Baby Poop and Business Suits

Dear Gerah: Believing in the tooth fairy

Thought I'd share this email from a friend that I received this morning. It goes:

Hey G,  

I'm just sitting here at the computer again, ruminating, and waiting for something important to happen, like a ball game...  So I thought I'd start my first draft of a letter to the editor or somebody else real important:

Hey,  I'm not a Democrat or a Republican, but I was sitting here wondering if we ever conducted a war before that we asked no one to pay for except our grand children...  Yes, maam, put it on the tab...  I'd like to believe that in 10 years, when we may leave, the Sunnis, Shia, and Kurds are going to shake hands, put down their guns, and evenly split the riches, but I also believed in the tooth fairy.  And will we be known as the great founder of democracy, not an occupying power (who didn't get the lights turned on soon enough)... ???  Anyway, as someone said, How many times must a man look up before he can see the sky, and how many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died?

And for some reason this email hit me just right this morning and I too, began to ruminate. So I replied:

Dear Top Secret Friend who sends me thoughtful emails,

Thanks for your letter to the editor Gerah - I feel quite privileged to be the recipient of your very real concerns. My advice: Go ahead and send it in to the local newspapers. Most the good ol' boys around here won't care, or even read it; hell, how many of them even read? Remember, you are not alone, there are many out there who are like us, and feel EXACTLY THE SAME WAY YOU AND I DO. And, those who read this short thought, question, and quote of yours in the paper will think about what you have said.

Key word here: THINK. We need more of this "thinking" business to go on...

... and when they think about what you have written, like I have, they will realize that all we can do is raise our children and grandchildren to be thinkers like us. And for our children to teach others to think, as you are doing with me right now. Herein lies the reason I take parenting way too damn seriously. I take it seriously because I know that us thinker-types are in the minority, and our children are in for a tough road. On top of everything else, we didn't circumcise Niko - and poor Kyra's destined to at least 6 feet tall and I'm sure you've read my blog posts or heard my rantings as growing up as a ginormous female. It just ain't easy. These kids have to be tough. Remember Johnny Cash's A Boy Named Sue?

Yeah. It's kind of like that.

Gerah

Back to Basics: BEATING A DEAD HORSE

I am happy to report that, since shortly after my previous post regarding an icky withdrawl from Cymbalta that I wrote with teary eyes and a troubled mind, the fog seems to have lifted. I didn't want to get ahead of myself and report to YOU, internet, that everything is dandy too early...

But it's been about a week and a half since I wrote that - and for the last week, I feel good! I feel fine! No more brain zaps or crying jags or creepy anxiety!!! I even did the "10,000 Maniacs Litmus Test" - I stood in my kitchen, turned on the 10,000 Maniacs MTV Unplugged Album, started doing the dishes and....

...well, I won't lie. I still got a little verklempt. But I didn't sob. And, come ON - what post-child bearing woman (or gay man?) doesn't get a bit verklempt when Natalie Merchant belts it out???

But anyway. Life is moving along and it feels good. Let's cross our fingers, shall we?

And now for the dead horse: I am going to attempt to touch on the topic that got me writing this blog in the first place and that I just can't shake. There is something within me that has such a damn hard time leaving my little ones when I work. Such a hard time. It eats at me.

I trust my daycare provider completely. I really love her. If my children aren't with her, they are with my mother a day and a half per week. I even feel guilty sending them off with their grandma.

I just feel - these are MY BABIES. Mine. Mine mine mine. (Not even so much my husband's. He does so much for them, sure, but, he didn't grow them and nurse them and do all those things that we mothers know that we mothers do!) I think: How dare I pass them to someone else during these years that pass so quickly? I'll never get these years back.

I know we all have to make choices, and we have to do what we have to do. I guess I might take mothering too seriously, maybe. I know I can be a bit neurotic about this. But is there anything MORE important than caring with all your heart and spending your time molding and nurturing the little humans that you created?

Is there?

The Withdrawl

I am currently on day 8 of my attempt to walk away from anti-depressant medication (Cymbalta, to be specific). (Yes, I'm doing this with the guidance of my doctor, and yes, I weaned off before I stopped medication completely.)

The good news is, I am doing this, because over the last few months life has been fabulous, and I have felt strong, happy, and really, really good. And, as I've said in previous posts - I would rather not be on drugs. I'm more of a tree huggin' hippie organic herbal yoga deep breath natural  childbirth walk in the woods type of person, if you catch my drift. Basically, I'd like to to do everything I can to try to live happily without prescribed medication. It's just me. It's just what I want for myself.

The bad news is, that with drawls from Cymbalta are NOT PRETTY. Quite ugly. I feel like am in a very, very dark place right now. (And so of course instead of writing about it in my private journal on my bedstand, I have to tell the whole world and internet and god about it, as any proper blogger and modern mother would!)

I am so irritable... my poor children - my patience is non-existent. I am moody, sad, weepy, and anxious. Have you ever felt that you needed to laugh hysterically and cry like you've never cried before at the same time? That's how I feel. A bit mad, as in mad-hatter mad.

And then there's the BRAIN ZAPS. Seriously. Over the last week, I feel as though my brain has little seizures or something, that zap my whole body. My lips go numb and tingle. I feel like I'm floating around instead of walking. It's just strange.

I'm also having very violent dreams. And sexy ones! (Okay, Borat.) (Yes, the sex drive is returning. My husband is thrilled. I think his skin is glowing. Watch out good looking men walking past me on the sidewalk, I may attack.) The violent dreams have been strange: One night I dreamt of tornadoes and water spouts and natural disaster. The next night I dreamt a close friend's teenage son looked us straight in the eye and then shot himself in the head in front of me and her. And last night, I dreamt that we were being invaded by a military presence, and I was trying to run and hide and get away from them... Very Anne Frank and Gestapo-ish. Very creepy.

I am telling you this because, for one, I need to write about it, just to talk. Secondly, is there anyone else out there who has gone through this that can support me here or share their experience(s) with weaning off anti-depressants/ Cymbalta?

I really hope to get through this. I have so many wonderful stories to share!!! I want to write again! My little Niko is practically a MAN, baby and I haven't even blogged about his baby years!!! I looked at him the other day in his car seat and he is not even much of a toddler! He's a kid. A tall one!

(Oh, great, here comes one of those happy/weepy moments. Give me a moment.)

Moment.

Another moment.

Okay, it's passed.

So please, share your stories, I need you right now, my internet friends. It's springtime, and everything is beautiful! Life is way too good to feel so bad.