tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34463662280404263362024-02-07T05:59:06.795-06:00Random Ramblings of a Caffeine-Crazed MindIf you're expecting to be impressed, you've come to the wrong place. My apologies.The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.comBlogger97125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-69738016390412965792013-11-06T12:18:00.001-06:002013-11-06T12:18:36.947-06:00One year.Chubby arms stretched upwards. Small hands keep a death-grip on my own. An adorable bottom lip is pulled up over an equally adorable top lip in a look of total concentration--her current version of a tongue's tip poking out. Practicing her newest skill, walking. Practicing with Mama's support, to increase her confidence. To increase the growing number of steps she can take <i>without</i> support. Steadily stepping from room to room, from one end of the apartment to the other. Suddenly turning around, letting go of my hand in favor of pushing against my legs to lead <i>me</i> instead, giggling when I say "Now where am <i>I </i>going?!" An achy pull in my shoulders and back from walking with a slight hunch in my back so I can lean down to reach her outstretched hands. Back and forth, again and again.<br />
<br />
In just a few short days she will be a year old. She will still be my baby, but my baby will become a toddler. And at the rate she is going, she will truly be toddling about by then. What started as a couple steps from the couch to where I was sitting on the floor a few days ago has already grown to being able to take about six or seven steps without assistance before stopping and sitting. (Or falling, depending on how careful she is being at the moment.) She still thinks it's easier to crawl when she wants to get somewhere quickly, but that will soon change as she grows more confident and is able to walk farther without help.<br />
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It's an odd position for me, helping her out so much with this milestone. But she requests so sweetly, pulling up on me and grabbing my hands, pulling me forward as she walks in front of me. Typically all she requires is encouragement and she gets lots of cheers when she accomplishes a goal. The only other milestone that actually required (well, that she requested) help from me was her sitting up, but that was still mostly her doing it on her own. She couldn't get into the sitting position on her own until she started crawling at 8 months, but she could sit for pretty much forever once I helped her there. Before that, basically I just held her hands for resistance while she pulled herself up. I'm not one to push milestones, I know without a doubt she will get there when she's ready. She is a very bright, capable kid, and she tends to not do things until she is positive she can do it well.<br />
<br />
Sometimes she surprises me with the things she can do, and the way she shows her little (big) personality. She's been pushing her arms through her sleeves since she was about 5 months old, helping me dress her. A couple of weeks ago she sat on my lap and figured out how to put the lid back on a bottle of water. Of course, she didn't screw it back on, but she trial-and-errored that thing until it was at least sitting on there properly. She humors me sometimes, and gives totally fake smiles when she knows I'm trying to play or make her laugh when she's not interested. Her face lights up with a giant smile as she drops everything and watches the door when she hears her daddy coming home. She grabs my hand, puts it on her belly, tenses up and grins because she is waiting for me to administer the ticklings she is asking for. She acts like she wants in your lap, then drops to the floor instead and before you know it she is around the corner crawling away... waiting for you to chase after her. Once you reach the opposite end of the apartment, it's her turn to chase you. Extra points for squealing when she "gets your feet" as she's chasing you, like she squeals when you get hers as she crawls ahead of you. She can also throw a pretty epic tantrum, but at this point they're just limited to when she's tired.<br />
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She dances to music. She occasionally sings, and frequently jabbers away. She repeats the sounds the cats make when she is feeling silly. Her favorite word is "kitty," and she uses it for everything because it is the only word she knows well. But she is imitating syllables now even though the details aren't exactly right. (Me: "Oc-to-pus!" Her: "Ta-ta-ta!") She throws her food. She pulls books and dvds off of the bottom shelves, and uses her stride-to-ride puppy to climb up onto the coffee table. She loves most fruits and veggies, and cheese, and toast with just about anything on it. She acts like she will die from choking if she drinks water. She is stubbornly refusing to hold a sippy cup. She is sweet, and happy, and goofy, and independent, and confident, and loving. She is friendly with strangers, but keeps a distance. She makes everyone smile when they are around her, because she is such a happy girl.<br />
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She is amazing, she is perfectly her, and she is going to be one year old this Saturday. I could not be more proud, or more happy to have her in my life. I can't wait to see what the next year looks like.The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-69340795080015817182013-10-21T23:03:00.000-05:002013-10-21T23:03:16.550-05:00Failure.This weekend I failed. Not in a big way, not anything life-changing, but it was still a fail. A parenting fail.<br />
<br />
I woke up Saturday morning eagerly anticipating my "me time" that was happening that day. I was going to go out shopping alone, no hubby or baby in tow. I desperately needed the break. It had been a while since I had more than a few minutes to myself, and I was getting worn down. I needed to recharge.<br />
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Baby G wasn't in the best of moods. She wasn't in a bad mood necessarily, she just was kinda meh. A little on the whiny side, and for some reason it seriously grated on my nerves. I was trying to stay patient, but the patience just wasn't there. Temper was, though. And I spent all day fighting it. Taking deep breaths, reminding myself that she isn't trying to irritate me, that it is absolutely nothing personal. That she was just having a rough time, and had no other way of communicating. But that <em>sound</em> she was making, this "eeeeeehhhhhhhhh" sound, was just driving me up the wall, and I was having trouble coping. So I was shorter and more snippy than was necessary. I was huffy and irritable and practically growling. <br />
<br />
And then it was her nap time. <br />
<br />
But she refused to accept that memo.<br />
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It was a battle, and although she finally went to sleep I feel like we both lost. I know I lost my cool, in the form of too-firm words, and touches that although were not rough, were also not as gentle as normal. I was clearly showing my irritation, and it didn't help either of us. I felt bad on top of feeling stressed, and she felt stressed (she felt <em>my </em>stress) on top of feeling tired.<br />
<br />
After she finally went down, I sniped at The Hubby about making sure to feed her properly and change her diapers while I was gone. I was irritated that he hadn't stepped in when I was clearly having trouble staying reasonable and patient, but at the same time I know (and knew) I might have ripped his head off if he had tried. Because clearly an offer of help is a statement of incompetence. Right? Clearly.<br />
<br />
Then I left, and had a delightful time... mostly shopping for Baby G, but also a little for me. I got some amazing deals, and actually got to finish a meal on my own with no interruptions. It was a giant slice of pepperoni pizza from Tony's in the mall. It was huge, and greasy, and STILL WARM, and absolutely heavenly. I got to take my time, and finish it, and it didn't even get cold. <br />
<br />
I hoped that was all I needed, that almost 5 hour break. But when I got home, I still wasn't myself. I fought it, and I played with my sweet girl, but I still went from zero to 10 on the irritation scale when it got close to bedtime. Which she fought, way harder than she fought nap time. I was even sharper with her than before. It was not good. It wasn't horrible, <em>I</em> wasn't horrible, but I also wasn't good. I was too impatient, too irritable. I just wanted her to settle the hell down and go to sleep. <br />
<br />
I failed. She went to sleep eventually, after two hours of fighting it, but I failed as a compassionate parent. And I felt like crap. It wasn't a victory, it wasn't a power or control struggle that I won, nothing was gained from it. I didn't feel righteous or justified in my behavior, and I didn't feel like "Oh well, no harm done, better luck next time." I felt like I needed to regroup for the night, and be ready to apologize to my little girl. I snuggled her extra tight the next morning, and apologized for my lack of patience the night before. Even though she had no idea what I was saying or talking about, it was important that I acknowledged that my behavior was <strong>not </strong>okay. <br />
<br />
The next day, I was back to normal, with a much-lengthened fuse and a return of my normal level of patience and adoration regarding my little lady. But I got irritated at one of the cats, and I yelled. Baby G's immediate response was to whimper and to <em>leap</em> into my lap. It made me think. She does the same thing anytime a loud, unexpected noise occurs that scares her. She goes to her safe place--me. <strong><em>I</em></strong> am her safe place when she is scared or uncertain. I am the one to reassure her that she is okay and protected from harm. If I am the cause of her fear and uncertainty because I am yelling at her, or in some way I have caused her physical harm (which would *never* be intentional), I am creating a huge level of confusion and potentially affecting her trust and attachment to me.<br />
<br />
My bad mood the day before was not her fault. It is totally okay to be in a bad mood. It is unreasonable to think that my mood will never affect my parenting in a negative way, especially as she gets older and communicates her will more. But it's still something I will constantly work at. I know I will fail again, and apologize again. And again, and again. But never will I feel that it is okay to just shrug it off as "shit happens, she'll get over it." Parent/child relationships are no different than any other kind of relationship in that they take hard work and compassion to maintain and even better, to thrive. The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-38636537914740500952013-10-17T11:55:00.002-05:002013-10-17T11:55:37.925-05:00Next month.It's an odd time of year for me. Usually around this time of year I am wallowing in the middle of a depression, or at least fighting it valiantly. Fall has been tough for me for many years. A history of traumatic events in the fall months, the change in weather, daylight hours start to shrink, when I was younger it signaled the start of a new school year and all the stress over new schedules and teachers/professors. Last year changed things for me. I wouldn't say I was "looking forward" to the month of November for the first time in years, even though my daughter was expected to be born then. That was a whole different kind of anticipation, fraught with just as much stress as I've experienced in previous Novembers. I had worries about potential problems with birth (a sudden induction for pre-eclampsia justified that worry a bit!), worries about all the things I needed to accomplish before she was born (I got nothing done), worries about when we would be moving, when The Hubby would get to finally meet her (he came home for a couple days at Thanksgiving), and I was super anxious about whether I really wanted to stay with my family for help after the baby was born and deal with going back and forth for appointments or just figure it out on my own in the comfort of my own home. In the end I am so grateful for the help I received, but next time I will do things differently. I am determined to breastfeed, which is much more difficult when you aren't exactly comfortable trying to figure it out in front of people that aren't your husband. So last year was just as stressful as previous years had been, but I had a sweet brand new baby girl to help alleviate the stress.<br />
<br />
This year, however, I find myself actually looking forward to November. My little sweetie will be a year old, our little family will be together to celebrate it. It may just be the three of us, and it might be a tiny "celebration," but I am still so happy we will be together. There is of course Thanksgiving to look forward to, which I may or may not have family here for. And a little before that is something pretty exciting as well...<br />
<br />
This week I bought a dress. A beautiful, beautiful gown. I'm going to a ball, folks! It's being altered a bit, so no pictures, but I promise I look damn good in it. We're not going to our main Marine Corps birthday ball, we're attending the smaller one being held at a different date for The Hubby's unit. So, less crowded, fewer chances of celebrity sightings, but still fancy. Still a ball. Still huge for us. Now I just have to stress about someone to watch my kiddo while we socialize the night away...The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-35313169619524792362013-10-06T12:25:00.001-05:002013-10-06T13:03:22.258-05:00"Just fine.""Just fine" seems to be the standard many parents set for themselves as the goal for their kids. It's certainly the yardstick they measure success by, if you listen closely.<br />
<br />
"I smoked three packs of cigarettes a day, and I am/my kids are just fine."<br />
<br />
"I beat my kids' asses all the time, and they turned out just fine."<br />
<br />
"I went out with my friends all the time. I left my kids with a babysitter/family member, and they turned out just fine. It's important that mommies and daddies get time away from their children."<br />
<br />
"I let my 5 month old baby cry it out at bedtime, so he would learn that bedtime is bedtime and I won't be manipulated by a crying baby... besides, he sleeps <i>sooooo</i> much better now (and so do I ha ha ha ha). He'll be just fine. My mom did it to me, and I'm just fine."<br />
<br />
"I had my kid forward-facing in a carseat at 6 months old. She survived. Back in the day, they didn't even use carseats at all!"<br />
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"I gave my 4 month old baby ice cream and chocolate and french fries all the time! It's just a taste, it's not going to hurt them. They'll be just fine."<br />
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Or better yet, "I gave my 4 month old grandbaby ice cream and chocolate and french fries behind their mama's back. It's just a taste, it's not going to hurt them. They'll be just fine, I did it with their mama/daddy when they were little. What are you calling that ambulance for? Allergies aren't a real thing. Kids are too weak these days. It's just a little swelling, he'll be just fine. He needs to learn how to eat <i>real </i>food."<br />
<br />
Here's the thing, though: I don't want my kid to be just "fine," or to claim success as a parent if she merely "survives." Many times I hear parents claim success when I have heard them talk about their kids before, and know that things aren't all peachy. They've sobbed and stressed over their kids' asthma or chronic bronchitis or serious allergies, but if their kids "survived" then they are "just fine" and their parents' smoking habits aren't an issue. They've been astounded at their adult childrens' relationship troubles, legal troubles, substance abuse troubles, and/or issues with depression or anger, or frustrated at their laziness/weakness but they are alive, therefore "just fine" and the choices they made as parents could not possibly have contributed. Deep down, after all, they're "good kids." Then you hear "I don't understand why my son acts this way towards me. I did everything I could to raise him right, and this is how he repays me. I made my mistakes [but you will <b>never</b> catch me being specific about what I did wrong or what I did, if anything, to fix them--other than saying I made mistakes/am not perfect], but that was in the past! It's time to move on." In my opinion, a lot of these parents are full of shit and too stubborn or ignorant to see anything from any perspective but their own. I bet their children would tell an entirely different story of what their life was like growing up.<br />
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I do not expect perfection, from myself or anyone else. But I am constantly learning how to be a better parent, and <b>not</b> simply from "my own mistakes" or from how I was raised or how you were raised or how random Facebook friends were raised or how they are raising their kids or how 8 million assholes on the internet were raised and are raising <i>their</i> own kids. I learn by constantly seeking real information, finding and reading research studies on development, different parenting tools and techniques, etc., and seeing how I can make things work in my own family. And it's not easy for me since I am already a "long-term" thinker. I see how parenting styles have changed and not changed over the years, I *know* and *see* how people romanticize their own childhood as this magical period where things were done X way and that's just how it was and everyone was "just fine." (Except, of course, for those who weren't.) I know that laws and recommendations change constantly, so I focus on things that do not change. Physics, anatomy, and stages of child development.<br />
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Flying around those three things are all the research that is always being done. The more we study, the more we know. The more we know, the better we can do. I don't find it a point of parental pride (or any kind of pride, for that matter) to stick to what you know because that's what you are familiar and comfortable with, or because that's "how it's always been done" or "how it should be done," because other people did it and <i>didn't die.</i> I refuse to let that be the criteria I set for myself as a parent. I'm not going to let myself get lazy in things like safety issues, especially when it comes to carseats. I'm not someone who could shrug it off as god's will if my child dies in an accident because of something I could have prevented (an improperly installed carseat or forward-facing too soon--I'll keep her rearfacing as long as possible, because *physics applies to everyone*). The fact that I have heard people defend doing things that are unsafe because "If their child dies then it was God's will" makes me absolutely sick, and furious.<br />
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I'm not parenting by a minimum standard. I'm not banking on the idea that kids are resilient, so parents can be sloppy. I will make mistakes, and I will own up to them and apologize for them to my child. I have said before and will say again, she is not simply an extension of me, she is her own person and as such deserves just as much respect as anyone else. It is my job to teach her, to help her attain her goals, to meet her needs, to keep her safe, and to make sure she is prepared and confident to face the real world. It is my job to model kindness and empathy and compassion as well as strength and grace. She will learn that there are consequences for her actions without me screaming at her or insulting her or hitting her. She will be kept rearfacing in a carseat until she has reached the limits of which it is safe to do so in her seat, which can go up to 40 lbs rearfacing. Hopefully that will be close to four years of age, when her bones and spinal cord are much more able to withstand the force of impact in a collision than they are at two, let alone one. I will continue to promote a secure attachment (shown time and time again to lead to the most happy, healthy, well-adjusted adults) by babywearing as long as she wants and I am capable, by being respectful of her needs, her feelings, and her limits as well as much as possible, by listening to her, following her cues, by being there for her, and by not expecting things from her that are beyond her capabilities physically or developmentally. And trust me, all this can be done without raising an "entitled brat," which is the most frequent "warning" given to parents who choose more gentle (NOT permissive, that's a shitstorm all in itself) parenting techniques over parenting by force or fear. And studies have shown over and over that if you parent by verbal, emotional, or physical force you are indeed parenting by fear, and no matter how sweet and loving you are the rest of the time the damage is done in the other times. Fear does not equal respect, and it does not equal intrinsic motivation.<br />
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I don't want my daughter to be "just fine." I want her to be amazing. <br />
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*Edited to add: I know not everyone will "agree" with my words here. I am fine with that. I know other people make different choices in how they raise/d their children. I am not saying they are shitty parents for doing things differently, or for doing things without having researched other options. If you are not 100% confident in yourself and your choices, it is always prudent to check out other options to see if something else sounds more right to you. I am happy to point anyone with questions towards some of the information I mentioned.<br />
The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-11192114492031773402013-08-19T21:50:00.001-05:002013-08-19T21:53:34.840-05:00Teach me how to Shatner, Baby Girl.<a href="http://weknowmemes.com/2013/08/we-need-to-invent-a-game-called-shatner/"></a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture a 9-month old girl in pajamas doing exactly this. With a pacifier in her mouth.<br />
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<a href="http://weknowmemes.com/2013/08/we-need-to-invent-a-game-called-shatner/"></a>So I hear stories of babies (and their parents) with nice, calm, gentle sleep routines. Bath, pjs, bottle/nurse, book, song, bed. Or whatever. <br />
<br />
I want them to come to my house and experience the whirlwind that is my spirited little girl at bedtime. <br />
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First, the bath. All is well, she loves the bathtub and splashing water all over the bathroom. Generally she is squealing with happiness the whole time. (Our poor neighbors.) There are the attempts to stand up, the flinging of water from the cups she must have in there, the attempts to TOUCH EVERYTHING, including the drain stopper, overflow cover, and the faucet. Which I do try to keep clean, but this *is* a rental apartment, and must she try to lick them?? <br />
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After the bath everything goes all to hell. Getting this kid in pjs is like wrestling a greased-up pig. Well, pajamas aren't so bad, it's the diaper that is the biggest issue. She's in the stage where she just wants to crawl away from diaper changes, so it's definitely a challenge these days. The past couple days she has added in a "I hate sleeves! I hate pants!" kind of mood, as well. So she's been in short outfits, because it doesn't really matter right now.<br />
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Bottle, mostly all good there. Until she is getting close to full and starts playing with it. She likes to take the bottle away from me (she doesn't hold it herself yet to eat) and flip it upside down, pushing the nipple around so she sprays milk or lets it collect in the palm of her hand. And she'll lick the side of the bottle. Weirdo. But not that big of a deal, I take it away and all is well. She's just learning how things work.<br />
<br />
It's after that where things take a turn for the comical. Generally she finishes the bottle, starts to let her little eyelids get heavy, and takes a pacifier. A couple minutes of peace. On some occasions, she will actually fall asleep at this point. I like those times. It's sweet. Usually, though, there is still a ways to go.<br />
<br />
If she can't quite settle into sleep, she starts a-flingin'. First an arm or a leg, but then she twists around and sends her whole body into the most dramatic Shatner-esque display of "<em>I'm soooo tired"</em> I have ever experienced. She stands up against the back of the couch, sometimes facing it, sometimes not, and leans her head against it with her eyes closed. Then she slides back down and falls over, until she is either laying in between the back and seat of the couch or is flat against the seat. Hand over face. Then she flings herself into a different position. Again, and again, and again. Sometimes she lays on me, half on and half off, rolling around. Just... can't... get comfortable... She does full 360 spins on her back/front. She goes from one end of the couch to the other. Climbing over me to get there. I try to keep an arm or hand in contact so she doesn't fling herself right onto the floor, and so I can kind of ease her flinging around so she doesn't hurt herself (or me) while on the couch, and she gets even more dramatic about how my arm is in the way of her <em>flinging</em> and <em>laying</em>. Tonight she even added in some pelvic thrusts while she was sprawled on her back next to me, starfish-style. She'll walk along the back of the couch, laying her head down periodically, until she reaches me and just <em>collapses</em> onto me. She lays her head on my chest, but it's... just not... <em>right</em> so she picks it back up, looks around, whips it into facing the opposite direction and drops it back like a rock onto my chest. My poor chin has been caught up in this more times than I care to admit. Puts her hands up by her face but something's... <em>wrong</em> so she tucks them underneath her, between herself and me. Then one arm up and the other down. One tucked, one hanging loose. Switch it up again. Then she <em>sliiiiiiiiiiiiides</em> back down into a cradle-hold position. <br />
<br />
Sometimes she's done there. Sometimes she is still not ready. More energy to burn, more... Shatnering to do. Sometimes when she lays against my chest she slides down so she's in a squat position or puts her legs around my waist... and then flings herself backwards. Hand over face. <br />
<br />
More than anything, the "hand over face" is her "I'm ready for sleep" sign. It's like she's so over the day she just has to *facepalm.* She does it roughly 8 gajillion times during this little ritual, because she really is ready for sleep. She just doesn't want to be. If the hand stops floating on up there, she goes back in the floor for more play time. (Because <em>obviously</em> the dramatic flinging is serious business, and not for fun. Don't mind the grunts and squeaks and smiles and squeals and random vocalizations. They're totally serious.) <br />
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But I love when she finally does settle down, whether it's in a cradling position or if she's laying against my chest, and falls asleep. Even if she flips her head from side to side a few times. She is a very independent kiddo, but she still likes to snuggle to sleep. I missed it when she had stopped for a few months. I really wonder if she is going to keep doing this and make toddlerhood <em>super </em>interesting, or if she's going to switch it up on me again and make it interesting another way. There's no telling, really. I'll just keep rolling with it, and try to stop interfering with her "process" by giggling throughout.<br />
<br />
It really distracts her from her "process."The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-60964361223378696802013-05-10T21:35:00.001-05:002013-05-10T21:36:42.127-05:00Holding on.I think I need a break from the internet. I feel like I'm drowning right now. I'm at a point where I'm having trouble remembering what it's even like for The Hubby to be home, even though I miss him immensely and he's finally coming home this weekend. It's only been 5 weeks, but it's been a big 5 weeks for Baby G. She's sitting up now, wants to be in the middle of everything, she's adding in some consonants with her babbling, she is growing and changing so fast, and now to top it off I think we're in serious teething mode. She's suddenly staying up way longer than she had been, almost doubling her awake time between naps, and is fighting her bottle and pacifier and not going to sleep when she's clearly tired. It's exhausting for both of us. The crib training is going just fine for bedtime, but as difficult as it's been to get her to take naps she's ending up in her swing for those more often than not. <br />
<br />
I started doing the 30 Day Shred, and since I don't want to have to stop I wait until I know Little Bit is totally out. But she's going to bed later, so I'm staying up later, sometimes not getting to bed until 1 am because I'm using nighttime to decompress. Which really doesn't matter much, because I have trouble falling asleep before then anyway. Since switching to the crib she's been getting up earlier (not at an unreasonable time, just earlier than 8-9am), soooo my sleep is not what it should be. I haven't needed naps in months, but I've taken one (or tried) every day this week. <br />
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The end of this month brings my brother's wedding, and we'll be driving back home for that. Somehow this has turned into a trip requiring us to bring both vehicles. I'd rather not talk about that other than to say I'm not a fan of the idea, to put it lightly, but at least my sister will be keeping me and Baby G company for the return trip. But I'm also kind of stressing about this trip because there are so many people I want to see but not enough time. I guess I'll find out who's really interested in seeing us! ;)<br />
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I just can't wait for The Hubby to come home. And I'm looking forward to some chill time. I'm glad my sister isn't a high maintenance pain in the ass! She's awesome, and I'm glad she'll be staying with us a while. I hope we don't bore her too much.<br />
<br />
I guess I'm back in, or still in, really, a pretty bad spiral. I hate that it coincides with The Hubby's return, but hopefully that will help to turn things around again. In the meantime I'm not really participating on my birth board (and a related group I started on the same site), Facebook has been pissing me off to no end, I'm not wanting to go anywhere or do anything, and every time my phone goes off with a call or text I give it a dirty look and seriously contemplate not responding. That may also be connected to a tendency for people to call when I've either just barely got Little Bit to sleep or she's close to it, and of course the phone vibrating rouses her. So far this week I've had phone calls, a package delivered, the cats fighting over the window in her room, lawn mowers by the back door, and leaf blowers right outside the front happening as soon as Baby G goes to sleep. And *only* at those times. Nothing while she's awake--which has been the vast majority of the time the past couple days. Sigh. It's like the world is conspiring against me. <br />
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I miss the days when I could just sink in and let the emptiness of depression swallow me up for a while. The more I have to bury it or fight it to take care of Alyson the longer it drags on. I'd rather spiral all the way down and come completely out than keep doing this bounce. But that's probably just the depression speaking, wanting me to just give in already. Oh, the insidious poison it spews. It does it so well. <br />
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But for now, ain't nobody got time for that!The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-38189938416261144502013-05-02T12:44:00.001-05:002013-05-02T12:45:55.759-05:00This is my version of suspenseful.My little love has been sleeping in her swing (naps AND overnight. I know, I know.) since about February. She had gotten really badly congested and being in there helped her. After she got better... The pack n play in our room where she had slept before had been filled up with diapers (clean!), wipes, changes of clothes, etc. Her room was and still is a wreck from moving and she has never really slept in her crib before. Or spent much time in there really. So since she slept SOOOO well in her swing I just kept her there. <br />
<br />
But the past few days she's been really fussy, trying to twist around in there, and just basically getting super frustrated. So for her nap this morning we laid down and took a nap together in my bed (she has slept there before a few times). I tried the swing again for her next nap and had the same results, so I put her in her crib. <br />
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She's just... laying there. Not fussing, not sleeping, just looking around. I hope this works soon, because she's definitely not going to be able to enjoy her swing much longer. I think she has definitely been letting me know that she's ready for something different, so she may be a lot easier to transition to her crib than I thought she would be. <br />
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Fingers crossed. The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-2422535179158930862013-04-23T22:13:00.001-05:002013-04-23T22:13:09.620-05:00Belief.I just spent a good five minutes trying to type out a post asking for advice on my online birth community. And in trying to find my words, I found my answer on my own.<br />
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Redirection is a powerful, important skill to master. We'll call it the "bean dip" tool, thanks to said birth community. Say someone asks you a question or makes a suggestion, and it's really none of their business. You say something vague, then offer up the "bean dip"--the subject change. It can be literal, "Well, I hadn't heard of doing that before! Hm! *pause* Would you like some bean dip/a drink/a slice of pie?" or it can be the figurative discussion of the weather/current events/whatever shallow conversation happens to be your go-to. <br />
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My belief system (or lack thereof) is something that occasionally requires me to use my bean dip skills. Like many personal choices, religion is one of those things where it seems like people feel if you do something different, you are judging them for doing things their way. <br />
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I do not care in the slightest what other people do or don't believe in. But it can be really really important to some people to care about and try to influence what other people do or don't believe in. And it's exhausting. <br />
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I have a number of friends to whom their faith is extremely important. I have been very lucky in that the vast majority of my friends happen to not act like they pity me or fear for me or otherwise be condescending. I do not need people to "pray" for me (or if they do, I certainly don't need them to tell me about it), I do not feel as if I am missing anything. My life is complete and happy and meaningful without religion. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong, but I don't think I am, and I do not believe in hedging my bets, which is what so many would rather I do "just in case." If a wink and a nod and an apology surrounded by air quotations is all it takes to get into your heaven, then I think there are bigger problems than my refusal to participate. <br />
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But I wasn't meaning to get into a philosophical discussion here. My main point is that as with many things people can be "out" about, from child-rearing styles (more controversy there than you might think) to sexual preferences to political leanings, belief (or lack thereof) is sometimes a very difficult subject to broach with new people. You don't know where a new person stands on various issues, and just like with a new romantic relationship you don't want to hit the heavy topics right off the bat without making sure there's a foundation of some sort there. But sometimes it pops up right off the bat, and you have to make a decision. <br />
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This is the decision I was wanting to seek advice about in my birth community. How do you politely decline an invitation to a religiously-focused gathering? Whether a Bible study or church event, whether it's a casual or formal thing, it's difficult to say "No, but thanks for the invite!" It can turn into a question about whether it's a day/time/childcare issue, a one-time thing or a "ask me again later" thing, and just like with many other personal issues people feel like they have the right to ask about details. So you have to not only say no thanks, but also give a response that is specific enough to indicate that future invitations are not favorable but vague enough to not spur more questions.<br />
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What answer did I find on my own as I tried to organize my thoughts enough to put them into words asking for advice?<br />
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"What's the worst that can happen?" I will keep things light for as long as that answer is enough. "Thanks, but I'm not a Bible study/church event/whatever kind of person. Bean dip?" If that becomes not enough, I will be honest and respectful--as I always am. If the respect isn't reciprocated, then that is not a relationship I need to pursue anyway. If it's a dealbreaker for them, then I will gladly respect that as well. I am not a martyr, I am not a person who believes you should be forced to suffer any relationship that causes you pain or other negativity. <br />
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Not every new friendship is meant to last. Sometimes it's just that step you need to get to better places. Sometimes that new friendship becomes so solid it's like you have always known each other, even if you can count on one hand the number of times you've met in person and you are complete opposites on some major issues. Some friendships are meant to be light, airy, surface friendships; some are meant to reach straight into your soul. Both are important. So we'll see where this one ends up on that continuum. The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-5544699816043887302013-04-16T21:52:00.003-05:002013-04-16T21:53:21.330-05:00Crash.I was just thrown off by you today. It happened at the end of the day, too--right when I was getting ready for bed. I hope sleep still comes.<br />
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Really, though, it wasn't <em>you</em>, it was a family member of yours. He showed up in your daughter's life through the wonder that is Facebook. I'm not sure when that "add" happened, but it showed up via a comment on her status tonight, and I was sent reeling. <br />
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Because what do you do when someone pops back into your life, however tenuous the connection? You creep. You do the Facebook creep. You see their recent statuses, and pictures they have on their page (depending on their privacy settings, of course). But it's not enough. You wonder "Do you remember me? It was so long ago. My name is different now. We hardly saw you even then. Have you changed? Do you have the same problems you did then? The same interests? Are you happy? Is your life the way you want it to be?" Maybe these thoughts don't fully form, but when we do the Facebook creep, this is the information we seek. Of course every situation is different, but the last 5 questions pretty much always apply.<br />
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So in doing the Facebook creep, I'm reminded of other connections. Connections to a family I haven't had in years (which unfortunately reminds me of all the others as well). To a life I haven't had in years. To that place in time, where you were here, and we could see you if we wanted to. Talk to you if we wanted to. Maybe we wouldn't have, but the option was still available to us. It hasn't been for almost 14 years now. What would your own Facebook page look like today, I wonder?<br />
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I was going to wait to bring this up, but I'm feeling the push to do it now. It would have made for a helluva post in a few more months, but I think I'm wrong about that and it was meant to happen now.<br />
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My daughter was born on the 13th anniversary of your death. When I went in to my regular checkup two days before and they decided to test for pre-eclampsia, I knew I'd be having her on that anniversary. It was just <em>right</em>. I made all the proper noises ("I'm sure everything's fine, blah blah blah") but I knew what was meant to happen and I began mentally preparing for it. Still, I cried walking out of my followup appointment two days later on the 9th, because they told me I needed to go to the hospital to be induced immediately. I didn't cry out of fear, or sadness, or worry. I cried because finally something good would come of that day. The anniversary of your death would now be shared with the celebration of my daughter's birth. What has been a bad day since 1999 is now a happy, if slightly bittersweet, day.<br />
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And I mean it when I say it has been a bad day since then. Not every year, but most years since I have been in a funk around that time. Of course that's natural around anniversaries of this sort. Sometimes specific, negative events occur on that day in particular, for no apparent reason. That day in 2010 sparked a chain of events that led to me leaving a job that I loved, and ending up in a job that I don't even know how to describe on the love/hate scale. But I know that I felt unfulfilled, and like I was opting out of making an effort. I felt like I was giving up a little (a lot) on life.<br />
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Then on that day last year, November 9 2012, I gave birth to a wonderful, perfect little girl. She is my life. I wish you could meet her. Maybe it would take you back to when your own wonderful, perfect little girl was born, a bright spot in your own life (and ours as well). But maybe this was your way of saying you're still influencing our universe a little, that you're paying attention. I don't believe in any god, but I do believe in energy. I believe in love. I believe you had a hand in making that day into a positive experience for me, for our family. We have a physical reminder that yes, there is sadness and loss in our lives, but there is also life, and beauty, and love, and hope. They all thrive in the same dark places. <br />
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I don't figure tonight's "event" will lead to any sort of reconnection beyond a shared acknowledgement of a Facebook status. Was I wrong to not push? To not say "Hey, long time no see!" in a way that acknowledges a shared past? I wouldn't turn down an outreach, but I'm not ready to do the reaching out myself. Maybe we both just think "Nah, they don't remember."<br />
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But I do remember. And it all comes crashing back to me. The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-16448067525083283622013-04-07T11:35:00.000-05:002013-04-07T11:36:11.178-05:00Eat it, self-doubt!It's definitely been an interesting couple weeks since I last posted. More on that later. <br />
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When I took my little love in for her 4-month appointment (she rocked at getting her shots, by the way!), based on their scale she hadn't gained any weight since her 2-month appointment. She had grown in length and head circumference, but apparently was still 12.5-ish pounds. The doctor didn't seem concerned; it wasn't like she had fallen off the charts altogether, and she has doubled her birth weight. But I was a little thrown off my game, so I did a stupid thing and opened my big mouth about it. We agreed that the fact that Little Bit is teething and had been pooping constantly for a while most likely led to her losing a little. But the doc suggested I start her on rice cereal (which I have been against using for SOOO many reasons) just for the extra calories, and to bring her back in 2 weeks for a weight check. <br />
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As soon as I walked out of the appointment my internal debate began. Deep down, I really did not believe anything was wrong with her. I felt like the pediatrician made the suggestions he did more to appease a first-time mom rather than out of a sense of concern for Baby G's health. Which I have issues with anyway, because I don't feel like I need to be coddled, and for the most part I am NOT an alarmist or paranoid parent who is terrified by every cough or sniffle. I have a background in child development, and I have spent the better part of three years monitoring debates and trends and doing a hell of a lot of research regarding raising children. I knew then and I know now that all the studying in the world can't truly prepare you for a baby, so I didn't go into this with unreasonable expectations. (Unless you count my expectation that a high-needs demon child would inevitably be what my husband and I released upon the world... I was totally wrong there. This kid is absolutely amazing.) My point is, I am not an idiot, I am not uneducated. I don't do things just because others are doing it or because I think it would be neat or fun, I do things because I have done my research and feel like it is best for my child and our family.<br />
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But while all this was running through my head, I was still trying to fight my concern over a number. Her weight. I thought it "couldn't hurt" to start her on cereal, JUST so she would put on some weight. Even though everything in me was screaming that she was okay, I was beginning to doubt myself for the first time. So I bought some organic rice cereal, and a bunch of spoons and bowls. I had been wanting to get those anyway, just to have around for when we do get started. When we got home I mixed up some of the cereal and tried to give her a few bites. She wouldn't/couldn't take it. Her tongue-thrust reflex was still pushing the spoon out. She was NOT ready. I didn't want that for her. We were done. <br />
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So we just carried on about our merry little way, and I continued following her lead regarding feedings. She ate as much or as little as she needed, as often as she needed. At that point she would typically eat around 30 ounces a day. As we were coming up on the followup appointment, Baby G developed a nice little case of pink eye. It was Easter Sunday (naturally), and I went ahead and took her into Urgent Care so we could get it treated ASAP. Of course, they weighed her... over 15 pounds!!! <br />
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My thoughts: somebody's scale was wrong. There is just no way this kid gained 3 pounds in 2 weeks. My scale at home had had her around 14-15 pounds prior to that 4-month appointment, which is why I was so damn surprised when they said she was just 12 pounds and some change. I called to cancel the followup appointment and explain the situation, since the purpose was to check her weight, which had been done, and I didn't want to bring pink eye into a well clinic. (The urgent care clinic is a feature of her regular clinic.) The lesson I learned from all this? My mama instincts rawk. I will try my hardest not to doubt them again. The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-57309891304149094402013-03-16T19:04:00.000-05:002013-03-16T19:04:06.583-05:00Out of sync.Baby Girl and I have not always been on the same page, but generally since she was born we've at least been in the same book. The past week or so, though, it seems like you might not even find us in the same library. <br />
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It looks like she's hitting another growth spurt, and according to the world of the internets she's due for a "4-month sleep regression"/growth spurt/19-week wonder week. Her sleep habits haven't changed for the worse at this point, she is actually more likely to sleep later now (even accounting for the time change), and her naps are sometimes longer than 20-30 minutes now. She might stay down for a couple hours at a time. We'll see how that progresses... I try not to get used to that kind of awesomeness, because babies are nothing if not unpredictable. <br />
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She's been waaaay fussy and clingy the past few days, and I've only been able to let her play "by herself" on her playmat or in her super seat a couple of times. Otherwise if I set her down she gets upset. Don't fret, I am fine with letting her fuss for a second while I run to pee, I'm no martyr. But I don't want to just let her fuss for the most part. If she's fussing, there's a reason for it, and I aim to help. Even if the only reason is wanting to be close to Mama. Right now I can get things done ... sometimes ... while she naps. I am fine with all of this. It's thrown us a little off, but nothing we can't handle. <br />
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Then this poor kid turned into a regular poop machine. Yes, I'm talking about my baby's poop. She went from a fairly regular once/twice a day to four or five dirty diapers in a day. No runny or weird stuff and she's not struggling with it or in pain, so I'm not overly concerned about it, but it's a change. The same thing happened around her 3-month mark, except it was from her other end: she started spitting up a lot when she didn't really do that often before. It was enough I took her to the pediatrician thinking it might be reflux, but not too long after that it stopped. I think this time around she's working on perfecting the systems on her other end.<br />
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I have no problems changing a ton of dirty diapers. But one unfortunate side effect of all these poopy diapers is that Little Bit has developed her first case of diaper rash. I'm proud we made it this far without that pesky little pain, honestly. In any case I've been putting some Boudreaux's Butt Paste to good use, and that's where the out of sync feeling has been coming in. <br />
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I've gone through so many diapers the past few days because suddenly a sometimes occurrence has become an almost-every-time occurrence. It doesn't fail, I'll be in the process of changing her diaper, and as soon as I start applying the rash cream she starts peeing! It's almost comical, even though I've had to do so many baby wardrobe changes, changing table cover changes, and going through multiple diapers in one, um, "sitting." It's just frustrating right now because of the diaper rash. I'll have her all clean and dry and be applying the cream, then have to wipe her off and do it all over again. The repeat cleanings like that aren't good for the diaper rash, even when using the gentlest methods. So the poor kid is all diaper-rashed, and her little body is still apparently trying to get some things straightened out, leading to more diaper changes and more irritation. Gah.<br />
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But we're working on it. Based on her behavior today I think we might be on the way out of this growth spurt. I just adore this kid... Even when she's having a fussy day, she's still such a sweet happy baby so much of the time. I feel so bad for her for having such a hard time right now, I hope she does come out of this funk soon. <br />
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She has her 4-month well visit this coming week, so she'll be getting her shots and I'll be definitely be talking to her pediatrician if any of these issues haven't resolved by then. But so far, the Mama instincts are saying everything is fine and this is a wait-and-see kind of thing. I love so much that she's growing and changing and getting things figured out, but it just puts us out of sync for a while before we find our groove again. The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-6195477594652478022013-03-07T14:49:00.002-06:002013-03-07T14:50:40.918-06:00Branching Out. Last week I took a baby step. Monday I took a slightly bigger step. And yesterday I took a leap. <br />
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I've been extremely fighting the downward spiral for the past few weeks... Really, since a week or two after we moved. I've been feeling isolated by not knowing anyone here but the couple of work friends The Hubby has brought home here and there. Unfortunately they are all singletons who live in the barracks, so no wives or girlfriends for me to meet and maybe connect with. They're cool dudes, but that's not helpful to me. <br />
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I've been terrified to leave our home by myself with Baby Girl. Unfamiliar surroundings, stressing over "what ifs," and terror over the insanity that is the traffic situation (out of the *few* times I have ventured out on my own, someone has either started crossing over into my lane--into the space OCCUPIED BY ME--or made the more popular move of darting out in front of me, causing me to have to stand on my brakes to avoid slamming into them at 40-45 mph. One of those times I am not even sure how a wreck didn't happen.) has led me to withdraw into what's familiar and safe. Our home. <br />
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Logically, I know that the only way to get more comfortable with the area and getting out on my own with Little Bit is to actually do it, to get out there. But I kept putting it off and putting it off, letting the fear and depression run everything. I kept making excuses about traffic (I still feel that one's valid, some of those near-misses would have been so much scarier to me if she had been in the car with me), or about the weather not being right, or what if she fusses too much in the car or in wherever we end up going, etc. Or, "Hey, I checked the mail today. No need to do anything else." My capability for accomplishing tasks became a one task per day limit. And I check the mail almost every day, so there you go. Besides, The Hubby could go make the grocery/diapers runs when he got off work. No need for me to do things. If I start to do more than one thing, I quickly panic and become <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-is-why-ill-never-be-adult.html">overwhelmed</a>. That leads me to go back to doing nothing and becoming depressed about it. It's so easy to get into that spiral when I have a built in excuse, Baby Girl. <br />
<br />
But last week I decided I was going to take steps. A few weeks ago I had signed up for a <a href="http://www.mccslejeune.com/links/">L.I.N.K.S class</a> about the unit my husband is attached to, where free childcare would be provided, and I wanted to have some getting-out experience under my belt beforehand. I knew the class would be an excellent opportunity to not only learn about what to expect for the next couple of years, but also to meet people. Specifically other Marine wives, and handily they would be wives who would be from the same unit (even though from different job areas, of course). So I would be meeting people! But first I wanted to know I could venture out on my own with baby and the world wouldn't end. Logically I *knew* this, but depression doesn't give a shit about logic. <br />
<br />
So after working up to it for a few days, I took my Little Bit to the mall last week. We walked around for a while, when she got fussy I took her into the nursing room and took her out of the <a href="http://www.infantino.com/product.cfm?product_id=1415">carrier</a> to help her fall asleep, then went back to walking around a little bit before heading back home. I had fed her before we left, so she was happy and alert until she had gotten sleepy, but she went to sleep quickly and easily. Earlier this week we went to Walmart by ourselves instead of just waiting to send The Hubby (he has to come home and change out of his cammies, Marines don't wear them in public), and again she was happy and alert, just checking everything out around us. <br />
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Two outings, and the world didn't end. We didn't die. She didn't have shrieking meltdowns in public. Neither did I. The outings were a success.<br />
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So yesterday was the day for the class, and although I seriously thought about not going because it was raining and windy outside I told myself I was being ridiculous and went. I had packed up Little's diaper bag the night before, so off we went. I actually had to wake her up around 7:20 so she could eat and we could leave. I cried leaving her at the daycare (which was right next door to the class), but I toughed it out, learned a lot, and met some awesome people. I visited her at lunch and got her to sleep, then visited her again at our next break, then picked her up after the class and we went home. She did really well, except she didn't eat much. But she did eat, and she did manage to take a couple short naps. <br />
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Apparently, she can be left with people I don't know and receive perfectly good care. And she won't die, and neither will I. I can meet new people, with whom I can exchange phone numbers and email addresses. And I won't die. I can find other groups to join so that I'm not just hanging with military folks, and can find kid-friendly groups at that. And I won't die. Et cetera.<br />
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The lesson of this story is that no matter what depression says, I can leave the house. I can meet people. I can participate in society. I can do all this while handling an amazingly sweet baby girl. <br />
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And I won't die. The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-81736508774589308672013-02-01T12:49:00.001-06:002013-02-01T12:49:15.139-06:00Hello, North Carolina!In my <a href="http://randomramblingsofacaffeine-crazedmind.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-word-of-2012-was-soon-my-year-in.html">last post</a> (a month ago... sorry...) I mentioned The Hubby got PCS orders, and we were waiting on them to approve his leave so we could get moved. The beginning of this month it was done, The Hubby left base on the 15th to come home, and on the 21st we rolled out of our driveway with car full of me, Hubby, Baby Girl, baby accessories necessary for the 2-day trip, 2 highly offended kitties, and our luggage; and The In-Laws drove a Budget truck full of the rest of our crap and pulling the second car. After a major kitty meltdown, Jugga ended up riding with The In-Laws the rest of the way since neither me nor the Hubby could do much to help her with him driving and me dealing with Baby Girl. We stopped in Knoxville, TN after Baby Girl decided she was totally done with being in the car for the day. Unfortunately that wasn't even halfway, so she was REALLY ticked by the time we reached our destination the next night around 8:30 pm. We got everything unloaded that night and they went ahead and returned the truck. Thankfully, The In-Laws stuck around for a couple days and helped while we got *some* of our stuff unpacked (basically necessities).<br />
<br />
Now we've been here a little over a week, and there's still a lot of unpacking to be done. Our grocery situation is depressing, we've basically been ordering in most nights. I've left the apartment exactly *twice* since arriving. Once when The In-laws were still here, we took the 20-minute drive to the beach. And the other day (my birthday!) I loaded up Baby Girl and we went to Babies 'R Us. I bought a <a href="http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=12268633">mei tai</a> baby carrier, so I don't have to lug around a car seat/stroller anytime we go somewhere. I love it, but unfortunately Baby Girl just isn't feeling it right now. I've kept trying periodically, because there's no way I'm putting her in it in public until she's comfortable in it at home. I think her big issue with it is that she's too small for her feet to be out. Maybe with a different (better... not the cheapo one I had to get) mei tai she could be legs out, but the sides of this one aren't flexible enough. <br />
<br />
But she's also having a bit of a rough time this week it seems, so that might have something to do with it as well... She's been fussing constantly, her sleeping and eating habits are all jacked up, and she's pretty clingy. She likes her swing, so sometimes I can put her in there to get a chance to accomplish something, but I prefer to only do that if she's heading towards a nap anyway or, if she's awake, if I know she won't be in there long because I'm trying to finish up some sort of task. I really don't like to just set her down awake somewhere and leave her so I can chill and watch TV or whatever. But if she starts crying, I head right back to her. Maybe it's just a first time mom hovering thing, and I'll "learn my lesson" eventually, but if she's awake I want to be interacting with her, and now that I'm living in an apartment dammit I have these pesky things called "neighbors" that will also be subjected to a crying baby if her needs aren't met.<br />
<br />
Right now, and for the next little while, she needs me. (And The Hubby, I suppose... *sigh*) And although "people" may say I might kick myself later on for letting her fall asleep in my arms so often, or that I shouldn't run to her every time she fusses or cries, I know that this stage in her development only lasts for so long. And it's an important stage, where she learns that she can trust the adults around her to care for her and meet her needs, and that she is worthy of human interaction, even if all she needs at the moment is cuddles with Mama. It's a big scary world, and she's just a little thing that didn't ask to be brought into it, and doesn't understand what is happening to her or around her. That's what mamas and daddies are there for. I'm not going to ignore her when she's inconvenient, or yell at her for crying or needing something. She is too little to be "spoiled." Even if she's driving me a little batty right now with this growth spurt or whatever it is, and half the time I feel like crying right along with her because DAMN RIGHT life is hard! I will continue to cuddle her every chance I get, because all too soon she won't want that anymore. And she's just so sweet and snuggly... The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-68774604095094556222012-12-31T22:20:00.001-06:002012-12-31T22:20:09.312-06:00The word of 2012 was "soon": My year in review.I've had some big years in the past. Usually they're "big" in a bad way, marked by tragedy of some sort. This one was different, though... A mixed bag of supreme excitement and mind-blowing anxiety, and I didn't post about it nearly enough.<br />
<br />
We moved back into our house while continuing to repair it from 2011's <a href="http://randomramblingsofacaffeine-crazedmind.blogspot.com/2011/05/no-title-describes-this-well-enough.html">flood damage</a>.<br />
<br />
I started a new position at the factory job, as a supervisor over the temporary workers. It was interesting, with a ton of <a href="http://randomramblingsofacaffeine-crazedmind.blogspot.com/2012/01/boop-beep.html">comedic moments</a> as well as an insanely crazy amount of <a href="http://randomramblingsofacaffeine-crazedmind.blogspot.com/2012/02/lost-in-dark.html">stress</a>. I still have mixed emotions about that job, even though I don't regret that I got to spend way too much time with some awesome people, since it was basically my second home. Of course some people were shits, but that's the game.<br />
<br />
I got to have an <a href="http://randomramblingsofacaffeine-crazedmind.blogspot.com/2012/07/all-awesome-i-havent-been-posting-about.html">awesome trip with my best friends</a>
to Gulf Shores, Alabama. Then one of those friends moved to Hawaii. I
miss her face. (And her awesome husband and beautiful daughter's faces,
too!) <br />
<br />
The Hubby left for <a href="http://randomramblingsofacaffeine-crazedmind.blogspot.com/2012/05/big-day.html">boot camp</a>, where after thirteen long weeks he became a Marine. On the flip side, I got to fly to California, a place I've never been, and I got a Marine for a husband. I could not possibly be more proud. As of this year I have two brothers in the Navy and a husband in the Marine Corps, along with a lot more extended family serving (or having previously served) in different branches of the military. <br />
<br />
Amidst all of this, I was <a href="http://randomramblingsofacaffeine-crazedmind.blogspot.com/2012/05/heartbeat-promise.html">pregnant</a>. With a baby girl. I had horrible morning sickness well past the first trimester, and after only briefly fading it came back with a vengeance at the end. This time it brought its buddy Heartburn, and he was a major asshole. With The Hubby being away at boot camp, MCT, and training in North Carolina he missed most of the pregnancy. We were together in August for his 10 days after boot camp, then I didn't see him again until Thanksgiving, two weeks after our <a href="http://randomramblingsofacaffeine-crazedmind.blogspot.com/2012/12/a-birth-story-or-skip-to-bottom-for.html">beautiful daughter</a> was born.<br />
<br />
I just got to see him again over Christmas... He got PCS orders (these tell us what base he will be stationed out of), and they moved him straight into the barracks at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina after he finished his training. We have been waiting for those to tell us where we would be moving to so we can all be together again. So this past week I was in Jacksonville, NC with The Hubby househunting and trying to get things set up over there. We wanted to live off base, and success! We found and signed a lease on an apartment! He will actually be moving in there on January 1st, and as soon as the office that organizes the moving stuff approves it he'll be coming to move me, Baby Girl, the kitties, and all of our stuff in with him. I can't wait! I'll miss our friends and family here, but I'm more excited to be back with my husband and raise our little girl together.<br />
<br />
It's been an insane year. Having a baby always ups the stakes, but our biggest ruler this year has still been the Marine Corps. With Baby Girl, I knew I had a November deadline and that I'd end up with a baby. With the military, nothing is official until it's in writing at the last minute, and even then it might change later. Most of the year has been spent waiting on information. I've been patient enough, but I was also dealing with quite a bit myself being pregnant and then caring for a newborn. So I really didn't allow myself to stress about the military stuff very often, and instead focused on the things that I <i>did</i> have control over--going to work every day, taking care of the kitties, having a healthy pregnancy and having a healthy, happy baby at the end of it all. I will definitely say it hasn't been easy, but we definitely have gotten through. And although I am still facing the question mark of <i>when</i> my family will finally be together again, I know that it is coming, and soon.<br />
<br />
I can't wait to see what 2013 brings us. <br />
<br />
The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-4181895451567105382012-12-12T19:53:00.001-06:002012-12-12T19:53:06.439-06:00Lazy days.It's hard to believe this is my life now... Granted, I can laze about watching movies or shows on Netflix like it's my job, but up until now it's only been on days off from an actual paying job. Or school, or whatever combination of the two I had going at the time. Since I started working, I've only ever been out of the workforce temporarily and had something else lined up every time. The only real gap was between my job at the shelter and the first time working at the factory, but that was because there was a massive amount of hiring and they were starting everyone in groups. And that was only a few days, really. <br />
<br />
Now I have nowhere to be but with baby girl. I have nothing to do but make sure she is taken care of, healthy, and as happy as can be possible when you're surrounded by things you've never seen or heard or felt before, the giants you rely on speak a language you can't understand, your limbs flail about so uncontrollably that you're not even sure for a while that they even belong to you, and you can't help but shit your pants all the time. (Can you blame her?) <br />
<br />
Still, taking care of a newborn is no picnic, especially when you're doing it on your own. I really don't have time for much else, so I'm glad this is all I've got going on at the moment. Now I just set small goals to accomplish: Today I'll do laundry. Today I'll get all the trash out. Today I'll tidy up the living room. Today I'll check the mail (no mailbox at the house requires a trip to the post office). Even showering is a goal I have to set, and unfortunately for my poor snuggly child and any unsuspecting visitors it's not a daily one. I'm not totally on my own though, my parents and the in-laws are more than willing to take her off my hands so I can run errands and get some rest.<br />
<br />
Yesterday baby girl decided that sleep and was for pussies and eating an ounce to two ounces every half hour or so was the fun thing to do. Probably another growth spurt, which is awesome but leads to one tired mama. Thankfully, my insomnia issue has all but vanished since she was born, out of necessity. I'm sure that my body figured out that functioning wasn't going to be possible if I didn't adjust, because she doesn't always give me much time to catch z's. I fall asleep a lot faster and sleep a lot deeper than I ever have before, and am able to tune out anything but baby. The cats knocked a couple of pans off of the counter one night and I didn't know about it until I saw them in the floor that morning. Didn't hear a thing. But if the baby so much as makes a peep I'm wide awake.<br />
<br />
But I digress. Sleepless baby who is constantly eating. She tends to get clingy during these phases, and if I set her down when she falls asleep she instantly wakes up and loudly protests. Sometimes, though, it's successful and she stays down for a little while. Maybe only 10 minutes, maybe 2 hours. I'm not afraid to let her fuss a little while I do the necessary things if I know she's okay. But today she's just really wanted to stay with mama. And I've been okay with that. Most of today has been spent on the couch holding her, talking to her, and playing with her. I've set her down long enough to use the bathroom, grab something to eat, make and wash her bottles, but even as I'm typing this she's been right next to me. There are plenty of things I could have gotten done today... There's laundry that came out of the dryer 3 days ago that I could have folded and put up. And she was asleep on my chest/in my arms for a solid 3 hours where I could have done whatever, maybe. (She might have woke up as soon as I laid her down. It's always a crapshoot, really.) But instead I chose to just hang out on the couch, and just held her the whole time. I guess sometimes mama just wants to be clingly and snuggle, too. And watch her baby grow way too fast.The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-12002031232593171412012-12-07T22:52:00.000-06:002012-12-07T23:03:34.803-06:00On a failed endeavor.I wanted to breastfeed my baby girl. I didn't make plans for how long, was waiting until I got into things to decide when I wanted to also give her bottles (of pumped breastmilk, I had bought a pump), and did not get myself into the militant anti-formula mindset that some do. However, I very strongly wanted to breastfeed, to give her the best start, to do something so perfectly natural. <br />
<br />
I was happy to be able to do so almost immediately after she was born, before they took her to the nursery to clean her up, weigh and measure her, and so on. She latched on without issue, and I was thrilled. Of course, she was as exhausted as I was, so she kept falling asleep. Couldn't blame the kid, she'd had a hard day, too. <br />
<br />
Later, though, we kept having the same problem. She'd fall asleep almost immediately after latching on, even if she had been awake and alert right before. Then she started to refuse the boob. She wouldn't just politely decline, though, she'd scream bloody murder, back arched and everything. I thought at first maybe she was just frustrated at not getting anything (it takes a few days for milk to come in), but then I saw that I was leaking colostrum (the pre-milk good stuff that is produced until the milk comes in) whenever she would initially start to nurse. So all the pieces were there... I was making the stuff she needed, and she was able to latch. But for some reason she just wasn't having it. <br />
Sometimes if I could get her to just latch on even if she was going ballistic, she'd calm down and nurse for a little while (and inevitably fall asleep, which was another battle), but for the most part that wasn't the case. It was just a heartbreaking scream-fest, and my baby wasn't eating. One nurse literally scared the shit out of my poor screaming child by grabbing her head and holding it in place while rubbing her throat to encourage swallowing. Baby girl's eyes popped wide open, she stopped screaming as she froze up, latched on, and then loudly shit in her diaper as soon as the nurse walked off. I think we both hated that nurse. But even that didn't work. As with any other time a nurse tried to help us out (and none of the others traumatized us like that, they really were trying to help), she simply latched on and then either fall asleep or came off screaming as soon as they walked off. <br />
<br />
But basically, she wasn't eating much of anything. I'd whip out the boob, she might or might not latch for a minute, she'd start screaming and arching her back and otherwise have a meltdown, I'd console her, she'd fall asleep, I'd wake her up and try again, and the cycle would repeat. There were a few times we were somewhat successful, and I'll admit I straight up lied to the nurses and told them she was nursing for longer than she actually was in those instances so they wouldn't insist on bottle-feeding her. But that night I caved. That evil nurse briefly became my savior when she asked me if I wanted her to take her to the nursery for the night so I could get some rest. I was in full-on breakdown mode, sobbing right along with baby girl as I tried to console her, and I knew I had in that moment reached my limit. I told her to take her, and when she asked if I wanted them to give her a bottle or bring her back in when she was ready to eat again I said they could give her the bottle. I was such a wreck, I could hardly move, I was exhausted and still hooked up to machines because of my blood pressure, was still on medication that made me drowsy, my hormones were going haywire, and the child I loved more than anything in the world rejected what I could offer. I balled my eyes out when they took her out of my room, feeling exhausted, feeling like a failure, feeling guilty and weak and completely powerless. But the logical, realistic, practical side of my brain kept saying "It's more important that she eats than that she eats the way you want her to." And my mom was there with me through it all, too, saying "You're not a failure, you're not a bad mom. You're doing what you have to, and this doesn't mean you can't keep trying."<br />
<br />
I did keep trying, but had the same results. So after leaving the hospital I started using the pump, wanting her to still be able to get the benefits of breastmilk even if she wasn't getting it directly from the source. But again, things kept getting in the way of allowing me to pump as often as I would need to in order to keep up my supply to keep up with her needs, and she was getting formula a few times a day. In order for exclusive pumping to truly be successful, you need to pump either before or after every feeding, or at least every 2-3 hours. But I ran into issues, because pumping takes forever, feeding her and getting her settled takes forever, and that first week we were constantly on the go, and my pump stopped working the very damn night my milk came in. It was replaced the next day, but that was still a VERY uncomfortable few hours. I was trying so hard to do it all on my own even though I was staying with my mom and she was always there to help, but I wore myself out and what got pushed aside most often (aside from my health lol) was pumping. The most I pumped was six times in one day, and I only did that a couple of days. <br />
<br />
Then I came back home after a week at Mom's, because The Hubby was coming home for Thanksgiving. That's when pumping really started taking a hit, because I kept pushing it aside in favor of spending time with him and helping him with baby girl. He only had a few days home, but after he left I decided to stay home, just me and baby girl, instead of going back to my mom's. There's no place like home, and all. But without someone to help me out, pumping dropped down to 2-3 times a day, and then down to 1-2, and now I'm on my second day of not pumping at all. She hit a growth spurt and started "snacking." She'd only eat a little bit at a time, and she was eating a lot more often. Plus she's been awake more, and when she's awake I'm holding her and interacting with her. Can't hold her and pump, and if she's left to chill by herself for very long while she's awake she starts fussing. So the only time I could pump is when she's sleeping. But she's been taking longer to get to sleep, and half the time she wakes back up as soon as I lay her down. The past few times I tried to pump I wasn't getting anywhere near as much as I had been, so I knew my supply was way down. It's hard to increase it once it's been allowed to drop, and the past few days she's been so clingy and fussy I haven't been able to pump any. I actually got her to nurse a couple of times yesterday (I've kept trying every once in a while--for the most part unsuccessfully), but I know she wasn't getting much and when I tried again it was back to "not gonna happen, Mom." So basically we're just using up what's left of the breastmilk I have stored in the fridge, then switching to exclusively using formula. <br />
<br />
I was putting quite a bit of pressure on myself, wanting everything just this once to work out easily. But it hasn't. It's frustrating that I couldn't even make it 4 weeks before giving up on not just breastfeeding but pumping as well. It has been difficult enough for me to deal with all this that I've been crying while typing most of this out. Re-living it is hard, going through it was devastating. But to me, it's more important that baby girl has a sane-ish, somewhat-rested mama. There were too many times where I knew I had enough time to either pump or get something to eat myself or wash bottles or do laundry, etc., but not more than one of those things before she woke up. I question what I could have differently to in order for things to have worked out, but ultimately I did what I did and that can't be changed. She is still growing, is perfectly healthy, and is just her own little perfect self. Why did I ever think that a child of mine would cooperate? I must say that it totally sucks that feeding her just got a lot more expensive, however. Le sigh.The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-80037013619486210692012-12-01T00:04:00.001-06:002012-12-01T00:05:05.959-06:00A birth story. (Or skip to the bottom for the payoff.)So, yeah. That blood pressure thing? Was in fact pre-eclampsia, and since the day of that next doctor appointment was the 39-week mark of my pregnancy, when he came in he said that I needed to have the baby ASAP. The only cure for pre-e is having the baby, so BAM! That's what I did. And if I do say so myself, I did it like a boss.<br />
<br />
The appointment was scheduled for 9 a.m., I was admitted to the hospital and in a room by 9:45 (my doctor's office is right across from the hospital), and by about 10:30 they had started the pitocin. Lucky me, I was already in early labor--I had been having contractions all that morning, but I was extremely confused by them. See, they tell you that you need to go to the hospital when your contractions are 5 minutes apart and a minute long. Mine were never 5 minutes apart or a minute long, and I was joking about it with my mom while waiting for the doctor before the appointment. My back was hurting a little with each one and I felt crampy, and after a while I finally said "Should I be timing these?" I started trying to time them, but although they were extremely close together they weren't really consistent and I gave up on that.<br />
<br />
Once I got hooked up to the machines and all (BTW, birth plan totally went out the window when pre-eclampsia showed up and put me and Baby G at risk! I'm glad I wasn't dead set on any specific plan of action, I was realistic and had very little guilt that things didn't go as I had hoped they would.), the awesome nurses confirmed that I was in fact in early labor, and that I was "blessed" with super-fun cluster contractions. Instead of a single contraction every few minutes, I'd have a series of them back-to-back, then a short break, then repeat. Lucky me. When the pitocin started working its magic, this little complication led to me agreeing to pain meds, which I had really wanted to try and go without. But the fact that I wasn't ever really getting a break from the contractions wore me down. They skipped Demerol and started me on Stadol to try and take the edge off and help me rest between contractions (HA! There WAS no "between contractions"! There was only "try to breathe normally for a second before the next one peaks."). It didn't even begin to touch it, it's like they had done nothing pain-wise. But it did make me drowsy, so that's about when I started selectively ignoring everyone in the room. My eyes didn't want to stay open, so they kept thinking I was sleeping. Nope. I heard everything that was going on around me, but was totally focused on my body (in a fuzzy kind of way) and the massive amount of shit that I was talking in my head but too lazy to say out loud. I mean, it's not like I could really <i>do</i> anything, I was too doped up to move very well, not to mention that it's difficult to move anyway when you're 39 weeks pregnant. So I did what I do, and mentally eviscerated everyone around me with sarcasm.<br />
<br />
But everything was moving very quickly. The contractions kept getting stronger, and it seemed like no time after getting started on the Stadol I was grumpily agreeing to the epidural. Apparently my grumpiness about that paired with my drowsiness made me uncooperative as well, because it took them forever to get the epidural started. Apparently I wouldn't sit up straight enough. Apparently that's important. But while this process was taking forever, I was being told not to move while having a contraction. Which was pretty much the whole time they were trying to get the epidural going. Cluster contractions, remember? So I'm damn proud of myself for powering through during that time, when all I wanted to do was throw an elbow back into the face of the anesthesiologist who was taking for-fucking-ever. They kept saying I was leaning over and needed to sit up straight. I'd try to sit up straight but the way I was positioned was making it difficult. They had moved a chair over for me to rest my feet on, but it wasn't in the right place directly in front of me, it was at an angle. Of course, I was busy pretending I was alone in the room and therefore did not choose to pass on this information. Instead, every time they said I needed to be sitting up straight I thought, "Make me, motherfuckers, because I couldn't if I tried." They told me to let them know if I was having a contraction, but I didn't see the point in passing on that information either because when I'd tell them they'd just say "Okay, just don't move!" With all the helpful people telling me "Oh, here comes a contraction! A big one! Oh, it's starting to back off now!" I was pretty sure they knew when contractions were happening anyway. I still don't understand why everyone felt the need to tell *me* when I was having a contraction, because I promise that even after the epidural I fucking well knew it. I think the epidural did for me what the Stadol was supposed to have done--it took the edge off. But I still felt every contraction from start to finish. Even after they gave me a second dose of the epidural when the first stopped working, I still felt it all, it just wasn't as bad and I was more able to cope. In all seriousness, this is why I didn't want pain medication in the first place. It never tends to work for me. My experience with medication in general is that it takes some pretty serious stuff to have any major effect on me, and I prefer not to mess with serious medications. But the fact that I wasn't really getting any break between contractions made me feel it was necessary.<br />
<br />
I think I got the epidural somewhere between 2 and 3 in the afternoon (there was a clock on the wall, but holy shit was I high from the Stadol). Did I mention that's when my water broke? During my non-struggle to sit up straight? Because that's when that happened. No going back at that point, baby had to be born within 24 hours of that occurrence. But when I said things were moving fast I meant it. I got to the room around 9:45. There really was no time frame where I was relaxed and chill, able to handle a bunch of visitors or anything. It was straight to intense. Pitocin around 10:30. Stadol a while later (not sure anymore what time that happened), epidural/water breaking at 2 or 3 pm, started pushing around 4:30-4:45pm, and my lovely lady Alyson came into the world at 4:55 pm on November 9, after I had only been in the hospital for 7 hours. Not too bad for a first-time mom.<br />
<br />
She was perfect. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtUBslA6cjoeR8k8QhXpnK1I3cgCbB5l8ub9eBgzLdT43D4ybtzkKFNcxEC0ZmWqLa03s98b626jCf0CGZjGfFtpoNySp29q8X_kap892vIZc8DJL7Dn9IweAHqg9tpun-Q2VLdm4Y15hg/s1600/217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtUBslA6cjoeR8k8QhXpnK1I3cgCbB5l8ub9eBgzLdT43D4ybtzkKFNcxEC0ZmWqLa03s98b626jCf0CGZjGfFtpoNySp29q8X_kap892vIZc8DJL7Dn9IweAHqg9tpun-Q2VLdm4Y15hg/s1600/217.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
6 pounds, 18.5 inches long. She loves naps, can sleep through just about anything, and hates being naked. She has her daddy's nose, and her mama's ears. She also has an old man's mannerisms and receding hairline. She's going to have bad eyesight if she keeps staring at light fixtures and sticking her fingers in her eyes. She sounds like a chipmunk when she gets really mad, and she smiles as she poops in your hand. It's still a beautiful little gummy smile. Her favorite place is on your chest, and she doesn't cry for no reason. She's a very versatile kid so far, but will adamantly refuse to do anything she doesn't want to. (Like breastfeed, even though she has proven time and again that she is perfectly capable of doing so. But that's a whole 'nother blog post.) Based on the number of people that were in the waiting room "waiting" on her to make her appearance, she has to be one of the most loved babies in the world. I adore her, and she definitely stole her daddy's heart too when he came home for Thanksgiving. I'm already amazed at how fast she's growing, and can't wait to see her full personality start to emerge. She seems pretty cool so far. We're both doing fine, and every time things get a little hairy I just remind myself "Hey, we're both new at this. I'm new as a parent, she's new as a person, we're both just trying to figure things out. We'll get the hang of it." Maybe <i>she'll</i> get the hang of it anyway, I think the parenting thing is just one surprising thing after another for the rest of the kid's life. But in any case, I'm in love... <br />
<br />The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-24410739111712049932012-11-07T21:36:00.000-06:002012-11-30T21:37:41.765-06:00Well played, Baby G.So I've made it to the 38 week mark, and I still don't hate this! I do, however, hate that at my appointment today my blood pressure was elevated enough to warrant a 24-hour urine collection and BEDREST. <i>Super </i>fun stuff. I can handle peeing in a jug for a day, that's whatever. But what I really wish Baby G understood was that today was the first day I was really going to be able to start my *get shit done* phase. Last week I finally finished out my last day of work (yay!), then my sister came to stay with me for a few days since she was out of school. The plan was for us to get some packing done, but instead we preferred a bunch of lazy days watching movies and chowing down on junk. I stand by that decision.<br />
<br />
Today's plan was for me to go to the doctor appointment, then go home and get busy catching up on cleaning, laundry, and more baby-clothes sorting. (...I've accumulated quite a bit...). Little by little this week I was going to knock out some projects, as much as swelling and shortness and breath allowed. Instead I was ordered specifically to "keep my ass in bed." No cleaning, no dishes, no laundry, no going to Walmart, no driving around to relieve boredom, just "ass in bed." I love my doctor's blunt honesty and sense of humor, but I know to take this seriously. It's just highly unfortunate timing I guess. I'll take the little brown jug back to the hospital tomorrow afternoon and get blood drawn, then have to go back to bedrest until my follow-up appointment Friday morning. Hopefully all will be fine then, and I can carry on with my original plan to *get shit done.* But in the meantime, I *can't do shit.*<br />
<br />
Thankfully my mom will be staying with me until it's baby time, although she'll still be going to work during the day. For however long I'm on bedrest, she'll be the one *doing shit* for me. After baby is born I'll be moving in with her, and she'll be taking off of work to help me out. Between her and my sister, I should have plenty of assistance and opportunity to rest. I'll stay there until I either kind of adjust to life with a newborn or simply can't tolerate living with other people anymore. I love my family, but I'm more likely to hit that second threshold first. I very much enjoy living on my own, and I've always been a person who likes to be left alone to do my own thing. But I know that a new baby will likely be a bit overwhelming, and considering my history of depression I accept that I could definitely use the help and support dealing with all this without the husband available for backup.<br />
<br />
Speaking of Hubby, he's currently in his school and set to graduate next month. Hopefully he'll get to come home for Thanksgiving, so right now I'm just hoping with all my might that Baby G arrives before then. She's due the week before (as in next week...) and my doc generally won't induce before 42 weeks without it being absolutely necessary. So I hope she comes on time or early, because if Hubby does get to come home I'd rather it be to our sweet new baby girl than a very large wife that's a little, um, <i>on edge</i>... or screaming obscenities in a hospital.<br />
<br />
Well folks, that's all for now! <br />
<br />The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-11237336831433067442012-08-28T00:39:00.000-05:002012-08-28T00:40:06.067-05:00If only I could strut properly.Maybe it hasn't been difficult enough. Maybe it's been too easy for me. Maybe I don't know enough.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'm just an idiot, one of those idiots who causes eye-rolls in everyone she meets. Probably a few would *begin* to think that after I make this statement:<br />
<br />
Pregnancy is <i>sexy.</i><br />
<br />
I don't necessarily mean that in a sexual manner. Confused yet? I know I am. What I mean is that (for me, at least) despite the swollen belly... the constant trips to the bathroom... the inability to find non-maternity clothes that fit, keep the lady bits trimmed, or see my toes... and the way even my balance and the way I walk has changed... despite all of these things I feel more <i>alive</i>, more primal, more in tune with my body than I have ever felt before. I think that is "sexy." You can change it to "empowering" if it makes you feel better. One of the sexiest traits is confidence, which in my opinion is based in self-awareness. You have to know yourself to believe in yourself, amiright? And I've never known or believed in myself better than I do right now, at 28 weeks pregnant with sleep deprivation, a hectic schedule, and a <i>very</i> active little girl. One whose constant kicks, turns, bumps, flutters, bladder-stomps and occasional (but hilarious!) hiccups remind me daily of what this body of mine is capable of.<br />
<br />
I can bring a life into this world. <br />
<br />
Pregnancy is a beautiful, natural, and instinctive creature. It does what it has to do to get what it needs, what it desires, whatever it takes to follow through with this amazing and terrifying process. Much like the fetus we carry and the child we deliver, it just knows what it requires. We go back to basics.<br />
<br />
Our emotions and senses are heightened. We're <i>hungry</i> again. We become fierce guardians of ourselves and what's ours. We strive for closeness to those we care about, and learn to distance ourselves from those who bring us harm. Sometimes this is contradictory, and it's usually not easy. We glow. We plan. We nest. We love. We rage. We weep. We grow.<br />
<br />
I'm not a total idiot. I know this is not even <i>close</i> to every woman's experience, that it is a tremendously different experience for each person, for each situation. But this is mine. I battle depression, my husband has missed most of this pregnancy while he has been in training, I hate my job, I'm stressing over insurance, I'm stressing over moving, I'm not sleeping well, I *waddle* everywhere, and I can't say enough <i>how much I miss my husband</i> (obviously enough for him to warrant two mentions in the same paragraph)... Yet I feel so damn powerful because I know that no matter what, I can get through this. I'm terrified, but I still believe in myself and my body. And that confidence is sexy.<br />
<br />
(Of course, ask me in 10 more weeks if I still feel so positive carrying a limb-flailing watermelon.)The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-18581219255514278612012-07-19T02:27:00.000-05:002012-07-19T02:27:14.195-05:00Maybe I'm just heartless, but I'm glad I'm not that clingy.I've been on a lot of message boards lately, looking for information and maybe some support. Pregnant with a husband incommunicado in boot camp is not always a breeze to handle. Especially when you absolutely passionately hate every single day you have to go to your job, but are forced to continue out of necessity. The husband is earning an income, but is unable to access it to send me money until after graduation. I've hated my job viscerally for quite a while, but supporting The Hubby so he could quit his job to prepare for and go to boot camp was more important, and I still believe that was the best thing for us to do. At the moment, though, I'm feeling trapped. So I try to find people in either or both of these situations (pregnant, significant other in boot camp), to try and get <i>something</i> in the way of information. It's not an easy feat, and frequently I am more annoyed than anything. The pregnancy sites are *fairly* helpful, but the sites for family members of recruits are a bit of a mixed bag. There is a lot of really good information, but there is also a lot of whining.<br />
<br />
I understand, to a point. Parents are going to have a difficult time when their child leaves the nest. Significant others are going to have a difficult time when their loved one goes away. This is all made a lot more difficult by the fact that our recruits don't get a lot of chances to communicate. Nobody should ever, EVER count on getting a damn thing from a recruit in basic training, because expecting things leads to disappointment. I expected NOTHING. The letters I get (and trust me, I've gotten a lot up until the past couple weeks) are the happiest parts of every day that I receive one. The only thing I expected from The Hubby wasn't a letter, or a phone call, or him being able to support me financially or emotionally (or whatever else these people are expecting); all I'm expecting is for him to come home a United States Marine, and I'm even prepared for the worst in that department. In fact, as a spouse I had to write out and sign a statement spelling out exactly what him doing this meant, and that I FULLY UNDERSTAND: He will be unable to support me financially while he is in training. He will most likely be deployed at some point. Basically, this will be extremely difficult for me. (But look at what <i>he</i> is going through!!)<br />
<br />
What it all boils down to, no matter how much they say they take care of Marine families, is that Corps and country come first. These men and women made that choice... And Parents, they are in fact men and women, no matter if you still think of them as your "baby." They are not allowed to serve their country until they are legal adults. Some of them may be immature adults, but if they're tough enough they will make the cut and become Marines in the process. And we will be so damn proud of them. (Please replace with Army/Navy/Air Force titles as needed--I'm proud of my recruit, but this applies to ALL branches of the military.)<br />
<br />
As I sat in that recruiter's office that day and wrote the short statement acknowledging how difficult the coming months would be, I did fully understand it. I knew it would be tough, but I would make it happen. Whatever it takes to get him, and us, through this. I did not expect to be an exception. Even after we found out I was pregnant. I did not write out the part saying that I alone would be responsible for paying our bills and think to myself, "Yeah, but he'll still be able to send me money because we're married." Even when people kept saying "But he should be able to send you money because you're married."<span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b>I want to smack those people, because "should" means absolutely shit, and I love it when people remind me that I haven't seen my husband in almost 3 months and that I'm stuck at my job for that much longer.</span><b><span style="font-size: small;"> People, please remember that the military is a function of government. I'll believe the check is in the mail when I open the goddamn mailbox and find it there.</span></b> I don't care if even the recruiter says he should be able to, or if it happened that way for someone else in the same platoon, a different platoon, or a different branch of service. I believe nothing until I see it. So when I see people griping on message boards on how they're in tough times because they--by choice--haven't worked for years and have 3 kids and they're freaking out because they don't have any money because their SO is in boot camp, I feel for them, but then I have to ask myself "What the fuck? How did you <i>think</i> this was going to go?" Maybe I'm a bit cynical, but while I hope that they do in fact take care of Marine families like they say they do, I can't help but think <i>they're not Marines yet.</i> They are recruits. There is a big difference. Not all recruits become Marines. Why would they waste effort on people that might not make it? (Of <i>course</i> your recruit is going to make it, though, so they might as well make that exception, right?) <br />
<br />
But my biggest annoyance is the ones who talk about how pitiful they are because they miss their kid or their SO. I can't handle much of the boards dedicated to wives/girlfriends because of this. Some of the parents of recruits from our platoon, although dealing with missing their sons (all males at San Diego), are grown enough to be looking for answers to their questions and being otherwise proactive--organizing meet and greets for family day, organizing fundraisers, sending protein bars to the recruits with notes attached about the website so all the recruits' families can know that support is available. The wives/girlfriends are focusing a lot on how they can't go to the movies or restaurants or participate in whatever activity because that's something they do with their husband/boyfriend. I just want to ask them what they plan on doing in their lives when their recruits become Marines and get deployed for months and months at a time. Life does not stop because he is away. It continues whether you like it or not, and wallowing in self pity doesn't help you or him either one. Show your Marine (or Marine recruit) that you are proud of him, and that you will support him by keeping the home front covered while he can't be there. They're under contract folks, if you don't like the life then you're the one that has to GTFO. He can't, and shouldn't have to because of you. If you just lay the pitiful tales on him all the time, you're just making him miserable when there's nothing he can do about it, and he'll most likely get in trouble for your behavior if you take it too far. This makes you a selfish asshole. In my opinion.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying I don't have my bad days. It's actually been getting harder for me the closer I get to him coming home. I miss him, I want to get this all rolling so we can really get somewhere, and I want him to meet The Belly That Holds The Baby. Pregnancy hormones and depression aren't helping, because it seems I've gotten a pretty good dose of them lately. But I hope that I never become like some of those people I come across on those sites. My independence makes me happy, and it makes me better able to handle the separations that will happen. I miss him like crazy, but I'm so proud of him, and he deserves and has my full support. Maybe I <i>am</i> just a cold fish for not balling my eyes out day and night, wailing over letters. But I don't think so. I'm looking at boot camp as training for the both of us. The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-36082617718529735472012-07-07T00:46:00.001-05:002012-08-28T00:07:29.046-05:00All the awesome I haven't been posting about.Sooooo...<br />
<br />
It's been a while since I posted anything. Again. I had high hopes that my blogging would be more regular with the Hubby (my primary distraction!) away. Instead, I have managed to fill that space by remaining in a constant state of "busy," and have completely neglected the blog. In the month and some change since I last posted, I have had just a couple of "free" days, and I have TOTALLY just spent those days vegetating in front of a TV that is constantly playing <i>Friends</i> dvds. I'm not going to lie, after work every night is spent roughly the same way.<br />
<br />
Because it's been such a crazy busy time for me and I haven't posted about, well, <i>anything</i> since The Hubby left, I'll just do a quick sum-up of the most important parts.<br />
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I went floating on the river for the first time ever. I had an absolute blast! I love being on/in the water, I don't know why I've avoided this every time before when someone has invited me to go. Except then I remembered, because I ended up with a HORRIBLE, excruciating sunburn... <i>on the tops of my feet.</i> Everything else was fine, I had applied and reapplied SPF 100 sunblock all damn day, but somehow <i>the tops of my goddamned feet </i>were murdered. I swear I applied it there too! I was lucky enough to be off work the next day, so I spent the whole day tottering around the house like Frankenstein's monster anytime I simply could not put off getting up off the couch any longer. My feet were so burned they were hugely swollen, and bending my ankles was NOT an option. It was a painful, miserable week and a half before I could walk comfortably. Or wear properly laced and tied shoes.<br />
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The trip with my friends was to Gulf Shores, Alabama, and it was an absolutely perfect beach getaway.<br />
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It may have rained most of the time, but there was enough rain-free space each day for some valuable beach time. The rest of the time was awesome for just spending time with my girls! Plus, I was sunblocked up again, despite the constant cloud cover... no burn for me!<br />
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I finally got over the morning sickness, and have finally started gaining some weight (though not much yet, trust me I'm working on it!), only to experience one of the OTHER symptoms of pregnancy nobody talks about honestly... Hemorrhoids. I believe they started "popping up" during that gulf coast trip. All that sitting in a vehicle for long periods of time was a killer, and once I got home I discovered exactly why the trip home had been becoming more and more painful. Fortunately it wasn't too bad of a case, despite being painful and uncomfortable. I could manage. Still. Fun stuff. They're not bothering me much any more, though.<br />
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My awesome sister came and stayed with me for 2 whole weeks! I still had to work and all, but we had such a blast together. I loved having her with me! Plus she was there for a BIG pregnancy milestone...<br />
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And sorry, here's where I move from simple summary to the big release of info.<br />
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My first ultrasound! They of course made sure everything was fine with Baby G, and yep, everything is just fine. Perfectly healthy! :-) (Note: we have been calling fetus Baby G because it's the initial for our last name--it does not stand for any first name we have picked out! I just did NOT want to refer to it as "peanut" or "bean" or anything else along those lines.) But now we also have a sex to attach to the name... <span style="color: magenta;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;">IT'S A GIRL! She's BABY GIRL G!</span> </div>
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I'm so excited! No name picked out yet, but even after we do pick one we won't be sharing it until after she's here. If we meet her and her name doesn't fit, we can change it without having to deal with people getting pissed because they wasted money on something being personalized with her name or initials. Plus we don't want to have a bunch of people who aren't raising her trying to have a say in her name. But what matters most right now is that she's perfectly healthy. It was hard getting really good pictures of her in there. I have an anterior placenta (meaning it's attached at the front of the uterine wall), which means there's a lot more tissue in between my belly and Baby G, and the pictures were all a little bit distorted. It's also made it a lot harder for me to feel her moving and kicking until here very recently. I started feeling some of it at that u/s, when I was 19 weeks along, but later that same week I could feel it a little bit stronger. Still not much, though. Then this past week, at 20 weeks, I could feel her a little more, but still not very strong.<br />
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Then yesterday? Amazing. I was laying on the couch, not wanting to move because of the heat. When temps are at 100 degrees and above, like they have been the past couple weeks, my window units are having a hard time getting the temperature down in the house. Yesterday the temperature in my living room hovered around 78-80 degrees during the majority of the day. It was even hotter in my dining room/kitchen, where I only have a box fan set up. So I just lounged around on the couch all day. Just as I had finally decided to get up and shower and head over to visit The In-Laws, she just started <i>rolling</i> all up against my belly. She was moving all around in there, and I felt it all. I still couldn't feel it much with my hands, but I could *just* feel the nudges. On the inside, though, it felt so intense and amazing! There was no question she was ready, and strong enough, to make her presence known. I just stayed there on the couch, not moving, not wanting her to stop, grinning like an idiot with happy tears streaming down my face. I so wished The Hubby could have been there, even if he wouldn't have been able to feel much from outside my belly. I felt her a few more times later last night, then when I was trying to go to bed she kept pushing down low, around my cervix. Now THAT was uncomfortable. But I'm glad I can finally <i>feel</i> her little explorations. She's been back at it a few times today with the kicking and rolling around, but she's for the most part kept it at a reasonable location. For the most part. <br />
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Also at this point, I'm counting down the days until I'm able to bring The Hubby home. He's made it through boot camp so far, and I am so damn proud of him. There are still 27 days until his graduation (26 now that it's after midnight and I'm still typing this...), but I know he's going to make it, and he'll be coming home a Marine. A Marine with mad shooting skills, at that--he got the Expert score in shooting, the highest level you can get! I'm one proud wife! I can't wait to see him, and for him to be able to see my ever-expanding belly! I'm proud to be carrying his daughter.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(*awwwwlookatdatinywiddlebabyfootsie!!*)</td></tr>
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...Even IF she's using this little foot a bit excessively at times. ;) <br />
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The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-19165872272547266772012-05-28T00:07:00.001-05:002012-05-28T00:07:50.755-05:00I wish I could be more specific.One of the things I don't typically talk about regarding my experience of depression is one of the scariest aspects of it. I have no trouble talking about the feelings of emptiness, apathy, irritation, exhaustion, sadness, and anhedonia (where I don't enjoy things I typically do--like spending time with friends and family).<br />
<br />
The most nerve-wracking things I experience, though, is a sort of self-destructive tendency. I'm not typically a person who does any physical self-harm. My primary target is more mental and emotional--I'm after my self-worth. I'm after my life. I get these urges to do things that will certainly ruin me, my interests, and/or my relationships. This is the most difficult thing for me to deal with because not only am I during one of these spirals not interested in the things I am usually interested in, but there gets to be a point where I very strongly want to do or say something that will actively destroy the sanctity of it. My thinking gets pretty malicious in these circumstances, and it scares me. If I acted on these impulses, they really could have a serious and negative impact on my life. And sometimes instead of taking an action that will lead to disaster, I want to <i>neglect</i> to take an action, which again would lead to disaster. It's hard to give examples, because it's always something a little different. But mostly because the shame I feel for thinking the way I do during these phases is crippling. <br />
<br />
It's one thing when I throw my typical smartass-ery and cynical thinking at things/people/situations I don't like or am irritated by. Usually I am able to balance that stuff out internally, by reminding myself to find the positives, and externally, by keeping my damn mouth shut. But during the depths of depression, it's a lot harder to find balance. The thing is, I still know that whatever it is I'm thinking about is <i>wrong </i>and dangerous and destructive to my health, my sanity, everything. It's just a lot harder for me to work the thoughts and feelings <i>out</i> of my system than it is on a typical non-spirally day, possibly taking weeks instead of a few seconds.<br />
<br />
A grand total of ONE time I took this destructive tendency and talked through it with a close, nonjudgmental friend. She was totally supportive and understanding, and just having that outside perspective that wasn't experiencing the distorted thinking I was helped me tremendously. This is one of the primary reasons I think counseling could be very helpful for me. The majority of times I have had a typical, everyday problem, the anxiety over the problem disappeared and my idea of a solution appeared as soon as the issue was bounced off of someone else. The one time I shared with someone my thoughts/impulses while in a destructive-mode, it cleared itself up within a couple of days. All it ever takes is for someone from an outside perspective to see or hear what I'm heading towards, and it's over. It knocks it out of my system. It's like once I say it out loud I can hear how ridiculous or destructive the impulse is, and my head clears. Unfortunately, I don't typically feel safe talking about these things, because either I worry that they wouldn't seem like as big of a deal to whomever I'm talking it out with or that it would be viewed as devastating, catastrophic, and would ruin their opinion of me. There is no in-between. And I worry that I wouldn't be able to get across how much I <i>fully understand</i> how horrible and destructive this impulse could be. But with a neutral other party (such as a counselor), there is no feeling of judgment.<br />
<br />
Gee, I wish this was an option for me at this point. Instead, I've been dealing with the emotional strain of being in the middle of one of these self-destructive phases by myself. Again. Luckily, I'm coming out the other side of it now. All it took was a little reminder of the person I <i>actually</i> am, versus the person depression makes me feel like I am.<br />
<br />
Please look out for your friends and loved ones when they're on the verge of doing something stupid, or seem like they're out of sorts. Even if they don't tell you exactly what's going on, sometimes just that reminder that they're <i>not acting like themselves</i> at that moment could be exactly what they need to move out of it.The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-21593836820579105132012-05-18T16:18:00.002-05:002012-05-18T16:18:24.554-05:00Today? A good day.The past couple of days have been kind of hazy. After my post the other night I've been pretty drained. After I got off of work last night I went home and proceeded to be bored out of my mind and totally uninterested in watching TV, reading, blogging, internet site-hopping, cleaning--pretty much any of my normal activities. And yes, I am that boring. Work has been so-so the past couple of days, so there wasn't anything in particular occupying my mind, either. I went to bed early, even though I still wasn't able to get to sleep any earlier. (2-3 A.M. has been the earliest I can get to sleep for a while now, no matter what time I go to bed or how tired I am.) Today, though, I had a game plan. We recently opened a new bank account, so last week I switched my paycheck to direct deposit to the new account. Unfortunately, this meant that my check this week was coming in the mail. I was very much needing for it to arrive today, so I went to the post office (we don't have a mail box here--no mail carrier) under the assumption that it would be there.<br />
<br />
And it was! A victory for the postal service, my employer (no angry phone calls), and my need to eat and pay bills. Also in the mail was my first letter from <a href="http://randomramblingsofacaffeine-crazedmind.blogspot.com/2012/05/big-day.html">The Hubby</a>. I was (and still am) so excited! I thought about just going back home at that point and ripping it open, but I knew that if I did that my butt wasn't leaving the house again. I desperately needed to deposit that check and go get a few groceries, so I just set it next to me and continued on my way. Every stop sign and stop light had me thinking about opening it, but still I resisted. For safety, y'all. I made it all the way to Walmart before I couldn't wait anymore. I opened it up right there in the parking lot, read it 3 times, carefully folded it up and put it in my purse (apparently I didn't want to be separated from this tiny point of contact), and got out of the car cheesing like a maniac, because all is well with The Hubby. I smiled all the way through the store. Luckily for those around me, it did soften into a smaller smile rather than the crazy grin it started off as, so I didn't get any more "looks." I just appeared a little more friendly than usual. They didn't have to know that the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T4kxlY2_nqo">letter song</a> from Blue's Clues was running through my head. (Also, if you happened to click that link, I hope that it gets stuck in your head for all of eternity, and that you were only *mildly* traumatized by the, um, <i>altered</i> ending.) <br />
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Just to top the day off, after shopping and picking up something to eat, something else made me smile as I was driving through town. I watched as a bird gracefully swooped over traffic, dropped down a couple feet, and shit on the windshield of the car in front of me. It was beautiful. <br />
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Today has been marvelous. Now I'm going to go take it down a few pegs by cleaning. Or pretending to, anyway.The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-88857965223044437812012-05-17T01:14:00.001-05:002012-05-17T01:14:18.438-05:00Crap.I promise that not all future posts will not be pregnancy-related, or after baby is born all kid-related. This one in particular I'm not even sure what to classify as...<br />
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I've been blaming a lot of crap lately on being pregnant. I'm in my 13th week, and I guess fatigue is still typically a problem at this point. Quite a few things I've read say that my energy level should be picking back up soon, with the end of the first trimester. I guess technically week 14 is the start of the second trimester, and the "easiest," more fun part of pregnancy. That's what everything (and just about everyONE) says, anyway. I'm sure it will start getting better, but right now I'm miserable.<br />
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The reason I'm not sure how to classify this post is because I feel like I'm getting really bad. I feel myself spiraling down, and I'm not sure what's going on. I'm starting to worry about it. It started really hitting me this week: the insomnia, the constant need to sleep but never feeling rested when I do, the bizarre dreams, the irritability, the lack of interest in anything or anyone, wanting to quit everything. And let's face it, folks, I don't really do much right now anyway. My entire life is work, and trying to sleep. I have a few things I'm looking forward to *tremendously*, though. A trip with my friends is happening in a few weeks, within a week or two I'll get a letter from The Hubby (then I can start sending him the numerous letters I've already written...), soon I'll be finding out the sex of the baby, and then there's traveling to The Hubby's graduation and being able to spend a few days with him. But with each of these happiness-inducing events I seem to counter it with a negative, and that was an "indicator."<br />
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At some point I'll be quitting my job, which I'm very much looking forward to. The excitement I feel at that prospect is another one of my little "indicators." Mostly because the "excitement" is not necessarily sprouting from happiness at the idea of languishing towards the end of pregnancy and maybe being a stay-at-home mother but is instead the product of negativity--I'm wanting <i>out</i> of this job. It's not really a bad job, and theoretically with the job description change some of the pressure is supposed to be coming off of my shoulders. In theory, I should be enjoying my job more, because what it's becoming is more in line with what I like doing there... being out on the floor helping out, talking to people, solving problems. Instead, it seems nothing is making me happy right now. I'm not liking dealing with people at all right now, I'm not caring about their issues, I'm constantly irritated--bordering on outright angry.<br />
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I've been thinking it's just from the fatigue and job stress, and that maybe it's just a pregnancy thing, but I'm worried that the pregnancy thing (mainly the hormones) is evolving into a full-blown depression thing. Which I do NOT want or need right now. In fact, this was one of the things The Hubby mentioned being concerned about before he left. He specifically said he didn't want my job setting me off into one of my "spiral things." The fact that he used the same term I do (spiral) shows that he pays more attention than I think sometimes, and that he knows what my triggers can be. It made me love him even more. Especially since I know he was most concerned because he saw me heading toward it already, and knew he wouldn't be here when I hit the bottom.<br />
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Oh God, I think I've just hit the bottom. I'm crying as I type this.<br />
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I'm worried (obviously). I wanted more than anything for this pregnancy to be happy and healthy, not plagued by depression and stress. I don't even know what to do right now. I am absolutely falling apart, right at this moment, and feeling like unlike the past times I've hit the bottom there is <i>nothing</i> I can do to change things. I can't quit my job, because I won't be able to pay bills. I can't wish this pregnancy a year into the future, and I think I wouldn't want to even if I could. I can't change the fact that so much of The Hubby's future in the military is a question mark at this point, until he gets through basic training and finds out what MOS he'll be going into. I can't change the fact that I feel so isolated right now, because I don't want to be a burden to any-damn-body. I can't change the fact that that issue right there has been one of the things that kept me battling depression on my own for so long. I have never wanted someone I cared about to look at me and my issues as "yet another thing" to worry about or take care off. (For some reason I picture an eyeroll accompanying that "yet another thing"... Wonder why?) <br />
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I think I'm going to go to bed, and try to keep reminding myself that <a href="http://thebloggess.com/?s=depression+lies">depression lies</a>. Because it does, even when it's whispering those vicious little barbs that sound so <i>right</i>, and it sounds so <i>sad</i> about it<i>. </i>Depression doesn't <i>want</i> your life to be worthless or helpless, it just <i>is</i>, and what a shame. But when you listen closely, you can hear that smug, condescending tone the demons of depression use, and you can slowly start to remember that those thoughts were wrong <i>last </i>time, and that you did in fact make it through and experience happiness again. You'll (...I'll) make it through this time, too. It just sucks for a little while.<br />
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Hm. I think I've figured out how to classify this post.The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446366228040426336.post-34822253904745912652012-05-11T01:17:00.000-05:002012-05-11T01:17:19.731-05:00On pregnancy and the need to slap people.Pregnancy has not been a walk in the park for me, but I'll live. Almost immediately after peeing on a stick and it saying "Come on, really? You're going to act like you don't already know?", the vomiting started. And continued constantly. I was so dehydrated from the constant throwing up and inability to eat anything that I had to sit in the waiting room at the health department for another half hour downing a bottle and a half of water before I was able to pee a tiny bit in a cup so they could confirm what I had known in the back of my head for a few weeks. Something just felt different. Even though many of the symptoms of <a href="http://randomramblingsofacaffeine-crazedmind.blogspot.com/2011/04/mean-woman-week.html">MWW </a>were present, they were a little <i>off.</i> Funny how most of the MWW symptoms are the same as pregnancy symptoms, eh? A little cramping, fatigue, sore boobs, skin issues, bloating... Only the main event of MWW never started.<br />
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I was super excited. Well, as excited as possible what with all the hurling going on. Whether I have anything in my stomach or not doesn't matter, because it seems I have a lifetime supply of stomach acid to throw up. (Pretty sure I'm going to end up with the heartburn symptoms later because of that.) Within a weekend I had lost about 4 lbs, and I have continued to lose weight since then. Absolutely nothing worked. I tried eating crackers, eating crackers before getting out of bed, eating this or that, avoiding this or that, getting out of bed slowly, <a href="http://basicinstructions.net/basic-instructions/2007/2/4/how-to-act-casual.html">acting casual</a> while getting out of bed to see if I could trick my body into forgetting it's supposed to be throwing up, sleeping in every position to see if that would help, eating some peanut butter before bed so my stomach wouldn't be empty in the morning, etc. For every person that suggested I eat some saltines? Fuck you. You should be slapped. You don't even have to <i>be</i> pregnant to have heard that helpful little tidbit, you moron, you honestly think that wasn't the first goddamn thing I tried? And if it's been weeks of sickness, do you really think you're the first person to make that totally original suggestion? The ones smilingly saying "I don't know what to tell you, I had
absolutely zero problems during pregnancy, my pregnancies were so easy
and perfect and all rainbows and happiness that the sun practically shone
out of my vagina," are also unhelpful and deserving of slaps to the face. "Well, bully for you,
Bitch!", is all I want to say. But I digress. <br />
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All in all I have lost about 10-12 pounds, and have never looked forward to gaining weight so much in my life. That will mean that baby is growing healthy and that I'm able to eat again. I've only just gotten to where occasionally I can eat before I go to work. I'm not sick every day now, as of last week it was about half and half. And although I was totally miserable for the first few weeks, my apparently amazing willpower meant the only porcelain god I prayed to was the one in my own home. No getting sick at work (couldn't do it, because then everyone would know and I'm not really wanting to deal with that), no getting sick out in public, no getting sick when visiting the families, no having to pull over to the side of the road to grace the grass with my stomach acid. It wasn't until my second prenatal appointment, where we got to hear the heartbeat, that I threw up somewhere outside of my own home. I have been keeping a trashcan in my car for a while now, and it got put to good use that morning. And my car is my second home, so I'm going to say that doesn't count either.<br />
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Then there was the time I threw up in the trashcan in our kitchen, because The Hubby was in the bathroom. Unfortunately, the trashcan contained some used kitty litter from when he had cleaned out the litter box, as well as the empty, fume-y can of Scotch Guard since we had just gotten new living room furniture, and various other chemicals from the housework that had gone on the day before. All that was inhaled as I gasped for breath between heaves. Worst. Experience. Ever. My throat burned, I was shaky as hell, and I was terrified that I had seriously fucked up my chances of having a normal kid. Or remembering what a door is. The jury's still out on the whole "normal kid" thing, I guess. Although any child released from my womb is already at risk of being a bit odd, so we may never know.<br />
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Another infuriating symptom is that my skin exploded. (Figuratively. Sort of.) Acne like I have never known before has plagued me incessantly since this whole shebang kicked off. Granted, I've never had the best of skin, but I've never been this broke out all over before. It's awful, and I hate it.<br />
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Then there's the fatigue. This paired with the "morning" sickness means all I do is work, sleep, and vomit. I've been a night owl for a while, and the shift I work definitely doesn't help, but I can't imagine trying to work days right now and having to deal with the nausea and vomiting. I have always been someone who had to eat before going to work, and I haven't been able to for a few weeks now. I'm not even hungry then. I only take snack stuff to work, because the idea of an actual "lunch break" is a joke for me. By the time I get off work I'm starving, so I eat, but I'm exhausted, so then I sleep. The past couple of weeks, though, have been different. I'd been staying up later to spend time with The Hubby before he left. And now I'm staying up later after he's gone in order to take care of the things that he had been taking care of during the day while I was at work. Laundry, dishes, cleaning, grocery shopping, etc. All taking place after 9-ish PM now. Still, it's so hard for me to get up early, because that just means more vomiting and fatigue and longer awake-time without being able to eat.<br />
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I'm hoping that now I'm starting in the second trimester of all this fun-ness I'll be able to start experiencing less of these pesky symptoms. Really I just want to be able to eat regularly again, so the nurse won't say to me again at my next appointment "You've lost some weight again... Are you sure you don't want us to prescribe you anything so you stop getting sick?" The thing is, right around the time baby showed up in the picture I had just started to cut way back on my soda habit, and my job description changed so that I was thankfully able to be up on my feet a lot more at work rather than sitting in front of a computer screen. And we weren't buying as much junk food, because The Hubby was having to watch his weight and stay healthy too. That, paired with the nausea/vomiting and work schedule that restricted my ability to eat was going to lead to some weight loss. Although I have to admit 10 pounds in a couple of weeks is maybe a bit excessive.<br />
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I really want to make it through this without having to take any kind of medication (except the prenatal vitamins, of course). I hate taking medicine anyway, but I really feel like even though it sucks the nausea isn't bad enough or debilitating enough to warrant medication. If it was seriously interfering with work, maybe, but again, I have yet to actually throw up at work, and I don't think I'm going to. It seems to be on the down swing now, so hopefully it'll start to fade and I can start chowing down like a pregnant woman's meant to.The ZBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869968335919114650noreply@blogger.com0