Getting Through It

I never meant to stop posting for so long. Not to worry nothing to serious happened. I just felt...well like I didn't have anything to say. I did have some adventures and the kids were cute, but the general theme of January was: get through it and don't look back. The more I thought about it the more I realized how much of my life I spend getting through it. Big stuff like major surgery, moving and having both cars broken down at the same time as well as small stuff like registering my kids for school, planning and packing for a trip and going to the dentist. All off which occurred this month except major surgery (knock on wood) and moving (at least for us, someone close to me moved though).

I plot a determined and unyielding path from difficult but necessary objectives and I keep on truckin'. That is not at all to suggest I don't have fun along the way. I tend to enjoy myself more often than not. I just can't let those goals/problems hang over me like dark clouds or pile up like laundry. When I'm excited they happen quickly and I feel accomplished. Lately, I was in a rut. The world kept turning as I eternally shuffled things from the mountainous inbox to the completed projects file only to have them sneak back in to the inbox. The engine lights, deadlines, missing paperwork, broken things, early morning fits and endless logistics got heavy. Like baby elephant on my chest heavy not buried alive heavy. At least baby elephants are cute.

I was functioning, getting through it, but not so much enjoying myself. I needed something to look forward to on the other side of all my getting trough it. A silver lining, light at end of the tunnel, a reward. A birthday trip to Disney without the kids ought to do it. Now, I had some gratitude and excitement for fuel!

I still found myself...not as sunshine-y as usual. So, I started giving myself reasons to take care of myself. Doing little things for myself and speaking up. Now, your probably saying "Speaking up? When has THAT ever been your problem." I'm incredibly assertive, but if I want but don't need something I don't tell anyone. So, the other day after a long hot weekend morning shower I told Mike I really wanted a pre-birthday pedicure. Guess what? I got one. Even better I found Riley's new tap shoes ($5 at a consignment store) and then went a few doors down feeling accomplished and had my toes done. It was heaven sitting in the massage chair with my feet in the warm bubbly water.

Not only was Mike perfectly willing to fork over the cash for what we've dubbed "my yearly pedicure", but he asked why I don't do that more often. Now, I have a renewed vigor in everything I do from errand running to getting dressed in the morning. I feel more like myself. I'm so looking forward to an insanely fun and busy February!

However, I do think overachievers need to cool their jets now and then. Sometimes an illness or rut is a great chance to lower my expectations for myself, take a breath and reevaluate. Separating internal and external pressures can be confusing sometimes. I often feel the world will end if I do not find my stamps or get Roo to school 10min early. The truth is both of those thing happened and the world didn't end. It's ok to borrow and stamp for the important letter and be exactly on time or (GASP!) two minutes late. I'm still doing my best so even though the outcome changes I can be proud of myself.

Judgey Wudgey Bear

As we approach the holiday season, I'd love to clear the air as much as a lowly little mommy blogger like myself could ever clear the air. Here's the thing, one of those teeth brushing epiphanies, I don't judge other moms even a tenth as much as I perceive them to be judging me. I'm definitely weird on many fronts, but I have to assume, after some reflection, I'm not being judged as much as I think I am. Obviously, there is judgement, let's be honest it's just human nature. I'm just saying we may project our fear of being judged more often than we actually are judged. A+ if you're still with me, phew.

When you don't feed your kid an 100% organic locally sourced diet not only do I not judge you, I don't care. Same goes for what kind of diapers you use. Let's just be perfectly clear, unless your reading reviews as a new mom, no one in the history of humanity even cared what anyone else's baby poops in. Especially when your own kids are potty trained, just saying. As long as your kids seems happy and functional your parenting is okay by me. If they're alive/growing I'm not going to tsk, tsk over what you fed them for lunch or whether it was presented in a themed bento box. Lord knows, it's a small miracle to get food in them AT ALL some days. I do look at your lunch meat panda munching a celery bamboo stick picture on Facebook and think "that's cute." That is not however the same as judging other moms, my self included, for not embarking on an around the world Pinterest worthy lunch adventure. Although, I probably will judge myself momentarily for the uncrustable I threw in the lunchbox this morning, I'll get over it.

We're all doing our best in an incredibly challenging situation. Don't worry about flack from me because you allow your kids to watch television. I grew up in the 80's we watched a lot of great, at least when viewed through a nostalgic filter, children's programming. I don't talk about my kids viewing habits with other moms for fear of judgement. I'm not raising couch potatoes, I monitor what and how much they watch. I know how wildly different kids personalities can be and I allow entertainment suited to them. Guess what? I trust that most parents are doing the same. Call me crazy, but I'm fairly certain in this technical age most of us figured out what worked for our lifestyles and our children pretty quick. So, the end, right? I still avoid the subjects of politics, religion and screen time in unfamiliar (and sometimes familiar) company.

Everyone's got their hot button issues about parenting. I personally, see one of my hot button issues every now and then. I immediately vent to my bestie or spouse for a bit. After that, I have more of a feeling that we're "different kinds of moms" more than a condemnation of anyone's lifestyle. I probably file certain moms in this category to avoid them judging me for our differences than anything else. I'm not an insecure person in general, but there's nothing like pouring your heart and soul into something and then receiving harsh criticism. There's no harder job than raising tiny humans.

I also understand that it is so easy to take things out of context. I don't know a lot...scratch that ANYONE in my exact parenting situation. Peeking in from the outside at someone else it's likely that what I perceive may be entirely incorrect.

When do I judge? When I see a happy kid having a good time. A kid in mismatched clothes, in a cardboard fort in the backyard beaming up at the camera with a chocolate milk mustache. That's when I think "Wow there's some good parenting." It's all about those happy childhood memories. It's about feeling loved intensely, because you are. It's all about growing up knowing who you are because it was always ok to be yourself.

I don't know many people who go to therapy to discuss what their mom packed in their lunch, how their mom decorated their room or any of the other nonsense that seems so important since social media. Oh Boy! If I'm wrong and we're raising that generation they'll have proof of everything!

Keep doing your best for the smaller humans Moms & Dads and don't worry about what I think (because most of the time I think you're doing better than me!).

Mother's Intuition

It is real and it should be listened too. Most of the worst mom guilt I've suffered has been because I didn't listen to my gut. As a mother there are so many, many decisions. They all seem so important at the time (and some are). It's hard not to wonder if you're to emotional, to close to something, paranoid or down right crazy. You have to do the best with what you have at that moment. We're only human.

I think sometimes bad things happen to make you stronger or wise. Other times bad things happen to force you to move on. I would do anything for my children, the trouble is identifying the right "anything." I worried a lot about choosing the wrong thing for a long time, but there had been this wave of certainty for awhile. I enjoyed it and perhaps got a little to cozy. I trusted so much in what I was doing that when there was a problem (cue cartoon car brakes squealing) it really threw a wrench in the works.

While I suffered the seven stages of grief, with denial being a repeat offender, I wrestled with my intuition. I wrestled it black and blue. I got emotional and then emotional about being emotional. I racked my brain for a way to fix things. I would have done anything. I was at a complete loss. How was the situation so bad? How come I wasn't able to fix it? How come I didn't know what to do? I was a failure. A failure for putting my child in that situation, a failure for not being able to fix it, a failure for not knowing what to do know.

My relationships became strained with everyone in my house. The days dragged and focusing on anything else was very hard. I tried talking about it, writing about it, actively suggested solutions, being more present, being less present, giving more, doing more and finally I hit a wall. From my stunned position I looked up from flat on my back and saw things from a new perspective.

Air began filling my lungs and my intuition took the floor, citing all of my observations in neat little graphs and pie charts. There was an obvious answer, it just hurt. Could I afford to continue waiting? No. Could I do more? No. Could I do this? Yes, but...Ouch. What's the bottom line? The happiness and safety of my children. Can the biggest problem be solved? Not in time for me and my child. Darn grown up responsibility.

I've got a map now, but it is rough, scary terrain. Why didn't I do this sooner? Why didn't I have a plan B? Shame on me! Then I scurried around calling, talking, emailing, hoping and praying. Sick to my stomach and putting on a happy face for the kids. Just knowing it was time to find a way. There had to be a way to get my child back, to get my sanity back, to banish the daily fear and feel good about my decisions again.

I tried everything until something stuck and I stuck to it. I followed all the rules, showed due respect and marched bravely forward. I fought so hard for so long and now that I had an answer the fight was harder than ever. I did what I had to do and the immediate response wasn't happy. The secondary response wasn't either truthfully and nothing was easy. Then it was over which just left the letting go. Which is super hard and takes time. Maybe next time intuition is kind enough to call I'll pick up the darn phone!

As things slowly (but much faster than they went wrong) go back to normal, I know I did the right thing for my family. Every happy day since is is more appreciated than it would have been before. I'm filled gratitude and have the gift of a new perspective.

A Strange Thing...

No, the title does not refer to either of my children. It was spring break this past week. I decided since we're not doing summer programs this year to treat Spring Break like the dress rehearsal. I got some Groupon deals and had a loose list of things we could do, but didn't commit to specific times for anything. It seemed like a completely reasonable plan, right?

We had a busy end of the week the week prior so I was a little run down, but still confident. We hit the children's museum and the library, had movie nights, played board games, went out to lunch, had play dates and even hit Build-A-Bear to make a My Little Pony. I'm not saying I failed at Spring Break. I think we pretty much crushed it especially considering the dreary, rainy, chilly weather. I guess as usual I just wished I could do more.

I was laying in bed after one of these play dates. Roo was snoozing in her bed, Isaac was working on science homework at the table and rain was falling outside. I thought I'd have a nice rest and then get up and decorate the house for Easter with the kids. I also thought we'd go swimming this week, so that's how much I know. After nap I expressed feeling "not right." I instructed Isaac to put a movie on for Riley and himself.

When the movie ended they were playing quietly (probably making a huge mess) and I was in agony. I had a massive migraine. When Mike was done working he had to cook dinner. I felt awful in every way a person can feel awful. It was a horrible migraine, but the guilt was worse. I'd be proactive in keeping myself hydrated and hadn't been in the sun too much. I couldn't explain why I had the migraine or why none of my usual methods were having any effect. In fact it seemed to just keep getting worse!

As I was laying in the dark in pain I started to cry. I kept thinking about how much there was to do. I kept thinking how I was letting down my kids. I must have cried for a while because it got very dark. That's when I felt it. I could hear Mike and the kids in the living room and the wind was blowing hard enough to cause the rose outside my window to scrap against the glass. It wasn't a sound. It was a strong feeling. I felt her there, my grandmother. My grandmother passed away when I was younger then Roo is now. She sends me rainbows whenever something significant happens in my life. I've felt that she's with me before, but this was something else.

She was sitting beside me in the bed and she took my hand I felt it. I've never spoken to her out loud before. I said "Grandma?" and I felt her squeeze my hand. I asked "Why, can't I be stronger?" and then I cried until the bed shook under me. I felt her hug me and then she was gone. I think she just needed me to know she's still watching over me. I don't think she wanted me to beat myself up anymore. When I relayed the story to my husband he delicately suggested that I was "tripping on headache medicine."

Perhaps, I got the message from some other part of my brain that recognized the frustration as un-productive. Maybe the whole thing was some kind of dream, but I gathered myself up after that. No more guilt. I showered and ate dinner and the migraine FINALLY passed.

I wonder if it wasn't hormonal as I'm still working on a naturally obtained balance and detoxing from the pill. So far the cysts have been present, but (knock on wood) not bursting. I know I'm more emotional and less focused than usual.

This morning when I dropped Roo off for her first day back to school and I saw all the cool art projects the kids who had attended over the break made and I felt horrible! I should have let her make art with her friends all week. As I walked to the car I reminded myself of all the fun stuff and quality time with Mom and Big Brother she had instead.

It's hard to know if your making the right decisions for your kids, but I'd like to think my loved ones who have passed are looking down with approval. Even if no one on earth believes me I'd like to think that heaven knows I'm doing my best.

Day 5: 30 Days of Gratitude

Day 5: A few weeks ago I decided to make myself a massage appointment. I told myself I'd earned one and I'd do without some other things so as not to upset the budget. Then, as is often the case when I make plans for myself, I totally forgot about it! When they called to confirm my appointment I felt excited, but almost immediately guilty. Sneaking off at dinner time to spend real money on myself for a luxury. Tsk-tsk, me.

I felt like a criminal warming up leftovers, switching on a movie and running out the door. That is just how Mike found them happily eating and watching a few minutes later when he wrapped up what he was working on and came to check. The whole drive I was nervous. This wasn't my first massage (although it had been years) so I think it had to do with time of day and money.

Once I got in the room and began chatting with the message therapist I had (as I so often encourage my kids to do) an attitude adjustment. I heard my physical complaints coming out of my mouth not in a whine, but as if they were items on a grocery list. I heard myself listing recent major stresses and my eyes begun to well up with tears. As my friend in L.A. used to remark so evenly "Well Katie, that's a lot." Yes, yes it is.

I absolutely earned this. I deserve to be in less pain. I have a right to take care of myself. I did a good thing by making the appointment. After an hour of deep tissue I felt much better, but it was obvious we weren't going to work out everything in one session. When I checked out I explored my options. Wouldn't you know it, they had a plan with discounted messages if you commit to at least one a month for a year. Not only did that sound entirely necessary and reasonable (especially, now that hospital bills, doctor co-pays etc are starting to die down), but for signing up I also got an additional discount on the message I just received.

I booked another appointment for Friday and went home to help put kids to bed. I was hungry and sleepy post massage, but my temper that had been so close to the surface was non-existant as I asked Riley for the fifth time to put her socks in the hamper and get in the tub. I felt more fluidity of movement than I can remember having before, but mostly I just felt like my mind was clearer. I got Riley out of the tub, into pajamas and into bed for a story and the smile never left my face. Evenings are always so hard because I'm tired and either the pain is worse or I've been tolerating it too long. I even ate all of the dinner Mike made me which is a change since my appetite's been super low lately.

I felt like I needed to keep the secret of my massage and committing to more of them, but then I realized no one was judging me except me. Mike thought it was a great idea for me to start going at least once a month. He was happy I felt better and glad I got a good deal. My next appointment is during the day though, I wrote it right into my to do list!

The Next Phase of Mommy Guilt

When Miss Roo was a tiny thing I felt like a horrible human being if she cried too long or got a rash. When she got older I had guilt if she got sick or hurt. Like I should have protected her. Now that she's nearly 3yrs old Mommy guilt is a whole other animal. Falling down? Getting hurt? These things happen. They're part of childhood. Unavoidable. She's not a baby anymore she's a little girl and that's ok.

I feel guilty when spending money on myself. I'm not talking shopping sprees or nights on the town or anything that extravagant. I mean I have very low spending threshold before I feel sick to my stomach. New clothes? Can't do it. New clothes for Riley? No problem. I don't know why. I used to yell at the TV when the frumpy moms on What Not to Wear cried and carried on about this very problem. Sorry ladies, I get it now.

Today, I had a green tea and a cinnamon roll with my mother, aunt and cousin-in-laws. Then I got drive through lunch with mom and popped into the salon for a quick cheap brow wax. When I was checking out I decided I had to have a bottle of Minnie Mouse inspired OPI nail polish. By the time I got home I was unraveling.

What was I thinking? I could have eaten at home. I already have nail polish and so on...Blah. Mike doesn't feel bad when he buys new clothes, tools, fish, etc. I thought maybe because I'm the more money conscious of the two of us. I'm not sure that's it though. It seems completely irrational. I went out for a little breakfast for the first time all summer it wasn't a five course gourmet meal either.

When I go into a store that sells clothes I look wistfully at them and think "I do need appropriate clothes in decent condition/a new (anything from beauty products, to food I particularly enjoy to craft supplies)/a dress for (the few events I feel compelled to dress for)" but I can never go through with it. Multiple times I've returned something I got for myself and got something for the kids instead. It doen't matter how deeply discounted the item or how much I need/want it. Sometimes I buy things for the kids/house and earn bonus $ at whatever store and plan to use it on myself, but I never do. It's silly, but I feel terrible about things like conditioner or razors for myself. I have guilt only about purchases for me (for the most part).

What is that? Maybe if I brought in a paycheck like Mike it'd be easier. Not that he ever makes me feel bad about that. He knows how hard I work. I'd still be resourceful and look for deals, but in the five years we've been together I've gotten the habit of denying myself. Maybe that's all it is, a habit? I've decided to test the theory.

Some Days Are Just Fails

For all my independence, perseverance and positive attitude some days just stink. Today, I loaded Riley up and headed off to get my post honeymoon haircut. Traditionally, I don't bring her to the salon because I'm there for hours. Today I was just getting a cut and her presence was requested. It started with the parking space.

There's a disabled space next to the door, but it was taken. In all the years I've been coming to this salon I've never had to park farther then the third space from the door. I ended up on the other side of the parking lot today. I had myself, Riley, Riley's cup, Riley's snack, Riley's baby doll, my laptop (to show them wedding pictures) and my purse. My hands were full of crutches and I stupidly forgot my tote bag. I usually keep one in the car for these occasions. Now I had a bit of a hike to undertake with all this stuff.

My first thought was to make two trips. This was a great thought. I've decided as a disabled mom that if it occurs to me to take two trips, that is always the right answer. Alas, I didn't today. I unbuckled Riley and handed her her cup and snack. I grabbed my crutches looped my purse across my chest, tucked my computer under my arm and bit the dolly's arm so I could step up the curb.

I was so proud of myself. I'd done it. All I had to do was step up on that curb. Gravity and I (being lifelong enemies) had another spat just then. My laptop took flight shattering dramatically into pieces. I fell backwards onto my crutches. There I was, pinned. The weight of my own body had trapped me. I couldn't pull my arms from the crutches or pull the crutches out from under me. My first thought was that I couldn't scare Riley. "Stay on the curb, baby" I managed with the little bit of breath that hadn't been knocked out of me in the fall. I was hyper aware of my awkward position, but it took a few seconds to think of what to do.

There was an older gentlemen there all the sudden. He was wonderful, I have to say. In the past people have made a HUGE deal or grabbed me and tossed me to my feet without warning. He said in a very even tone "Are you alright? What can I do." I asked him to stay with Riley. Bless her sweet like heart, she had stepped down off the curb and was stroking my hair calmly asking “Are you ok Mommy?” Then I gritted my teeth and rolled over. I got off my crutches and handed him one. By the time I was standing again there was a crowd.

Bloody rubberneckers! Gawking and useless. I had a lot of adrenaline pumping through me so I couldn't feel much pain yet. I thanked the man who proceeded to disappear very respectfully while the old ladies stared open mouthed as if I had two heads. An employee of the salon scooped up my laptop parts and walked with me. Once inside she handed me a wet towel. I was so concerned about not scaring Riley (who's only witnessed mommy having a big fall once before) I hadn't noticed I was bleeding.

Once I was wiped off and bandaid-ed and Riley was happily playing all I could think was, "I'm an idiot! I smashed my laptop. Why didn't I make two trips?" Turns out only the battery flew off and one hinge so it was still functional enough to show wedding pictures. Haircut managed the owner herself escorted us to the car. Mental note: It's ok to ask for help.

By the time I got home I was hurting. Imagine a hard fall causing all of your muscles to tighten into metal, it's rough. I had a badly skinned elbow, a skinned knee and a horribly bruised wrist. By the time I put Riley down for nap all the adrenaline was gone and the back spasms started. I took Advil and laid down. I needed to keep going because Tuesday is dance class and Riley missed two in a row with the wedding.

I felt better after the nap, but not good. I got Riley fed and in her dance clothes. She was just bouncing off the walls with excitement. I decided to take her to the library to kill time before class. She potty-ed about 45 seconds before we walked out the door. I was hurting too much to try and load and unload the wheelchair so I walked.

We had picked our books, colored a picture and were headed to check out when it happened. Riley has never been anything but good at the library, ever. We go to the library between twice a month and once a week. She told me she had to potty. I hurried over to set our books down so we could use the bathroom. She had started to fuss behind me but my back was turned for a moment. It was the mom behind me who said (in a non-judgmental way, bless her) "um, she's naked." and then "can I help?". Riley screamed when the stranger approached, I really can't fault her for that. She'd never stripped in public before and just like my slow reaction time after the fall I wasn't immediately sure what to do.

I pulled her clothes (leotard and pants) back on while she fought me and screamed. Then I grabbed her hand and started leading her to the bathroom. It seems awful now, but I told her in a stern tone that if she didn't stop crying and pulling against me I wouldn't take her to dance class. Once we were in the bathroom it all made sense. There was a small bit of icky-ness in her panties. She'd been at the tail end of a cold. It happens, but it really scared her. No wonder she was crying and stripping. Poor kid. We're so far past the accident days I didn't have spares with me so I cleaned her up and told her she had to wear the yucky clothes for just a little bit.

The library's close so we got her home and changed, but not before the wrestling match of the century getting her into her car seat. I felt like the worst mother in the world. She kept saying "No Mommy please! I'm too poopy. Please." Ugh. Once she was happily playing for a few minutes I had a cry because I won't ever be able to pick her up and run to the potty. Poor girl. To add insult to injury there was no way I could take her to dance class with her tummy giving her trouble. She was so sad.

I guess we'll have to resume conquering the world tomorrow.

The Next Phase: Guilt

Phase one of being home with a sick little one is heartbreak. Actually, phase one is probably denial. She's not getting sick. She's fine. When you can't deny it any more your heart breaks. After you've felt sad until you ache, it starts. The guilt.

This is my fault. How could I let this happen to my baby? All of Mike's anti-social tendencies are right. I shouldn't let her be so social. I did this? Why don't I do more? I should have her home with me everyday all day. I should protect her from this ever happening again.

It's irrational, but motherhood is too. I just wish I could live up to my standards as a mother and a spouse. I'm not 100% recovered from this last surgery and I have a lot on my plate with the wedding around the corner. I thought I had an opportunity to be productive outside the house and it fell through. I used to think if I can't have something that's just mine I'll do this mother thing better than it's ever been done before. Now, I know a)I can't live up to my expectations b)It's not enough to live for other people all the time.

I guess I feel like I let both of us down today.

The Return of Mommy Guilt

Riley woke up from her nap yesterday with a rash. I felt terrible. I didn't change her diaper before she fell asleep. I always do, but I didn't this time. I know she has sensitive skin and is healing from a yeast infection so when I discover an impressive load and an equally impressive rash I am not surprised.

I'm a horrible mother who didn't change the diaper and now my baby is swollen and sore. I cleaned her up, gave her some "air time", and than slathered on the diaper cream like cream cheese on a fat lady's bagel. I am calming myself from the thorough thrashing I have given myself. When Riley informs me she "pooooooped!" again. I repeat the same procedure except I leave the diaper off this time because the swelling is much worse. Chalk that one up to toddler timing. She'll be ok. Won't she? We're not starting the infection cycle of death again, are we?

Convinced I'm overreacting I diaper up the baby and make a quick dash to Borders for Tina Fey's book Bossypants. Actually, I got the unabridged audio book read by Tina Fey, so exciting. I know, priorities. Give me a break, we also picked up dinner. When we got home Riley quite literally could not walk. Her best approximation was a slow, tearful, waddle. Poor girl. I striped her down, but she refused to sit in the highchair. She squatted instead and eventually demanded to be let out. She roamed the living room with her bare butt and her chicken nugget.

We decided she should sleep sans diaper. At 3am she woke up screaming. Mike and I rushed to her bed and she had peed. She was beat red and screaming and twisting her little body away from the puddle. Mike pulled the damp linens off the bed while I attempted to clean her up, but she was hysterical. We finally put her under the warm shower water. She calmed down after that and we debated going to the ER or waiting for the doctors office to open in the morning. Mike and I were both freaked out.

At 5am when Riley decides I've slept enough I check her diaper it's bone dry. I call the pediatrician at 8am and I get a real human. I love Riley's doctor. I'm informed the nurse will call me when she gets in. At 8:30 the nurse calls. Apparently, if Riley has a UTI we have to go to the ER because she's not potty trained and would need to be catheterized.

Awesome. So your bits are horribly swollen and you're terrified to pee? Let's jam a tube in there. I take it back I hate Riley's doctor (I don't mean that). She tells me I can go to the costly ER or wait until 5pm and go to pediatric after hours urgent care clinic which would be cheaper. She was trying to help, but now I was panicked. We just moved, we have no money. My baby is hurt. Wait 8 hours? I'm a horrible mother. I should have taken her to the ER last night.

I give all this lovely information to Mike who vents all of his stress directly at me. I should have worn a helmet. Once I choked back my sobs we discussed Riley's diaper rash/infection history and every option besides being catheterized in the ER. I called the doctor again with a fresh list of questions at 9am. I was running on coffee, a few hours sleep, no food and horrible anxiety because Riley still hadn't peed. It was 11 before I got a return call. In the end the nurse gave us a 3:00 appointment and warned we'd probably have to go to the ER anyway, but "it's your money."

Meanwhile, it's noon and Riley hasn't peed, but her temperament has vastly improved. I am completely confused. Uti? Skin infection? I do know that I'm a horrible mother for causing/not preventing/not doing enough about whatever the heck this is. I couldn't protect my baby, I didn't react correctly or fast enough and now I deserve the suffering that watching my little girl suffer is causing me (as well as the sleep deprivation, financial strain of Er visits and prescriptions). That is mommy guilt at its finest.

I know we'll get through this day. Riley will survive whatever attacks on her 19mo immune system are causing one of the worst days of my life. Someday diapers will be behind us. Some wonderful day, but mommy guilt I'm afraid, is here to stay.

Mrs. Cellophane

Today I was invisible, ineffectual and unimportant. "You can look right through me walk right by me and never know I'm there." I'll do jazz hands later.

I got all the basic needs met for the kiddos. I thought maybe it was going to be a good day, for a Monday. Riley and the universe were in on the cosmic psych headed my way. Little Miss Roo came to me with a book picked up her sippy cup and lead the way to her room. Mommy's dream come true, right? She climbed in to her bed and waited for me to read her story. She had her story, her sippy cup of water, a doze of Tylenol (teething),and was all snuggled in 15min later.

Inspired by the easy nap time I got out of my pajamas and into some real clothes a mere 4hrs after the kids were dressed. I crawled around the living room picking up toys and set the Roomba loose. All the sudden after laying quietly in her bed all that time Riley was now wailing at the baby gate in her doorway. Ignore her I thought. Finish what your doing, she'll settle down. It's always a hundred times harder to get Riley to nap when Isaac's home not napping. As far as settling done, wrong.

She was an unattractive shade of red, almost purple, and screaming when I finished what I doing and turned around. She also somehow had managed to get the Tylenol that I left "out of reach" on the changing table. Stupid teeth. I went to the gate and told her to go lay down and she tearfully obliged climbing all the way up to her pillow. My poor girl. I came in once she was laying down and rubbed her hand until she fell asleep.

It's hard to keep a stir crazy 8yr old quiet during nap time. I resorted to bribery. I gave him candy. For the record I should have known that was a stupid plan. Now it was mid-day, pouring rain and he was sugared up and louder than ever. We had company as soon as Riley was up and finished with lunch. Riley and Isaac were both super clingy. Riley was clingy to me. Isaac was clingy to the company he'd never met before.

It was strange to meet my mom's childhood friend. Isaac decided if everyone in the room wasn't laughing or praising him he hadn't spoken loud enough. So at raising levels of volume he exclaimed things like "They LICK their eyeballs!" or "I know about giant squids". It was hard to follow anything that was going on because Riley was glued to me and insisted we read a book. I was relieved when they left it felt so chaotic.

The weather was awful, Isaac was hyper, Riley was teething and the living room was "mostly clean" so at that point I gave up. I turned on an episode of 30 Rock and send Riley to play with her brother. I kept looking at the clock thinking "it has to later than that. The kids were making a huge mess and lots of noise but not killing each other so I didn't care. All that looking at the clock..

I knew Isaac needed to be at TaeKwonDo at 6. I had reminded him at least 3 times over the course of the day. I blew it. I completely spaced. I got an upsetting phone call and I was anxious about a doctor's appointment the next day. My head wasn't in the game by evening. Isaac was surprisingly cool about it, but I had horrible guilt. Mike was completely unreachable for an hour and I was starving by the time he got home.

I was trying to explain how I hadn't felt like anyone was listening to me all day, but he was completely distracted and didn't hear me. Ugh, maybe I'll be "back" tomorrow...

Monday You Can Fall Apart

I have survived 13 orthopedic surgeries before I turned 18. Moving 2,000 miles from home with no support system to college. Getting hit by a bus as a pedestrian my senior year. Moving to NYC with no job or place to live after graduation. Moving back home the following year. Moving to LA. Even when the person I loved left me in LA by myself to move back into his parents house after living off of my student loan for 4months. The death of my beloved childhood pet that spring. Emergency surgery to remove a tumor from my uterus. A post-op infection. Moving back home (which I swore I'd never do). Being laid off. Getting pregnant. Almost 7mo of bed rest. A c-section and a baby in the NICU. A spinal fusion surgery. A hip surgery. Being unemployed for 2yrs because of all the medical issues.

I have made it through all of these things intact. I don't mean I never got sad or even suffered some depression on the contrary it was a recurring theme. I would face something tough, battle through it, get sad, get over it and repeat. That's how it always worked. That as far as I'm concerned is how life's supposed to work.

I had these reasonable and brief bouts of depression starting in adolescence. I never talked about it. I honestly can't believe I'm talking about it now. I didn't need anyone to know I was sad because I didn't need any help to stop being sad. It was something that had to run its course like a cold.

Pain and depression feed off of one another. The more it hurts the sadder you are and the sadder you are the more it hurts. Add to that pure primal fear and you have my current state of existence. I remember when I was single and had 3 jobs and I never had days off. After 28 consecutive days of working 8-12hrs I got horribly sick. Not just the sniffles because I would have pounded Emergen-C and water and kept going, but really sick. I think I was sent home from work after almost passing out. Anyway, the point is that I thought, “well I guess that's the number of days you can work without a break before your immune system objects loudly”. That's exactly what happened this time.

I endured all these things and kept going with very little break and then my brain broke instead of my immune system. At first just like the overworked immune system I thought I was fine and got “sent home from work”. After that I had to face up to actually being “sick”, but was completely convinced it would resolve itself quickly. Wrong on both counts.

I had a very difficult time with idea of the C-section because I'd had enough surgery to last a lifetime, but I consoled myself by thinking it would be the last. Wrong. I felt terrible having to back to the Orthopedic after Riley was born, but something had to be done. Apparently that something was major surgery. I pulled through having metal rods put in my back, breastfeeding the whole time, and moved on. Of course moving on meant hip surgery to remove old hardware and maybe replace my hip. I really couldn't have been more wrong about the whole "last surgery" thing. I survived with my own hip and a hope to make it "at least until the end of the year" before my hip would be replaced. Wrong again.

Are you noticing a pattern here? Apparently, that realization was my "28th consecutive day." The dam broke and I was drowning. It's not a simple problem. I can not simply "get through it" this time. If I go to the doctor tomorrow and he confirms what I know is true the amount of procedures and recovery required is daunting. Beyond that it's not fixing a flat tire. There's no guarantee more surgery with "fix" things and even if things improve there's no way to know how long they'll be that way. After all the hardware removal that was supposed to buy me a year with my own hip didn't quite make it to 6mo.

I've had a "breakdown" here and there. I've been mired down by hopelessness, but never like this. I blamed hormones. I blamed fatigue. I blamed the pain. I blamed Mike. In the end those things all played their part, but as my Ortho is always quick to point out it doesn't matter what's causing it once the problem is solved. So how do I solve it?

Step one: Admit you have a problem. Ok, done. Now what? I overcame the feeling that everyone will judge me harshly and that they're right to do so because being depressed enough to need help means I'm a huge failure. I'm not a wimp who couldn't hack it. I buckled under tremendous strain it's not the same as giving up. I worked through the fear of someone accusing me of being an unfit parent. Obviously my kids are well taken care of. If anything they save me from wallowing too much during daylight hours. I'm just worried about what happens now. Generally I'm good at taking personal responsibility, but terrible at failure (which is what severe depression feels like to me).

I decided after several attempts to cheer myself up that ended in teary disasters to call my doctor about this. However, my schedule is overwhelmed with scary medical issues so after the first two are in hand I've promised myself and Mike I would call.

Here's hoping writing about it helps me (and someone out there reading it) feel less alone. Deep breath. Sometimes you can't kick a virus without antibiotics. Sometimes you can't kick depression without a professional. Makes sense.

Show your support for me and moms everywhere struggling with depression by commenting on this post anonymously. Depression is a lonely place. Thank you so much.

False Alarm

We are in the final stage weaning. We decided I would continue to nurse only right before bed until Sunday. I'm already starting to feel (and enjoy) my freedom a bit. I can get dressed any way I choose without worrying about easy access. I can wear my hair down. If I'm in pain (with a little preparation) I can take something.

Well, on that note I got my first bit of good news the other day. I have been having trouble with abnormal cervical cells for years now. Level 5 is cancer and my abnormal cells have remained consistently at level 4 since they were discovered. After countless tests and biopsies and being assured the next text would be normal for 4yrs and nothing ever changing they're gone. That's it. I'm back to normal.

I was also told there were signs of an infection brewing, but as I was asymptomatic at the time I put it right out of my head. Today I didn't feel well so I took something without even a passing thought. As soon as I'd done it I panicked. What if this wasn't breastfeeding safe? Could it be that I'd been so careful not to jeopardize breastfeeding through major back surgery and then I screwed it up now in the last days? How could I be so thoughtless?!?

Internet research told me that this was a class C drug (not safe while pregnant) with a half life of 30hrs so it would be in my system when I was ready to nurse the baby tonight for sure. I was so bummed. Mike insinuated that maybe I did it because I was subconsciously ready to be done. I don't think so. I really just didn't think about it and even though I was planning to be done breastfeeding in 48hrs I wanted the option.

In my heightened emotional state I vented to my online mommy group. Good thing. Many of the other mommies had been on the same medicine while breastfeeding with no problem. One of them referred me to the Jack Newman site. Which is an awesome resource and I'm sorry I found it so late in the game. It assured me that the drug was perfectly safe. I also remember the LeLeche League woman I had emailed with when I had to do the test with the contrast die. She amazingly responded within the hour even though it was a Saturday and told me that:
"According to Dr. Hale’s 2006 edition of Medications and Mother’s Milk, it is listed as an L2 for breastfeeding, meaning it has been studied in a limited number of breastfeeding mothers without adverse effects in the infant. It is listed by the AAP as “usually compatible with breastfeeding”. Given the age, weight, and frequency of breastfeeding of your toddler, there is no apparent indication to not breastfeed."

Phew! So be resourceful, but use the internet wisely. Drug information isn't written with breastfeeding in mind. I'm so glad I had one more night to cuddle and nurse my baby before bed.

Diaper Rashes and Guilt

Riley had a rash that wouldn't go away. It started around the time her first two teeth made their appearance. We thought it was just from all the swallowed drool that comes with teeth. I remember wishing Riley could run around diaperless like the little African baby form the Babies movie so we'd never have to deal with diaper rashes. Time wore on an the rash got worse and she was uncharacteristically fussy especially in the car.

Finally, I decided it was time to call the dr (or more accurately instead of deciding to call the dr and then thinking "it looks like it's getting better" or completely forgetting until after 5 I actually did it). They had us come in and I kept thinking why didn't I ask him to look at it at her last check up? Woulda, coulda, shoulda... I worry about being an over reacting new mom, but at this point I knew something was wrong.

Turns out it was a yeast infection! Poor baby. All the screaming in the car was because it was getting sweaty was irritating it, the weird diaper grab and bounce was because it itched and the middle of the night freak outs were because it was hurting. I felt so awful. How could I have not figured this out sooner?

It's also further proof of what an amazing baby Riley is because aside from the uncharacteristic meltdowns she was still her calm, sweet little self. Also, she just doesn't make a fuss for no reason. Every time I think "what fuss over nothing" I come to find out she's hurt or has exploded poop out of her diaper up her back and all over her clothes or you know has had a yeast infection for over a month.

So, on top of my guilt over the infection the dr says use the prescription cream 3x a day and our regular diaper cream the rest of the time. We ran out of her Dr. Smith's cream so Mike was using powder on her. I come to find out that the pure cornstarch powder was feeding the infection! I felt horrible now I knew what was wrong and I was making it worse. I'm a horrible person, but when I tearfully confessed this to Mike he laughed.

It's true babies get yeast infections in the summer because it's hot. I'd never seen one on a baby before and now I know what to look for now. We didn't use copious amounts of powder for an extended period of time and again now I know. I think Mike had the right idea a sense of humor is important.

It just hurts to know your baby's hurting and it's frustrating not to be able to communicate better with your little one. I guess if major surgery isn't a good excuse to get distracted I don't know what is.

Like a Pair of Shiny New Shoes

I remember getting new white sneakers as a kid and wiping them off the first few times I wore them outside because I wanted them to stay new and perfect forever. I also remember my mother teasing me for this. That's what a new baby's like too.

You don't want dirt to ever touch them. You don't want them to ever feel sadness or pain. You want to shield them and keep new and perfect for always. And people make fun of you for it.

I remember feeling my heart break when they drew her blood for the first time in the NICU. I remember the first time she bumped her head, or got hungry when I couldn't feed her right away, I remember her first shots at two months and the time Cookie Monster scared her.

I remember this time in the NICU I was by myself getting ready to feed Riley. I changed her and took her temp. I very carefully scooped her up out of the crib and sat down to feed her. All the sudden she was crying. I checked all of the monitor cords, etc and that's when I noticed blood on my stomach. A lot of blood. I wiped it off thinking maybe I scratched myself when I picked up the baby. A few seconds later she was still crying and there was more blood on my stomach and the Boppy and everywhere! I screamed for the nurse and two of them came running. It was everywhere and it turned out the band aids from her little heel sticks had been pulled off right before I came in and somehow they were disturbed enough to bleed. I was shaking and crying by the time they wiped us down and assured me she was fine. A tight swaddle and some breastmilk later Riley had forgotten anything had ever happened, I on the other hand probably never will.

Her life was perfect when she was born. I wanted it to always be. I have learned much like shoes babies get "scuffed up" despite lots of love and care. She will skin her knees and get her heart broken no matter how much I love her. In fact I'll probably cry more than she does.

It's the way it's supposed to be. Kids try things, get hurt and make mistakes. Moms worry. It's gets easier to kiss their boo-boos without feeling like the worst mom on the planet, but I don't think it'll ever not hurt.