Princess Prescriptions

Today's extra deep breaths made me want to take a moment to praise all those who have suffered or are suffering with their prescription medication journey.  I don't mean that in the addiction sense, though I do not doubt the weight of that battle.  I'm referring to those of us who need prescription medications to survive, but have to endure the trial and error before finding what works best.

 All drugs (both medical medication and recreational) work differently for everyone.  One drag of cheap high school pot out of one of my famous apple bongs and I was a giggly mess for hours!  But I had plenty of friends who never reacted to it, or had very negative reactions to it.  And unfortunately that's how it works with prescriptions as well.  And not just the antidepressants and antianxiety meds I'm going to type about, but all drugs that come from a doctor.  I had friends warn me not to start taking birth control (I wasn't even close to being sexually active, but my complexion was mortifying), because they didn't want me to go through mood swings, and gain 20lbs like they had.  I never had any issues with the first pill I tried though, my face cleared up fairly well, and I remained on that brand until the Endo broke through a few years later!  And that brand wasn't making my Endo worse, but different hormones would help more so I made the switch.  

 I also started Celexa in high school, after watching an episode of Oprah and realizing that what'd I'd been feeling for a while was depression.  It was always a fairly low dose, as it often is for depression, and it worked wonders.  Of course high school has the potential for all sorts of upsetting and sometimes traumatizing instances, but in general my mood was very stable on Celexa (along side talk therapy).   Once I got sick though, my depression was nothing in comparison to the anxiety that followed the constant vomiting and diarrhea and pain, and the low dose of Celexa didn't cut it anymore.  

 I went from 10mg to 30mg, as higher doses of Celexa can be helpful for anxiety.  And it did help!  I mean, there were (and always have been) days that required Ativan (another prescription that has never caused me any negative side effects), but I was so glad that Celexa and I could stay together.  A year or so later however, I experienced a very decent break after yet another specialist denied my illness, and I ended up spending a few weeks in a mental rehab program. During those weeks I met with a psychiatrist (until then it was just my GP writing my prescriptions) and he suggested that Celexa wasn't a proper anxiety treatment, and so I began the ups and downs of drug trials that so many people have to go through.  I honestly don't even remember which drugs I tried, but there were 3, and each of them made me feel the way I HATED the media for always portraying people on antidepressant/anxiety meds.  Sluggy, moody, irritable, dizzy and nauseous.  Like a lame zombie that discourages anyone else from giving this class of medication a chance.  

 In the end, I was happily moved back to Celexa, this time 40mg.  I felt lucky, the prescriptions I'd needed through the years always seemed to be right the first time around.  I was even able to remain on a low dose of Celexa during my pregnancy.  But then I had my baby!  And a long with my Endometriosis reading it's hideous head again, I was met with PMDD, all of which sent my anxiety into a raging fit.  I was taking Ativan way more then even I wanted to.  Turns out however, 40mg is all the Celexa you're allowed to take.  Something to do with a new study showing possible negative effects on your heart rate, made physicians very weary to prescribe it especially when there are so many other options.  

 I got in to see another psychiatrist and he suggested adding the minimum dose of Zoloft to my maximum dose of Celexa.  Zoloft and Celexa are basically twins, so in effect it would be like getting 50mg of Celexa.  Perfect!  My GP however, who was suddenly an expert in the field while flipping through her resource book, said that plan made no sense.  Usually SSRIs from different families get mixed together, not the same family.  It had made total sense to me, but apparently I am a pushover, and I agreed to work my way all the way onto Zoloft and all the way off of Celexa; replacing my Celexa with Zoloft gradually.  It made for a remarkably miserable-feeling Christmas holiday.  

 The first step was to take my 40mg of Celexa with 25mg of Zoloft (the minimum dose) for a week.  I experienced some dizziness which wasn't comforting as far as my anxiety goes, but that side effect passed eventually.  Step two was to take 30mg of Celexa with 50mg of Zoloft for two weeks.  I was plagued by the most remarkable indigestion, heartburn that felt like a heart attack and nausea that kept me from Christmas dinner.  All of which are in fact anxiety triggers for me, so suddenly this plan seems counterproductive.  I convinced myself it was all par for the course and that its eventually pass the way the dizziness did, so step three was 20mg of Celexa and 75mg of Zoloft.  So then on top of the daily heart attacks and cautionary runs to the bathroom, there was the oddest jaw pain (of course I googled, and it's fairly common), and then this soul crushing chronic fatigue.  

 My baby could sleep through the night, which meant I'd sleep through the night, and I'd still be exhausted all day.  I could sleep 12 hours straight and not feel awake.  I mean I couldn't actually, because I have a child, but it felt that way. Endometriosis causes me chronic pain and morning sickness, both of which are upsetting and confidence-killing but I learned to mother through it.  Having ZERO energy though?  That equals zero motivation, zero desire to get out, and leads to zero joy in the every day things.  And that makes mothering far harder then it already is.  And it makes staring at a tiny screen typing out a not-super-relevant blog very daunting.  To the point that it's taken me 3 evenings to get this far, and now I'm over it!  So, end of story:

 I went back to my GP and expressed my disappointment in the progress, and she suggested, 'let's try taking your Celexa and adding the minimum of Zoloft.'  Oh!  Genius!  Of course I couldn't say the F word out loud, because my baby who'd just gotten a tear-free needle was in the room.  All I can really do is laugh at it, and hang on tight.  Because of course I can't just switch back to the doses that were originally suggested.  Now I wait (anxiously) to gradually get back to where I need to be, going through it all again but backwards, hoping that in another two weeks I'll be able to say it was worth it. 

 We have to trust our guts, but we also have to trust the process and hang in there.  This much I have learned.  This much, and the fact that this club full of the mentally ill is an unfortunate club to be a part of but full of such bravery.  I got lucky 12 years ago, knowing now that I would not have survived this shitty roller coaster back then.  The trial and error is far easier when you're in a place surrounded by unconditional support, and plenty of help getting through these days.  I know there are so many out there who haven't been as lucky as I've been and aren't in the supportive environment that I'm in, while going through it.  I commend those people, and I praise them.  And extra deep breaths.  

Princess Holidays

This is my favorite time of year, in general, and also for reflecting on all that's come since this time last year as most people tend to do. And it has been SO much. And the coming new year holds SO much already. And I'm a little overwhelmed. 

Overwhelmed shal be my excuse for the lack of 2015 blogging. 
In July (which is already 5 months ago, geezes) our utterly glorious baby turned one, and I underwent my third Endo-cleaning laparoscopy surgery. Very soon after I fell off the wagon, for lack of better words, as far as my anxiety goes. Recovering from surgery with a baby, coming to terms with the fact that despite past efforts and despite getting pregnant my disease continues to grow and spread, coming to terms with postpartum PMDD was overwhelming. Literally feeling the Endometriosis growing back immediately after surgery was overwhelming. Realizing once again, after working the same job for 3 years, that I am too sick to hold a job was very overwhelming. Coping with the constant guilt that accompanies a sometimes-debilitating chronic disease as been depressingly overwhelming. Needing to adjust my antianxiety prescriptions has been extremely overwhelming (and dizzy, and full of headaches). Accepting the Endometriosis treatment that will start in the new year (which I won't talk about until the new year) already has me feeling very overwhelmed. 

Do you know what has been the MOST overwhelming, though? The amount of good, and love, and laughs, and support, and family milestones, and true friendships, and small business success, and marital happiness and comfortableness that has filled this last year, despite all the afore mentioned. 

Of course it is not possible to reflect without seeing one million mental pictures of my baby. Growing up way too fast! He turned a year old and suddenly he is such a real, and wonderful little person. He runs and never walks, he gives the sweetest spontaneous hugs, all of a sudden he's starting to find all these new words ('car' and 'wowwww' are his current fave), he loves to sit and flip through all of his books, he has a favorite TV show and loves the water! He has 4 adorably sharp teeth (and I spend time daily praying that they all grow in straight). He is not a patient person yet, but so determined, and his little concentrating face is one of my favorite faces. I'm fairly certain he prefers his daddy to me for now, which I'm strangely ok with! He has had a persistent little cold for the last month and yet he shrieks and laughs and plays all day every, which honestly is an inspiration. Almost as inspiring as how independent he has (had to) become already. 

My dad has been in Florida for a few weeks now, so when my husband is at work I don't have someone to watch him while I have to be sick in the bathroom. I hate how much time he's had to spend in his crib, but for now it's the safest place for him when he has to be left alone (knock on wood, he hasn't tried escaping yet). I KNOW I'm not anything close to a neglectful parent, but to me it just FEELS like I am always sick, and he's always stuck in his bed. But he has never complained about it. He continues to be completely content sitting on his pillow, with the iPad on and his snack dish and a few books. He has given himself his bottle, and on very special occasions he's put himself to sleep, because my worst flare ups always seem to happen at nap time. I hate it, but it also makes me so proud. I tell myself that I do such a good job as a mom when I'm with him, that he doesn't even need me when I can't be with him. His ability to entertain himself is also pretty reassuring, considering the slim chance of ever getting a sibling!

I think my favorite thing to do these last few months, is taking him to the mall or the grocery store and letting him run around. He gets so excited to watch new people, and waves at everyone. Not a single person can pass us without smiling a real smile, and that alone feels like we are doing our part to make the world a better place. 

And 'a better place' seems like the perfect lead into my next point on my list of things to reflect upon; a group of women who have made my world a better place, and myself a better human being. They certainly aren't my oldest friends, we don't share adorable childhood memories (actually, I knew of and didn't really like a few of them in high school), we don't agree on everything and we are all SO different in SO many ways, but they are the greatest friends I have ever had. Next to my family, I have spent the most of my 2015 time with them, and when we're not together we are constantly texting each other (to the point where we've all had to mute our text group). 

Almost two months ago we managed to get away together, for a entire weekend, just us and no babies and no husbands. We didn't dress up and go out, we didn't take advantage of the freedom to nap or sleep in, we just got to really know and appreciate each other. And become best friends and not just mommy friends. Which is a big deal for someone who's felt pretty shafted in the best friend department for a very long time. 

Between parenting time, and play date time, sick time and napping as much as possible, this year I have managed to run my very own 'small shop'. BoBeads was something that was only meant to be a unique Christmas gift for my afore mentioned mommy friends, and yet the numbers at the end of my first year are so exciting. It has been a huge learning experience (and year two is already beginning with huge serious-business lessons), a great test of my patience and time management, and the perfect creative outlet. 

After inly a few months of business I was able to expand and create The Mommy Made Bazaar, a showcase for mothers who have also created handmade businesses or represent family-friendly brands! I wanted to find a way to support other women who 'go to work' after finally getting heir kids to sleep at the end of the day or hustle during nap time, and while I've questioned why I willingly took on the extra stress (I have a Spring and Christmas show under my belt now), it's been an awesome experience. The small business community is so supportive, and the women I've been able to connect with this way are inspiring. The events also raised over $600 for mommy-centered charities, which is a lovely bonus! Moms supporting moms, supporting moms!

I started out selling BoBeads to local moms in person, and now I have my own .com website and a very decent social media following that has allowed to to connect with customers as far as England, Turkey, Hawaii and New Zealand! And all the while, I've been able to contribute to my family's finances, which is extremely comforting for someone who's been too sick to get a 'real' job. Being a stay at home mom has been very rewarding (even if it wasn't really by choice) and I know it can't last forever so I take full advantage of the time with my baby, but being able to also pay our rent really minimizes the guilt that comes from not being able to work in the stereotypical sense!

Lastly, this year has been so full of family time, and I could not be more thankful for that alone. Even if I never got to experience and enjoy any of the other goodness I just typed about!

For his own reasons, my husband had to take 8 weeks off work, and while he needed to rest and regroup we also took full advantage of the extra 8 hours a day we got to spend as a little family. We found places to day trip, we took turns napping (any parents without this arrangement are insane!), we watched movies as a family and ate all together at the dinner table. We froze while joining our baby in the bath tub, and went out in public to show him off as much as possible!

We managed to take two family 'vacations' (you can't really call it a vacation once a baby is invited) this year, and each has been filled with so much love, and excitement over sharing the memories. Wandering the streets of New York City with my baby was literally a dream. My favorite people in my favorite city! And now we are in sunny summer-time Florida for the second time as a family, soaking up the sun and the glorious moments that a happy toddler creates. 

It's not just Little Lindley family time that has been plentiful these past few months, though. The majority of our days include at least a little Grampa time, and in all honesty I'd choose that over owning our own fancy house any day! There are still plenty of people who question or judge the fact that we live with our baby in my dad's basement, but in our situation it is the very best situation. And few things make me as happy as seeing my dad and his grandbaby together. Watching Judge Judy, lol. 

This summer I also flew with my baby to Kenora with my mom, to spend time with her mom. It was a trip that I dreaded and tried to get myself out of because my physical and mental illness were at an all time high, I hate flying, and Id be single-parenting for a week. But in hindsight I am SO thankful we went. My Nana moved in with my mom just a few weeks ago, so this summer was the last time I'd be able to visit that tiny city, and the only time my baby would get to be there. I was able to go to all the shops and the beach that we went to as kids, all the while getting some quality time with one of my favorite cousins and her kids, and watching my baby bond with his Nana. Despite the ups and downs of my relationship with my mom, I only ever want my baby to love her as deeply as I grew up loving her.

And then there's the family time that includes my baby sister. Huh! After 20 months of exploring and teaching and bike crashing in Australia and Thailand, my sister finally came home to visit. And meet her nephew for the very first time. And just break my heart in the most wonderful way. 

We have all been able to spend these very few days as if we've always been together and it's no big deal, but stopping to think about the significance of her trip home, and seeing her play in the ocean with my baby has been a remarkable gift. He's almost a year and a half old, but he's now been able to hug both of my long distance traveling siblings, and that simply completes my heart. 

And that's that! My fingers hurt now, and my brain feels broken! Actually, that's something else that's proven overwhelming; 'mom-brain'. Lol. It sounds ridiculous, but it is a for real affliction that has hit me HARD this past year! My dreams for 2016 include more productive brain cells. And for my baby to start sleeping through the night again. And a successful hysterectomy. And to get to watch one of my mommies birth their second baby in a tub! And being able to add 50% to my business revenue. And winning Starbucks For Life. Or even just A Week. And hearing my baby say 'I love you'! And also finding Bieber tickets. 

Wishing you the happiest, healthiest 2016 possible
Princess Georgia, xo

Be You Louder

Today I got a private message via the fancy new Instagram instant messaging (was that really necessary?), that instilled a deeply proud feeling inside of my heart. 

It was never the plan to start littering my follower's feeds with posts about my illnesses (both physical and mental) but I received such support in the comments sections. I quickly came to realize how therapeutic it was for me, to type the things in my head and have really people hear them. To share real unfiltered, unconcealed (usually unshowered) photos of my life and have real people see them. To be heard and seen, and not abandoned, even by people I'll never meet and who owe me nothing, is therapeutic. 

Today though, it wasn't a 'you are so strong' or 'hang in there' that moved me. Today I received a private message from a young mother living in Turkey, who came across my Instagram feed while doing 'panic attack' research online. (THAT is why hashtags are so necessary, lol I don't care what anyone else thinks!) 

Here was a person just like me, a million miles away, so thankful to have found someone who seemed to really understand what she'd been going through. And that's the thing! We can have dozens of friends and family members who support us and love is no matter what, but no matter how hard they try, no one can actually understand what you're going through unless they're going through it to. And despite not wishing what you're going through on your worst enemy, it is a special kind of comfort when you find someone who is. 

When I was first diagnosed with depression in high school, I didn't tell any of my friends because I assumed no one would understand. When I got so sick that I had to quit my job and was living at home in my late 20's, I literally ran away from anyone who MIGHT ask, 'so what have you been up to?' I have been alive for 30 nearly years, I have been (some sort of) sick for maybe 13 years, and a good 8 or 9 of those feeling too embarrassed or guilty to be honest about who I really am. 

I blog, and I Facebook and Instagram about my Endometriosis and the Anxiety Monster because of panicking moms in Turkey. Because of people all over the world who should never feel embarrassed or guilty, because I no longer do. 

Efron Induced

September, 8th 2015

You know what's weird?  Experiencing a panic attack in the car. 

Usually the moment it starts I head for the bathroom.  9 times out of 10 it's my own bathroom, which says a lot about my current social life.  The bathroom is my designated recovery zone.  I usually end up sitting on the toilet for a few minutes, then sitting on the floor for a few minutes, and going back and forth until the attack is over.  Sometimes I think that my panic attacks usually happen at home because my brain NEEDS to have them, but also knows that home is the easiest place for me to recover. 

This time though, my husband and I were in the movie theater.  Zac Efron was tripping on PCP, and the camera angles went weird and the soundtrack got too loud, and I panicked.  Which is new.  New is fucking infuriating.  Make believe things never used to make me panic.  I never used to get dizzy watching a huge moving screen (a roller coaster would literally murder me right now).  I never used to HAVE to cry during an attack.  Now I do, and I fucking hate it. 

Initially I retreated to the theater bathroom, obviously far less comforting then my own bathroom.  There's usually terrible music, there's no room in the stall to sit anywhere but on the toilet, and no matter how far away from the door your stall is and how empty the rest of the bathroom is, someone always chooses to use the stall right next to yours.  It wasn't good enough. I tried for another few minutes to sit back in the theater and hold my husband's hand, but I needed MY bathroom.  In order to get from the public bathroom to my bathroom, we needed to get in the car. 

It's actually only a 5 minute drive back to our house, but it blew my mind.  When you're panicking in the bathroom, it's just you and the fan, and whoever you're texting.  That's it, that's the whole world, for the time being.  Driving home though, I saw the truth; the entire universe continues to spin whether you're functioning properly or not.  There were other couples starting their movie date night, people stocking up for the weekend at the LCBO, people walking through the parking lot with their gym bags.  There was an older couple walking hand in hand, a bunch of people gardening or cutting the grass.  Cars and trees and intersections and what seemed like the entire rest of the world being completely normal and care-free, while I held my seat belt away from my chest trying to talk my pounding heart down, and attempted to hold my tears in until I got home. 

Literally 5 minutes down a single street (also, granted a painfully long traffic light..that's painful even when I'm not dying), and I have never felt so fucking small.  Now I can't deny that while I can't even sit through a crappy movie...while I can hardly breathe...there are a million people being productive and contributing to the world.  There are people giving birth and people getting home late from work, people researching a cure for cancer and getting on a plane to go build schools in a third world country.  And I can't even breathe. 

When I'm on the bathroom floor, I'm oblivious to such things.  As far as I'm concerned, the rest of the world pauses, while I catch my breath. 

Mother vs. Monster

It is harder.

It is so much harder dealing with my illness, and the anxiety that walks hand in hand, now that I have a baby.

I don't think I ever thought it would be easier as a mother, but I hadn't imagined it'd be this much harder. And my heart hurts a lot admitting that. I keep hearing outsiders wonder, 'Why would you have a baby if you can't take care of it properly?' And that's how the Monster makes me feel.

I had surgery 5 weeks ago, and that's when my current spiral (a term Google taught me, very similar to 'falling off the wagon' but for someone who before had their mental illness in check) began. I still don't know why this surgery, and everything surrounding it, felt so different...so much worse. This was my third Laporoscopy and the first two went swimmingly! Of course it's natural to be anxious before you're about to be sliced open, but I was fairly confident going into this one. More then confident, I was excited, knowing that this surgery would bring me relief from my physical illness, and that would make mothering even more wonderful.

The hospital policies had changed a bit since my last surgery, and that threw me off. I didn't get my IV (always the worst part for me) until I was in the OR instead of in my pre-op room where my husband was there to hold my hand. The newness lit the anxious match. The anesthetist missed my first vein and the flop sweats and creepy crawlies kicked in. And this time, I honestly don't know why, I fought going under. Suddenly I hated that sleepy high! This was also when I realized for the very first time (due to the tickle on my nose from the oxygen mask) that they strap your wrists to the table, and had the drugs not kicked in when they did, I would have been on the floor at that point.

So I went under in a panic, and that's how I woke up. Coming in and out of sleep, not knowing where I was...a nurse had to find my purse and rummage through for my Ativan. And that was where it all started, this 5 weeks of feeling like a shitty mom thanks to the Anxiety Monster.

While I was in surgery I had an IUD put back in. The idea was to stunt my cycle as soon as my insides had been cleared of all current Endometriosis, in hopes of warding off new growths for as long as possible. This particular IUD releases progesterone, which was all fine and dandy when I had one 2 years ago, but it turns out having a baby can permanently FUCK up your natural hormones...and my postpartum hormones instantly clashed with the IUD hormones. And when I say clash, I mean more of a war. A blood bath of a war leaving nothing but destruction in its path.

The first night after surgery I woke up in the midst of a panic attack. This is called a nocturnal attack, they are horrifying, and this one was triggered by a super strange (not necessarily a nightmare) dream that I could not keep myself awake from. In all my anxious years, Id never experienced an attack triggered by a bad dream. It was a full blown run to the bathroom floor, get the garbage can ready, cold cloth, frantic texting attack. The same thing happened every night afterwards. At first I blamed the painkillers. But it only takes one good attack to start the spiral.

If I felt an attack brewing 13 months ago, I would drop whatever I was doing, I would take the Ativan, I would take my sweet time laying on the floor, I would call in sick, and I would sleep for hours until the panic hangover passed. But 13 months ago I didn't have a baby.

Two weeks ago an attack came out of nowhere (that's kind of a lie, I was super nauseous, so I'm sure that was the trigger) while I was feeding my baby his nap time bottle. We were just sitting on the couch watching the last night's Bachelorette, and I kept telling myself to ignore the hot prickles and the pounding chest. The second you at all acknowledge the Monster though, he just tightens his grip. Suddenly I was sure I was about to throw up and/or shit my pants and/or pass out, and his bottle lands on the floor next to where I sit him and run the the toilet. Of course he crawls in after me with absolutely no idea, as I call my dad who's upstairs in his office, and ask him to come finish nap time. And then I bawl.

Panicking and bawling because what the fuck would I have done if we lived on our own, or my dad wasn't home to look after my baby while I was dying in the bathroom? It is MY job to give him his bottle and rock him to sleep, and for the first time since becoming a mother, the Monster was robbing me of that. Robbing me blind.

Over the next few weeks, I continued to wake up sweating and pounding and frantically trying to keep awake out of weird dreams. Our son isn't confidently sleeping through the night still, so as I'm grabbing my glasses and my phone and my tummy pillow to run to the toilet, Id also wake my husband up to let me know that he had to be on call if the baby woke up. Again, that's my job.

The nocturnal attacks murdered my confidences and engrained a sense of anxiety in my brain again. I was growing afraid to go to sleep, and the attacks started happening during the day too. Being a mom means being a receptacle for guilt. Our baby had a rough delivery which kept me from holding him for hours, and that's a guilt I honestly don't think I'll ever overcome. Every mother (parent) experiences guilt revolving around what you are and aren't feeding your baby, whether you've got them on the right schedule, whether you should go back to work or not. Since becoming a mother though, no parenting choice or incident or judgement has made me feel anywhere near as guilty as the Monster has.

Some days it feels like my baby is spending more time in his crib with Bubble Guppies on, and I'm spending more time on the bathroom floor telling myself to just breathe, then we're spending time together. And that guilt is crushing. It got to a point where my husband had to take a few days off work because my dad was away for business, and I NEEDED someone else around just in case it struck while I had the baby. And that made me feel pathetic.

It is so much harder, being sick and being anxious now that I am a mother. However, this baby has me far more motivated to climb out of this panic pit, then I ever have been before. The Anxiety Monster crawls between me and my baby, and I've never wanted revenge as desperately as I do now.

So I did a lot of research, and talked to my doctor. Nocturnal panic attacks (whether you have a preexisting disorder or not) are on the list of the IUD side effects. No, I never experienced that side effect the first time I had an IUD in, but my natural hormones were in a completely different state back then. So a week ago I had it taken out. I am back on my original birth control (hello, high school Jorja!) and will take it constantly for 3 months, before reassessing the situation. I have a RAGING period now, but no weird dreams I can't wake up from, and no desperate attacks since.

Now all that's let to do is stay conscious, stay brave, and continue to work through the lingering anxiety that always follows a hugs episode. As luck would have it, my baby and I leave for a week away with my mother up north at 6:30am tomorrow, so the timing of my anxiety recovery is in no way ideal.

I know the Monster wants to travel with us, and I just need to be aware of that, and accept it. I will believe that taking as many Ativans as I need to survive the flights and the days away from my comfy place, is totally acceptable and we can worry about weaning off it again once we are back home safe. I will not feel like a pathetic failure of a mother is I need my mother's help to survive these next few days without my husband. I will be brave, and soon enough it'll all be ok.

The battle continues, maybe it will continue forever between me and the Monster. But now I am a mother, and that makes it all very different.

#momlife

Today I felt the full spectrum of #momlife, in one small moment. 

In the last year I have blogged an amazingly disappointing amount.  That's just a fact.  What I hate even more, is the weeks that go between the pages in my personal journal.  These are the most important days of my life, and yet I'm writing about them far less then every other day of my life.  I'm still trying to wrap my head around the psychology behind that...maybe I wrote more because back then my brain needed more distraction, and I needed more time to process my thoughts, and understand my days, where as now my feelings are obvious, and I know that this is where I am supposed to be, and this is my life. #mombrain is something that lasts far beyond 'new mommyhood', I'm not even going to try to ponder all that right now. I know though, that a big part of why I don't write, or type is exhaustion. And the fact that there aren't enough hours in the day anymore!  And also, I now run a small business that's heavily social media based, so while I used to journal regularly in the bathroom (where I've always had to spend too much time), I'm now answering emails and using adorable apps to create adorable graphics for my adorable Instagram contests. (Case in point, I started typing this two days ago...) 

All of which is beside the point.  Except for the exhaustion.  That is in fact the whole point. And the exhaustion peaked today. 

In the first few months of being a parent you're amazed to learn how little sleep you need to survive.  Or perhaps you simply ignore the tired ache in your brain, because 'they're a baby and they're supposed to be up all night long!'  I also didn't care much about accomplishing anything but keeping my baby alive and happy in those first few months.  I've always hated laundry, vacuuming could be done another day because it's not like he's crawling around yet, I definitely don't NEED to shower (just change my undies and my spit-up covered clothes every day) because there's an abundance of perfectly capable baby wipes everywhere I look!  I was also already sick enough from the Endometriosis that was semi-dormant while pregnant, that I didn't have to spend much time eating.  Any 'free time' I had could be spent sleeping when he slept, and I loved it. He made the schedule, and I went with it.  And I loved him so much I didn't care if I ever slept again!

Months later, it's not that I don't love him that much anymore.  In fact I'm amazed every single day because I love him more then yesterday, when yesterday I already thought there was no way I could love anything any more then I love him!  Eventually the house really did need to be cleaned though, and my booming mommy social life meant needing to actually shower, and I was oddly driven to create a mountain of work for myself by starting a little business. Suddenly the lack of sleep hit me like a brick wall.  Over and over, and every morning when I woke up. 

Until he started SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT!?!!!?!  Which requires multiple punctuations, because I think at some point most parents terrifyingly accept that they will never sleep a full nights sleep until their kid is like 15...only once they're 15 you'll be up all night worrying about them making the wrong friends and missing curfew, and holy shit was that the front door?!  Did he just sneak out?!  But around 6 months old, after a little work, our baby started sleeping 9pm-7:30am.  Every night! Sometimes he'd need a little rock after (I assumed) a bad dream, but his new night sleeps were so glorious I couldn't care less about the fact that he still hates to nap unless he's on you, or in the car.  I could go upstairs to 'my office' for a few hours, and still get a very decent nights sleep, and my brain and my body quickly got (re)used to it.  When he'd have a random off night, it would throw me RIGHT off too. My brain got used to functioning WITH sleep again so quickly, that not getting enough sleep suddenly felt much worse then it did before.  Regardless of the months I spent never sleeping in the beginning. 

This week, every night has been an off night.  For 5 nights now he, and therefor I (because Daddy is working the early shift, and operates heavy machinery, and therefor needs to sleep all night more then I do), have not slept more then 2.5 consecutive hours. And yet he's still up for the day at 7:30am.  And he still thinks real naps are dumb.  And today it broke me, for a small moment. 

It wasn't just his shitty sleeping at fault, of course.  This strange phase of his obviously had to align with my lady-cycle.  And when you have Endometriosis every day feels like a PMSing period day, and the actual PMSing period days feel like the first few aching, exhausted, barfy, far too emotional months of pregnancy AND the excruciatingly painful, draining, barfy last few days of pregnancy, all at the same time.  It may not sound like much (maybe I didn't use enough scary words), but it was enough to break me, for a moment. 

Side note: how does HE function without sleep?!  No, he doesn't have to work and clean up, and plan a Birthday party, and book 5 appointments, and fill 5 orders, and push a stroller around.  But one would assume that GROWING, and learning where your ears are, and how to feed yourself, and how to walk, and where the the treats are hidden must require some sort of energy-making rest, right?!

After being up and down all last night, to the point where we kicked daddy out of bed (to go SLEEP upstairs) so that I could at least lay down and rock him every hour, I thought I could at least look forward to a co-sleeping nap after our morning snack.  I played our Disney lullabies, turned the fan on, snuggled him close, and rocked us.  It's actually something I've grown to love deeply.  He's slept-slept in his own bed since day one (besides these off nights), never in our bed or a bassinet in our room, so I quickly (secretly) fell in love with the fact that he napped better/longer when we were doing it together.  After two songs he was out cold, and I rolled him off my throbbing shoulder, and closed my eyes.  And 15 minutes later he was screaming and crying and flailing, and I lost it. 

I ugly-cried like it was my job, sobs and snots and huge exhales.  I just lay there under our covers with my hands over my eyes, while he sat up and started flopping around. They were sad and frustrated and overwhelmed tears.  They were 'I can't/don't want to do this anymore' tears.  And then those tears made me feel like a fucking asshole, so then they were guilty tears! But what happened next brought on like, a monsoon of tears.  Happy, blessed, thankful tears. 

He found his sucky that he'd hid under the duvet (his favorite new instead-of-sleeping game), and he stuck it right in my face!  Because that's what suckies are for!  For making the sad stop!  Then he used my forehead to balance, and leaned over top of my face and kissed me.  My nearly one-year-old kissed me, without being asked to.  And my chest exploded.  Just exploded. 

In the last 51 weeks we have had the lowest lows and highest highs, as a family.  And in that little nap time moment I felt them all, all over again.  From feeling like an absolutely miserable failure, to realizing that in less then a year we have grown the most remarkable human being.  He is just a teeny boy, but a long with crawling and dancing, facial features and how to sign 'more', he knows how to empathize.  Most importantly, he knows how to love.  At 51 weeks old, he realizes that he has the power to make the world a happier place, and he accepts that responsibility.  And we did that.  And I think, in quite a timely fashion, that moment was the greatest moment of this #momlife so far. 

(That moment, and also the first time he used his pincer grasp!!! Fuck I love the pincers!!)

All Hail The Queen

I sometimes wonder if readers have noticed the absence of a queen in this fairytale. There have been many posts about my Princes, and King, and super heroes, and monsters, and a little teddy bear, but never a Queen. 

The Queen-Princess relationship is one I have struggled with for many years. It's a struggle I've often wanted to blog about, but she is a loyal reader, and I hate hurting feelings. I know though, it's a struggle that comes naturally, and is relatable amongst the vast majority of Queens and Princesses. It's one of the reasons I feared having a baby girl, because I personally am not able to envision that relationship transitioning from parent-child to adult-adult very smoothly. Are there mothers and daughters that survived the teenage years, and remained best friends throughout it all? 

We are not best friends, my mother and I. That's a simple fact. Ta da! Lol. She is not my best friend, and she's not the best person I've ever known in my entire life, but that doesn't hinder my claim that she was the best mommy. Ever. 

Regardless of the ways relationships inevitably change as we all become our own people, you would have a very hard time trying to convince me that your mommy was even a smidgen better then MY mommy, when we were growing up. 

My mommy was Christmas and Easter and Valentines Day and Halloween. She was the tooth fairy, and the barf-cleaner-upper. She packed our lunches right through high school, and hosted the greatest Birthday parties. She helped with the homework, drove to dance classes and soccer games, planned the family vacations. She was gentle, and then angry when she needed to be. She loved her kids fiercely and unconditionally. As a kid, these were all the things I loved her for. As a mother myself now, these are the things I finally appreciate the way they deserve to be appreciated. 

This is my very first Mother's Day. Imagine that! Naturally I'm feeling an overwhelming amount of excitement and thankfulness, and wonderment for all that my life has become since receiving the title, 'Mom'. But as excited as I am for myself, I've found myself thinking far more about my own mommy these last few days. 

I can not say that she is my best friend now, but I can without a doubt say that during the years we needed mothering, the Queen in this story was the very kind of mother I want to be for my baby. And I can never thank her enough for being that mother.