Six and a half weeks hasn't made a dent in the past sixteen months. With every year and every pregnancy my body breaks down a little more. First it was the Hashimotos, then the betrayal began and before I knew it I was dealing with full blown hypothyroidism, weight gain, hair loss, and the ever present depression. Add two more back-to-back pregnancies and it's gotten completely out of control. The downward spiral has begun and even the medications can't keep it at bay. Chalk it up to faulty genetics. Ironic because apparantly not a single soul on either side has or is suffering from anything remotely close to what's ravaging my body. Tired from all the bullshit, I did some searching and found that the medications I take actually lessen each others effects. What? All this time has gone by and no one, I mean no one picked up on this small, tiny, minute, little fact. Not the OB, not the endocrinologist, not the psychiatrist, not the pharmicist. NO ONE! A bizillion copays later, I would have been better off lighting myself on fire. Annoyed? Why yes, but since my emotions are getting the best of me I would say pretty damn pissed is an understatement. Feeling like I've been run over by a bus every. single. day. for the past sixteen months has taken its toll on my body and has cost me my sanity. The damage has been done so now the question remains, can it be fixed?
lunes, 26 de marzo de 2007
A minute and a half after number 1 and 2 walked in the door from school I felt the urge to wrap them in duct tape and throw them in the basement. It started with a fight over who got to use the bathroom first, nevermind that we have 3 of them, because apparantly they 'forget' to pee at school so by the time they get home their bladders are filled way past capacity and are about to externally combust. Then it was on to who got to get a snack first and while they were caught up in the throws of arguing, number 3 decided to seize the opportunity and help herself to the box of Girl Scout cookies that were left within her reach. While I was sweeping the crumbs under the rug, number 2 tried to be sneaky and grab 4 cookies for her snack. Little did she realize that my mom radar was in full swing, despite not having slept longer than 4 hours the night before. I nicely asked her when I have ever allowed her to have 4 cookies and the dam broke loose. She cried returning her cookies to the pantry and she cried and she cried and she cried. I was about to get out the bag of cotton balls and shove them in her tear ducts when miraculously she stopped. Oh wait, then she started again. Her wailing was followed by sprouts incessant screaming at having been woken up, then by number 3's tears because number 1 snatched her toy. After number 1 was reprimanded, he too started with the water works. And where was the hubster? Why, at the dentist getting 3 teeth ripped from his jaws. What I wouldn't give to have my pearly whites yanked at this moment...anything to get me away from this madness.
Publicado por Nomad en 14:11
Knowing that there's an end in sight regulates the rational side of my brain and allows me to cope. The irrational side wonders what the hell happened and how much longer it'll be till I crash. Sleep balances out my emotions, yes i have those as hard as it is to believe, and without it I'm a walking zombie that couldn't give two shits about anything. When you have an infant, your name automatically gets markered in on the sleep deprivation list, where it remains for a long, long, long time. A time in your life where you feel completely and utterly detached from the outside world and from yourself. Some are happy to journey down the path if it means being able to hold your child in your arms and some are reluctant because it wasn't in their life plan. Me, I was clubbed over the head and as we speak am being dragged down that long and winding road of insanity. Life is unexpected and it's sometimes hard to grapple with the hand you are dealt but we must believe that everything happens for a reason even if its out of focus now. Your feelings endure a maze of mixed emotions but your love never falters, it's unwavering presence is your saving grace.
Publicado por Nomad en 13:40
domingo, 25 de marzo de 2007
It's no secret that frilly pink tutus and ballerina slippers have never been my thing. I'd be much happier shoveling horse shit or looking for bugs under boulders but when you have girls, well, you must adapt. Note: I did not say become comfortable with the idea of playing dress up or sipping tea with a dozen stuffed animals in a chair sized to hold only one of your ass cheeks because I don't believe that one could ever really enjoy this sort of stuff. The sight of a tiny porcelin tea set is enough to send my body into convulsions, foaming mouth and all so when sprout was born first thing I did was check out the goods to confirm that there really was an end to pink polish in sight. Hanging up those dance shoes never sounded so good until I remembered that I now had to deal with boy parts again. Today I have changed no less than 20 diapers and atleast 5 outfits due to the sprout's garden hose having a mind of its own. I've been peed on, the hubster has been peed on, and he's peed himself and all in one diaper change. Clearly the tea parties aren't looking quite so bad.
Publicado por Nomad en 16:20
jueves, 22 de marzo de 2007
Having children is an eye opener for most people, how could it not be? Your world turns completely upside down and the you you thought you knew isn't so you anymore. You spend your time mulling over brands of diapers, as if using one over another will improve your child's odds of one day becoming the President. You follow your pediatrician's recommendations to a 'T', never allowing yourself to think otherwise for the freak chance that putting the baby to sleep on its belly will somehow affect its brain pattern and re-wire them homosexual. Parenting is all about a child's needs, a novel idea, and way less about the parents wants. Gone are the days of alone time. Nowadays the minutes are spent with a toddler tugging on your pants, a baby in your arms, and trying to remember first grade math. When you're out in public, people don't see you, they see your children, which is why investing yourself in your children is key. A little selfishness goes a long way and eventually your shadow will dissipate and you will become you again but only after your children become themselves first.
Publicado por Nomad en 6:06
miércoles, 21 de marzo de 2007
Maybe both in this case. We have pretty much kept the sprout's existence under wraps these past five weeks mainly because there hasn't been anything good to report. Who really wants to listen to the sob story of sleep deprivation and cranky babies? I, for sure, would rather not so sprout's status has pretty much remained a mystery, well until now. For the first few weeks of his life the sprout would eat, sleep, and poop, much like any other newborn. Then came the backup, literally, and he became unbearable until he was able to relieve himself which only occurred after a gallon of prune juice and the handy thermometer. At that point I knew from experience that the formula sprout was using was causing the stop up so we switched to soy, which all three beanz had been on as well. Why didn't we use soy from the beginning? Simply because my mommy brain wasn't functioning properly and I let the hospital pediatrician dictate what was best for my sprout full well knowing the history of the other beanz. A few days later and all systems at full steam we realized we had a plain old fussy baby on our hands. Not sure how that was possible since the others were so well, good, compared to the raging beast in the bouncy seat. He would grumble and fuss while he was awake, eating, or sleeping and nothing soothed him for more than 5 minutes. Again, the mommy cap went on and I concluded that it must be the brand of formula so we switched again to the much more expensive brand, a liquid gold of sorts and after a few days and more dollars spent there was no change. My sleep deprived body was doing just enough to function and I gave in to the theory of a colicky baby. Hubster and I would brainstorm and we couldn't come up with anything. Finally a few days ago when I was on the brink of a meltdown I thought to myself, "what did I do so differently with the other beanz that I haven't done with sprout"? and immediately the clouds opened up and the light shone down and I knew. By jove, I knew! You see, in the past we used the same kind of bottles for all of the beanz but this time around I was tired of listening to the hubster complain about what a pain the liners were to use and how he wanted just regular bottles so I veared and purchased a different kind. The kind with no liners and a plethora of air. The same kind of air that sits inside the tummy of babies and causes them such uncomfortable pain in that they are unable to do anything without fussing. So, being that poopie is still on the bottle, with the liners I might add, I borrowed one of hers to test out my theory and good Lord I was right! Five weeks of hell all because of a damn bottle. Who would've thunk? I guess now sprout can no longer go by the moniker of "Captain shitty pants".
Publicado por Nomad en 10:29
martes, 20 de marzo de 2007
After taking some time off from blogging and much thought, I have decided to continue writing. Blogging gave me an outlet to vent and sharing is what gets me through most days, besides the hubster is tired of hearing me whine so what better place to air my dirty laundry, right?
Publicado por Nomad en 11:47