On the Rocks

How I wish I was talking about cocktails... 

My last post is almost embarrassing considering how far I've gone from any positive feeling in my core in a very short time. 

Having two young babies so close together is very hard on a marriage.  Having your husband's father die is also very hard on a marriage. 

We've been distant. Bitter. Sad. Angry. Distraught. Frustrated.

Or at least I have been. I am only guessing that Steve has been too.  I wouldn't be able to say for sure because he does NOT talk about things. Not about anything.  It's hard for me.  Particularly hard since I am in my house with two kids 2 and under for most of the day. My only means for transportation is usually a stroller.  When it rains - which it does a lot here on the West Coast in winter/spring - I am literally trapped here inside my four walls.

I get lonely.  I crave support, love, discussions, kind words, emotional progress.  But when Steve gets home from work he's not able to provide much of any of those things. 

I have felt that he's been harboring resentful or angry feelings towards me.  There has not been a kind word offered. There is no touching. No kiss on the cheek.  No hugs.  Communication only when absolutely required.  And even then, it's been cold. 

I have been figuratively banging my head against the wall. Not sure what to do.  I've tried everything to get him to give it up. Talk. Tell me what I've done wrong. Tell me what's bugging him. He was maintaining that everything is "fine". When asked if he'd go to marriage counseling his response was "absolutely not" - even though he has been seeing a grief counselor to process his dad's death.

Hopefully I'm not sounding too martyr-ish when I say I have given my everything, my all, all my energy and then some, all my emotions, all my goodness - my EVERYTHING to try to be supportive to him and his family, to be a good mother, to be a kind and loving wife - during a really bad time.

However I've been feeling like, to him, I am not worth an effort on his part.  I have felt taken for granted. 

The other day an email exchange started between myself and my BIL's girlfriend (SIL) as we planned out our MIL's birthday dinner that was to take place this Saturday.  Well, as we started going back and forth with our emails, things started to come out. We started talking about the things that have been bothering us.  Things that MIL has been doing that have been making our lives very difficult. How our spouses are completely absorbed by her and her grief and how they dote on her and her occasional dramarama.  My BIL is the executor to the will and he had told SIL about some financial issues which she was supposed to keep silent about.  She confided in me in those emails. Honestly it felt good to have someone to talk to. Someone who understands what I'm going through, who is going through something very similar to me and who knows all the players in the game.  Someone to relate to. Someone who was willing to offer a sympathetic ear. 

Sometime in the afternoon my phone rang.  It was SIL.  She said, "Steve's been reading your emails".

In typical Steve fashion - instead of calling me and discussing it, he called his brother.  Told him what we were talking about, essentially ruining two relationships instead of just one. 

Steve feels that SIL and I are vindictive, evil women who hate his mother. 

I have explained that I do not hate his mom.  Not even close.  In fact I don't like some of the things she does.  And I said nothing in my emails that I haven't already said to him. 

He told me he's been watching me for a while.  Reading my emails and my tweets. He says he knows I talk about him "behind his back". He told me he didn't love me anymore and has been thinking of leaving me for a while. 

I explained that what I occasionally say about him on twitter is my way of communicating - in a joking fashion - to like minded friends who can relate to me.  Everything I tweet is out in the open and I would never say anything malicious abut him.  But he felt otherwise. 

Likewise with my email exchange with my SIL.

Besides having to explain and defend myself, I am furious and upset and devastated that my husband has betrayed me and violated my personal life. My personal conversations. My privacy. I am broken hearted that we are in that place.

Obviously there was a lot more detail than this but I care not to get into it.

My BIL and SIL are pretty much done.  This was the straw the broke the camels back for them.  Why Steve had to involve my BIL I don't know but it was a bad move.  My SIL is/was really, really mad at Steve.  He apologized to her and she did not accept his apology - which made things worse for me because I know it bothered him but... of course... he wouldn't talk about it. And also, she is my friend and I feel somewhat responsible for what's happening to her on her end of this mess.

To make a really long story a little less long - I had a really big breakdown.  Reiterating all the stuff I've been saying to him over the past few months. 

He told me he'd make an effort to be a better husband.  That he was going to make big changes.

The next day he got off work early. I had errands to run (since I offered to take a birthday lunch/cake to MIL the next day since her dinner at BIL and SIL's was cancelled) I managed to talk to SIL and we decided to meet for a beer with another girlfriend.  Steve said it was no problem. I brought him a 6 pack of beer before I met the girls and told him I'd bring dinner home.  I was out for a couple of hours. I sent him a text asking if he was doing ok with the the kids.  He didn't respond.  I called him. He didn't answer the phone. 

When I was on my way  home he finally answered. He was short with me. I asked what he would like for dinner and he said he already ate - even though it was just dinner time. 

When I got home he was back in that bitter, quiet mode. He'd obviously had a hard time with the kids. I know he was frustrated. *I* know what that is like - it is my daily life.  He was in a bad mood and quickly so was I.  We started to argue again.  It escalated.  Really escalated. It got ugly. I pushed him to the limit. I knew I was doing it but couldn't stop myself. I wanted him to react to me in some way. I couldn't take the passive aggressiveness anymore. I was so desperate I was willing to take the aggressiveness without the passiveness.

He lost it. I lost it. His eyes were dilated and he was in such a crazed state that I've never seen before. I was scared and mad and sad and very hysterical. Our yelling woke Lincoln from his sleep. Ruby... my precious, intelligent Ruby saw and heard everything.  For that, I will NEVER forgive myself. I even have a difficult time typing it out.  I HATE MYSELF when I think about her big blue eyes staring at me laying on the floor bawling. HATE. MYSELF.

HATE.

Steve ended up leaving. Saying he wouldn't be back for two weeks and I would be hearing from a lawyer.  He returned a short time later when he had called his mom and she wouldn't come pick him up...

In a panic I called my SIL who came over and took Steve downstairs and had a really big talk with him while I cuddled Ruby in bed.

Eventually things calmed down and SIL left.

Steve and I slept in the same bed, with Ruby in the middle. I layed my head on his chest and sobbed. (Ruby was deeply sleeping by then).

Now... now... Steve has once again said he is going to try to be a better husband.  And I'll admit today has seen an improvement.  But there is some heavy underlying tension.  I am afraid to be anything less than smiling and happy even though my heart aches so badly. 

We have been torn apart and we need to rebuild. I just hope we have the ability to do it without ruining ourselves.  I know that my kids may see us argue again but they will NEVER again see anything so obnoxious as Friday night's events.  I grew up seeing that over and over and over. That was my childhood. It's not theirs.  It will never be theirs. I promise.

Steve's dad's death has done more damage than I thought it would. And my efforts to help and nurture and care for Steve have been sadly, futile. I cared for him the way I would have wanted to be cared for in such a situation. I've never been through a family member's death before and I did what I thought was best. 

I desperately want to have a happy life, a happy marriage. I deserve it. I deserve better that what I've been given recently. I can only do so much, be so much, give so much of myself.  It will take me a very long time to heal from this. I don't really know how or where to begin. I am just trying to take small steps forward in whatever way feels the most right.




Note: I do not know if Steve reads this blog or not but I have written this assuming he will read it and I have been completely open and honest and fair and regret nothing I have said here.



Ok, here goes... publish post.

I'm a jerk.

At risk of sounding like a selfish, mean, ignorant, cold bitch and alienating all my readers - I am going to go ahead and unload a shitload of thoughts and feelings here that may not leave me in the best of light.  I have no choice - if I do not let it out I may implode or explode and I can think of no other "safe-ish" place to do it.


Now, where to start...


I guess to catch you all up on the situation, I'll tell you that Steve's dad took a turn for the worse.  His body is riddled with cancer. He has it in his brain, liver, lungs, adrenal gland, spine and likely his colon.  The doctor who said he would be back on the golf course by the spring gave everybody false hope and I feel he was very irresponsible in doing that and I would like to personally find him and kick him in the balls.  Steve's dad was home but is back in the hospital now as he can not stand up and he is too weak to even hold a newspaper.  He's been given a catheter and has a bedsore already.  He's got minimal appetite and has lost a load of weight. We were last told that he's got about 6 weeks left. We are all completely fucking devastated. It just sucks. Sucks. Sucks. Sucks.


My MIL has been outstanding. She really has. She's been so strong and I am amazed and impressed by her. Sad that her and I have never gotten along better than we have since my FIL's diagnosis - but I do feel that good will come from bad and I'm happy with this bit of goodness. I have been calling her regularly to check on her, bringing her meals whenever I go visit (which is once a week), and bringing her little gifts and treats whenever I can.  She seems to really appreciate it and that makes me feel good.


I wrote my FIL a letter.  I wanted him to know how I feel about him and the great job he's done as father to Steve. I wanted him and my MIL to know how I feel and I would never get the chance to say it verbally.  They both loved the letter and said my words were beautiful.


I bring the kids to see my FIL at every chance I get. They bring him (and my MIL) such joy and I want him to have as much joy as possible. I also want the kids to spend as much time with him as possible even if they won't remember it later in life.


Where my issues lie are with my husband. (Here's where I make myself look like an asshole.)  I feel like he's not dealing with his father's illness very well at all. (I know, I know - we all grieve differently but I think it's more than that) He's always been a softy and an emotional person and he is VERY close with his dad so I expected him to be really sad and to have some struggles. I expected tears and emotions.  But I am starting to think that it's getting out of control and that he's perhaps being a little bit... selfish about the whole thing.  Last weekend when we went to visit in the hospital we had a nice visit until we were ready to leave and Steve absolutely fell apart.  I stood off to the side of the room with the kids, waiting for him to hug and kiss his dad but he started sobbing and waved me out of the room.  I had to pack Ruby and Lincoln (who is now over 21lbs, by the way) out of the hospital and load them into the van by myself.  Steve showed up a while later, a complete wreck, sobbing and saying he's never seen his dad so upset. Well, darling... that is because you were so upset in front of him.  The man is dying - can we not give him the gift of at least restraining ourselves from falling apart in front of him? He wants to know that we're going to be ok after he's gone - I feel it's unfair to unload our sorrow onto him. He then had me drive to his moms house so he could bawl on her shoulder.  She was a bit chuffed at him and told him that we have to just deal with this shitty part of life and he needs to keep his chin up. I also felt that that maybe wasn't fair for him to do to his mom - she's dealing with SO MUCH already.  I feel like Steve still wants to be a little boy and for his mom and dad (and brother) to take care of him. He needs to man up a bit. 


His family has started leaving him out of decisions and family meetings and discussions because he can't seem to handle any of it.  But he gets upset to not be involved.  I honestly don't blame them.  Everybody is dealing with their own grief and their own problems and trying to make the best of the time they have left and it's hard for them to have to deal with Steve's sobbing on top of all of that. 


And if you think that sounds cold... just wait. I've got more.


Steve will use any and all opportunity to elicit sympathy from people.  My mom asked him the other day if he's busy at work and he replied that he had to go for a little walk by himself to sort out his thoughts.  Uh, not what she was asking.  He gets all weepy at the drop of the hat.  He'll call me to talk about banking and it somehow gets turned around to him being sad and he'll get all choked up.  I mean, I've been nothing but supportive to him.  He has been seeing a counselor and everyone around him is trying to help him.  And I kinda feel like he's liking it, too much.  He seems to LOVE people giving him sympathy. I sometimes think he uses this situation to get attention. 


...I'm going to hell.


He is mopey around the house.  He cries in front of our kids.  He isn't supportive of me. He hates it if I say anything that isn't 100% sympathetic to him and his needs. He is distant from me. He wants me to care for him and the kids and the house and he gives nothing in return - all in the name of grief.


I work HARD all day every day.  The added stress and requirements with his dad's illness have added to my physical and emotional work load.  I don't complain. I don't.  I feel it is my job and I suck it up and I do what I have to do.  At the end of the day when I'm tired and yes, sometimes depressed and sad over the situation - he rarely notices. He's too consumed with his own self. It's not about ME, I know that.  But I'm lonely and tired and sad and need some sort of comfort and companionship.


Yes, his dad is dying but Steve is still a husband and a father and he has responsibilities to me and to us. 


To add to the misery - he recently cracked a rib while playing soccer.  Good lord, he's on about it every chance he gets.  He cries and complains and fucking whines about it all day and night.  The other night he woke me in the middle of the night to tell me he slipped off his pillow and could I adjust him back onto his pillow because it hurt him too much and he couldn't move.  Really?  And even though he's been to the doctor and he's been told there's nothing they can do for a cracked rib except have him take lots of Advil - he still keeps threatening he's going to take himself to emergency because it hurts so bad.  Oh for fuck sakes, suck it up!  I realize how painful a cracked rib can be but good lord I am so sick and tired of hearing about his fucking painful ribs and watching him mope around wallowing in self sorrow. 


I'm running out of Mrs. Nice Wife.  I'm starting to get short with him and frustrated by the little things - like him breathing too loud, or scraping his teeth on his fork, or getting sucked into fucking Facebook like a bloody zombie while the house falls apart around him.  Sometimes my kids get on my nerves because I've been so frazzled by everything else and have little support. 


Ok, that's enough - kids are fussing and Steve has called saying he's on his way home for his lunch (which I need to make). I've said enough to guarantee myself a spot in hell now anyways.  I had to get it out though.  Thanks for listening/reading.  Try not to judge me too harshly.

Is this normal?

I decided to hold off on the sleep consultant until I gave sleep training a good try on my own.  And upon many people's suggestions (many of you, the health nurse, my midwife) I bought "Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child" by Weissbluth. I like his theories and I believe in what he says but good Lord I can not read it fast enough. My spare moments are few and far between and I've barely just made it into the 3rd chapter!

Does crying it out ever NOT work? Is there a chance that he may not be teaching himself how to fall asleep but instead just falling asleep from pure exhaustion? And in the meantime am I just fucking up his life? (and mine).

I can only commit to doing it during the day because I have another child to consider and letting Lincoln scream through the night would wake up Ruby for sure and then my troubles would be two fold.  So does that mean that the progress will be slower?  I'm guessing it probably does.

And anyways I've made leaps and bounds with him at night, though it's still far from ideal.  We've got the bedtime routine down pretty good and he's going 3 or 4 (and once even 5!) hour stretches in between feeds.  

Daytime napping is the really big problem right now and that's when we cry it out (he and I both).  I took video footage of him "crying" (SCREAMING) in his crib.  Today he did it for an hour (I checked him at the correct intervals - which actually seemed to make it worse). Now I have the proof I need to exonerate myself when the police knock on my door because the neighbors have called to report a child being tortured.  "Officer I wasn't burning him with cigarettes! I swear! I don't even smoke!"

No really, I did take a video of it.  Is this normal?  This is at about the 45 minute mark. After I took this video I went and took stock of the medicine cabinet to see what I had that might be effective in rendering me to a comatose state. 

(Disclaimer: Baby screaming in video. Maybe don't watch at work or if you are sensitive. )

I played it for Steve and he said..... "Don't do that."

Ruby NEVER cried like this - that is all I have to compare to.  Is that why it seems so over the top?

I just talked to my MIL and she said it wouldn't be good to let him cry too long and that maybe I should try a little whiskey. I told her, what a coincidence because I was actually just thinking about having some.  But apparently she meant I should give it to Lincoln. Talk about old school.  Just for the record, we don't do that anymore .... right?

It is during these screaming fits that I feel like I need professional help.  Both for him and for myself.  I need therapy and he needs professional sleep training.  Or am I just being a big wuss?  You'd think I was the first woman to sleep train her child, I know...

Progress, and... not

So I did a bunch of research. I spoke with a health nurse. I emailed my midwife. I looked at a bunch of books. I talked to girlfriends. I searched the internet high and low.  And what I thought I would do is take little bits of everyone's advice and put together my own little sleep training plan for Lincoln.

And it worked.  Sorta.  Well, a little bit.  The progress we made was in the napping department.  He has gone from taking maybe two 30 minute naps a day to taking two or three naps a day, ranging from 30 minutes to an hour and a half. And he's in his crib for those napst whereas before he was just where ever I happened to have him - bouncy chair, swing, floor, my bed.  There was a bit of protest from him and we had a little bit of crying it out.  But it was minimal and I was feeling terribly smug about myself and my talents as a mother.

My big plan was to get him used to his crib during the day and then eventually, I figured, he would start to get used to it and start sleeping in there at night. I have started putting him down in his crib after a little bedtime routine (which was previously non existent) and two nights in a row he slept for a couple of hours at which point I gave him a dream feed and laid him back down. Then he slept for another couple of hours before waking and me bringing him back into my bed (and then waking every hour or two for nursing).

Except there was the one time at nap time that he did more than a little fussing.  It was a big old cry/scream it out.  And even though I went in to check on him at regular intervals he screamed for 45 minutes before falling asleep and then only staying asleep fro 10 mins. (I realize this is minimal compared to some babies.)

Then last night when I put him down he went into cry/scream mode and it lasted 30 minutes.  He was awake within an hour and then an hour after that. And he ended up in my bed at 11pm.

And I've discovered that I don't know if I can handle this.  My anxiety kicks in full blast when he's screaming. My heart is crushed.  I have all kinds of doubts about what I'm doing and if I'm doing it right or if I'm fucking him up - because I'm doing my own thing and not a regimented, structured plan.

He is so attached to me and I feel like I'm betraying him and hurting him by doing this. He loves me like nobody ever has.  It blows my mind. Nobody has ever been that happy to see me before in my LIFE. He giggles and squeals when he seems me.  He grabs on to me and nestles his head in my neck. The sound of him nursing at night, eagerly drinking and gulping his milk makes me feel like I'm doing something so good for him.  And when he's nursing he reaches up and holds on to me. 

And I feel like I'm ripping all that away from him by making him cry in his bed, alone.

Yes, I realize that perhaps the problem is mine.  Perhaps I have some issues that need to be worked out.  I want us all to be happy and healthy.  We're not that right now. 

I feel like I can't do this alone.  Or even with Steve - who will go along with whatever I choose, pretty much.  (Although he struggles with the crying too, which doesn't help in making me feel stronger)

I feel like we need an intervention.

I am considering enlisting the help of a professional.  A sleep consultant.  A friend of mine used Helen Sands and had great success. My midwife highly recommends her and strongly suggested we use her. She said that it would be a Christmas gift to Lincoln.  And I trust my midwife more than anyone else in the world when it comes to my babies.

The thing is, Helen is really expensive.  And I don't have much money - I could scrape it up of course. But I am such a state of anxiety and self doubt right now I don't know if I should go ahead with it or not.  I feel almost like a failure if I can't get him sleeping through the night on my own. Maybe I could just buy one of the books that have been recommended to me and just force myself to go with it. But Helen Sands does extensive research into your particular circumstances and developes a plan specifically for the individual family.  And there is some support too.  I feel like I could use the support. 

I feel depressed and anxiety ridden this morning.  Don't know which way to go with this. I have so much self doubt no matter which way I turn. I just wish someone else could make some decisions for me and point me in the right direction.

Perhaps I just answered my own question...

It could be worse... right?

Despair. I thought I was feeling despair. That's cute.

I should KNOW better than to say stuff like that because sure as shit as soon as it leaves my lips (or my fingertips), then it then becomes a big open invitation for the Universe to say, "Oh yeah? You thought that was bad? Wait till you get a load of this..."

I was diagnosed with severe left side horizontal BPPV. And despite two visits to my family doctor and 3 visits to a physiotherapist who has been performing the *"Epley Maneuver" on me, I still suffer. In fact I am sleeping pretty much sitting up, can not sleep on my left side, must not bend over, look down or up or tilt my head to either side.

That's a load of fun with two little kids.

Like when I bent over to help Ruby put on her shoes and I had an "episode" and fell down.

Or when I leaned over to pick up Lincoln and I lost my balance and stumbled.

And the looks you get when you are standing in line at the grocery store with your kids in the stroller and you rock back on your heels.

If only that was all I was dealing with. But no...

A day after the vertigo returned, I noticed that Lincoln had been super fussy. And warm. I took his temperature and realized he had a fever. One which Tylenol wouldn't bring down. Which is a bad thing. Babies that age are not supposed to get fevers.

So with vertigo, I was in and out of emergency rooms with Lincoln no less than three times. The first night we were in the hospital until 2am. Two different nurses took turns trying to get viles of blood out of his chubby little arm, poking him three different times and digging around in his arm trying to find a vein while I had to hold him down and he SCREAMED and SCREAMED. They gave him a catheter which was NOT a good time either. And before we left they gave him an antibiotic injection in his little thigh.

The whole time I wanted to die inside for what he was going through. And each time I tried to lay my head beside his naked, little, overheated body the room spun hard and I had to clutch the hospital bed.

That night there was pretty much no sleep.

Vertigo is aggravated by fatigue.

Then there was a blur of more emergency room visits, physio treatments for me, doctor and pediatrician appointments.

Eventually it was determined that Lincoln has a urinary tract infection (from **bubble bath?!!??). He will be on antibiotics for a week. Hopefully his diaper rash will clear up soon too.

During this time we found that Ruby had a giant boil (GROSS!) on her ear - which disturbed me greatly but I didn't have the energy to fuss too much about it and it thankfully went away.

Over the past week or two any little bit of normalcy or routine that I had established has been completely wiped out. We are in full on survival mode. Ruby has eaten more meals of goldfish crackers than I care to admit and Lincoln has been reverted back to sleeping in my bed with me at night and has spent far too much time in his baby swing. There have been moments when I was sure I was not going to survive, yet I dare not be so foolish as to label this time with anything such as Hell, Purgatory, or ABSOLUTELY FUCKING BRUTAL. And I dare not say that I am feeling despair. Because... I know that things could be worse. And I do not wish to temp the Universe to show me how "good" I have it right now. So I will endure. I will survive. I will get through this.

And when it's over I am going to be kicking some ass because life will seem soooo easy. Right?

~~~

*The Epley Maneuver is extremely effective in treating vertigo. It is suspected that I had vertigo on both my left and right side which is why the treatments haven't fully worked yet.

**WHY did I not know that bubble bath is a leading cause of UTIs in kids??? I swished Lincoln around in the tub with Ruby while she was having a bubble bath, trying to kill two birds with one stone. The bubble baths are now gone. Nobody gets bubbles anymore - despite Ruby's protests..

10 days

He's 10 days old now.

I've thought about writing a post so many times in those 10 days but my moods swing so dramatically that whatever I wrote, I knew I would hate myself for it a few hours later and either delete it or write another post reneging it.

The first week was the worst. I was so fucking emotional I was crying all. the. time. I was certain there was NO WAY I was going to survive this.

I was stressed over Ruby and how I've "ruined" her life. I cried every time I looked at her, overwhelmed with guilt.

I was embarrassed of myself for how I acted while I was in labour. I cried and screamed in pain and I begged to die. When it was time to push I at first refused because I said that I just couldn't. I begged the midwife and/or nurse to get him out another way, any other way. I felt ashamed acting so out of control and it ate me up a bit.

I was uncomfortable with breastfeeding. Remember I pumped for 6 months with Ruby because she refused to breastfeed. Lincoln is a champ in that department but he sucked so hard it hurt (I cracked and bled). And I felt trapped by it - sitting on the couch feeding him for hours and hours in a day. Not to mention the wild emotions that were released when I was in the actual act of doing it. I also felt shy about doing it. My boobs are bigger than Lincoln's head and I found it extremely difficult to be discreet which really bothered me.

I felt pain and immense fatigue from the birth. I was so tired and shaky and had zero appetite. So even though I was hungry and knew I should eat - I couldn't. And that made things worse. I was soooo weak.

I thought/imagined that Steve was disgusted with me. Both my appearance and my emotionalism.

Ruby acted like a demon. She was already going through a "phase" when Lincoln came into the world but I managed to blame myself for bringing a new baby into the house for her behavior. I felt like a horrible mother because I was actually incapable of dealing with her. Her whining and crying and often rotten behavior almost put me over the top.

I was overcome with fear and anxiety of how in the hell I'm going to look after both Ruby and Lincoln when Steve goes back to work later this week.

After a particularly tearful visit to the midwive's office, one midwife said she would refer to me to post partum mental health.

Later that day the midwife who delivered Lincoln called and talked to me about the birth and explained that it really was normal and I did and said nothing that I need to be ashamed of.

I let Ruby go to my mom's house over night when Lincoln was a week old. Of course I felt like I was pawning her off and hated myself for it but the next morning I felt refreshed and more clear.

And in the past few days I feel like things are improving. My body is healing. I'm getting the hang of Lincoln. I bought a breastfeeding cover. I'm not quite as sleep deprived feeling. I'm working on helping Ruby through her phase. The guilt is fading. I'm able to do a little more.

I feel incredibly lucky to have such a good baby. Lincoln is kickass good. He's not fussy. He doesn't cry (unless he's really, really hungry). And a few times I have had to wake HIM to feed him in the night. Sometimes I only have to get up with him once or twice in the night. (I didn't want to write this paragraph because as soon as I hit "publish" he will turn into a sleep depriving demon, I just know it)

I probably won't need the mental health appointment. I can probably work through this.

And yet still... at around 5 or 6pm each day I am usually in fairly rough shape. The tiredness hits and so does the depression. The tears are easy to fall. It usually lasts until I go to bed. But I know that when I wake up the next day (or sometime in the night) I will likely feel better.

I just have to keep on keeping on and hope things keep improving - however slowly.

5 days OD

At 5 days overdue I'm struggling to stay positive.

Yes, I know this won't and can't last forever, but every day it goes on it gets harder and harder.

One of my biggest struggles is with Ruby. I find it difficult to care for her while I'm this pregnant. My body is hurting all the time and my energy level isn't very high. I feel terrible that I'm not the mommy I want to be to her right now. I know she senses it too. She deserves better, my little angel. My best is not good enough right now.

Also - I'm struggling with the fact that I don't have local childcare for her. My daycare closed at the end of May and I don't know how to find someone else to take care of her for just once in a while. Most daycares don't take kids for just a day, or a few hours here and there. And I don't know enough people locally or have the resources to find a babysitter. I couldn't just leave her with some stranger.

The only person I have for looking after her is my mom and she lives 45 minutes away and works full time. She LOVES looking after Ruby but doesn't like taking time off work because the woman who covers for her is a psychopath. That and she actually doesn't like taking time off for anything. (No question where I inherited my work ethics from)

Today I have another NST and an AFI (amniotic fluid indicator) and I have to bring Ruby with me because my mom took a day off last week while I had these same tests done. Luckily Steve is off today so he's coming with us and is going to look after her while I have my tests but the situation isn't ideal. Who wants to be toting a toddler around a hospital?

I have a midwife appt on Wednesday and I will have to bring Ruby with me to that too.

And then sometime this week I will possibly (likely) have an obstetric consult to schedule an induction. Who will look after Ruby then? Steve will probably have to work. My mom will be working. I'm stressed about it. What will happen? I know I can't bring her with me to the hospital by myself.

Yesterday I had my ILs and my parents over for BBQ for Fathers Day (thankfully it was short and sweet and everyone was well behaved). My MIL was asking my mom if she was taking holidays soon. My mom explained that Steve would be taking 2 weeks vacation when the baby was born and then she would be taking one week after that but that she was "on call" to come look after Ruby when I go into the hospital to have the baby. Then she said, "But I'm really hoping it's just a quick in and out, one day thing." So that she doesn't have to take more than one day off work.

Well fuck, Mom. I can't control the circumstances of the baby being born - as much as I would like to. And it just adds more stress to know that's how she feels about it.

Adding to the stress - she lives 45mins to an hour away. The hospital is another 45 minutes in the opposite direction. The hospital is in the middle of the city. So none of it is easy or convenient.

Depending on how today goes with the NST and AFI I was thinking that it might be better (for me) if my mom took her holidays this week so that she could help me with Ruby and babysit her when I need to be at my appointments. But I know she wants to spend her time off with the new baby.

And on top of all that did I mention that I'm now FIVE DAYS overdue? Aside from all the childcare issues - I feel extremely uncomfortable, in pain all the time and having a really hard time keeping my chin up. I'm finding it harder and harder to keep myself occupied and to not think about the when and the how and the where and all the rest of it. And I'm just aching for it to be over and to get on with the next part - which I also fear and know will not be easy, but at least I want to get on with it.

Ok, that concludes my whining for the day. Off to do my hair and put on makeup and get dressed and push on with my day.

Questions

Can my marriage survive 2 kids? A newborn and a toddler?

Can it survive the rest of this pregnancy?

Will I ever feel well rested again?

Does Ruby know something now? Is that why she is constantly biting, scratching, pinching and hitting me.

Will I ever have a clean house again? Will I stop caring?

Should I get my hair cut now or wait til after the baby is born? What about a cut and color?

Am I too old to be doing this 2 young kids thing and be good at it?

Will Ruby resent me when I have to spend so much time and energy on a new baby?

Will I be able to train someone to do my job properly before I go on maternity leave?

Will the ultrasound on Wednesday show the placenta has moved? And that it is still functioning properly?

Will we be able to pay our bills?

Will we ever get a second vehicle?

Will we ever get the brakes fixed on our first vehicle?

Will I get treated special on my 35th birthday next week?

What about Mothers Day?

If I'm so much smaller with this pregnancy, why am I getting new stretch marks?

Will the Canucks have a good playoff run?

Why did my daycare lady have to decide to close permanently at the end of May?

Will I be able to breastfeed this time?

Will Ruby EVER cuddle with me? Will my son be a cuddler?

Will he be a "good" baby?

Is this going to be as hard as I'm sure it's going to be?

Am I mistaking fatigue for depression? Or depression for fatigue? Or am I feeling both?

Can I do this?

Will I ever feel "ready"?

Does anyone have a crystal ball?

Everybody has their own problems

I’m tired. I’ve never been this fatigued in my entire life. Some days I have no idea how I’m going to make it through to the end of the day and I can’t help but to cry.

My body hurts. I am so envious of normal pregnant people who’s bodies don’t fall apart on them during pregnancy. I suffer from SPD and it has already gotten quite uncomfortable. I’ve also done something to the muscle in my shoulder. I suspect it’s from carrying around a 14 month old girl who CAN walk but doesn’t have full confidence in herself yet so she doesn’t do it unless she does it accidentally. The shoulder is painful mostly when I’m in bed at night. I have woken up yelling out in pain. It feels like Steve is jabbing a dagger into my back (although I’ve never actually seen a weapon, I’m not entirely convinced that he’s not). Also painful at night is rolling over in bed, thanks to the SPD.

I am horrified at my body right now. Yes, I have a baby belly but below the bump is a large deposit of disgusting fat. My stomach is grotesque. My skin is stretched from having Ruby and my fat just hangs off of me. It hangs OVER me. I am extremely self conscious of myself. I see people looking at me and I think they are probably wondering if I’m fat or pregnant. It’s probably hard to tell even though I’m 22 weeks. I have never felt so unattractive in my entire life.

Steve is either disgusted with me or he doesn’t like me anymore or he’s got other things on his mind because he mostly just ignores me. What I wouldn’t do for a little bit of comfort or understanding from him. A shoulder rub? A foot rub? A hug for Christ sake! Anything whatsoever? Nothing. When I tell him something he usually doesn’t even acknowledge me. Seriously – I talk to him and he doesn’t even look at me half the time. Then he gets annoyed if I repeat myself to him. It makes me feel very lonely even when I’m not alone. Who else do I have to lean on if not him? Conversation is minimal unless it’s about Ruby. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a kickass dad. He’s hands on with Ruby and he’s really good with her. Is it pathetic of me then to want more from him? For me? I want him to show me that he loves me and that he appreciates what I’m going through. I wonder if he takes me for granted. I am pretty sure he thinks I’m just a giant bitch because I ask him to do things that he doesn’t feel like doing. Or because sometimes I get frustrated when the house is a disaster zone, or the TV is too loud, or the counter is covered with dirty dishes and the dishwasher is full and I need to make us dinner. I’ll throw a fork in the sink or slam a cupboard or something out of frustration and he sneers and laughs at me and shakes his head like I’m the biggest fucking loser he’s ever met. It’s degrading to me and makes me feel like losing my fucking mind.

I go to the gym every other day in hopes of keeping my weight from skyrocketing and to also to keep my mental health in check. Yes, it helps my mental health but my lord it does a number on my body. When I go in the evening and then come home and shower and go to bed, I usually get up in the night to go pee and many times I have almost collapsed from the pain in my pelvis. That has happened a lot actually. And the shoulder pain is always worse on gym nights too. I wake up crying from pain and Steve rolls over and ignores me.

I weep a lot. I find it so frustrating to have so little energy and being so uncomfortable all the time and to still have to work full time and take care of my girl and to keep a decent house and to exercise regularly. I know I could be a better mom to Ruby if I wasn’t so exhausted and that makes me sad and even more frustrated. I just want to feel good. I want to be happy. Sometimes I’m afraid that I’m getting depressed.

I'm putting it here because I need to get it out. I can’t talk to Steve and I don’t like to burden people with my shit because hey, everybody has their own problems. Who am I to complain about my life? Boo fucking hoo.

Better

When I picked Ruby up from daycare yesterday I was told that she had a good day and that she’s a good girl. And that perhaps the operator of the previous daycare should rethink her profession.

Ruby napped, she laughed, she smiled, she danced. She did not cry for more than a few minutes in the morning after I left because she was given a bit of TLC to comfort her and make her feel loved and cared for.

I cannot tell you the huge sense of relief I felt upon hearing those words.

This officially confirms it – I am not the mother of a closet daycare demon, just a little girl who gets a little bit nervous when her mom leaves her with someone new in a unfamiliar place. And I'm pretty sure that’s fairly standard for a one year old.

As a result, today I didn’t cry at my desk for 3 hours in the morning. My shoulders do not ache. My head does not feel like it might explode. My eyes are not nearly swelled shut. My heart doesn’t feel like it has been ripped from my chest. I haven’t even contemplated telling my boss how I really feel about this job and just what she can do with it.

Today feels better.

My heart

The other night I was giving Ruby a bath and she fell and smashed her face on the side of the tub. She was hurt and very upset. Her mouth was bleeding and she even chipped her front tooth (which really sucks). I scooped her out of the tub and held her and tried to comfort her. She screamed and cried and freaked out. Then Steve walked in the room and she started kicking and hitting me to get away from me and get to him. He took her and she stopped crying.

Ouch.

After she settled down he handed her back to me and she started crying again and kicking to get away from me. She reached out to my mom. When my mom took her she stopped crying again. It made me feel really sad inside.

Then this morning she hurt her hand or something and I tried to hold her. She wanted nothing to do with me. She reached for Steve again and when he held her she stopped crying.

*sigh*

So you can imagine how I felt when I had to drop her off for her first day at her new daycare today and when she realized I was leaving she started crying and reached out to me...

And I had to turn my back on her and walk out the door.


Here’s my heart. I won’t be needing it anymore. It’s been ripped out of my chest and crushed and broken and shattered into a billion tiny little pieces.

Done

Ruby was officially done at the daycare yesterday at 8:45am. When I dropped her off she was clawing away from M. I don’t blame her. That woman is a bitch and I am seriously disappointed in how she handled things.

So I came to work, discussed the situation with my boss who told me, “Go get her. You don’t leave your kid with someone like that.”

I called ahead to let M know that I was coming to get Ruby and she wouldn’t be coming back and that I would like a refund for the remaining days of the month (she hesitated but agreed to refund me). When I got to M’s house 20 minutes later, she had Ruby’s bags packed and a cheque sitting by the door for me.

When I first got there she was holding Ruby on her hip. Ruby didn’t see me at first but I saw her. She had a blank, distant, sad stare on her face. THAT is not my daughter. She is happy and funny and giggly and smart. THAT broke my heart. I KNOW something is not right with the way M treated her.

And when we left and M was saying goodbye to Ruby, I swear to you Ruby glared at her. She would not smile whatsoever. She just glared. I’ve never seen her do that before.

And minutes after I got her in the car she was fast asleep - which broke my heart (again) because obviously just being there was taking a lot out of her.

My theory? Ruby had to get up early on the day she started daycare so she was probably tired to begin with. Then M refused to let her nap until the “scheduled” time at 11:30 – which she tells me is when all the kids nap for 2.5 hours (and she gets her precious break). I think Ruby was probably overtired by that point and couldn’t do much more than cry. I think that M didn’t appreciate Ruby cutting into her break and got frustrated and probably mean to her. (Yes, I do think she was mean). Ruby would pick up on this and it would upset her even more, perpetuating a bad mood into a bad situation.

And somewhere along the line one of the kids bit her hard enough to leave their dental impression on her leg for a week. That can’t have made Ruby feel great about the other kids. Also, M had no idea that this happened… which kinda bugs me.

After that, I’m sure Ruby was nervous and sensed the frustration with M. It just made things worse and worse and worse. Ruby didn’t like it there and she didn’t like M. And as far as I’m concerned M did nothing to make it better. As far as I’m concerned she didn’t do her job.

She even had the nerve to complain to me one day that Ruby had pooped 3 times. She was really annoyed by that.

I am so glad to have her out of there. I’ve got some help for the next few days from my mom and my girlfriend and Steve to take care of her while I search for someone to take her in January.

I just worry about finding another place. I worry about finding somewhere/someone good. Clearly I fucked up the first time. I don’t want to make the same mistake. I swear this woman came across as a very kind, loving, fun, compassionate caregiver – and I was so so so wrong about her. I am doubting my instincts now and haven’t started looking for a new place yet because I’m scare of putting her in the wrong place again. Especially on such short notice. I know though, that the longer I put it off, the harder it will get. I really have to get on it soon. There’s just so much stress weighing my heart and my brain down right now, I want to be feeling fresher and sharper before I go ahead with my new daycare search.

Struggle

So much going on right now. The stress level is somewhat “elevated”. I’m struggling. I’m overloaded. I’m pretty sure I’m depressed.

Work has pretty much smoothed out. Maybe too much. It’s gotten easy and I’m usually done “work” by noon, with nothing left to fill my afternoon. It drives me crazy. I’d like to be busy. Sitting here watching the clock tick is not my idea of a good time.

Ruby hates daycare. It’s been baaaad. And that makes me feel baaaaad. And if I’m going to be honest, I don’t like the way M (daycare lady) is handling it. When I picked Ruby up on Friday she said, “I hate to tell you this but today was the WORST day yet. Worse than her first day. And I am exhausted!” I picked up a hint of her being pissed off about it. She then went on to tell me that Ruby refuses to nap and it’s causing the other kids not to nap because she cries and wakes them up. She also told me that the other baby that’s there never cried and now that Ruby’s crying all the time she cries too. She also suggested that I haven’t socialized her enough around other kids because when the other kids go near her she cries. She said when she puts on music the other kids dance and Ruby cries.

I cannot help but to take this personally. I have done my best to be the best mother that I can possibly be. Ruby is obviously having a hard time adjusting to spending the day with strangers and I don’t know how I could have better prepared her for it. Should I have started dropping her off at the mall for a few hours each week and let her hang out there on her own??? You know, get her used to being in a strange place with strange people? She’s a fucking BABY for crying out loud! When do I leave my baby with strangers???

When I picked Ruby up on Friday she had dried snot on her face and when she saw me she started frantically signing “milk”. When I got her home I looked in her bag and I saw that the morning bottle that I send with her was still in there. She hadn’t been fed it. She has other smaller bottles there so I’m hoping she got one of those. But this morning I wasn’t going to take a chance so I fed her the bottle before we left. I mentioned this to M when we got there this morning and she got all defensive saying that she feeds her right away in the morning and her problem isn’t hunger. She “guarantees” it. I then mentioned to her that Ruby had a bite mark on her leg and that perhaps that’s why she cries when the other kids come near her. She got all defensive and said none of the kids that go there are biters… Maybe she fell on a toy. A horseshoe shaped toy the same size as a kid’s mouth with little notches all around it. Maybe they play with false teeth.

I also talked to her about Ruby having just spent the weekend around other kids and she was fine. She’s very social. She said that was just because I was there. Well, I was “there” but I wasn’t sitting beside her holding her hand. I was busy doing other things in the house.

She then went off about her university degree in child psychology and Ruby’s problem isn’t hunger or anything else other than she misses me during the day and can’t adjust to being around new people. Well then I wish she wouldn’t suggest that I didn’t socialize her properly or tell me how disruptive she is to the other kids or how “EXHAUSTED” she is after looking after Ruby all day. Because I pay her a LOT of money to do this job. And she has a “university degree”. And she’s done this for 8 years. So suck it up lady and help make my kid comfortable. And quit fucking making me feel bad! (or is that just me making myself feel bad?)

There has been a bunch of other stuff going on too. Like it was Ruby’s birthday on Sunday and we had a little birthday party for her. Steve’s family showed up two hours late. The rest of us tried to wait around to open gifts and have cake but in the end I said Fuck It and went ahead without them all. It was frustrating and put a gray cloud over the party.

And our fucked up, weirdo, asshole tenants moved out of our basement on Sunday morning as well. I’ve never been so happy to see the back end of someone. It was a super stressful morning though – particularly when Steve nearly came to blows with their “moving guys” (stoners with tattoos on their faces, reeking of pot). This also put a “tone” on our day. Not to mention the money we now need to spend to have the carpet professionally cleaned and Steve has to do some repairs to a broken door. I still don’t feel like the place is all mine yet. Renting out my basement was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made in a while.

And Christmas is creeping up and I haven’t been able to get stuff done. We don’t even have a tree yet. I haven’t done all my shopping. Thinking about it makes my head want to explode.

I guess everything else wouldn’t be such a big deal if everything was ok with Ruby. She’s my number one concern and it rips my heart out to know that she’s having a rough go of it. But put it all together and I’m fucking fucked. I just want to cry my eyes out. The past few nights I’ve done just that but not until Ruby’s gone to bed, the dishes are done, the house is clean, lunches are made, dinner for the next night is planned and a load of laundry is in the washer. Shit still has to get done.

I know there's bigger, badder worse things going on in the world but in my little world this shit is tearing me down.

Bullets

* Steve apparently spoke to his mother on Monday about her behavior on Saturday night. She says she didn't mean anything by the comment and it wasn't intended to hurt my feelings. She claims to have had no idea she did anything wrong. So typical. Steve told her that she really hurt my feelings - she doesn't understand why. I haven't heard word one from her since then. An apology? Not counting on it. Lift rug and sweep.

* Went for my beta yesterday morning. I wasn't sure how this thing works for regular folk - normally I would spend the afternoon with the phone attached to my hip, waiting for "the call" from "the clinic". So after hearing nothing I phoned my doctor's office and they told me that they don't give results over the phone and I needed to make an appointment to see the doctor to discuss the results. So I have an appointment for Friday. That seems like a long time to wait.

* Been experiencing the death hunger again. Not cool. Really hard to not gain a stack of weight when you feel like you might die from starvation every half an hour. I am thankful to not be as nauseous and sick as I was in the first tri with Ruby, but that sick, starving tummy is back. I almost threw up this morning from it.

* I got some healthy yet satisfying snacks on hand like low fat cottage cheese, hard boiled eggs, cereal and skim milk - so that when I get so hungry at least I've got something half assed healthy to snack on. And I've also decided to write down everything that I eat in hopes of keeping my food intake somewhat under control. Cuz you know that when I'm starving like that, it ain't for carrot sticks.

* Running has been really hard. I'm trying to stick to it (for the love of God, I'm only at 6 weeks!!!) but my endurance has really dropped in the past few days. It makes me frustrated and sad. I won't give up yet though. I'm hoping that if I stick to it, it will get better once the fatigue stage has passed.

* Ruby's been a bit difficult lately. She's really whiny and crying lots. It's hard right now because I feel like I haven't got the energy that I had a few weeks ago. I'm tired and blah and gross feeling. Some times when she's crying I cry too. I don't know what else to do. Some days I just can't seem to make her happy and it makes me feel like I'm not doing a good job as her mother right now. I can't help but wonder that if I was feeling better I would be able to handle her better.

* Steve's been totally kickass awesome lately. He's been helping out with Ruby a LOT. He doesn't have to be asked to change her diapers or help her when she's fussing. He lets me have a break when he's home. He's also been helping with dinner a lot. And the other day he even washed the floor... on his own... without being asked... Just awesome.

* Ruby is going to Grandma's house this weekend to give me a bit of a break. I am looking forward to going to the pub on Saturday afternoon and swilling a bunch of cold beers and eating chicken wings with blue cheese dip while watching the hockey game.

Oh... wait a minute... the above plan is currently under revision...

Ever have one of those days?

Yesterday was not one of our better days. Ruby was in a... mood. She was not into napping. Not into eating. Not into being nice. She was whiny and cranky and hard to please. It is these days that kill me. I cannot stand the sound of the whining. It makes me crazy. Literally.

She wouldn't nap so I had to take a shower while she was awake. In the 5 minutes that it took me to shower, she managed to unravel the toilet paper roll all over the floor and then pull back the shower curtain to get the floor and toilet paper all wet and soggy.

Also I'm dealing with getting our new tenants settled in. I'm not used to the extra noises in my house and am completely on edge. Plus they don't have a phone set up yet so they've been upstairs asking to borrow my phone to call the phone company.

Also my brother bought Steve's old car that we had sitting the driveway. Yesterday was the day he and his fiance came to pick it up. So there were issues around the insurance, transferring the ownership to him, yadda yadda yadda.

Yesterday was also the day I decided that I wanted needed a blackberry. I spent a good chunk of the morning on the phone with the phone company (Telus) trying to figure out the best plan, etc. (While juggling Ruby to keep her happy) Then I was to go to the Telus store in the afternoon to pick out and activate the new blackberry.

This is where it gets good.

I go to the Telus store with Ruby. I get there and plop her in her little stroller and head inside. I didn't bother to strap her in because I didn't think we'd be there long and it's a pain in the ass. (see where this is going?) But it turns out I was there longer than planned. Ruby was a little crank pot the whole time. Any toy I gave her to appease her was flung across the store. I was getting flustered trying to set up a new plan, pick out the right phone/blackberry, and then get it set up all while rocking the stroller, making goofy faces and sounds, and chasing after flung toys in the store.

I was almost in the home stretch and was just learning how to set it up to check my emails and I was not looking at Ruby in the stroller because, thankfully she was finally settled down and quiet.

And then I heard the SMACK and then the screeeeeeeaming. I turn to see my daughter sprawled on her back on the (tiled) floor of the Telus store. AND the place was busy. EVERYBODY turned to see me pick the screaming baby up off the floor.

The little shit had decided she didn't feel like being in the stroller anymore and squirmed out from between the seat and the tray. Not a big space but she managed. And then she flipped out onto the floor, banging her head.

Now, we have hardwood floors at home and Ruby is learning to crawl/pull-up/walk right now so let's just say that I've learned to distinguish the different degrees of crying to assess how bad the fall is.

This one wasn't the worst she'd experienced and I knew she would be fine.

But fuck if I didn't feel (and look) like an idiot.

Luckily some lady started making faces and talking to her so she calmed down enough so that I could finish what I was doing and hightail it out of there.

I then drove to pick Steve up from work. He wasn't ready yet so I sat in the back seat trying to entertain Ms. Grumpy Pants. The sun started shining in her eyes and it pissed her off so I held up my arm to block the sun. Damn if she didn't take her little E.T. finger and put it to my freshly tattooed wrist and DIG HER CLAWS into my scabbed arm. YOWCH!

Poor Steve was all excited about the new blackberry on the drive home and kept asking questions. Finally I said, "Could you just please not talk to me right now? I don't want to talk or listen to anybody's noise right now." Which set the tone for an edgy evening.

Later in the evening I happened to look in Ruby's mouth and what did I find there? I'll be damned if one of her top teeth hasn't finally, FINALLY cut through her gums.

Out comes the liquid baby Tempra.

Out comes the wine.

Both seemed to do a fine job of at least temporarily fixing some of our problems, sending Ruby into sleepy land and sending me into happy, warm buzz, relax on the couch land and later to sleepy land myself.

Today's to-do list:
Go to Pharmacy - need more Tempra.
Stop at liquor store on the way - need more wine!
(Also, learn to use this damn Blackberry!)

I need a pep talk!

Today I'm going out for a stagette. It's shaping up to be super fun - we're going on a professionally created scavenger hunt during the day, then appies and cocktails at a girlfriend's house, then a limo to a comedy dinner theatre, then limo back to girlfriends house for... more drinking and fun I suppose. The girls that are going are all really fun, lots of laughs and super easy to get along with.

And I so totally deserve a night out with the girls and a night off from housewife/mommy duties.

So why do I feel so nervous about it that I have been losing sleep and this morning woke up with some... "stomach issues"?

I'm nervous about the hangover that I will inevitably have. Yes, I know I am in control of this but anyone who's ever been out on a girls night with a bunch of fun loving, good time girls - knows how hard it can be to say no or to go too slow. I do plan on implementing some strategies to minimize the damage but the fact remains that even after a mellow night, I suffer. I know I will suffer tomorrow.

Along with that will come guilt. I'm so scared of the inevitable guilt. Does anyone else get this? Or I am the only mental case?

And there's the overnight thing. I HATE overnights. I'm contemplating coming home but I will need to take an expensive cab ride. And I will get ribbed from the girls. People don't get my thing with sleep overs and it's hard to explain to people.

And also - it's a LONG time to be away from my girl. I will worry about her. I *know* she'll be fine but I can't help but worry about her and miss her. God I will miss her.

But I'm going back to work in December and Ruby will be going to daycare 4 days a week. That's going to be a big shock to her (and me) and I have been trying to tell myself that she needs to start spending some time away from me and with other people - so she can cope better when daycare starts. So wouldn't this be a good start? Part of me says, yes. Definitely. Part of me says, who fucking cares - I want my baby!!!

How lame am I? The Tara of 5 years ago would roll her eyes at the Tara of today and then she would order another drink and shake her head in disgust.

No, I would NEVER, EVER want to go back to the Tara of 5 years ago, but I would really like to just go out and have a good time without all the fucking mental and emotional baggage.

I could sure use some encouragement and/or a pep talk. I know Saturday is a slow day for blogging but if you happen to come across this post I could sure use a shot in the arm.

The end of an era...

Yesterday I pumped for the final time at 3pm. And I cried myself to sleep last night. Not because of the discomfort of full, rock-hard breasts (that didn't really happen until about 3am). But because of the finality of all. And because there is something about watching my baby eagerly drink back a bottle of breastmilk that came straight from me, that makes me feel really close to her. Our own special little bond. I can't help but feel like formula is just "food", and my milk was more than that.

But like "Operation:Overnighter", just because it's difficult doesn't mean it's the wrong thing to do. Just because it's difficult doesn't mean that I should put it off. It's simply time. The toll that that pump is taking on my life and my family is something that I'm not willing to compromise with anymore. I know that weaning would be hard at ANY age. If I had $110 extra dollars I would go visit my therapist and I am quite certain she would confirm that I am doing the right thing and then she would give me a good dose of tough love and make me snap out of this guilt bullshit. But since I don't have the $110 dollars, I'm just going to have to fight the fight on my own (and perhaps with a little help from my dear internets).

I'm sure however, that a couple of days of being pump free will do wonders in the mood lifting department. In fact, it's not been 24 hours yet and although my chest feels like someone sewed two giant boulders under my skin and then held them over an open flame for a couple of hours, the break from pumping is already making me feel happier.

I've been giving Ruby supplemented formula feedings for a couple of days now and it's going well. We're up to 50/50 with no problems. (I still have plenty in the fridge and freezer if I need it). Her appetite seems to have changed a little though - she doesn't always finish her bottles and I wonder if that's because there's more calories in the formula and she gets fuller faster. I'd like to go with that train of thought instead of my Crazy Mommy Guilt train of thought which says she isn't finishing it (occasionally) because she doesn't like it.

My worries were somewhat abated by Steve last night. He fed her at 4am and through the baby monitor I could hear him softly chanting, "Rob-erts! Rob-erts! Rob-erts!" When he came out of her room with an empty bottle I anxiously asked, "Did she take it ok!? Did she finish the bottle?!!??"

He said, "Did she finish the bottle??? Tara, she chugged it!!! She's going to be a big hit one day at Spring Break!"

Quick Poll

Ruby is one week shy of being 6 months old. She's not yet had a night away from me.
(I think we've visited this one before, have we not???)

My mom has asked if she can take her overnight on Saturday night. I would drive Ruby there during the day and then go pick her up on Sunday.

Yes, I could use a night off. And Steve and I could use a night of just being together.

My mom is a good caregiver (as long as she doesn't allow my dad to influence her).

I know damn well that I will feel sick with worry and guilt and I will miss her like crazy if we do this. I can handle that if I think that it's the right thing to do. If I thought that I was benefiting her in some way I could deal with my own issues. I have already seen fear in her eyes when I hand her off to someone that isn't me or Steve and it breaks my heart.

My questions:

Is it too early?
Is she too young?
Could it really benefit her at this young age to spend some time away from me?
Will she miss me?

Should I do this????

Drained

I am feeling worn out lately and my mood sucks right now.

OK... The teething? It sucks. It sucks real bad. No teeth have actually pushed through yet and I just wish they would already. The poor little bugger just whines and whines and whines and I love her to death but the whining! It drives me! After hours of it, I just want to smash my head against the wall (that's MY head). And of course I feel bad for letting it get to me. She can't help it, poor little soul. She's obviously in some serious discomfort. And it doesn't seem to bother Steve nearly as much as me, which makes me look like an even bigger asshole.

And then there's the pumping. Fuck, I am getting tired of that shit. Especially lately since Ruby has been eating a lot more than usual. I am pumping, pumping, pumping and I sometimes just can't keep up with her (lucky the freezer is well stocked). And it DRAINS me. I feel like it's sucking the life out of me sometimes. It doesn't help that Steve's had the past week off work and we've been out and about, going here and there doing stuff. It's been really hard and sometimes really inconvenient. And I don't know if I'd ever mentioned it before but the actual action of pumping (and breastfeeding for that matter) gives me a really yucky, depressed, anxious feeling. It's never gone away (I thought it might with time). As soon as I'm done pumping the feeling goes away but just knowing how it's going to make me feel for that 15-20 minutes fills me with dread when I know I have to pump.

The thoughts of stopping pumping/breastfeeding make me feel really bad. I love that I am giving Ruby my breastmilk and she's done so well on it. And I like that I still have the option to breastfeed her whenever I need to - even though she's really ineffective at it. SOMETIMES it's comforting to her, and I know I always have that option to calm her when/if I need to. As for the other aspects of it - formula is expensive, and also it's giving me a little tiny bit of help with weight loss. The biggest factor - once it's gone, it's gone. I can't get it back. So quitting is a big decision. One that I need to think long and hard about. I'm not sure I'm ready yet, but damn it's tempting sometimes. It sure wears me down both physically and emotionally.

And speaking of weight loss, my diet has been suffering lately too. I'm trying to give myself a break because... I gained 68lbs with my pregnancy and I've lost 58lbs to date. I still have more than 10lbs to lose to be happy with myself (don't worry, I have it to lose), but obviously getting to my pre-pregnancy weight would be a huge accomplishment. The past few weeks though, my losses have been minuscule - which is very disheartening. And then with Steve on holidays this past week, well, I can rest assured any loss will be nonexistent this week. So I'm struggling a bit right now with motivation, and feeling crappy about that. Hey - not to mention that it's fucking hard to be on a diet/exercise program while taking care of a baby and a household.

I know I need to keep an eye on myself for PPD. I've done so well up to this point (Ruby will be 6 months old in a couple of weeks), but I know that if I don't take really good care of myself and my mood, I could easily be pulled under.

I wonder if when Steve goes back to work on Wednesday and I start getting back into a groove, if things will improve for me. I've loved having him home to help with Ruby and we've got to do some fun stuff together but maybe I need my routine back. I don't know. Maybe now that I've written about it, my issues will resolve themselves or I'll find the energy to pull my shit back together. It often seems to work that way.

Meltdown

Ruby had a meltdown today. A meltdown to top all meltdowns. And I feel like a bag of shit.

The day started out fine enough. My mom, Ruby and I went out shopping. We got Ruby a couple of cute new things to wear (she's outgrowing her clothes so fast) and my mom bought her a highchair! Yay! (Funny thing about the highchair, when we walked up to it - it had a tag on it that said "Ruby. $20 off". I think "Ruby" might have referred to the color scheme because it's red, but still we were pretty sure that this was a sign that it was OUR highchair.)

When we got home, my mom fed Ruby and we put the chair together. Steve came home and Ruby was sitting at the dinner table in her highchair, beaming as he walked in the door. She seems to love it.

And then a few minutes later she started to fuss. And then she started to cry. And arch her back. And then the screaming started. And the BAWLING. And the grunting. And the leg kicking. The sad, pitiful little face she was making. The quivering lip. The gasping for breath. The tears!!!

My god it was terrible.

She's had little crying jags like this before, but they're rare and usually I can fix it.

Steve tried first by holding her to his chest (which usually works) - she continued to freak.

I tried next by holding her close to my chest and rocking her, putting a blankie over her head to block out any stimulus (which usually works) - she continued to freak.

Soother? Nope.

Soother dipped in gripe water? Nope.

Nothing worked. And while my mothering style is usually very calm and laid back, after 10-15 minutes of Ruby losing her sweet baby mind, I started to feel a bit... panicked I guess. And in my panic, I gave her some baby Tylenol. I didn't know what else to do! And I thought she must be in pain if I couldn't console her (Ruby has NEVER been inconsolable before). She has been showing signs of teething lately and I wondered if maybe a tooth was finally breaking through her gums or something. Shortly after I administered the Tylenol, my mom asked if she could try calming her... She took Ruby in her arms and was able to rock her to sleep.

Which made me feel like a big fat fucking failure.

Not that I didn't appreciate my mom calming her down - I totally did, but I should have been able to do that. Because I'm her mom.

And I hated that my mom was here to see the whole meltdown anyways. Granted, if it had to be witnessed by someone then I'm glad it was my mom, but still it didn't feel good. Usually, I am a pro at all things Ruby. But for whatever reason, tonight was different. I couldn't fix her, but my mom could. I resorted to giving her medicine that maybe she didn't even need, because I didn't know what else to do.

To make it worse, my mom figured Ruby was just overtired and got herself so worked up that she couldn't calm down - which made me feel extra bad for giving her the Tylenol. I was sure she was in some sort of pain (she was ramming her fist into her mouth) - but if it was just over tiredness, I medicated her for no reason.

My mom has called me twice this evening to try to make me feel better. She said I handled it just fine and that perhaps Ruby was in pain and the Tylenol was justified. And even if she wasn't in pain, the Tylenol didn't hurt her and it probably helped to calm her down.

Maybe.

But I just don't feel good about the whole thing at all.

So I totally ate too much pizza for dinner and then a chocolate covered granola bar. Because I'm a comfort eater and I needed some pizza and chocolate comforting. Now I'm bothered that I fucked up my diet and I couldn't console my own kid.

Not one of my most shining evenings (although I'm sure there will be worse to come over the years).