad, adding a very clear new word to her vocabulary.
Annie just offered to change Ellie's poopy diaper for me. That was sweet of her. :-)
And I really do know that things are going to be fine. I don't know why there's this 'funk' right now, but I do know that it's temporary. And that crying occassionally, or losing my cool, with my kids is not going to scar them for life. They still think I'm pretty much the most amazing person in the entire world. And that's pretty cool.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Shhhhh . . . Hear That?
Nothing? That's silence. Amazing, brilliant silence.
As in both of my children are currently in their respective rooms sleeping (or, at least, quietly pretending to sleep, which is darn near good enough for me!) At the same time. This has happened only a handful of times in their collective lives.
I think I'm going to go lay down and read a book. Possibly while eating a Haagen Daaz bar. All the while not even thinking about dishes. Sweet!
As in both of my children are currently in their respective rooms sleeping (or, at least, quietly pretending to sleep, which is darn near good enough for me!) At the same time. This has happened only a handful of times in their collective lives.
I think I'm going to go lay down and read a book. Possibly while eating a Haagen Daaz bar. All the while not even thinking about dishes. Sweet!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Shiny Toes
This is exactly how I imagine things with Annie when she's a teenager. Her and I, painting each others nails, maybe braiding hair or something . . . you know, the typical angst- and drama-free mother/teenage daughter relationship. But just on the slim chance it doesn't work out exactly like that, I'm gonna enjoy afternoons like these while I still can:
These are all pictures of Annie painting my fingernails, after I'd done hers. Hers are bright white . . . I decided I'd prefer clear when she did mine. :-) She actually did a remarkably thorough job though, and it might have worked just fine to have had her throw on a coat of pink or something for me!
I like this picture, 'cause it's Annie being all, "Yeah, hey Mom, I see your camera, but I'm trying to ignore you and get on with my work . . . but I'll go ahead and give you a sweet little patronizing smile anyway."
Annie blowing on my fingers for me.
Showing off her own painted finger nails.
When we were done, Annie sat there for a minute examining her handiwork, when she finally smiled and declared it good with a triumphant, "You know Mom, your toes are very shiny."
These are all pictures of Annie painting my fingernails, after I'd done hers. Hers are bright white . . . I decided I'd prefer clear when she did mine. :-) She actually did a remarkably thorough job though, and it might have worked just fine to have had her throw on a coat of pink or something for me!I like this picture, 'cause it's Annie being all, "Yeah, hey Mom, I see your camera, but I'm trying to ignore you and get on with my work . . . but I'll go ahead and give you a sweet little patronizing smile anyway."
Annie blowing on my fingers for me.
Showing off her own painted finger nails.
When we were done, Annie sat there for a minute examining her handiwork, when she finally smiled and declared it good with a triumphant, "You know Mom, your toes are very shiny."
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