Saturday, April 30, 2011

I think it's working

I think that the crap I am taking to combat my shitty mood disorder is actually working!

I went back to the Doctor after my last little crash when he told me that my blood work doesn't show anything REALLY wrong with me I nearly collapsed because I just cannot seem to kick this depression in any significant way even though I am always on some kind of (expensive and uninsured) medication. 

He suggested two things.  I try to limit my processed foods because there is some kind of link between people who eat crap all day and people who are insane (not the medical terminology he used) and add Abilify to the crap meds I am already taking.

The things a girl will do to feel normal...
I objected, of course.  I LOVE ME some easy frozen dinners and lunch meat, but he insisted.  Plus, he told me that sometimes adding Abilify to a drug that isn't really effective creates a reaction that makes it work better.  And I told him that since that he didn't tell me I needed to exercise more, I was on board. 

Two weeks later and I feel like my mind is clear for the first time since I had Lila.  HOLY SHIT.  This must be how normal people feel.  I even tried to take a little nap yesterday and wasn't tired at all!

Of course, this is opening up a huge rift inside me that I have done a fantastic job of denying until now.  My relationship is a mess, and I am starting to see that my anger may not be a side effect of the depression after all.  I think that my depression comes from me numbing my negative feelings and allowing them to fester. 

A part of me is worried about what this is going to mean to the state of my family.  Luckily I have a therapist who can hopefully help me to work all this out and not allow me to make any decisions until I am sure that I know what the hell is going on.

It feels good to be free!

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Its' a "Fuck You" Friday!

There are no where near enough angry link ups out there. 

I am not going to sit here and pretend I have any idea how to do a link up or whatever, but I highly recommend that on Fridays, you take about 5 minutes and scroll a little note about something that happened this week and say to it "Fuck you...I'm on to my weekend."  I also want to say that I KNOW it's Thursday. But I really hope that you guys will join in because it's nothing if not totally liberating!  And if you want to leave a link to your blog saying that you did it (or are going to do it) in the comments section, please do.  OR do it on facebook. 

Fuck You Fridays photo courtesy of Johnny Cash.

Today's Fuck You Friday has to do with an old boyfriend turned buddy who I gave up on as a human being this past week.

Joe was one of those guys who I fell in love with when I was like 13 years old even though he was like 18 at the time.  He ignored me back then but as soon as I turned 18 we got together and did that whole "You're my soul mate" thing until he finally told me like 5 months later that: a) he had an 18 month old son by his last girlfriend and b) that he was going to go back to her so I should forget he ever existed.

Now, at 18 I am pretty stupid. I admit as much.  I would say that emotionally I definitely rode the short bus.  So when I run into him randomly, like, 9 times in the following 2 weeks, I am convinced that "the universe is obviously telling me something" so I hold my breath and just "know he'll come back to me."  I go on with my life and date (a billion) other guys but I always believe that some day we'd randomly meet up at some fruit stand in Morrocco just like they do in old movies and we'd fall in love and live happily ever after.  I told you I was a fucking idiot. 

A few years pass and we meet up again.  This time he claims he has left that bitch for good and did all the things he was supposed to do to keep contact with his kid and minimum drama with her (custody arrangements and all that).  So I think "now's the time!  We'll be together forever," right?  WRONG.  First he fucked some awful fat girl who I THINK is my friend but turns out to be a whore.  Then he tells me about how there's this "young chick" at his work who keeps (and I quote) "sticking her ass in my face".  I tell him he's an asshole and think that if I avoid him for a few days to prove how angry I am he will feel bad and come running back.  It doesn't work.

When I try to call him a week later, the phone number is disconnected.  I go to his apartment and it's empty. I stop by his work and it turns out he quit.  That fucker vanished into thin air. 

But dumb me, I run into him again and again and every time he professes his undying love to me and then would end up going back to the girlfriend with the ass gone wild.  At one point, he moves into my apartment for a few weeks and when the larger apartement downstairs opens up, he tells me to tell the landlord we're going to take it.  He never shows up to give the landlord the security deposit and again disappears into thin air.

Around this time I become aware that he is seriously using drugs.  Bad drugs. Crack, Heroin, Meth.  I feel so sad and helpless to do anything for him.  Soon after this, I move to Arizona, start intensive psychotherapy and begin to understand just how fucked up the whole situation actually is.  I plan a trip back to Syracuse and a week before my trip he magically finds me on the internet.  He tells me he is fresh out of rehab and would love to see me when I come home. I tell him that's awesome since I happen to have some things to tell him!  I go to see him and tell him that he's an asshole for treating me like some stop-gap for half of my life, and that he can basically go fuck himself.  I don't give him a chance to respond.  I drive away feeling like I did the right thing.

Three years later I move back.  I am in Wal Mart (of all God-awful places) in my sweats and I run into him.  He looks awful but tells me he's been clean since the last time I saw him.  He still looks at me the way he used to and I realize now why I always fell for his bullshit.  I try to make small talk and he lays into me about how much I hurt his feelings that day and how he hasn't been able to get me out of his head since then.

I fucking feel bad for some reason.  But I am honest.  I have a family now.  I have a guy who is everything he never was.  I would never leave them and I would never take him back.  He is okay with this.  I tell him to keep in touch and we do on the Facebook.

One day he wants to see me and we meet for coffee and he looks like total shit.  I suspect he's using agian but he swears he's not and he tells me about his latest girlfriend and how she got pregnant on purpose and he just "isn't feeling it" and so they ended it amicably but now he is seeing a new girl.  He tells me she's 21, which is young because he's almost 40.  I laugh and offer him my advice which I know he won't follow. But I tell him the truth.  He's an idiot.  He needs to get his shit together and stop hooking up with dumb chicks and making babies.  I am brutally honest and it makes him irritated with me. There is no weirdness.  No sexual tension.  We are friends and I am fine with this.

A few weeks later I find out from a mutual friend that he OD'd on something or other and was in the hospital for a few days and is now going to rehab.  I feel awful.  Could I have helped him?  Was he trying to kill himself?  He must have been so sad!  Why wasn't I more understanding?  Why do I always have to tell people exactly what I think?

When he gets out I call him and I see him and he tells me that him and his girlfriend are trying to have a baby.  That her parents are okay with his age, which prompts me to comment on her being 21.  He tells me she's 18.  And that they're in love and they're going to get married.

I laugh.  "Really?" I say.  Because obviously LOVE is all that matters.  I tell him that he is in NO POSITION to be making this kind of decision and that no child should have to suffer with a young and obviously insane mother and a junky father.  He tells me he is in love.  I tell him that he already has 3 kids by 3 different women and that never worked out to keep them together.  He tells me he's in love.  I tell him that if he really loves her he would let this fresh out of high school child go out and figure things out and not try to tie her down with a fucking kid because after all, he IS the adult.  He tells me he's in love.  I tell him his son is a year older than his girlfriend.  He tells me he's in love.

He doesn't get it.  He refuses to even acknowledge that the facts are correct.  He just keeps telling me that he is in love with her and wants to marry her.  I get mad.  Then he makes a stupid statement.  He says "I am going to marry her.  So speak now or forever hold your peace."  And it fucking hits me.

He wants me to beg him not to do it.  Not just because it's stupid but he wants me to beg him to be with ME!  HAH!  I laugh.  Is he fucking insane?  Is he seriously fucked up?  I know the answer is yes.

So I tell him that he's on his own.  I refuse to worry about him anymore.  He obviously has no concern for himself and has no interest in functioning like a normal person.  I tell him to knock himself out: go smoke some crack, knock up some 12 year olds, and sleep under a fucking bridge.  I tell him that I am done and that I was fucking stupid to think that we could be friends because the old pattern of "I beg for you, you choose someone else" is like a drug in itself for him.  He thought I would fall right back into that role.

But the truth is that when I saw how fucked up and ugly the drugs and misery he chooses has made him, I was no longer even remotely interested.  That part of me who felt anything like a lover to him is dead and buried.  I only wanted him to be okay in the way that I would want anyone I have known for (I can't believe I am going to say this) 20 years to be okay.  I want him to choose fucking happiness.  To make a decision that isn't completely fucking self destructive.  But he thinks I still want to fuck him. 

And for that, Joe- for that I say a big, long-time-coming


Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Selfish Mommy fucks it up again

Ben had a car accident yesterday.  He was driving home after picking up the kid because I had an appointment to see a therapist after work.  We got a monster thunderstorm yesterday which flooded the highway and so traffic was absurdly backed up all over the surface streets.

About 15 minutes into my session, my phone rang with Ben's stupid ringtone and I turned it off because HE SHOULD FUCKING KNOW I AM IN MY SESSION trying to get myself together so that I don't have to be a total bitch who screams at him about shit he already knows all the time.

When I got out, I looked at my phone and there were 2 text messages from Ben.  The first said, "call me as soon as possible."  The second said, "I totaled my truck".  Now, perhaps you understand that my first reaction was kind of like, "THAT SEEMS LIKE AN UNDER-REACTION!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!! IS EVERYONE OKAY???" And then I thought, "What the fuck!!!! Is my kid okay?"

So I called him immediately and he assured me that everyone was okay, not a single scratch or bruise, and that the seatbelts did exactly what they were supposed to do.  By that time he had gotten home and Lila was resting on the couch watching Pingu (if you are unfamiliar with Pingu, think weird Japanese Penguin Gumby who doesn't talk but has some jibberish language).

I rushed home and was met at the door by an angry and obviously traumatized 3 year old who said, "We tried to call you because Daddy crashed and I was crying and you DIDN'T ANSWER YOUR PHONE!"

"Mommy was in with her doctor and didn't have my phone with me," I tried to explain. 

"I was scared and I cried and I wanted you and YOU DIDN'T ANSWER!!!"

Yet another failure under Mommy's belt.

Rationally I know that it wasn't my fault and I could never have known.  In my mind I assume that if I had a CAR ACCIDENT or some other emergency, that I might call more than one time knowing that the liklihood that a person would answer the phone when they were in therapy is pretty slim.  But hey, I'm the insane one going to therapy, right?

But a part of me feels sad that I wasn't there.

Later that night, I tried to talk to Lila about it to figure out just how upset and traumatized by it she really was.  And it turns out that she was more concerned about the thunderstorm and the fact that lightening is made of electricity (which scares the shit out of her now that she knows that...thanks Cat in the Hat Knows a lot about that) than she was about the car accident.

Before she drifted off to sleep, she asked me if Daddy was going to get a new truck and I told her we didn't know yet.  She said she would be sad if he didn't have that old truck anymore because he had it when she was a baby.  And I told her that we would all be just fine.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

ABC's for lazy bloggers.

I totally stole this from Just Plain Jayne who apparently stole it from someone else who stole it from another making this a kind of chain blog.  Shit.  What a great idea!

A. Age:  I never understood why women lied about their age before.  Now I realize it's because if you don't say it out loud, it isn't as real.

B. Bed size:  Our bed is a KING.  It's too fucking big for our house (let alone the bedroom) but Ben refuses to get rid of it.  And God forbid should I get more than 2 feet on my side at any given time.

C. Chore you dislike:  ALL of them.  Except I kind of like watering plants. 

D. Dogs: People who call their dogs their kids make me want to stab them in the face with a plastic butter knife.  Seriously.  I cannot stress enough how having a dog is NOTHING like having a kid.  NOTHING.

E. Essential start to your day: 4-5 cups of coffee and then a Xanax.  I don't do it often enough.

F. Favorite color: It was purple until Lila took the love of purple to a whole new level.  If you look at my closet you would assume it was either gray or black.

G. Gold or silver: I don't really care either way.

H. Height:  If I say 5'3" then I am only about 4 lbs from being "obese" according to the chart in the doctor's office.  I will say..5'6"  (wink wink)

I. Instruments you play(ED): Would it be wrong for me to say "skin flute"?  Bwahahahahaha!

J. Job title:  Part time Acquisitions Clerk at the library.  Full time bitch at home.

K. Kids: I was never someone who KNEW I wanted them.  And I don't.  One is enough, thanks.

L. Live: Yes.  I would like that.  Thanks.

M. Mom’s name: Sue.  OR Susie.  I really wanted to name my kid after one of my parents but Sue or Susan or Susie wasn't going to work....I settled for her middle name as Lilas middle name but it's not really the same.

N. Nicknames: I never really had one that stuck.  Because my name is SELENA, I got Saliva sometimes...Oh, and Norman Bates.

O. Overnight hospital stays: Only when I had my C-Section.  I was terrified to go home.

P. Pet peeves:  Stupidity.  It's fucking rampant.  That and people who say "supposebly."

Q. Quote from a movie: "IIIIIIII'm Picking out a thermos for you!!!1"  (Steve Martin in the Jerk)

R. Righty or Lefty: Righty tighty.

S. Siblings: One brother who is nearly 10 years older than me, lives in Florida, and who basically disowned me because he thought I was acting slutty when I went to Florida for his wedding because I hooked up with a couple of his friends.

T. Time you wake up: Whenever Ben leaves for work, which varies.  But ideally? noon.

U. Underwear: OK...

V. Vegetables you don’t like: I have to admit, I haven't TRIED a lot of vegetables outside your typical ones (green beans, broccoli, carrots, peas, corn, cauliflower, shit you put into salads..)  I am working on it though.  So far I am sure I hate artichokes...

W. What makes you run late: I am a procrastinator who doesn't care enough to try?

X. X-rays you’ve had: Broke my arm when I was 10 when I was hit by a car...

Y. Yummy food you make: I never considered myself someone who can cook.  But everything I try seems to come out really good.  So I will go with EVERYTHING!

Z. Zoo Animal Favorites: SLOTHS!!!  I love the sloth.  I relate to the way they are all sleepy and matted and slow.  If I could be a sloth, life would be good.

Seriously, what could be better than this?

Monday, April 25, 2011

Eat What?

I am going to let you all in on a little secret that I don't like to talk about because it makes people want to slap me.  I only need to get this off my chest because it is causing me some serious problems in adulthood that I have no real experience with, even if I do "know" in an intellectual way how I am supposed to deal with these things.

I have never been on a diet in my life.

Go ahead...let the disbelief wash over you.  And now for the "I'm gonna slap this bitch" part.

Up until I was about 25, I was a naturally skinny girl.  In my teens, I just COULDN'T gain weight and was often accused of having an eating disorder.  Sometimes, I just played along and said I did so that people would leave me alone.  When I was 20, I developed really bad hypochondria (and all kinds of anxiety problems to go with it), convinced that I had a tapeworm or cancer or AIDS and I became obsessed with fat people and how their bodies looked compared to my disgustingly skeletal frame.  I also believed that I was allergic to wheat, eggs, tomatoes, potatoes, milk and Chinese food.  Do the math on that doesn't leave much.

When I got to be about 23, I finally started to fill out.  I assumed my metabolism was just slowing down and LOVED the fact that I was finally able to fill out a bra. 

But it never stopped.  Between 23 and 27, I had gained 25 lbs, which wasn't bad except that I really didn't have the money to clothes shop and my shit generally didn't fit for long.  Oddly, when I had Lila, I had little problem taking off the baby weight, losing all of it in about 8 months (I didn't breastfeed and the anxiety of being a new mother meant I had no appetite either).

But something happened when we moved back to Upstate NY.  In 2 and a half years, I have gained another 35 lbs.  I gained 20 lbs in one 6 month period and that alone made my doctor order tests. 

But there's nothing wrong with me physically causing this.  It's other things.

I hate to exercise.  I NEVER liked sports or sweating for that matter and I really don't get it when people talk about "the runners high".  What I DO enjoy is napping.  Oh, and sitting.  I spend a lot of time sitting and even more time snacking.  In fact, after 33 years of eating whatever I want whenever I want, I think it's pretty much a part of who I am. 

So recently, after another round of tests and a depression whose most tedious symptom is this God-awful exhaustion, I have decided that something has to give or I am going to die.  Literally. It turns out that I weigh RIGHT NOW what I weighed when I was 9 months pregnant and I am really pissed that I got rid of my maternity pants because my jeans DO NOT flatter my overflow at all.  Looking in the mirror the other day, I realized that my belly sticks out further than my boobs ad that is TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE for someone who isn't pregnant, but it DOES allow me to park in the "Expecting Mothers" space at the grocery store (who's dumb enough to start that argument?).  And I keep hearing that belly fat is particularly deadly and I swear, its ONLY my belly (since I can't see my ass I am going with that, mmmkay?). 

It's kind of like this guy...
I have never been a believer in diets because I have never known anyone who really enjoys them or keeps healthy when it's over.  And I am just way too exhausted for a total overhaul of my life right now.  But I can tell you that I eat A LOT of bad foods.  Seriously.  Really bad stuff.  And a lot of it.  So I decided that in order to help my energy level (which will make it possible for me to not sleep all the time, which will then make exercise perhaps possible, if not totally fun!) maybe I should start watching what I eat.  Baby steps...right?

I am Bill Murry in What About Bob...
So for the last few days, I have been trying recipes from "healthy cooking" cookbooks and websites and have discovered something astonishing about myself.  Apparently my body knows the difference as soon as it goes in.

Let me explain.  First off, it is impossible for me to be "full" eating shit like skinless chicken breast with herb-roasted vegetables and whole grain pasta.  Isn't there some rule about how whole grain stuff is "more filling" than refined crap?  Because I am pretty sure that when I did the same meal with vegetables cooked with oil and butter and a whole chicken with the skin, I felt full after.  I didn't make my portion smaller (remember, baby steps) and yet I found I was hungry after like 15 minutes.

The other thing is that I am hungry ALL DAY.  Grazing doesn't really work either because I will literally EAT ALL FUCKING DAY.  Apple:  not filling.  Wheat toast with peanut butter: not filling.  10 almonds (because that's a serving size...): Not filling.  14 Oreos are filling.  A giant-size Snickers bar (serving size 3...according to the package) is filling.  4 slices of pizza with pepperoni is filling.

So to those of you who have had some success with changing your eating habits, please tell me...How do you fight being hungry all the time?

On a side note...After a nice dinner of turkey burgers, roasted potatoes and a spinach salad I felt full...for 10 minutes.  Then I found myself picking at the rest of the potatoes while I was supposed to be cleaning up and I am fucking DYING for anything sweet for dessert.  Is there some trick to this or is it really a matter of me never developing any will power?  Because I may just have to choose to be fat forever if I will just feel pissed off and hungry all the time. 

(Images courtesy of google images...they're not really mine)

Friday, April 22, 2011

I think I can identify the killer!

So, I saw this:

Fla. dad tells 911 toddler fatally shot mom

By KELLI KENNEDY, Associated Press Kelli Kennedy, Associated Press – 2 hrs 20 mins ago

FORT LAUDERDALE, Fla. – Police are questioning the father of a 2-year-old boy who claims his son somehow got a hold of a pistol and shot the toddler's mother to death.

(Read the whole article here)

And all I could think was how I wanted to see the mug shot because I am sure the kid looks a lot like this:

Now, I realize this is a terrible and sad story, but this is just where my mind goes sometimes.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011 - Destroyer of Lives.

First off, I need to note that this is my 100th post!!!I feel like someone should throw me a party or something but that's pretty unlikely.  Anyhow...onto the real post:

I am pretty sure that if I had put a computer in front of Lila when she was 6 days old, she would have known exactly what to do with that mouse. 

Kids today seem to crown knowing how to make technology work and I suppose that's wonderful because it means that they can learn so much so quickly, and also make me feel like an idiot (much the way I did to my parents when they couldn't figure out how to leave an outgoing message on the answering machine).  And I have no problem with this.  I actually LOVE to set Lila up in front of my laptop and let her poke around the Nick Jr or Sprout online websites.  It gives me time to think without having to entertain her and aside from the occasional random "look what I did!", she leaves me alone!  She can't spell so I know she can't go far and we have talked about the buttons she can click and the ones she cannot.

But as of Friday, I no longer have a laptop.  And do you want to know why?

Because is fucking evil.

I bet this lady works at
 The first time my computer burned out, Lila was playing on and started crying because it wouldn't load and then the screen went black.  It turned out that the hard drive needed to be replaced.  Luckily, Ben's uncle hoards computer parts and I only had to wait for about 2 months for him to get around to replacing the hard drive for me at no cost.  At that time, I just chalked it up to a shitty hard drive and moved on.  That was roughly 3 months ago.  And here I am again, working on Ben's shitty, 10 year old, extremely SLLLLOOOOWWW (it took me a full minute to see that last word show up) computer because my computer has gone black again.

And what the hell was going on when it fizzled out?  Lila was playing on motherfucking again.

I was in the same room.  I was checking on her.  And the volume was on so I know for a fact that she was just playing some stupid Dora Dress Up game.   She was not doing anything weird and suddenly the screen went all wacky.  And when I tried to restart it, it stayed wacky.

This little bitch is out to
destroy my blog!
So...needless to say, that is why I am not visiting and commenting and posting and being my usual web-addicted self.  I get really depressed when I can't blog and obsessively check my Facebook for interactions because I live in my imaginary online world and this is seriously adding stress to an already precarious situation.

I have no idea what I am going to do about this as I don't have the cash to fix it and I certainly can't afford to buy a new one. 

I fear that my head is going to explode because I have no outlet for the dumb shit that happens throughout my (truly lame) days.

I think I should just send the bill to  Anyone have an address? 

Yeah...I feel like that. 

(all these images are from random google search. Not mine.  Just FYI)

Sunday, April 17, 2011

I sure feel sexy. Here's your dirty facts.

WOW!  I have never won anything in my life and now it turns out that there's TWO people who love me!

So in the spirit of fulfilling my obligation and in order to claim my prize (s), I am going to meet the prerequisite demands that such an honor requires.

First off, thank you to NEVE at Edge of Crazy for this one:

In order to claim this, I have to tell a really naughty juicy secret about myself:

I was kind of a groupie. 

No seriously.  There was a band in the 90's (who I will not mention) but they were big enough to have a top 40 hit and if you heard their songs on the radio, you'd be all like, "I remember these guys!  What the hell happened to them?"  I LOVED them and swore that I would find my way onto their tour bus one way or another. 

I met the drummer when I was 18 at one of their shows and he got me drunk and we made out on the tour bus.  We exchanged phone numbers or whatever and I thought that would be the end of it.  Three days later he called me just to chat and we had several months of phone sex while he was on the road.  That fizzled out when he went back home, and he stopped calling so I just assumed it was over. 

The following spring (about 3 months later) he called to tell me he'd be doing a show nearby.  So I got all slutted up and showed up at his hotel and did all the dirty things we talked about months before.  

On a tour bus in Toronto.  Yes, that IS a leopard-print shirt
he's wearing.  Oh, and it was mine.
They did many shows in the Northeast around that time and I dragged my friend along to as many as I could.  Then they played a show in my hometown.  My mother insisted I bring him to our neighborhood bar and he hung out and smoked pot with my uncle and my mother and her friends oooh'd and ahhhh'd about a real-life rock star in the bar (lame, I know). 

I got to meet some other cool people when they did a festival-type show, including Iggy Pop (which really was the high point of that time period).

When he went home, I understood that it was over and he had a life to return to so that was that. 

SO there's my dirty little secret.  I really hope my kid never reads this.


The other award comes from Kristy at Pampers and Pinot
She said I have been making her laugh lately and then my last two posts were kind of a huge pity party so I suppose that just illustrates that I really am "versitile".

For this one I have to tell you all 7 fantastic (or not) random facts about me.  So here they are:

1.  I haven't worn shorts or a skirt above my ankles in about 7 years (and I lived in Arizona for 4 of those).  I have dermatillomania and if you google it try not to look at the pictures because those will give you nightmares.  Mine is a less extreme (but still kind of bad) version of that and I only do it to my legs for some reason.  Right now they're nice and smooth (but horribly scarred) and I am praying I can get to the summer and be able to take my kid to the beach for the first time this year without being ashamed.

2. When I had my second ultrasound I totally freaked out the tech girl by telling her I needed to see my baby's arms to make sure she didn't have claws.  I also made her tell me she did not have horns.

I was pretty sure I THIS
is what I would see
3. I used to have fantastic boobs (the "nice rack award" made me think of this one).  I LOVED them and used to show them off to anyone who would have a look.  I always thought that if I gained weight that they would be larger, more voluptuous versions of what I had.  WRONG.  They're pretty much the same size only flatter and closer to my belly-button.
Yeah...I was THAT girl...

4. I drink at least 6 cups of coffee every day.

5. I am still pissed off about the ending of Lost.  I realize it's been nearly a year and that it was just a TV show, but fuck that shit!  The show consumed me for about 6 years and it turns out they all just "go to the light"?  Seriously?  I have dreams sometimes about all the better possible endings that would have made the whole story make sense.  Maybe I should be writing for TV.

6. My kid is exactly like me.  Seriously.  I really feel sorry for her father because all the shit I get annoyed with is shit I do to him.

7. Blogging has changed my life.  I know this is cheese-ballish but it's true.  I think I desperately needed an outlet for all the ramblings in my head and having a bunch of people read my thoughts and respond and "get it" has made all the difference in the world for me.  I have never had a huge group of friends but I feel like the people who read my blog and comment and appreciate what I say are like the buddies I don't have out here in the real world.  And I am forever grateful for you all.

ps.  I was looking at the old blog I kept on the myspace and it was fucking AWESOME!  But no one uses the myspace anymore.  I may need to cut and paste all these absurd posts somewhere for reference when I am depressed.

p.p.s  I know I need to pass these awards on, but since my kid broke my laptop (AGAIN...FUCK YOU NICK JR.COM!!) I am working on this ancient computer in Ben's office and everything takes three times as long.  SO I am going to think about it and post my awards later.  Stay tuned.

Friday, April 15, 2011

They like me...they really like me!

Well what do you know?  I have received my first blogging award from Kristy over at Pampers and Pinot

I will be back later to generate random facts and then pass this along to the next round of deserving bloggers.

In the meantime, go visit Kristy's blog and give her some comment love.  She's funny and expressive and her blog is very nice to look at.


Thursday, April 14, 2011

It is what it is.

Oh God. Here it comes again.

After several days where it seemed to have abated, it is pushing up through the cracks like filthy ground water. I can feel it wetting me, and turning me back into the monster who peers out of her cave at the world but never joins it, and feeds on its own misery.

I have been fighting my depression for most of my life. Even as a kid I remember being somber and morose. I was disappointed a lot. I always anticipated the worst. And as an adult that sort of “realism” won me the nickname “little black cloud” because I was always there to point out how quickly things could go wrong.

I have tried to find joy in the little things. I have managed on a few occasions to claw myself out of this vacuum and to actually breathe the air of normalcy. I gathered enough energy to make a go of moving across the country once; of going to college another time. I even tried my hand being a mother. But those times where I was doing more than just barely functioning were always suddenly drowned in a surge of mud that seemed to pour in out of nowhere and solidify itself before I had a chance to fight through it.

Every so often, as happened last week, I have a break. I have a few days where the going is not quite so tough. I can get out of bed without having to convince myself that there’s something worthwhile outside my dark room. I manage to get dressed and go to work and even play with my daughter without tripping all over myself and making everyone miserable in the process. I am a good mother then, and we read together and I hold her and stroke her hair. She doesn’t worry that I am going to start yelling over little misdeeds and she sometimes seems surprised when I laugh as she drops her (yet another) glass of milk. I love being that woman.

Unfortunately, that is not the person I usually am. Medication only seems to work for a little while. Therapy helps me to have longer stretches of sanity but then I seem to always fall further back than where I started – more sad, more angry, less Me. And I have to wonder, every time: “What did I do now to make this come back? Because I was okay yesterday, but today I am not. “

What’s worse is that it isn’t just all about me anymore. I am no longer the only one suffering, which makes my prognosis that much more unbearable. You see, I lived through my mother’s grueling struggle with this same demon. I watched her shrivel and atrophy so that she could barely move. I saw how she could transform into someone I hated at the drop of a hat. And I swore that I would never do that to my own. Not just because it is cruel and debilitating, but because I never want my baby to have to face this creature in her own world. And aren’t I simply passing all my failures to her?

Instead I hide. My mother kept her sadness out in the open and exposed us all to the constant derangement of drinking and rage and compulsive cleaning. I like to run; to put myself back into bed where I can’t hurt anyone with the things I do to them. Instead I only hurt them with the things I fail to do.

My mother never taught me to swim. She never made me take lessons from anyone else, either. And my whole life I have never felt like I can handle water that is deeper than a bath. This is not only indicative of her inability to give me the basic life skill that could save me, but also a fitting metaphor for the fact that I feel helpless and defenseless against the rising waters that threaten to overwhelm me and I know that I can learn how but I can’t get out of the deep end long enough to catch my breath. I don’t want to be rescued. I just want to be able to swim.

I want my girl to know how to swim.

I want to be able to teach her.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Thank you, captain obvious...

When did shit that is completely obvious become "news"?  Today I opened up my interwebs to find this fucking brilliant headline shocking me to attention:

Parenting can take a toll on health, study shows

Oh, really?  Tell me more!!! 
Health declines, particularly in moms, due to poor diet and less exercise.

My kid's idea of a balanced meal:  all the colors are there!
First off, I am shocked that it took this long for any science-y person to look around and think to themselves, "Is it just me or do mom's seem to age like 15 years in the first 5 years of their children's lives?"  Part of my not really being particularly desperate to pop a baby out had to do with the simple observation that the mothers I saw around me (not including assholes like Angelina Jolie or Kelly Ripa who can pop out 12 kids in 6 months and be back on the beach in someplace like Bali in their bikinis the next month) did not look good.  They were fat.  They were tired.  They looked pale and/or greasy.  In fact, I theorized that that glorious "glow" that pregnant women had was like the big finale at the fireworks show.  They'd never have that youthful vitality again.

Kelly Ripa on her way
home from the hospital
after the birth of her 3rd

So onto the obvious details.  As soon as I had my kid, I lost all ability to function for myself.  When she was a newborn, I never ate.  I certainly never slept.  Hell, I didn't shower. The life upheaval involved in having a baby is as stressful as the death of your former self and no one looks good when they're grieving.  I had a child that I was convinced was probably the Anticrhist because her only goal seemed to me to push me to murder.  She cried non-stop for about 6 months (that's how I remember it).  And the doctors all just said, "it's colic.  She'll out- grow it".  Well you know what?  I didn't.  I never got over it. 

As she got older, she took on the attitude of "if Mommy is standing, then I need to try harder," and her entire purpose seemed to be to wear me out.  From the running around, to climbing all over me, to demanding 4 different drinks because each one was "wrong", to refusing to eat anything I put in front of her, to needing to change her clothes 6 times because of one spot of water, to never sleeping through the night until she was 3; everything she did was designed specifically to make me into a zombie.
Who can exercise when they can barely get out of bed?  And who the hell are these mothers who work all day and come home and find it possible to spend an hour making a nutritious (and organic and meat-free) meal that their kids will just love rather than just throwing a frozen pizza into the oven? 
Fuck those moms. 

More importantly, besides the "news" that this study reveals and common-sense advice (because don't we all KNOW what we SHOULD be doing?) to take better care of ourselves, this article DOES offer one useful suggestion.  Unfortunately, it is buried at the very end of the article and as far as I can tell has not been repeated in subsequent articles that have been posted on the web:

...Berge said she hopes that the results will push health care providers to pay additional attention to parents.

Community initiatives could also be part of a solution, she said.

“You can’t extend the hours in the day, but by working with others in the neighborhood we can make sure that the parents are taking care of themselves, too..."
Shit..If I had a village of nannies (or even just a village of Mommy friends), I am sure I would have more time to shower and exercise and eat well too. 

To me, this "study" was simply a piece of information that serves absolutely no purpose except to remind me of how unhealthy I am.  Because realistically, until my kid goes off to college or at least becomes a bit more agreeable than the pain in the ass preschooler that she is now, I will likely continue to be too emotionally and physically drained to bother with the necessary chores of meal planning, local vegetable buying and hour-long daily workouts that would be required to get me even remotely into a condition that can be considered healthy.

Because playing WII bowling with my kid while chomping on Goldfish crackers is just not going to cut it.

Monday, April 11, 2011

What the WHAT????

I don't have a lack of material or inspiration.  Every single day, my kid provides hours of humor and bullshit for me to throw a blog post around about.  But for some reason, I am not even slightly interested in talking about it.

I am bored with myself.  I am bored inside my own head.  I am bored with talking about my kid, my self, my life.  I am feeling like everything I put down is miserable and boring.  It's actually pretty hard to keep the bitching fun. 

I am on strike.

I am also hoping that once I give myself permission to not put up a new post if I don't feel like it that this "block" will go away.  Ehhhh...Shit.

However, there is always "Icanhascheezberger" to make me want to die:

Friday, April 8, 2011

Fill in the Blank Friday!


I used to do all those dumb myspace when I found this on The Little Things We Do I thought "HELL YEAH!!!"

1. Something that makes me a great friend is That I will force you to do a guest post on my blog and litter your facebook newsfeed with insane political rants...wait...what was the question?

2. I am a way better mother than Brittney Spears.  I figure that if I set my goals low I am less likely to be disappointed. 

3. I am not Looking forward to my kid turning from a brooding, moody asshole kid to a brooding moody asshole teenager.  Seriously.  I am starting NOW praying for the strength not to strangle my kid the first time she tells me that she hates me and wishes I was dead.

4. If I had to describe myself in 3 words, they would be FULL OF SHIT.  Wow.  I didn't even have to think about that one.

5. Something I'm really cheap about is Everything.  But not by choice.  It's just that I am also broke so Target clothes and Payless shoes are a way of life.

6. Something I'm willing to splurge on is Coffee.  Every day.  Because I like to bring coffee to work and am completely hopeless at remembering to bring a travel cup home when I'm done with it.  Plus, coffee out tastes better than coffee from home.

7. I would trade my soul for a kid who goes to bed easily and sleeps well  in a heartbeat. (Do I need to explain this?)

Thursday, April 7, 2011

What can Super Nanny do for you?

You know those friends that you know online and think you would be best friends with in real life but you've never actually met?  Well, Lara is one of those friends. 

She is child-free but as you will see has some serious issues with Super Nanny and small children.  I begged her to write me a post for my blog and I LOVED this and laughed hysterically and I hope you will to.

***NOTE:  In her original writing, she referred to the child many times as "it".  I took the liberty of changing that to "he" or "she" randomly even though it was funnier the other way because it reminded me too much of having a malfunctioning robot.

So here it is:


I don't have kids. I hardly see them. I go to bed at 5am. I am just waking up when you are picking them up from school. Let that sink in for a minute….

My diet is mostly bourbon, I play guitar six hours a day, and get angry when I can’t find my slutty-shoes.

I'm not bragging, though. My life kinda sucks. I found out in my late 20's that I have an auto-immune disorder (it’s genetic, not Super-AIDS). The label on my meds tells me that it "may cause flipper-limbs in fetal mice". I might be able to breed, but it seems risky and mean-spirited given the information I have. Mostly, I am just incredibly poor. I am like Liz Lemon without the high profile tv job. Or any job. For better or worse, the baby-ship has sailed. So why should you listen to me?

Because I am fucking addicted to Super Nanny.

As with everything I do, my tv habits are compulsive. It started with Ghost Hunters. (I'm reassured when they don't find ghosts. It makes me feel safe in basements.) Then came Destination Truth and Paranormal State (are they really still in college?). Having run out of para-normal reality TV, I started watching mega-normal reality TV, mainly Biggest Loser.

Then I panicked. I ran out of shitty reality shows to watch. I grudgingly followed Hulu's recommendation to watch Super Nanny.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

It was like mother-fucking Shark Week! World's Deadliest Trainwrecks! Alligator vs. Everything! The amount of shrieking, vomiting, and pool-table punching was worse than every episode of Jersey Shore combined. And these are average families with average toddlers!

I guess I'm not around kids enough to realize that this is normal, typical, kid behavior. My ovaries pretty much shriveled up and died after a half-episode.

Here's what I've incredulously learned from Super Nanny:

1. Kids are advanced manipulators by age 3. "I'll apologize for punching you in exchange for snacks." It's like Lindsay Lohan saying she'll leave jail in exchange for drugs. For real?

2. Your kid wants to control your house. Who doesn't love democracy? Well, three-year-olds, that’s who. The would-be tyrant is 3 feet tall and does not understand mechanics, fire, traffic, or nutrition, and can’t read. I would say he does not get an equal vote.

3. Kids are not idiots. While they lack information about mechanics and traffic, they are still very smart. Too smart…and sneaky. "This food is so yucky I puked. I’m sick" Really? The hidden camera shows the little shit stealing Otter Pops a half hour later. He's not sick. He's not a picky eater. He's not suffering from pre-school anorexia. He knows he can help himself to the freezer as soon as your back is turned, so he makes a show out of barfing casserole!

4. Some parents are unbelievably ghetto. One mom told her kid he "had to go into the mall because kidnappers were waiting in the parking lot." Remember points 1 through 3? They're not dumb; they know when you are lying. This just makes them lose respect and abuse you even more. Acting ghetto just proves they're smarter than you. Now they have a superiority complex!

5. Most parents want their kids to be happy. At all times. It seems obvious since I don't have any heart-strings to pull, no fondness for the patter of little feet; that I am not your kid's friend. I am an adult, and if I am out jogging and I see your kids fucking around on a thinly frozen lake, I will yell at them and tell them to knock that shit off. And then I will continue on, confident I did the right thing. I will be like "I kept that little jerk from drowning to an icy death. He should thank me if he lives to adulthood." I will not hug them or wonder if their feelings got hurt, or if they hate me. But you like your kid. You LOVE your kid. You will always remember your kid as a confused 1 year old in a bunny costume. You get sad when you have to set boundaries; who has the heart to yell at someone in a bunny costume?

This bitch will tell you what the fuck is what.
If there is one thing that anyone can learn from 22 hours of Super Nanny, it's this:

Don't fear discipline. You are not your kid's friend. You are an educator and protector. You have the wisdom to know that pouring ketchup on yourself and shitting your pants at Denny's is not the path to a successful life.

Next time your kid is sadly howling and spitting insults at you, put them in timeout and tune that shit out, and don't feel sad. I know she was a cuddly baby in a cute bear onesie just a few months ago, but right now she is an asshole who is being punished for kicking the kitty in the face.

And when they start acting up, think of them as mini-19 year olds and ask yourself if you'd accept this shit from your college roommate. Because a). your kid will soon be someone's college roommate, and b). they'll still be telling housemates that their cooking is gross and sobbing uncontrollably whilst demanding to sleep in their beds. We all know that guy.

And learn how to do the proper Super Nanny Timeout. I hear that shit is golden.

Lara watches so much reality TV because she stays up late crafting. She has a gorgeous Etsy site called SPIXI  filled with fantastic little items at unreasonably great prices.  Use coupon code MOTHERHOODSUCKS at check-out for 20% off your order.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

A confession. Then a small victory. I think.

I have posted about a lot of the stupid ways that motherhood makes me hate life, but this is one that I feel somewhat ashamed of.  Because I know better. Not that it's been reason enough for me to knock this shit off until now. 

Here's my confession.  I lay down every night with my kid to make her go to sleep.  This is insane, I know.  But wait until I tell you how this evolved, because my kid NEVER slept in our bed.  It's ridiculous and even more insane. 

When Lila was an infant, she was evil and colicky (or just pure evil, if I remember correctly).  There were a lot of nights where I would get up so often that I would finally just bring a pillow and lie on her floor so that I didn't have to walk as far.  I never brought her into our bed because her room had great dark curtains that blocked out the light and in the summer in AZ the sun comes up at like 4:30 in the morning and there was NO WAY I was starting my day that early.  So she needed to be in her room so that she would sleep until a still absurd 6am.  To bring her into my bed just meant I would have to get up again to move her back and I am sure that would have been the ONE NIGHT where she slept for 8 hours straight and I would have had to get up anyways. 

I also rocked her to bed every night for a long time.  Too long by most standards. We tried the cry-it-out method and learned that the kid could literally cry for 3 to 4 hours easily.  For at least 3 nights in a row (and this was when I still gave her a bottle at bedtime).  All the "experts" swore that they wouldn't cry for more than an hour or two AT THE MOST and that they would finally tire themselves out and that by the third night the crying would substantially decrease.  Not so much with this one.  Our kid had super-human stamina.  She would scream and scream and scream and scream.  She was able to out-cry our patience and I am sure would have cried until morning had we not intervened around the 3 and a half hour mark.  Even after crying for 3 hours, half the time she still refused to go to sleep.  And so after the fourth night of traumatizing our kid by allowing her to cry for longer than she would likely even sleep, we decided that we just wouldn't do that method.  But I decided that I would not rock her to sleep anymore.  I started to put her into her bed but stayed in the room with her.

At first I simply sat in the rocking chair.  I would talk to her a little and sing to her a little and she would eventually doze off.  But honestly, it wasn't very comfortable and I began bringing my own pillow in and laying on the floor next to her crib.  Ben did it on his nights too.  It was just how we got our kid to sleep. 

When Lila got her big girl bed I really thought that it would come with a "big girl" attitude and that when I told her I was not going to sleep in there with her that she would somehow be all "mature" about it (I know how stupid that sounds...she was 2).  But instead she thought it was great because I could just get into bed with her.

(There's more to this story.  You can read the post from back then here)

First off, if you have ever seen a toddler bed, you know how stupid this was.  Here I am, a grown woman, a little overweight, in a bed that is about 4 feet by 2 and a half feet.  Here is a helpful illustration as to how that looked for those of you with poor imaginations:

I looked like this in her bed, but not as cute.
I would lie there with my whole ass hanging off the side of the bed and we would do our story that way and talk for a few minutes and then I would tell her she needs to be very still and shut her eyes and go to sleep.  About half the time, she would be tired enough to do this.  But the other half of the time I would have to tell her repeatedly and get pissed off because I had other things to do (Lost was on back then). This was also when we got rid of the bottle and tToo complicate the issue, there was an infant sleeping in the bedroom directly below Lila's.  And since HIS parents would tend to him as soon as he cried so as not to wake Lila, I couldn't be the asshole who lets her kid scream uncontrollably all night.

When we moved into our new house last October, Lila was upgraded to a twin bed.  Mostly because she was constantly flinging herself out of the toddler bed since it was nowhere near big enough to accomodate the amount of interpretive-dance style movements she seems to enjoy acting out when she's dreaming. 

It also meant that I could now COMFORTABLY do bed time and lay there and talk with her.  I thought that I would LOVE doing bedtime now because we could talk in the dark and cuddle and tell secrets.  And that truly is what it's like some nights  - for the first 15 or so minutes.  But it always seems to degenerate into me telling her it's time to be quiet and close her eyes, and her "remembering" that she needs to get a different pillow or that she didn't have a drink of water or that she suddenly had to take a crap.  And I always yell at her and say the word "NOW!" a lot. 

And she HATES going to sleep.  She fights and fights and fights it.  She will start to doze and suddenly shoot up straight to tell me "something really really important that she forgot today" but now she can't remember.  And as soon as I make her lie back down and cover her up, I try to tell her that we can talk about it tomorrow but I am interrupted by snoring because she fell asleep in the 6 seconds it took to get her to put her head back onto the pillow. 

Every night now, I find that I am yelling at her and threatening to go downstairs.  And this is shitty.  Every night I have to tell her to be still, be quiet, close her eyes, over and over and over.  And I don't want to be this parent.  It's super, overly control-freakish to me.  It feels mean for me to tell her she isn't allowed to move again or "I am going to leave her alone".  I try to explain that if I go downstairs she can stay awake as long as she wants as long as she stays in her bed but she swears she's going to be quiet.  Then about a minute later she starts singing some song or talking to her stuffed cat. 

When I do leave the room she cries like I am leaving forever.  And I usually come back.  I will come back because I think that she BELIEVES I am abandoning her.

The last couple of weeks with her have been especially challenging.  I am having a pretty bad relapse into depression regardless of the fact that I am medicated and she has been sick on and off and is totally acting up.  I blame my lack of attention and short temper for her behavior and feel guilty that I am not being the best mother I can be and I think I project a lot of my childhood insecurities onto her (like the abandonong thing above). 

And then today, I read a post by a fellow blogger (Pampers and Pinot) that suddenly made me understand WHY I feel so frustrated with the way she's acting lately.  She's manipulating me. 

Any of you who have known a kid from the time they started talking will probably know that they are expert manipulators.  I am pretty sure that I could send my kid to the CIA and they could learn some fantastic new tactics for emotionally destroying the detainees at Gitmo.  She knows EXACTLY the right buttons to push.  And although I am SURE she really hates it when I yell and scream, I also know that somehow she is purposely eliciting that exact reaction from me.  Because when I don't do it, she gets confused and has to change tactics.

A friend recommended I watch Supernanny (which I hate) and I was all negative about that suggestion at first.  Until I remembered some of the dumb parents I have seen on that show and realized how many times that womansays things like  (start cockney accent here) "Yo' chi-old is run-ning this house!  You'oo ahhh the pah-rents."

My kid is sadly mistaken to believe that she wears the pants in this family.  And I do realize that it is perfectly normal for them to try to do this.  But I will be damned if I am going to raise a kid who is a total asshole! 

So today I sat her little ass down, and said, "Mommy is going to make a deal with you.  From now on, if you are good, I will not yell at you.  And if you are bad, I will not yell at you, but I will put you in the corner for a time out.  And I am only going to warn you once.  Do you understand me?"  She nodded. 

I knew that I would need to remind her throughout the day but I was determined not to lose my cool today.

She was actually pretty good.  There were about 3 different times where I had to say, "you remember the deal, don't you?  Are you being good?" and that made her behave. 

And then at lunchtime when she threw a fit because I asked her if she wanted chicken soup and she said yes, but then changed her mind as soon as the bowl was put in front of her, I reminded her of our deal.  She crossed her arms and refused to eat and DEMANDED macaroni and cheese.  So I got down on her level and insisted she look at me.  And I said, "you are not getting macaroni and cheese...LISTEN TO ME...stop being a brat and eat your lunch or you will go in the corner for a time out."  She stomped her feet telling me she hated chicken soup.  So I picked her up and stuck her in the corner. 

She refused to stand up so I sat her on the floor.  I told her I was setting the timer for 3 minutes and she continued to scream as I walked away.  I told her that she could come out when she heard the beep, and that she should stop screaming so she didn't miss it.  She kept screaming.

She did this horrible hyperventalating-type cry that is usually reserved for real-true awful things (like when balloon pops or something) and as I scrubbed the toilet (yes, this is what I did to distract myself so that I didn't go back to get her) I realized that she has learned that it's okay to be an asshole to me.  Further, she has learned (partially from my mother never letting her cry even slightly without giving in) that the more she wants something, the bigger the dramatics.  

When the timer went off, I went over to her, crouched down and asked if she was ready to eat her lunch yet.  She said she really wasn't hungry and I told her that she only needs to eat 5 spoonfuls.  I told her that if she didn't want to do this, she could simply stay in the corner until she was ready.  Crying and sobbing she reached up to hug me (this is the hardest part for me because I DO NOT ever want her to think I am withholding affection) but I insisted that she eat her lunch.  She said ok and I asked her to say sorry for yelling at me.  She did.  Then I hugged her.  I brought her to her seat and she kept crying and wanted me to hold her (this really bothers me because I cannot tell if she is playing me or if she really desperately wants me to just love her).   I sat down with her and told her I am not mad at her, but that it is not acceptable for her to throw fits about what I make her for lunch.  EVER.   She ate exactly 5 spoonfuls.

She was good for the rest of the day.  Until bedtime.  There is no good way to do a time out at bedtime.  Bedtime IS the time out.  I am not going to get her OUT of bed to teach her a lesson so this one is more complicated.

I intended to start the "you're going to sleep on your own" thing on Friday so that she would have the weekend and then Monday night to figure out how to not be up all night.  I was planning to stay there with her tonight.  We did our regular bedtime routine and talked for a few minutes, then I told her it was time to be quiet now.

For about 4 minutes she was good.  Then she started the fidgeting.  Fingers, hands, rubbing the wall, making noises with her mouth.  I told her that I was only going to tell her one time that she needed to be still, OR she could stay awake for a while and I would just go downstairs. Not a big deal. She didn't want me to leave.  I told her that I do not want to have to yell at her, and that it is time for her to go to sleep.  I told her that she needed to be quiet with her eyes closed and that if I had to tell her again, I would simply get up because she is can stay awake without me there, but must go to sleep if I am there.  She kept "remembering" things that she needed to tell me. 

I told her once that we will talk in the morning.  She kept going.  So rather than yell at her, I got up and walked out.  It was heart-wrenching.  She kept begging me, "Mommy please come back.  I'll be a good girl.  I won't move at all!"  And I felt SOOOOO fucking guilty, not so much for walking out but for setting up this dynamic in the first place.  I DON'T WANT HER TO THINK SHE'S BAD BECAUSE SHE CAN'T FALL RIGHT TO SLEEP!  I sometimes don't fall asleep that easily.  And here I have created this awful situation where I lay in bed with her (to provide love and security) only to yell at her and make her think she's being bad when she has trouble doing something that everyone struggles with sometimes. 

This made me feel like a failure. 

I went to her room and sat on her bed and explained to her how it isn't good for her or for me for me to yell at her to go to sleep.  And since she is really big now, she can learn to sleep like big kids do, without their parents yelling at them to go to sleep all the time.  I told her that I would leave her door open and we would be right downstairs.  I told her I would come back in thirty minutes (I told her what numbers the clock would say) and check on her.  Then I kissed her and walked out. 

She cried for about 5 minutes, then stopped.  I assumed she got up to play but when I went up (as promised) she was fast asleep. 

So now tomorrow I will make a big deal about how proud I am of her and we will try this again tomorrow night, but without the option of me sleeping with her.  She has school the next morning so the stakes are higher but I am determined to stop this now.  Because I seriously cannot allow her to control my emotions or my evenings like this forever. 

(In the interest of whatever laws apply, I stole that cat pic from the Cheezburger site.  It isn't actually mine.)

The Seven Deadly Sins of Motherhood: ENVY

I was browsing the library during a break yesterday and came across a series of books exploring the philosophical representations of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Having grown up Catholic and attending Catholic School and always being kind of fascinated by the concepts of the faith (if not actually practicing any of them), I came home and began thinking about how fucked I am if there is actually a heaven and hell. 

For me, it is easy to see how the Seven Deadly Sins run rampant in my life.  And so I have decided to explore the idea of the Seven Deadly Sins and how I am guilty of each of them in relation to my imperfect mothering.  Additionally, it occurred to me just how much a role all of these things appear to play in my current mental state, which is not good. 

The easiest one for me is where I am starting.  But I intend to explore them all in more or less depth in the weeks to come.


Envy - The desire for others' traits, status, abilities, or situation.

I have a serious ENVY problem. Not that I don’t have enough in my life. I do. I have a roof over my head, a warm bed to sleep in and a child who is healthy and functioning. I have a lot to be grateful for and a lot that other people would love to have.

I ENVY “normal” mothers. Now, before you go yelling at me about how “normal” is subjective, hear me out. I have zero desire to be one of the supermoms. I have accepted the part of myself that just doesn’t care about having a spotless house and hosting 8 playdates a month and likes to do fantastical crafts that end up in the pages of Martha Stewart Living. I truly don’t think those mothers are the normal (and perhaps they are slightly insane) and so that isn’t what I am talking about.

I ENVY normal mothers.  I want to be normal, in that I don’t feel like I am drowning in my own self-absorbed misery all the time.  I want to wake up feeling like I can face the day without collapsing from exhaustion before dinner. I want to not snap at my kid when she’s doing normal (annoying) three year old stuff. I want to not lose my temper and break down into crying jags over spilled chocolate milk on a blanket that can be simply thrown into the wash. I want to not feel like I have to pep talk myself just to take a shower. I want to care that my legs haven’t been shaved in months and that my hair hasn’t been out of a ponytail since 2007. I want to actually have some desire to play with Lila, even when I really just sit there and let her orchestrate whatever activity we’re supposed to be doing. I want to not feel like grocery shopping takes so much energy that I literally need a nap when I come home. I want to not have to fake migraines so that I can hide in my bed as soon as her father gets home. I want to be able to do more than one thing in a given day. I want my kid to think I am okay and not to worry about whether she has done something to make me feel sad all the time.

I know that other moms out there can do these things, and that they only feel that way when they have the flu and even then they manage to at least make dinner. I have seen them and heard from them in their comments on my blog. I ENVY that they can do all these things and I have been unable to find anything that helps to pull me out of this for more than a few weeks at a time. I ENVY that their kids seem happy and look well-rested. I ENVY that they don’t have dark circles under their eyes after getting a full night’s sleep. Hell, I ENVY the fact that they sleep!

I ENVY that they know how to do a time out. I ENVY that their kids go to bed without them and without having to be told 400 times to stay still and go to sleep. I ENVY that they don’t worry excessively that they their children are going to be fucked up and insane because everyone in their families is. I ENVY that they manage to function.

Monday, April 4, 2011

More Trauma by Poop

Jesus Christ.  My kid is terrified of pooping. 

No really.

She is still refusing to poop on the toilet and is really freaked out now about going in a pull up.  EVERYONE has assured me that I should just LET HER and that she will decide when she's ready to try the toilet.
(Many of you know that several months ago I wrote about her fear of pooping on the toilet.  If you haven't read it, click here)

I've read her the books.  I have ignored it and attempted to let her "come around herself" (for almost a full year now).  I have pleaded and tried to bargain with rewards and bribe with fantastic gifts.  I have done breathing exercises with her on the toilet.  I have let her "read" for an hour in the bathroom.  She will NOT let a number two loose on the toilet.

Recently, it occurred to me that she may be actually phobic of it.  She panics when she feels it coming.  She gets scared.  She even tries to get me not to take her pull-up off because she is afraid she (in her words) "made a bad poop".  My mother believes that I have convinced her that pooping is bad because she is so afraid of being cleaned up after going in a pull-up.  I assure you, I do nothing but tell her how normal it is.

And after today, I am convinced that she will never shit again.

Lila spent the day at my mother's house while I was at work today and apparently complained much of the day that her belly hurt her.  She told my mother that she needed to put a pull up on and as always my mother complied.  A few minutes later, Lila was no where to be found.  My mother found her playing with a flashlight in her closet (the smell was overwhelming) and told her that it was time to come out and get changed.  Lila started to panic. 

When she tried to put her down, Lila arched her back and started screaming.

Lila told her it was "a really big poop" and my mother assured her it was okay.  Lila told her it was really messy, and my mother told her it wasn't a big deal and she would just clean it up.  Lila told her she didn't want to lie down to get changed but my mother insisted because Lila is ALWAYS freaked out by pooping.  Lila immediately started screaming that there was poop on her.  My mother then realized that there was literally a SHIT LOAD of diarrhea and it was coming out of Lila's pull up and all up the back of her.  Up her back, and into her fucking hair (how did she not realize this?  I don't know...she's old).

Lila was completely fucking freaking out. 

When Ben showed up to get Lila, she was in the bathtub crying and freaking because there was now poop in the bathtub (I have no idea why my mother didnt just shower her...but whatever). 

After getting her dried up and dressed, Ben took her home and gave her a good bath with shampoo and bubbles and all that.  She was fine.  Like nothing ever happened.

Until she thought she had to poop again.  She freaked out.  She had a pull up on and suddenly remembered and asked me, "am I going to have diarrhea again?"  I said, "I don't know, Lila.  But it's okay.  Let's see." 

She freaked and told me she didn't have to go anymore.  I tried to talk to her but she got all uptight ant weird so we let it go. 

At bedtime, she told me she needed a pull up.  I put it on her and we waited.  She got really freaked out again when she started to feel like it was coming.  Then she told me she just peed a little and she was not going to poop tonight.  I knew from the smell that she hadn't peed.  And that she still has diarrhea and was now trying to hold it.  "This is going to be AWESOME tonight when she wakes up covered in shit," I thought.  But she refused to try to go more.

So what the hell do you do with a kid who is shit-phobic?  Seriously?

All images courtesy of Google Image Search. 

Friday, April 1, 2011

Annoying. (Or what it's like to be three)


She isn't paying attention.  Daddy keeps on talking to her but I need her NOW! 

"Mommy Mommy MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY!!!!"

I don't want to hang on a minute.  I don't want to wait until she's finished talking.  I have to tell her something REALLY REALLY REALLY important!  I have to tell her NOW!  I have to tell her right this minute because I really really have to tell her!

Maybe if I just whine a little bit, "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMY!" But not too much because then she won't let me tell her.  I'll just make the sad face too.  "MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMY!"

Um...She's looking at me now. I want to tell her something but what is it? She stopped talking and she's waiting for me to tell her what.  I have to tell her something and I want her to know that....hmmm......Look!  There's my Strawberry Shortcake Doll.  I'm going to go over and get it. 

"I like Strawberry Shortcake, Mommy!"


From the prompt found here: