Some things that I just don't understand

As the mother of a toddler and a nine month old (not an infant. not a toddler. what then?) I find myself confused most of the day (hell let’s throw nights in there too just for good measure). And I’ve found that three words pretty much sum up the whole of my day lately. I. Don’t. Understand.

Claire loves juice as I’m sure most toddlers do. Past the point of reason in my opinion but that’s another entry for another day. (Oh My. You know you need to get out when you could write an entire post on the all-consuming passionate love your toddler holds for her juice filled sippy. But alas that too is a post for another day.) But as much as she loves drinking the juice from her sippy she loves jamming the spout of the cup into the carpet more. WHY? It makes a huge mess. (You: that’s why) Every day we have this battle. And everyday we both lose. I don’t understand.

Lily. Lily HATES to do her business. After yesterday’s (You; HAH! Yesterday!) Right. And after last week’s post I’m going to go ahead and tone down the nasty talk. NO we’re not going to stop talking about it crazies. “Business” is a most repeated task her in the nasty house and as such I MUST DISCUSS. Anyway, so she hates it. And is surprisingly savy in her knowledge on the subject. She’s figured out that when she’s a little backed up a big ol bottle of formula usually does the trick. And so… drinking formula must be avoided at ALL costs. She’d rather starve. Starve and let us all know just how hungry she is, but won’t eat because it causes the YOU KNOW. I don’t understand. We’ve tried a couple different techniques, none of which are going to land us in Parenting magazine I’m pretty sure, but the most effective is prune juice in the applesauce. (Thank you dear Swistle for the juice idea. You are wise beyond your years.) And… once her business is complete she’ll take the bottle again. The fun with this game really is manifold. If it’s the middle of the night and she senses a business coming, It’s a big hell no for the 3am bottle. If we’re out somewhere and I didn’t think to pack solids… ahhh the fun continues. She’s done this since she was a wee little little and I thought she’d grow out of it. She hasn’t.

Okay, so I guess I can understand avoiding something that you HATE to do even though it’s good for you a little bit. But dang it POOP! You’ll feel better! We all will.

Le Sigh. And better.

Riight. So hello again. Where to even begin.

Things are better here. And when I say better I mean I haven't curled up in a ball and slept in the corner of the spare bedroom for months. Baby steps people. I cannot believe the force with which post-partum has absolutely turned my life upside down. I mean really. I always kind of figured that I'd struggle with it as I've battled depression/anxiety for most of my life but you know there are drugs and doctors and diet coke and chocolate therapy available now, so I didn't think it would be all THAT traumatic. I am a dumbass.

We're nine months out now and things are finally looking up. The meds I'm on work reasonably well and we'll keep tweaking them I'm sure for months, but I can now handle being in the same room with my toddler without bringing on a full-blown panic attack. And I'm even able to play with her. And like it. I know, rockstar.

But for months I have to say that wasn't possible and just the fact that I can look at my children without fear wrapping itself around my heart is a big step. I do wonder from time to time if I'll ever be the same again, but after having kids who is really?

And....

I have help. We hired an au-pair. I know. Say it out loud and let the implications just roll off your tongue. Showering every day. Exercise. Making dinner with an extra set of hands that are NOT trying to blow up the house by playing "chef" with the knobs on the stove. And I've started teaching again. I've taught violin lessons for years and years, but since moving to Virginee I'd kind of let it go. Now I teach for a couple hours (depending on the day) in the afternoon and am able to bring in a little extra flow in the process--along with doing something that I'm good at and love. It's a win. A really big one. I've also started playing more weddings and events. My last "gig" was at the Supreme Court and I played for four justices. Antonin Scalia even came over to flip through our music and chat. Bah!! You: yawn. Me: AWESOME!

Soooo.... lest we think that we're getting too fancy and out of touch with mothering not to worry. I was pooped on twice in the tub last week. That's right poo. Claire likes to tub with momma and apparently I am the nasty whisperer because OMG it keeps happening! In fact there's crap on my pants right now. (too much defecation talk?) Le Sigh. So yeah, life's kept on a rollin but it seems that we've found a way to make it manageable for our family. And I'm happy. And it's nice.

Intellectual Giantess

Because there's nothing new to watch on tv these days Due to my intense desire for continued learning I've found myself reading more than usual at night. And I'm actually a little surprised at my turn in literature preferences. I mean I consider myself a fairly learned individual. I have a degree from a decent university and studied history (silence Tessie!), Russian, and dance (useful!). I've played in a number of symphonies across the country and one in Europe. (Do you like the build up? The intense need to justify what's coming next?) So really it's not like I'm sitting around all day building Lego castles and banging together pots and pans. Oh wait. Anyway, I've always liked to read. I enjoy the classics but don't love them. I'm not giddy at the thought of 6.3 seconds to myself so that I can run to finish All Quiet on the Western Front (unless that's one of your favorites in which case... no. not even then). I did quite enjoy Anna Karenina (this version please) and Cyrano de Bergerac will always be a favorite (digressing) but I would be a big fat liar if I said that reading books that "will forever stand the test of time" keeps me up at night with a flashlight under the covers. (What you don't still do that?)

I've read a couple "recommended" books these past few weeks and after about a hundred pages was clawing at my eyeballs. Love in the Time of Cholera? Am I twelve? Do I just not get it? Do I have the attention span of a sea-monkey? I got half way through it and could.not.go.any.further. Cold Mountain. Same problem. I just read The Russian Concubine (loved Memoirs of a Geisha. thought hey! maybe same same? no. not maybe same same.). LAME. Lame. Lame. And more lame. Sometimes it feels that these authors are writing merely to put words on paper. Lots and lots of pretty words. Why say something in four lines when one can stretch it out into seventeen pages? Again. I'm twelve. And apparently I'm okay with it.

So I've discovered that some of my favorite reads of late are actually in the youth literature section. I know. Not one word.

I won't lie, I loved Harry Potter. Read em all. I love the Chronicles of Narnia series and Lord of the Rings (even before the movies. oooh!). These authors write the best stories. It's all about spinning a tale and taking you to another place (one where you actually want to be. none of this incest/opium/rape crap. not to say that I don't enjoy a good adult novel, but hell sometimes I read to get away from all the heavy heavy) .

And so here are my recommends. Two thumbs right on up. Read em to your kids/with your kids/under the covers by yourself at night.

- The Bayern Series and Princess Academy by Shannon Hale (I'm ordering Book of a Thousand Days tonight!) These are great great books for girls (maybe boys? maybe that's pushing it.).

- The Twilight Series by Stephanie Meyer (okay so this one comes with a disclaimer: while Hale's books are beautifully written and after reading Bayern you could easily talk about her use of imagery and prose and use all sorts of hoity-toity words to discuss your reading experience... Twilight not so much. but i couldn't put them down. (again twelve) but it was so fabulously deliciously fun that i don't even care.)

I'm starting The Uglies by Scott Westerfeld tonight. I'll let you know how it goes.

And now it's your turn. Spill it.

It's a small world post-partum style

What can I say, when it comes to blogging consistency I'm a rockstar. But enough about my failings. Let's talk about my trip to Disneyland shall we? Yeah, so my post-partum issues are not getting better (Despite the thousands of cookies I've eaten. I'm so confused.). I've seen two psychologists, my OB three times, two regular doctors, and have been waiting three weeks to see a psychiatrist. Which I love. Because really, if you've finally caved and decided that you need to see a psychiatrist chances are that you can wait three to six weeks right? Hence my trip to Disneyland. And let me tell you, if you ever want or need to feel sane there are few places on the planet that will bring you to that conclusion faster than... or maybe I just got a particularly awesome Disneyland. Hard to say.

A few things I've learned since my last post (Or, things I took away from the mental institution spa vacation):

1- A "six" on the homicidal feelings chart in group therapy from the woman sitting next to you will bring about more anxiety than say the person to the left of you who habitually steals people's shoes.

2- If you think it's hard to fall asleep at night when you're at home, it is even more difficult to do so when someone checks on you every fifteen minutes throughout the evening to make sure you have not been killed in your sleep. My reasons here are twofold. One "the check" involves the need to open the door, let in light, and shut it, which is obnoxious. And two because this has obviously been a problem in the past, and that's not a bedtime story I want to think about right before my attempt at shut-eye.

3- Psychiatrists (or at least mine) in the hospital don't believe in post-partum depression for women who had their babies a whole six months ago. It has to be something else. Something bigger. More permanent. Fixable? Doubtful.

4-Hovering while you pee is exercise.

5- The institution is not a relaxing get away for individuals who suffer from severe anxiety and/or panic.

6-If you can't laugh about the ridiculous you have bigger problems.

7- Individuals receiving treatment in the institution are some of the kindest and most non-judgemental people in all the world.

8- The state of our mental health system is so abominable that I cannot even find the right words.

And so I'm back. And I'd say none the wiser, but really I don't think that's true. I learned much during my short hospital stint. Mostly about compassion and kindness and the strength of the human spirit. But also about keeping a close eye on my shoes.

Day of Sharing

Today’s post could have been labeled a couple different ways. Neverending Boogers. Love in the Time of Boogers. Lord of the Boogers. You get the idea.

My babies have colds (Thank you sister-in-law for knowingly bringing your sick child to play. I think of you fondly at 2:30, 4:00, and 5:15 in the morning when I’m up with my screaming miserable congested coughing children.) And it’s FUN. I’m not sure who’s the most miserable. Claire with her drippy EH! Lily with her coughing and inability to sleep. Husband with the tearful phone calls. Or mom. Poor poor mom. Who yesterday got halfway to the grocery store before realizing that she WASN’T WEARING SHOES. And who today poured apple juice on her turkey sandwich instead of in the empty glass RIGHT NEXT TO IT. Nice.

The upside to the madness is that Claire seems to understand that I need a little extra TLC these days. She was ALL about sharing her binkie (can you say congestion yumminess!) and her sippy (same applies here) and her blankie today. When she’s tired or not feeling well or sad she’ll take the corner of her blanket and sniff it or rub it against her nose. For long periods. It’s not as weird as it sounds. And today while I was rocking her she held up the corner and pushed it into my nose. Again, not as weird as it sounds. But rather, sweet. Very sweet. Love in the Time of Boogers it is.

Breakfast Prayer

Dear God,

Please bless this food that it will provide me with strength. I'm grateful for it. And please bless that I might make it through this day with a semblance of my sanity intact. For it is only 9 in the morning and already I'm laughing at things that aren't funny.

Amen

Month 17--Claire

(Totally stole the idea from Dooce and am not even a little sorry.)

Dear Claire,

Sweetheart on October 31st you turned 17 months old. I cannot believe how fast it's gone. Really. You're such a little girl now. I look at you and wonder when you stopped being my little baby. Who are we kidding, you'll always be my baby. You're just getting so big.

This month you discovered your belly button. And mine. And dad's. And Lily's. You go for the button whenever possible. On whoever. You get so frustrated when you're wearing a onesie (It's cold. And it keeps you from exposing your navel. You may still be wearing them in high school. We'll talk about it later.) because it keeps you from sticking your finger in your favorite place. Sometimes you'll point to your ears when I ask you where they are and every once in a blue moon your toes. But your belly button? Gold every time.

You're still a little slow on the speech development which concerns your dad a bit but I know you'll start talking when you're ready. That's always how you've been. No prodding, cajoling, or bribing gets you any closer to doing things you're not ready to do. It's just how you are. Stubborn. In a way that only your father can understand. You remind me of him so much. You're so sweet natured, and for the most part even tempered (you're a toddler, let's keep it real), but when you set your mind to something. It's over. Until you say otherwise.

You have developed a somewhat questionable obsession with balls. You love them. Beyond all reason love them. And Elmo. When we go to the gym in the mornings you head straight for the ball section and stay there until I come to pick you up an hour later. We have about 900 in our house right now. You love to kick them and throw them and bounce on them and put them in buckets/tupperware/baskets/cupboards. You used to frustrate yourself beyond reason trying to pick up more tennis balls than your little arms could carry. We got you a ball bucket and now you can walk around with at least ten. This appeases you. You'll share all of your toys with any friend who comes over to play, except your balls. Let's not get stupid.

You have a little crush on Elmo and as such we hear him singing on our tv for at least an hour every day. You like to sit in your Elmo chair holding your Elmo balls and your blankie while we watch him on the screen. He loves you. And you love him.

You also so incredibly sweet with your baby sister. You really love her. When she first arrived you weren't quite sure what to think and I'm pretty sure it was a little hard to start sharing the attention, but you're over that now and so gentle with baby sis. You give her loves all the time. Gently you'll lower your head to hers for cuddles and often I find you looking at her when you play to see if she's watching. You give her kisses whenever she's on your level. You also like to steal her binkie as we are trying to wean you off of yours. Smart girl.

You blow kisses to whoever stays downstairs with Lily as you are being carried off to bed. You giggle non-stop and have the cheesiest grin I've ever seen. Your curls flip over your ears and you love to wear your crown. Dr. Seuss is your favorite, especially the ABC and One Fish, Two Fish books. You love to bounce. Your adore your father. You want your mom when you're hurt. You still think peek-a-boo's the greatest game ever and if given the chance you'd adopt the dog next door in an instant.

We love you so much. Everyone loves you so much. You are everything that is good in this world and your dad and I constantly marvel at how incredibly lucky we are to have you in our lives. You are joy to us.

Love,

Momma