Baby Poop and Business Suits

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.

Crow's Feet Discovered

Guess WHAT!?

I'm officially old! My thirtieth birthday was Saturday. I attended a party at the home of one lovely and one handsome friend(s), and we drank Sangria and ate lots of yummy appetizers. I am quite sure I woke up the morning of my birthday, and new wrinkles appeared near my eyes. And ya know what? I don't really care. What can you do, eh?

In other news, my new business is rolling! Things are happening! No riches quite yet, but I'm not going to give up on dreaming.

On another topic, the children and I (and then my dad, and then my sister visiting from Chicago and her new boyfriend) were recently were cursed with the gastrointestinal flu. I'm going to assume you know what I mean when I say "gastrointestinal". Let me just say that I was so happy to have lost four pounds in one day!!! (Yes, I gained it back in another day or two.) I recall going down the highway, and my husband, next to me in the driver's seat, turned to me and said, "I've been puked on more times this week than I have in my whole life," and I knew it was no exaggeration on his part. Little did he know he was about to be puked on again twice later that day.

Deep thought: If teens knew how gross, slimy, dirty, and stinky having children would be, I think they'd use a condom more often and give in to unprotected sex less. Somebody should hire me to put together a marketing campaign for abstinence or avoiding unwanted pregnancy.

My campaign would include multiple billboards with poop and vomit on them, I'll tell you that much.

Speaking of stinky little mess-makers, my children are great. Little delights, they are. I am happy to announce a development I've been patiently waiting for since I became a parent:

Child Slave Labor and/or Child Housekeeping!!!

I used to always wish my polydactyl cat, Elliott, would learn how to do the dishes or pick up a broom, but he just never seemed to have any interest in these tasks, so I gave up on him years ago. But, now, I'm happy to report that both children now seem to enjoy using the vacuum and cleaning glass surfaces! Kyra's got a fondness for toilet bowl cleaning, as well. That's my girl. Aren't they sweet? (They have a fresh breeze/sometimes orange scent too!)

That burning in the throat feeling

I'm afraid that what I'm about to write may just sound pretty weepy and pathetic - but hey, this is my blog, and you're reading it, so there.

Last Tuesday was my first day back to work. I've been trying to prepare for this date since the moment I found out I was pregnant - wait, no. I've been preparing for this moment even before I had kids. Before I was even married. It's as if I always knew this moment would come.

I vowed to myself that I wouldn't be a softy, that I wouldn't break down and cry when I left them at day care (because I've done that before, and there's nothing worse than sobbing in front of a group of two and three year olds as they sit on the floor looking up at you with little eyes that say, "Get it together, woman. YOU'RE supposed to be the responsible one, here...")

The last few days have been the hardest so far in my 28 years of life. On Tuesday, the first day I returned to the job, I don't know how to describe how I felt, other than numb. And nervous. And a little sick to my stomach. Like my children and I are two pieces of velcro that CAN be separated, but when you pull us apart, we make that little ripping sound. I swear there is something magnetic about a new baby and a mother. There's an unseen pull that draws us together, and when we're apart, there's an unpleasant longing to be together with the occasional burning of the throat.

Yes. I am dramatic.

Well that's just me - the burning of the throat and the longing. I can't speak for the baby or the three year old. (But I can say the baby seems most happy connected to my breast. Left or right, either will do. He'd probably take both at once if he could.)

I mean, sure he smiles when other people talk to him or squeeze his chubby little arms and legs, but, come on, his eyes roll back in his head when he's nursing. Suck suck smile. Suck suck smile. Has anyone else ever witnessed that before? There's nothing better than the suck suck smile.

So I haven't broken down at daycare or work, but as I was making my bed the other morning, I noticed my pillow was dotted with mascara marks from sobbing quietly as I fall asleep, or waking up in the middle of the night and crying a bit.

Or I get choked up as I change Niko's diaper and look into his big blue baby eyes, or as Jeremy and I sit on the sofa after the kids are asleep catching up on "Lost" episodes. No, it's not Lost that gets me teary eyed... (Okay sometimes it is.) That's a damn good show.

But when I'm at work, I like my work. It's not bad, in fact, I think it's kind of good. And I think if I had to choose anyone to do my day care, I'd choose the woman we've got. And, Kyra's been perkier and happier and goofier than ever since she's been going.

I think the most difficult part is over, but I'm sure there will be more to come. Because I'm working only in the afternoons, we still have our mornings together. But I think it's knowing I'm missing five hours out of each afternoon of their lives, Monday through Friday that hurts so bad. That's 25 missing hours a week. 100 hours gone per month. 1200 hours in the most important years of their lives that I'm not there.

I was home with Kyra for her whole first year of life, and I know what I'm missing with Niko this time around. It's those unscheduled little moments that are best, like taking a leisurely lunch and talking and being silly... Spending an hour after naptime in her bedroom just playing... Walks around town, time at the park... I guess it's the extra bonding that I'll miss. Enjoying each other's presence. Being a mom and knowing that they know you're there and you love them.

God, would somebody just tell me to shut up?

How She Makes My Heart Ache

This morning as Kyra and I pulled into her daycare provider's driveway, I turned around and looked at her in the backseat with her blond hair flipped up on the sides and pink hoodie zipped up to her chin sitting in her car seat and said, "Are you ready to go see Sheri and your friends?"

"NO." she replied.

"Why, Kyra? Don't you like to play with the kids at daycare and have fun while momma goes to work?"

"NO." she replied again. "No want."

I had to be to work in ten minutes, so unstrapped her from her seat, hauled her up to the door, and we went on in. As I tried to sit her down and take off her sandals, she insisted on making this task quite difficult for me, due to the fact that she was bear-hugging my leg and refused to let go. We finally got the shoes off and started to get situated. She continued to cling. I had to be to work in five minutes now, so I pried her from me like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe, and sat her in her highchair for breakfast time.

"Bye bye, honey. Mama loves you. Have a good day. I love you," I whispered to her, as I nuzzled my cheek to her smaller, softer one and gave her a kiss on her whispy-haired head.

She gave me a look of horror, and her bottom lip began to quiver. "NOooooooo Maaaaa maaaaaaaa!!!" she said, and the crocodile tears started to flow, like little diamonds falling from her eyes. Her cheeks turned red and she reached her arms out to me desperately wanting to be saved from her highchair and Cheerio doom.

"Nooooooo, no Maaaaaamaaa! Noooo!"

I could hear my heart cracking into a thousand pieces at that moment. Dear God. What do I do? What kind of mother am I? What job is so important that it should pry a mother and child away from each other and cause both of us to break down and cry?

As she continued to sob and reach, I gulped, stepped away, waved a final goodbye, and just left. I got in my grey Volkswagen and started down the road. The farther away I drove, the more my chest felt like it was burning and my entire body ached to just hold her and comfort her.

An hour later, on the way to a meeting, I couldn't stop feeling like a big piece-of-crap-of-a-mother and wondering how my child was doing, so I pulled off the road and dialed my daycare provider. She assured me that Kyra was fine and dandy and happy as a clam, and in fact, the tears and drama stopped as soon as I shut the door on my way out that morning. She put Kyra on the phone and it was quite obvious that my child was having a grand ol' time and in fact was too busy playing to be bothered by a phone call from her worried mom.

When I showed up to get Kyra at the end of the day, we re-played this morning's scene, but this time, it was because she didn't want me to take her home. She was having too much fun and this time, instead of prying her off of me like a piece of stuck gum, I had to pry her off of the swing set, like a Band-Aid from a hairy leg.

Two years old, this child, and she's learned to tug at my heart strings like a master already. And I'm a true sucker for it.

I can't help feeling like I'm just a mother animal, who is bred and programmed with an instinct from centuries of evolution to hold my offspring close and protect it. When I'm away from my baby, my body yearns to be near her - if I was a kangaroo, I'd want to stick her in my pouch. If I was a cat, I'd lick her clean daily. If I was a monkey, I'd let her ride on my back, and then pick the bugs from her hair. And if I was a chicken, I'd sit on her until she hatched.

But, alas, I'm NOT a kangaroo, cat, monkey, or chicken. And yes, there are days when she drives me nuts and at those moments, I understand why some species eat their young. I just can't stop thinking it's a tough world out there, and I'm guess I'm just not sure if I'm ready to push my little one out of the nest yet.

She's still only a litle girl, and she needs her mama. (Or, is it, that her mama needs her?)

Good Days and Bad Days

I am such a damn crybaby.

I knew this week was going to be busy cause I had to go to a seminar yesterday, which meant rather than just working MWF, I'd throw in an extra day. No big deal, right? My mom volunteered to watch Kyra, everything's FINE.

Well, after two days away from my gal I start missing her so bad I can't stand it. I woke up this morning intent on going to work and being happy about it and instead I turned into a blubbering mess. I was talking to my boss and he apparently said something that rubbed me the wrong way and I started crying. The poor guy. He didn't even know what hit him. Then he felt bad and started telling me how great I am and how lucky he is to have me, which made me feel even more guilty for crying in front of him, which made me cry even more.

GOOD GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME THESE DAYS?

I'm usually a softy, but, really, there's no reason to cry in a situation like that. Criers like that drive me nuts. I like think of myself as some sort of tough mama who can weather anything no matter what, NOT A CRYBABY, but today I just wanted my child and it was killing me.

I didn't even HAVE to work today, I just wanted to go in and get some extra stuff done - cool things are happening at work and I'm excited to get projects rolling. I had already pre-paid my daycare provider, so what they hey? Kyra likes going to daycare anyways, so I went to work.

We came home, I fed Kyra lunch, and then it was nap time. I missed her so much I even wanted to take a nap with her. We never usually sleep together, but today I just wanted to cuddle. I put her in bed with me and she thought it was the coolest thing. "Mama, sleep?" she said, smiling. "Yes, honey, let's sleep. You're going to take a nap with Mama."

She then proceeded to stand up, jump up and down, and squeal with delight. Then she laid down and started kicking me in the head.

"Kyra, it's time for a nap. You and mama are going to take a nap, but you have to lay down." I said.

"O-Tay."

She then laid down for .00765 seconds and got up again and started flopping around on the bed, then pointing to Jeremy's pillowing going, "Daddy? Daddy!? Daddy work?"

So... Kyra is currently taking a nap in her own crib and I am downstairs writing yet another blog post about how I can't figure out if I want to be a mom or a career woman, and how I don't understand why I am such an emotional roller coaster basket case all the time.

I love my job. I REALLY love my child.

I am a wreck.

Again I will say: My poor husband. My poor, poor husband.

Life is truly amazing.

WARNING:  THIS IS A MUSHY ONE.  YOU MAY CRY.  I DID.

This morning, my friend Linda brought her twin baby daughters to visit and we had a lovely time.  Her babies are ten months old - still little bambinos compared to my now much larger toddler-kid...  As they were getting ready to leave, I was holding one of her babies as she strapped the other in her car seat, and it gave me a flash back of how it felt to hold my own sweet little baby.  That small-enough-to-hold-with-one-arm size, the soft, mushiness of a child who hasn't started tearing around and getting too strong yet.  As I held her, I nuzzled my face to her head a bit, and said, "Ella. You're such a sweet little baby."  When I said that, she just relaxed and completely melted into me.  It was as if she understood what I said, and responded by cuddling me back.

They drove away, and I brought Kyra up to her bed for her nap.  She was reluctant to sleep and hollered and complained for a half hour until I went back into her room.  As I picked her up, she did the same thing as little Ella did earlier.  I sat down in our rocking chair next to her crib and rocked her until she fell asleep.  I thought, she's still so babyish.  So round, and rosy.  The wispy blonde hair and chubby little arms and legs.  But as I held her, I looked down and thought about the fact that her feet stretched almost to my knees.  Not a baby anymore. 

And as she fell asleep, comforted in her mother's arms, it made me realize how lucky I am to have such a perfect little child, and to be holding her, listening to her breathing at that moment.  Some people can't be with their children very often, and some people never have children of their own, even if they want them.  I'm not a very religious person, but holding my own daughter, my sweet, smart, wonderful little mini-me, can't be anything less than a miracle, and I should thank the Lord everyday for giving me this amazing experience.  The next time I get frustrated because I can't find a babysitter so we can go out on a Friday night, or am awakened by a puking child in the middle of the night and only get a couple hours of sleep, I'm going to remember to treasure these moments, because not everyone is lucky enough to have them.  I've received a gift, and for that, I am truly thankful.

The Bond

Before I had my own child, I'd heard of the mother/child bond, but didn't really understand it. My own mother talks about how she still can't stand it when my sister or I don't feel well - she gets all mushy and wants to make us soup and be there to take care of us...

Now that I have my own daughter, I understand. All of you moms out there know the feeling - it almost hurts sometimes because you love your child so much. When they fall down and get a scrape, you wish you could take the pain or bleed for them - when they are up at night coughing with a terrible cold, your own chest heaves and aches as if their agony was your own. It's as if you are still physically connected.

I believe that mothers and children stay connected even after the physical separation of birth. I've always felt it with my own mom, and now I feel it with my daughter. Call me weird, sacrilegious, whatever - I don't care. Our conservative christian society squelches any notions that these psychic bonds exist by labeling them as witchcraft, superstition, pagan, or just plain wrong.

Honestly, I think that a connection like this is one of the most right, real and holy bonds that there ever could be.

A baby grows from a woman's own body and lives within it for nine months. When a child is breast fed, although the child is outside the womb, the mother is still providing complete nutrition to the baby. Yes, the mother and child separate eventually, but I wonder how separate they ever really are. It is proven that babies in the womb can taste the food eaten by the mother, and are affected when the mother experiences stress or anxiety. If this is true, why wouldn't thoughts and emotions pass to and remain with that child beyond the womb, and vice-versa?