Brighter and Brighter

It seems appropriate to do a January 1st blog since my last post was a whole year ago.  I was correct in seeing a brighter 2015, and its gotten better since this Christmas was the first one that was thoroughly enjoyable.  The kids are not babies anymore and I am relieved.  (Understatement of 2015)

I want to focus on the topic of depression and anxiety as a parent. I’ve learned even more about myself in hindsight, looking over my past posts, talking to friends, and I’ve finally accepted the fact that depression in my case is partially chemical.  The melancholy, the tears, and the excessive need for sleep (more than the typical parent) has shown me that the last four years did not have to be so desperately hard.  I stand by the fact that the kids were challenging babies, but my inability to bounce back was the factor that kept me drowning.  I encourage any momma with a history of anxiety or depression to consider medication, even if you have never taken it before.  That being said, I’m on a very low dose of a anti-depressant and it makes a huge difference in my ability to get perspective.  And sometimes that’s all you need in stressful situations is some accurate perspective on what’s true.

I think growing up in the church has been a factor in keeping me from seeking medication.  Plus my own personality of course! For a long time, I believed if I could just “do it right” and be a good christian–to trust God fully–I wouldn’t feel so awful.  I could be a better person–a better mom–a better wife.  If only.  Now, that being said, I also believe nothing is too big for God to heal, and this includes any form of mental illness.  But I also know that God has allowed Satan’s dominion on this earth to throw a wrench in the works of God’s grace. We are born in a broken world as broken people.  The lie is that we believe we can “do it right”, but we will never “arrive”.  Not until we meet Jesus in the next life.  All we can do is pray that God transforms us into his likeness, as close as our imperfections will allow.  Every day, over and over.  For me, its a daily choice deciding who will be glorified on this day.  In this moment and in the next.  And when you’re drowning so often, you can’t see what God is showing you, it might be time for some help–prayer, counseling, medication, whatever.  The lie that God is judging your imperfection creates a gulf between you and God that Jesus already bridged.  That’s a big lie you don’t have to live in.

From my perspective, the church is slowly becoming more accepting of medication for mild mental illness.  But I do understand the hesitation as medication is overused or abused in other situations.  That’s an entirely different topic.  I just hope I can encourage others to be ok asking for help.  Its ok! 

As for 2016, I expect big things.  Vi is starting kindergarten in the fall and I cannot believe it.  Malcolm is hilarious and fun.  Our little family is such a HUGE blessing and I’m thankful! The kids are close friends and we are sooooo rich in the stuff that matters.  Cheers to 2016!

2015 looking bright

It was this time last year I was telling 2013 it can eff off. Pardon the language, but that is simply where I was at. And Eric too.
Malcolm’s entrance into the world was an amazing experience and it rocked our world every since…good and bad. I’d like to say that 2014 proved better, but…no. It was just awfully hard.
But as I watch Malcolm play and laugh and giggle and yell “yaaay!” every time he builds a tower, my heart is so full it could burst. It took a year and a half until I can officially say that I don’t feel like I’m drowning, and that feels really great. The only unfortunate side of this positive turn of events is that it makes me open to having more babies. But now that we’ve made the permanent choice of stopping, there’s little I can do but wait for those moments to pass. Nevertheless, 2015 is starting out very different than it’s predecessor and I welcome it with all my heart.
Cheers!  

Some Refreshing Perspective

Not sure where to start, as it has been many moons since my last post.  I think the majority of my posts have been centered on accepting the normality of an unhappy baby.  The unhappy baby has since turned into a cuddly, silly, adorable, yet temperamental toddler.  Eric and I are grateful that he has evened out, although often it feels as if we haven’t achieved “normalcy”.  I know, I know, what’s “normal”, right?  I guess having a kid like Malcolm is like having a kid that acts like he’s teething most days–resists sleep, very sensitive, volatile even.  He is old enough to “discipline” in the most rudimentary ways which was helping me feel like I had some control, but there were times he could not breath without screaming, and during those times, I felt completely alone and depressed.

In fact, I got really depressed for a few weeks in October leading up to our big San Diego trip.  I wasn’t sure why at first since nothing had technically changed.  But after some reflection, it was clear that the reason I didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning for a month was how utterly powerless I felt in my own home at the mercy of a very emotional kid.  And a sassy preschooler on top of that when the mood struck her.  And the results of it were super ugly.  I was angry and nasty to my kids and I hated myself for it.  I’ve never really had much “mom guilt” in the past.  I have always been honest about how tough it is raising little kids and I’m doing the best I can at meeting their needs.  Then all of a sudden the ugliest parts of me are being spewed all over my children and it wasn’t pretty.  I was officially entering “bad mom” territory and to make it worse, I was medicating with food and alcohol.

Earlier this year I lost nearly 20 pounds, and now I have gained it all back, and then some.  The scale continued to climb along with my anger and depression.  I would wake up ungodly early with my kids and have no pants that fit me, even the new ones I recently bought in a larger size would not even zip.  Afternoons were the hardest, as Mal would cry from the moment he got up from his nap to dinner time.  I would throw back a few glasses of wine to ease the afternoon, but it just stuffed down my anxiety for the moment.

The trip to see my sister was a nice change for us and provided some refreshing distance from the daily grind.  Now that I know the source of my anxiety (lack of control), it has been easier to tackle.  Prayer is frequent, food and drink less frequent, and I am down four pounds in the last week.  Because of God’s provision with our housing, I can afford a gym membership along with childcare, which has been a priceless gift.  For the first time in months, I want to be with my kids instead of trying to run from everything or completely check out.  Malcolm has been having a great week, which helps, but I also think my renewed perspective has made things a bit brighter too.  I’m hoping I can seek God first instead of running from difficulty and I know that will be a lifelong challenge.  For now, this is a great Christmas gift and I’m looking forward to the coming months.

Non medicated

Hey all, I am non medicated.  You know, with things you need an RX for.  Its been a roller-coaster day and its really ok because I do miss feeling things.  My friend Roxy came over with her kids, and she was here a mere five minutes before I burst into tears in front of her for the first time.  And its ok.  

Eric and I went back to the Marine Corps Museum last weekend and I was surprised to find I was extremely moved.  And it felt great!  I have since had a dream about being in boot camp and it has stayed with me.  Of course I called my marine corps sister and we bonded.

I started on Zoloft when Malcolm weaned himself at 10 months.  It was devastating…beyond words.  So I’ll leave it at that.  I’m so very thankful to have been on it for a few months when I needed it, but things have become more manageable in comparison.  I am in love with this silly little boy that makes me crazy and I am convinced once again why they make babies so darn cute.  Lucky for him.

 

What a year

Malcolm is turning one tomorrow.  Wow.  Wow wow wow.  Our mantra for the past year has been, “Just get through the first year, get through the first year…”.  And here we are.

Yes, things are better.  He is better, we are better.  The mantra has proven useful.  At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, being medicated has helped.  A bunch.

It turns out that Malcolm’s nursing strike was not a strike at all, but yet another big fat middle finger to my expectations and sanity.  The weeks following his supposed “strike” was an anxiety ridden cluster%$#@ of screaming, by both him and me.  How do I feed an infant who has rejected his primary source of his nutrition?  A child who doesn’t crawl, feed himself, or take in hydration of any sort.  You can imagine.

Today I can say that he is on his way to crawling and also drinks from a sippy cup.  Thank God.  And he has the most infectious sweet little smile.  And even though he is often a punk, I still wonder what I would do without that smile, those cankles, and his belly laugh.  The paradox of feeling at the end of myself one moment, then the next moment feeling like my heart is so full it might burst.  Its bizarre.  And lovely.  I look forward to the next year with my littles.

 

Life Settling

Its been sixteen days since I cried and for someone who knows me, that would sounds unusual.  After Malcolm suddenly stopped nursing right before he turned ten months old, I think that finally broke me. In my last blog I tried to convey the feelings of rejection and despair I felt, trying to pacify an infant that seemed to now hate everything.  He resisted every other means of hydration, and continues to get virtually all his hydration from baby purees.

I decided to start taking an anti-depression/anxiety medication to see if it could help me manage my days better and I think it has.  Although I feel more even-keeled, it also feels like I’m more two-dimensional.  Lately I don’t really miss the three-dimensional depth of feeling, as it was mostly negative.  I don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed of being on medication, but I plan to stop as soon as things even out around here.

We had a good week.  Nothing seemed too overwhelming and I think we have adjusted to the new normal around here, as well as Malcolm’s new feeding pattern.  He still does not get any formula or breast milk, but I plan to try and get him some home-made formula in small quantities when he’ll tolerate it.  He eats constantly, so I just try to keep up with it and try not to let him get constipated.  My milk supply is now gone and I feel the familiar tug in my gut that aches for the connection he and I had, but its like I can’t access that part of myself fully anymore.  Crying was always so cathartic for me, but for now I suppose it will have to wait until life settles.

 

Nursing Strike

Its hard to sum up what has unfolded the past week since Malcolm began a nursing strike.  I’m not in the mood to detail the whole situation, as I am exhausted in more ways than I thought possible, and I’d like to go to bed. In short, Malcolm hasn’t nursed in five days and does not take a bottle, drink from a sippy cup, and resists open cup feeding and syringe feeding.  The only hydration he gets is from watered down purees and the occasional forced teaspoon syringe feeding.  He’s not sick.  He is just going through something that I hope will pass and happens to some kids around his age.

Its difficult to describe how I’m feeling in words.  Anxious. Devastated.  I never thought I’d feel “devastated” by something like this, but its like I’m looking at my baby through a glass window and watching him scream and cry and I can’t help him.  Except there’s no glass.  He is in my arms and still crying.  And he wants nothing to do with me.

I spend all day trying to give him some solid food, but terrified of constipating him. Trying to give him watered down purees but it doesn’t seem to be enough.  I feel like most things Eric and I have done since he was born for hasn’t quite been enough, and that has been difficult by itself.  One of the only things he liked was nursing.  I’m considering seeing a doctor about anti-anxiety medication, or something that can help me manage better.  After ten months, this has finally broken me.  

He’s too little to wean yet, and at the very least his hydration is minimal. I feel devastated not only because of his rejection of me, but that was our quiet, bonding time.  No screaming, no carrying around a 20 lb baby until my back ached.  Just quiet time to be together and I would know his tummy was full.  And now I don’t know.  Our pediatrician is keeping close tabs for the next few days, but we are all just waiting to see if he will change his mind and start nursing again.  Meanwhile, my milk supply is drastically reduced and I don’t know how much longer it will keep up.  

The past few days I feel like I’m unraveling. Like my insides are being twisted and wrenched every time Malcolm looks at me and screams, like he needs something I’m withholding.  Its the worst feeling.

 

Creating a story at home

As I nursed Malcolm last night, some thoughts had occurred to me concerning my path in life as an artist and how my focus has shifted since having my kids.  After Vi was born, I had a very hard time accepting this new roll as a stay at home mom and I ached to work.  My last contract as a designer was a gig in Maryland as a props designer for a college producion when Viola was arounf six months old.  Aside from a social media marketing job part part time, of which I was laid off, I haven’t formally worked in theatre for two years.  After Malcolm was born I was so relieved to be unencumbered by a job, no matter how part time, because such an endeavor would have been impossible.

Why do we work?  For a time I realized it helped fulfill my identity and worth. After Vi was born, I struggled to find my footing as a mom and a woman outside the realm of my skill set.  It was hard.  After Malcolm was born, I barely gave working a second thought. as I did not have the luxury of time to think about it. Plus, I had become accustomed to my identity as a mom. 

So as I nursed my nine month old last night, I thought, “What would I do if I was free to work now?”  I would likely try to find a scenic painting contract with a local theatre company that at least paid, leaving my scenic design and stage management training in the dust.  Scenic design wasn’t feasible any longer, as I don’t have a decent autoCAD program or the finances to market myself as a scenic designer.  And Stage Management isn’t appealing once you have a family.  Period.  

Having two little kids less than two years apart has been hard and Malcolm has his high-maintenance issues.  But even so, there is something to be said for home-making.  Not “being-a-home-maker”–that makes me think of 50’s women massaging their man’s feet after work in full make-up while the pot roast cooks in the oven.  But we as moms are the ones defining home life, aren’t we?  That’s why we work–to come HOME.  I feel I am apart of the very crux of why we do what we do every day.

Someday I might pick up a scenic painting contract.  Because I love telling a story and being a part of a shared experience.  For now, I can plan painting projects in my home and help create the story that really matters, even if that means less sleep and seemingly mundane tasks.  But I am glad to know that working is simplya means to the end I get to live in every day.  And that is encouraging.

Hiding upstairs

…is what I’m doing right now. I just put Malcolm to bed at 5:45pm, and I’m pretending that I don’t need to go downstairs and function. I’ll write a blog…yeah. That’s it.

I wish I could say that I’m doing better at “being present” and accepting things, but its slow going. Today was a snow day so Eric was home and Malcolm was having a hard time. Teeth/cold/angry at the world, whatever. Although it was nice having Eric home, the day was an uphill climb… putting out fires with Malcolm, trying to get things done. I still don’t really see Eric all day since one if us has a kid, and I feel like all I say is “no” to Vi all day and then ignore her to try and calm Malcolm down. I miss her. How can I miss a child I spend the whole day with?

He was doing so much better until recently and I know it will pass.

Lately Malcolm is bordering on inconsolable on a bad day. And I know I should be sympathetic to him and whatever is going on, but after awhile it gets old. He gets himself so wound up, he wont nurse or eat. I’m not worried about him, that’s just how he manages his stress, and it will pass.

I have a great support system of moms in the area and I am so grateful. I think this experience will help me encourage other moms in the future. I get great encouragement like:”You’re a good mom.” I think that’s always good to hear. The funny thing is is I don’t feel like a bad mom. I mean, occasionally I’ll say something OUT LOUD that isn’t what a “good mom” might say, but my kids won’t likely hold it against me! Another one is, “its ok to feel this way (frustrated, angry, whatever)”. I don’t feel guilty when I’m angry with a situation. I hope I wont react badly, but Im pretty comfortable with my emotions. “Its not forever.” I know. But it sure feels like forever.

I think I’m ready to go downstairs and detox.

There’s no fix to difficult situations besides prayer and more prayer. And maybe a good friend to hold me while I cry and hand me a martini. Cheers.

Being Present

I’ve been writing blogs in my head for the past few months, thinking “Yes, this would make a good blog entry.  This is right where I’m at.” Then, alas, nothing is written for obvious life reasons.  Most of them revolve around a general desperation since Malcolm was born.  Its not overly dramatic at all, its just the right word for it.

One of the imaginary blogs would have been about a man who bought me a chik-fil-a gift card.  He was a stranger who happened to hop right out of his car in the parking lot, just to open the door for me to get into the place.  I must have looked desperate and cold, but that doesn’t typically prompt others to help me, so I was very grateful for his help, having two kids in tow.  Little did he know that I had a newly purchased bottle of wine in the stroller basket.  That’s the kind of day I was having.  Nevertheless, we were going to amuse ourselves at chik-fil-a and get through to naptime, even though it wasn’t in the budget.  Neither was the wine.  As I was hauling everyone to the bathroom, an employee approached us and handed over a gift card, saying the man outside bought it for me.  It was for $20.  I cried in the bathroom.  Yes, the card was great, but what made the difference to me was that this man “saw” me.  I remember seeing tired moms at the grocery store with their children and thinking nothing of it.  They do this everyday.  Now, I see that even getting in and out of a doorway can be quite an endeavor, and I want to hand the frazzled mom a cup of coffee and give her a hug and walk away.  This man saw me and I cried, because everyday can feel like a marathon that I haven’t had enough sleep to train for.

Most of the other imaginary blogs sounded like a broken record: “This is hard.  This sucks.  Help me.  HELP…HELP…”  I was even annoying myself with the pleading in my head.  But there have been some positive things that have happened recently.  I decided to stop medicating with food and get an accountability partner.  We have been talking about how to crave God instead of food.  I’ve lost over 13 lbs since late December and I hope to lose 25 lbs total.  I’ll keep you posted.

Last week I had a MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) meeting.  I absolutely love these meetings because I get to have a couple hours, kid-free and drink coffee and hang out with adults.  Its about the little things.  I put Malcolm in childcare this semester, so I was pretty stoked that I didn’t have to wear my 18 lb infant on my person this time.  Long story short (too late?), Malcolm wouldn’t nap unless I held him, and wouldn’t transfer so I could have a few moments peace.  I ended up with my head in my hands in the hallway, with angry tears saying things like, “I’m tired of doing this SHIT everyday,” to a MOPS mom who happened upon me in the hallway. Followed by, “I will NOT cherish these moments,” and “This is not beautiful and wonderful all the time!!!”, and “I WILL NOT miss this!”

Lucky her.

I did end up getting to hear the speaker and cram a donut in my face out of frustration (I told my accountability partner) before needing to rescue Malcolm from the nursery, so it wasn’t a complete waste, but I was upset.  I had the expectation that I would get a couple hours to myself.  I DESERVE a couple hours.

Now here’s what has happened since.

Three people in my (and Eric’s) experience have died within one week.  All of them were in their early thirties, dying of freak ailments that don’t normally afflict thirty year olds.  They weren’t extremely close friends, but their passing was a jolt to us as a part of their respective communities.

Second, I have realized my expectation for Malcolm is that he be someone different.  He “should” be X. Y, or Z.  He should sleep, he should be content, he he should blah blah blah.  I feel like the root of most disappointment is unmet expectation.  But for me as a parent, isn’t it all about comparison?  Why do I think he should be  certain way?  It’s because Sally Shmoe’s kid is sleeping better.

Lie Number One:

“My kid isn’t this way because of ME.  Its someting I DID.  Its something I’m NOT DOING.”

Okay, lets stop right there.  Parents, I’m talking to you. This is the point where I tell you my realization… and the cheesy music plays.  Like at the end of Full House.  Here’s my journey:

“Malcolm is my son.  He is exactly the way he’s supposed to be.  It is not about me.  It is about him.  And I will celebrate what that looks like.”

(Cue cheesy music)

Okay, this difficult infant thing is not new to me.  This is number two of two discontented infant, but Malcolm has come a long way.  He sits in a stroller (or carseat) now without screaming the WHOLE time, he likes daddy, he eats solids.  When things are good, they’re AMAZING.  It feels like a commercial.  Malcolm is adorably cooing while chewing on blocks while Eric teaches Vi the difference between a Dimetrodon and a Spinosauraus while I bake bread from scratch.  Its so perfect, it is almost nauseating.  The next moment Eric and I are wondering why we didn’t get a vasectomy sooner.

My point is that I’m learning how to view Malcolm with a different lense: as a person.  As an individual.  As my son.  If I continue to see him as an unmet expectation, what kind of future will he have, him feeling not good enough?  I don’t want to find out.

Things are better.  Things are good a lot of the time.  I hope to continue to learn the things I need to learn to be present for my kids.  Its really hard some days, but that’s my job, and I love having that opportunity.

(Cue cheesy music)