Time Flies… July 26, 2009

M and C

Originally uploaded by azronmcf

Charlie will be turning 1 in August.

I know this is how it goes but sheesh. It has not really been almost a year has it? She is growing and learning and the little lightbulbs go off and you get to see her understanding when it clicks and Man, I forgot about that part. Her synapses just firing outside of her head for us all to witness. I forgot what awesome energy it puts out there to have this litle creature just soaking everything up like a sponge.

Mogo is about to enter 2nd grade. She can sit down with a book and read herself a story now. It is mind blowing to watch her reading to Charlie. Everyday she continues to amaze me. I am so blessed.

Often I forget to say it out loud how blessed I am. It is easy to go on each day wishing it were friday, wishing my weeks away. So you will forgive the gushing of yet another “Mommy Blogger” as I try to remember what there is to be grateful for because most days? I don’t stop long enough to count all the ways that I am so lucky to live my own life. The depression, the work, the not enough hours in the day.. All that seems to take over and I forget. Only to remember as they are off to bed, or as I am leaving for work in the morning that here it is… while I am wishing away my weeks and looking towards Friday, these little ones are growing and playing and learning and sometimes?

I miss it completely.

Just Call Me Dr. Google… April 16, 2009

When I was a little girl, I was dubbed “A bull in a china shop” by the bitchy Grandma. Wow at 33 years old, I can still hear her saying those words.

Recently, I have been talking to someone who has Adult ADD and she was describing ME.

So I decided to consult Dr. Google. After reading the symptoms I felt as if someone jumped into my brain and typed up all the things I have been struggling with since oh I don’t know… the 4th grade maybe? I took the test, you know the one, at the end it disclaims that it is not a diagnosis but gives you a score and depending on such score it tells you if you should A. Not worry, you’re fine or B. Get thee to a Medical Professional immediately. Well, Dr. Google thought I should get off the damn computer and make an appointment. Apparently the only symptom of this that I did not exhibit was the hyperactivity but it does explain why my feet are always moving… a habit that drives The Old Man bat shit.

My car or my apartment for that matter is a metaphor for what has been happening in my brain as long as I can remember. It is a cluttered, trashy, mess. It is a conscious effort to remember to do simple tasks like brush my teeth or put on deodorant hence I have a whole arsenal of toiletries in my desk drawer at work for such occasions. I have 6 different hair brushes because it is easier to have one in every room so I know I can always find one… but I can NEVER. FIND. ONE! I have never gotten the hang of paying bills, balancing checkbooks, making and sticking to appointments. It is not because I don’t have the money to pay them. There is no reason with my salary that I cannot support our family. Yes, it would still be tight but there is no reason I can’t pay my bills or my rent on time. You know, and it is not because I can’t do the math either. I just can’t bring myself to add those things into my daily regimen… I forget, I procrastinate, and I forget. I totally under/over estimate how long something will take. I start projects only to leave them undone and start sill other projects. I cannot hold my concentration on reading material except if it is really interesting and even then. If it were only one or two of these symptoms, even four? would not mean that I have this problem but I had all but one of them.

My thinking has always been so disjointed and so garbled. I have struggled with a low-grade (and sometimes not-so-low-grade) depression my whole life. Apparently people with ADD are at a higher risk of depression and/or anxiety. In fact ADD often goes undiagnosed because it is attributed to depression/anxiety instead. Those silly ADD folks just can’t seem to take their freaking medicine… imagine that.

So hey, perhaps, these aren’t character flaws. Maybe I am not just an unorganized, undisciplined mess of a failure… maybe this thing has a name. Maybe, if it has a name there is also a solution; a wonder drug perhaps. Maybe I will be able to get my life together for once.

Appointment is set for the end of April.

Personality/Pregnancy Differences April 6, 2009

Mogo & Charlie

Originally uploaded by MogosMama

I suppose it is a given that Mogo & Charlie are so different. I am not really sure why that surprises me. Their personalities are as different as their pregnancies were. I did not post often when I was PG with Charlie. This was mainly because I was trying not to dwell on the fear, I was trying to put only positive energy into the universe where pregnancy was involved but also because I knew that the thoughts floating in my brain were not the type to say out loud until well after the fact. Now that Charlie is 7 months old and passed the point where my PPD reared its ugly head with Mogo, I feel I can talk a little about it. I think I have escaped without falling into a black hole.

With Morrigan, my pregnancy was long. After multiple pregnancy losses and some complications requiring 5 months of bed rest, I was filled with anxiety but the post partum was far worse. In the beginning, all was well but slowly I developed a severe case of PPD. Wow, those were some of the darkest days of my life. It took over a year after giving birth to Mogo for me to feel somewhat “normal” again. Now, with Charlie, the pregnancy was normal with the exception of a little thing called Gestational Diabetes. Depression and anxiety showed up much earlier for Charlie’s pregnancy though, those very dark days were met with instant relief the minute she entered the world. Toward the end, I was going absolutely mad. The insomnia, the nightmares about dead babies, all were just so hard to handle. It was a 1 day at a time sort of thing, sometimes it was 1 minute at a time to get through it. I was so scared. I lived at the Labor & Delivery Triage – seriously the nurses knew me and tried hard not to roll their eyes. I had an open invitation to have Charlie’s heartbeat checked any hour of the day. Eventually, Charlie was taken early… for my sake, not hers. I simply could not last another day of not knowing if she would live. Despite the fact that she was perfect and growing beautifully, I was certain the longer she stayed in there the more danger she was in. I simply had to have that baby out – she would be safer in a NICU than in my belly as far as I was concerned. It was so irrational and I knew it was irrational, but it did not stop being true… in my mind anyways. My OB/GYN was awesome. She humored me, she understood, but she also helped to encourage me to hang in there as long as possible. In the end, she agreed that my mental state was not helping Charlie or my blood pressure and she agreed to take her early. I actually showed up at L&D and told them I intended to have my baby that day. No, I was not in labor but I was done and I was not leaving there without a baby. One look at my Old Man confirmed that no, I was not kidding.

You know… I am grateful Charlie was ok and that the only consequences of my impatience were a lazy suck and some formula supplementation. I got off easy. I can only imagine the guilt that would follow had she experienced any complications as a result of my insistence that she make her birth date 3 weeks too soon.

Since her birth, there has been no depression, no horrifying thoughts. The only pictures in my mind have been of bouncing babies and not babies bouncing (as in down the stairs). Charlie has been able to have a Mom that is present; a mom that is clear-headed and sane. She seems so innocent and so new to the world unlike her sister, who always seemed to have this very old soul. I am grateful that I am not experiencing PPD this time but I can’t help but feel like Mogo was cheated. When Mogo was born, I was elated. I had so much joy about her entry into this place that the love seemed to physically hurt. The fear was debilitating. It went so far beyond waking up and checking to see if she was breathing. My jaw would not unclench, my hands shook, and I became concerned that I would neglect her or hurt her. I did not think I was safe to be alone with my own daughter. I knew something was wrong but I thought if I told anyone, they would take her from me. It wasn’t until I decided I was nuts enough that maybe someone should take her from me that I spoke up. I avoided inpatient treatment by the skin of my arse. I was determined to nurse. The only reason they let me go home was because I had a good support system. Matt would leave for work and wonder what he would be coming home to. Sometimes I wonder if he will ever forgive me for that. I am not sure I could forgive it.

Granted, I got the help I needed. Mogo has continued to develop normally and we are bonded; I just can’t help but think that she was cheated out of something very important because her mom went crazy for the first year of her life. I wonder if when she is a woman and starting to think about having her own children, if she will understand when I tell her about what PPD looks like. I wonder if she will be angry with me or feel somehow less loved that I did not have the same problem with Charlie. It just doesn’t seem fair that Mogo has not been able to experience a carefree childhood. She has experienced so much in her little life. She is wise beyond her years. I don’t know if that is because of her experiences or if she arrived in the womb that way. I would like to think that perhaps she chose us because her spirit knew she could handle it. I’d like to think that I am not the reason my 6 year old talks to me like she is 40.

More Random… December 8, 2008

This is a writing exercise stolen from my Brother’s friend Aaryn over at “thematically fickle.” I regularly stalk her blog and Flickr account. She is a very talented writer and photographer. She is also a very nice lady with a little girl that I want to gobble up every time I see her.

***********

I live day to day by the skin of my ass. Most days I am so preoccupied that I derive no enjoyment out of it whatsoever. As soon as I blink it is already tomorrow.

I work just hard enough to get my paycheck every other week but not hard enough for a promotion or a raise – that is a-o-k with me most days.

I talk so loudly. I get even louder when I am nervous and I giggle too. I realize it only when someone gives me that look that says “Man, that woman is obnoxious” and then all the blood rushes to my face. It is only 30 seconds of time or maybe less but; it feels like an eternity when that happens.

I wish I had paid more attention to the love I had instead of longing for the love I was missing.

I enjoy singing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs with Mogo. For just a little while, I feel 6 years old too.

I look so very old for 33.

I smell his little knit cap sometimes when I am alone in the house. I keep it in the small green box they gave me at the hospital. Each time I open that box, I am surprised that it still smells like him. I don’t open it very often for fear that one day it won’t anymore –one day I will have sniffed all the smell out of that little cap.

I hide my vanilla creamer from Matt because he likes to put it on his cereal.

I pray for other people. I think “What’s his Name” up there has heard enough out of me.

I walk with purpose; accept when I am looking at my feet. In fact, I usually look at my feet until I realize I am doing it. Then I become preoccupied with the fact that I am looking at my feet and not walking with purpose. It is a vicious cycle that makes my brain hurt.

I sing Indian songs my old friend taught me to Mogo. There is one about The Bear and another one Blessing the Tress. I can hear his drum beating, and I can smell the burning sage as I sing it to her. Those songs will always remind me of him.

I can make an awesome Mac & Cheese without a box.

I watch other couples and wonder why we are not more affectionate.

I yearn to travel with my husband sans children, to visit far off places and dine in fabulous hole in the wall restaurants where the locals go. I want to sit in front of coffee shops in other countries and make fun of those people for a while. I want to hold hands with him as we walk down unfamiliar streets and meet quirky people there and have a few adventures just my Old Man & me.

I daydream about owning a house of our own. A place where Mogo & Charlie will feel safe and know that is their place, their home. You just don’t get the same feel from an apartment.

I want to scream at people who speak to their children with disdain. You know the type? The ones who have completely broken their child’s spirit in public? Actually, I would love to punch them in the nose.

I cry easily.

I read a blog once written by a lady whose son died the same day I lost Aidan. He had been stillborn too. She wrote exactly what I was feeling at that moment. It was so strange and surreal.

I love to watch people interact with each other. I love to make up outlandish stories about them in my head. It would be so much more fun to tell someone else their stories though.

I wonder if he ever wishes I was someone else.

I touch the hair on the back of his neck whenever he is sitting next to me. It sort of pisses him off but I like the way it feels on my fingertips. I also sort of enjoy annoying him.

I hurt my knee practicing my Pirouettes in the kitchen when I was in the 8^th grade. I was incapable of standing still then. I was always practicing some dance step and I was also a bit of a klutz. Never was the ballerina type.

I fear that I might break them with my words, that they will never know just how much they are loved. I worry they will turn out like me.

I hope to grow old & grey with him. I hope our only regret will be that we don’t have another 100 years together.

I break for pedestrians.

I eat “AT” people. You know, sort of an “I’ll show you… see this brownie here? F-U I am EATING it” I often forget that if I eat in someone’s general direction, they aren’t the one whose ass gets bigger. Come to think of it, I smoke at people too.

I quit smoking for babies but I have a hard time staying quit for me.

I bathe with smell good girly soaps and bubbles, while burning candles, and reading trashy romance novels every chance I get. My mother has the world’s largest bath tub and it is pure decadence when she goes out of town.

I drink 2 cups of coffee in the morning during the week with tons of vanilla creamer and I splurge on a vanilla latte or 4 over the weekend too. Charlie is the most caffeinated baby on the block.

I save the top of my muffin for last because I love it so.

I hug. Yep, I am a hugger. My husband’s hugs envelope me and sometimes crack my back when I need it. I really like hugging tall men with big bellies, and little kids. I cannot stand light – half hearted hugs. Hugs should be big wonderful squeezes. I don’t understand or trust people that don’t hug. I often hug the non-huggers anyways. So what if it’s awkward.  

I miss playing outside with my friends until the street lights came on. I miss hide-n-seek, and I miss riding my bike down a steep hill at dusk when the air is a bit chilly and I am hot from the exercise.

I forgive other people easily. I have the hardest time forgiving myself.

I’ve learned that things don’t ever really get better… they just get different.

I have the utmost respect for those who can shop the day after Thanksgiving and keep their sense of humor. I myself cannot hold my temper enough to consider it. I stay far, far away from any retail establishments on “Black Friday”

I don’t have an artistic outlet that really gets me going. I have a few hobbies or pastimes that I try out now and then but none of them have turned into full fledged passions for me. I am jealous of those who have something like that.

I kiss the bottom of Mogo’s feet even when they are stinky. She will probably only let me do that for a little while longer though.

I wonder if all those wishes and prayers for world peace will ever be answered… I wonder if perhaps they already have but the answer was no.

Back 2 Work October 28, 2008

This is the sign I have posted on my office door when it is time for my lactation breaks. Oh the joys of pumping at work but that is another blog for another day.

 

If work were any fun we would have to pay them and stand in line. Since I seem to be at a loss for things to write about I will just fall back on the old standby… a top 10 list. 

Top 10 things I could use right now in my first week back to work.

1. Sleep – and lots of it. If I am holding the sweet little bundle, Charlie will saw logs for an hour or two at a time, if I attempt to put her in her bassinet or swing though I am certain to wake the little beast. Sleeping sitting up with a small child on your chest leads to 2 things: very little quality sleep and a royal pain in my arse (that would be a literal pain in my arse)

2. A well deserved pint of Guinness – On Friday night to celebrate if and when I complete this first week back to work with out committing any violent crimes.

3. Milkscreen -  Ok so when I saw a similar product at the local Baby Super Store, I was all sorts of critical. I mean what kind of lush needs to test her breast milk for alcohol content anyways? This kind of lush that’s who. Pumping & dumping is all well and good but how long after your last drink do you have to do it, how many times, will I inadvertently get the baby drunk? AARRGGHHH!

So, I am keen to buy some of these bad boys so that I can thoroughly enjoy my well deserved pint of Guinness (or 3) on Friday.

4. A Massage – Well a girl could always use one of these but this week after sleeping upright with a babe in my arms every night and what with all the stress associated with a new schedule for me and my boobies well, I could use one now more than ever.

5. A Breast Lift – After the first year of nursing of course but sheesh I never knew they could be so squishy. I am seriously going to need a little nip tuck on the girls once Charlie is through with me. For now I would settle for a decent nursing bra that does not accentuate the hangy-downiness of the girls. Let me tell you it is waaay attractive, I mean me & the girls… we are HAWT!

6. A Streaming Video Monitor thingie – I do not know if one exists but what I really need is a baby monitor/Nanny Cam that will send me streaming video of what is happening at our house. I miss the babe. I wanna see what she is up to. I wanna hear the gurgles and see the new smiles and goofy tongue faces while I am at work. While you are at it, make sure it has smell-o-vision or something cause I miss the sweet baby smell too. Who am I kidding? I would get no work done if I had one.

7. A Regular Dose of Prozac – Those who know me, may know that I am horribly bad about taking daily medication. I have little to no discipline. So yet again, I have been forgetting to take my Prozac regularly for some time now (and yes, I am aware this defeats the whole purpose). I am thinking now that I am back at work, I will have a regular routine and will therefore do better with it.

Note to self: You cannot afford to not take your psych meds.

8. 10 Arms – Like the Goddess Kali or something. Truth is I need to be able to multi task now more than ever. Mogo is adjusting but I know she is bummed that the baby has so very many needs and Charlie comes first a lot these days. The Old Man has been fabulous at picking up my slack but she doesn’t want him to do anything for her she wants her Mommy. Can’t say as I blame her, I often what exactly what is not available or convenient for others.

Needless to say it would be nice to be able to cuddle up my big 6 year old with one set of hands while nursing or changing the baby with the other, all while cooking dinner on a hot stove or maybe going to the bathroom by myself. Preferably, I would like to do all of this without anyone crying or yelling at me.

9. A 10 lb. Box of Money that Does Not Rattle – This particular item always seems to come up on these lists of mine. We are broke as usual but we are particularly broke these days. Old Man has a new job… his official title is “House Honey”. We decided rather than have him work to pay for daycare; he could just be the daycare. It will be worth it but it will require some serious belt tightening. I am just glad that I know the person taking care of our kiddos is someone who loves the girls as much as I do.

10. My Sense of Humor – I used to have one. Now I am just as grumpy as the Old Man. I forgot about all the sleeplessness that comes with a newborn. I forgot how gnarly it was between the Old Man and me when Mogo was born what with our lack of a funny bone and all. In fact, I think we forgot about a bunch of stuff that comes with a new baby. A sense of humor would really help right now. Hey, maybe I would find one if I were taking my Prozac regularly. You think?

Big Sister Mogo October 3, 2008

So, Mogo is a big sister! She loves her Charlie but is adjusting to all the changes in her world; a new school year, new sister, sharing a room, sharing her Mommy – a girl can get overwhelmed so easily. She is only now convinced that she won’t have to share her toys for quite awhile. She has been a big help, often to the point of being completely un-helpful but she supposes we must keep Charlie since she doesn’t have an “electrical cord” anymore and we can’t put her back with out one of those.

I think she is also relieved to have a spot on my lap again. She grew so much while I was PG that she barely fits anymore. How time flies. I can’t even imagine Mogo being Charlotte’s size, it seems like it happened to someone else entirely. We are plugging along though and we are all trying hard not to kill each other with all of these changes and of course, there is the sleep deprivation… that is always helpful.

The sisters seem to be getting along famously though. See?

Some day I will get as much sleep as this one.

for now I will settle for a few hours here and there and remember that it is all so very worth it.

Meet Charlotte Lane October 2, 2008

Charlotte Lane was born on August 27, 2008 at 12:20 p.m.
She was 6lbs. 5 oz and 19 inches long.
Mom & baby girl are a-o-k and big sister Morrigan is thrilled.

We have been having some problems in the weight gain department, I have been a bit of a wreck and getting to the computer has been difficult at best. Thanks for checking in on occasion. I will check back in when I get the little one to sleep for longer than an hour!

Love to you all

-Mogo & Charlie’s Mom

Missing in Action INDEED… May 28, 2008

I know, I know, my last post said I was going to try hard to post regularly. Well, I lied, I do that it is just the kind of blogger I am.

A friend of mine (IRL) mentioned that it had been 40 some odd days since IU had last blogged. First I was surprised that anyone had noticed and then it got me motivated to post again. You see what happened was, somehow I broke Word Press or something and was unable to post for a while and then once it was working again, I would try to write out a post and it just seemed I had nothing of any value to say. Every time I would spew this darkness and venom, then I would hit delete and vow to myself I would try again the next day. Hey if it was making me sick of myself, I could not justify subjecting you all to the gloom & doom. (See I'm a good friend like that.)

So, I am back (at least this week) and here is the thing... baby is growing fabulously. She is kicking in all the right places and a few I was not sure were possible (Yep, I said SHE!!!). I am healthy; baby Girl appears to also be healthy and I am mostly in good spirits. Stay tuned, I change moods at the drop of a hat.

Mogo lost out on the name game... Lampie was just too much for us to stomach, Eyeball was just preposterous, and Apple had already been taken by Gwenyth & Chris. Old Man & I decided on the name Charlotte Layne. We will probably call her Charlie though. Mogo thinks that it is ridiculous to call a girl by a boys name and she vows to never call her Charlie "EVER!" She feels very strongly about this but alas, she does not get a vote. Aside from the name drama, Mogo is terribly excited. She talks to the baby and insists on kissing the baby (i.e. my belly) good bye any time I leave. She has so many questions about the baby's development and we talk a lot about when she was in my tummy. It is a pretty cool time for us when I can stay out of my head that is.

So, little one is scheduled to join us the first week in September if all goes as it should, only 14 more weeks to go and yes, I am holding my breath.

FAT February 13, 2008

In writing # 7 on my Forgiveness x 10 post, I realized that WOW I have got some serious issues about my weight. Just writing that line made me want to delete the whole post. I backspaced over that word 3 times trying to come up with a “softer” way of saying that word. Why does that word illicit such a negative response from me anyways? It is just a little word. Three letters really. No reason those three letters should make me cringe or backspace over what I have written to change it to another word that means the same thing. Being “Big” is not any better than being fat. Being “Plus Sized” is just more letters to say that I am fat. Obese is just a fat clinical word for fat and still does not make me cringe in the same way that word “Fat” does. 

FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT 

There I said it. In fact I said it a few times. I think in order to make that cringy feeling go away, I am going to have to say that word a lot. I have to become the “Lenny Bruce” of Fat. Maybe if I can say it enough the word won’t sting so much. Maybe I can let go of the shame associated with it. Maybe then I won’t care so much about my size 16 ass.  I have never really been thin. Sure as a teenager looking back, I had a cute little figure but I was still a size 12. I thought that I was huge then; monstrous really. Looking back, size 12 wasn’t too shabby and I was sorta hot, even if I didn’t know it at the time. As a young child I was at a healthy weight but I still felt like a little fat girl. My fingers always seemed too pudgy; I was ashamed to get into a bathing suit. I had a hang up about being fat long before I really was.  

Now, I am fat. I am not humongous fat; more like regular United States of America Fat. I am sure if I got off my arse more often, I would be less fat. It would probably help if I avoided the am/pm on the way in to work for those yummy Danish they sell that are chalk full of preservatives and other yummy goodness or perhaps if I used one vanilla creamer in my coffee rather than three. Still, I am not sure I will stop being a Fat Girl if I loose weight. After drastic (and wonderful) measures my Mom is at a great weight for her, she is healthy, she is vibrant, and she is an active Gramma. Still, at a size 8 or whatever, she’s still a fat girl inside. All the women in my family are fat. Even if they have lost the weight due to diet or gastric bypass they are all still fat. Even when you shed the pounds, I don’t think you ever shed the fat girl. You think?

Forgiving Myself x 10 February 12, 2008

I saw this over on Flawed but Authentic. Seemed like a good idea. I certainly have a few things to forgive myself for. So, this list is sort of an exercise in “Acting as if” where I list all the things I am going to forgive myself for – at some point.  Hey – Progress not perfection right? I’m working on it, just ask my shrink. 

1. I forgive myself for not eating the things I make Mogo eat (you know – healthy).
2. I forgive myself for being a Working Mom with Zero Domestic skillz.
3. I forgive myself for allowing the TV to act as a babysitter on occasion.
4. I forgive myself for having a wonky reproductive system.
5. I forgive myself for being an Anti-depressant lifer.
6. I forgive myself for Aidan’s death.
7. I forgive myself for being fat. (Ouch – typing those words kind of stung)
8. I forgive myself for wanting this baby so bad I can taste it and for subjecting myself & my family to this freaky-ass roller coaster.
9. I forgive myself for wanting more than I have.
10. I forgive myself for needing so much reassurance.

 Ok now, the hard part…