Rationally speaking, my last post was one big downer. Depressing as it may have read, it was the final piece of the puzzle that straightened me out. Mentally speaking, I'm in a great place. As great a place as one can be in right now.
Writing is a creative outlet for me. Nothing is more satisfying than a well worded phrase, or a string of terms that pulls you readers in and suddenly you GET me. I love to make others laugh and feel uber fab at the end of a hilarious post. But life is not all sunshine and calorie-free carbohydrates. I don't consider my life any worse or better than anyone else's, I'm just willing to share all of it. The good, the bad, and the funny.
Our status is still in limbo, but we hope to find out soon just how the rest of 2011 should pan out. I have faith in my Navy to send us somewhere we belong whether I think so at the time or not. There is a firm believe in this clan that things happen for a reason. If Rob doesn't deploy to Kuwait next month it wasn't meant to be and we're meant for something else. Truth be told, I never wanted to come to Athens and cried every single day for the first week we were here. Big ol' sappy hormonal pregnant tears, too. Look how that all turned out.
I'm still pulling for deployment, fingers crossed. As much as I'm not a planny-planner, I would like to stick with this original plan. California after Kuwait seems like a fabulous adventure and it'll help steering my minivan out of town if it's headed west with Katie Perry streaming through the speakers. Although I'm not super thrilled to single parent my brood for the deployment duration, I also see it as a right of passage. I've survived deployments with Rob out to sea on my own, but haven't had to pull up my big girl panties and super-mom it up through the good days and bad. Strength is found when I least expect it, and I'm willing to prove my salt as a Navy spouse.
Writing about this helps me think things out and get them out. I can type and leave it, and then it hounds me no more. Blogging is definitely cathartic for me and keeps our friends and loved ones updated. Double win. As for what happens next, we're still waiting to see, and then write.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
status update: bruised but not broken
Rob had a mole on his leg, but now it's gone. We found out that the mole was actually cancerous, a melanoma. It was very shallow and small, about the size of a pencil eraser. The surrounding area of skin was also removed and found to be clear. He just had seven stitches removed that closed up the offending area. Thankfully, we're ok. Rob doesn't have cancer. Rob, does not, have, cancer. But he did.
There is nothing that can scare you sober like "cancer" entering your medical records. Since the melanoma scare HAS entered his medical records our plans may be changing. Rob had/has orders to deploy to Kuwait from April to November of this year. Not so much now. He's "not medically eligible for deployment."
You would think I would be jumping for joy he's not going away, however the opposite is true. I am not chomping at the bit to parent our two small adorable yet chaotic children by myself, but it's what we planned. First we danced with cancer, but only for a moment and left unscathed yet shaken. Now we are in limbo. If Rob doesn't deploy, we'll be leaving Athens in April instead of November, and we have no idea where. Not only do I like to pretend we're never going to leave Athens, but I don't like being slapped in the face with the possibility of our impending departure to parts unknown.
2011 has been a one-two punch and left us swaying where we stand. Knowing that we almost had to battle cancer, but won't is not all blessings and gratefulness. I do feel incredibly grateful and lucky this was caught early. I also feel battered and thrown. We didn't have to fight the fight, but we didn't leave emotionally unscathed either. In an instant life became so fragile and an overcast shadow crept in the fabulous bubble my domestic life is here in Athens. A giant unwelcome wake-up call.
I don't know where we're going next or when. I do know I don't want to leave Athens. I joke about it publicly but cry privately almost daily. I will miss how much teaching knitting at Main Street Yarns feeds my soul. I will miss the only home my children have known. I will miss the friendships that make me feel more like me. I'm so lucky to have people that get, love, & appreciate me (and vice verse). I will miss the WOW Bootcamp workouts that make me feel strong and fast and capable of anything. I will miss my life here in Athens and pray every night that God will keep us here.
I'm on an emotional roller coaster waiting to hear if Rob will get a medical waiver and we can proceed as planned. We're still standing though. Life goes on. Grace still goes to preschool and we still go to play-dates and I'm still teaching a few knitting classes. Life is still living while we're waiting to hear where it will take us next.
The good thing is Rob doesn't have cancer, the days I get so frustrated and angry I need to remember this. Rob doesn't have cancer. We won't have to schedule chemotherapy on our calendar alongside well-visits to the pediatrician. We won't have to endure the body damaging side effects of radiation while trying to potty train our kids. Most importantly of all, we could have been facing a battle to keep my husband and the father of my children. But we won't, and we're ok, and I need to remember that.
There is nothing that can scare you sober like "cancer" entering your medical records. Since the melanoma scare HAS entered his medical records our plans may be changing. Rob had/has orders to deploy to Kuwait from April to November of this year. Not so much now. He's "not medically eligible for deployment."
You would think I would be jumping for joy he's not going away, however the opposite is true. I am not chomping at the bit to parent our two small adorable yet chaotic children by myself, but it's what we planned. First we danced with cancer, but only for a moment and left unscathed yet shaken. Now we are in limbo. If Rob doesn't deploy, we'll be leaving Athens in April instead of November, and we have no idea where. Not only do I like to pretend we're never going to leave Athens, but I don't like being slapped in the face with the possibility of our impending departure to parts unknown.
2011 has been a one-two punch and left us swaying where we stand. Knowing that we almost had to battle cancer, but won't is not all blessings and gratefulness. I do feel incredibly grateful and lucky this was caught early. I also feel battered and thrown. We didn't have to fight the fight, but we didn't leave emotionally unscathed either. In an instant life became so fragile and an overcast shadow crept in the fabulous bubble my domestic life is here in Athens. A giant unwelcome wake-up call.
I don't know where we're going next or when. I do know I don't want to leave Athens. I joke about it publicly but cry privately almost daily. I will miss how much teaching knitting at Main Street Yarns feeds my soul. I will miss the only home my children have known. I will miss the friendships that make me feel more like me. I'm so lucky to have people that get, love, & appreciate me (and vice verse). I will miss the WOW Bootcamp workouts that make me feel strong and fast and capable of anything. I will miss my life here in Athens and pray every night that God will keep us here.
I'm on an emotional roller coaster waiting to hear if Rob will get a medical waiver and we can proceed as planned. We're still standing though. Life goes on. Grace still goes to preschool and we still go to play-dates and I'm still teaching a few knitting classes. Life is still living while we're waiting to hear where it will take us next.
The good thing is Rob doesn't have cancer, the days I get so frustrated and angry I need to remember this. Rob doesn't have cancer. We won't have to schedule chemotherapy on our calendar alongside well-visits to the pediatrician. We won't have to endure the body damaging side effects of radiation while trying to potty train our kids. Most importantly of all, we could have been facing a battle to keep my husband and the father of my children. But we won't, and we're ok, and I need to remember that.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
my road to adulthood is taken by minivan
I always thought that being a grown-up would have a certain "I'm an adult" feeling to it. I'm 28 and can honestly say I don't feel like a real adult. Getting married didn't make me feel like an adult. Neither the birth of my first nor second child gave me that sense of maturity. (I most definitely got a lot of mom-turity since momming up, but I'll save that for another blogging day). No, it came unexpectedly yesterday and instantly I knew true adulthood had arrived. I became an adult when we purchased a brand new minivan.
It all started less than 24 hours before. I returned home from a fabulous evening at Casa Mia with my book club pals to Rob greeting me with, "What do you think about trading the car in for a minivan?" No. My instant reaction was NO. Our car, a Chrysler Pacifica, worked just fine and ultra-fabulous Lilah would not be caught dead car-dancing at a stop-light in a minivan. No. No I didn't want a minivan, no I didn't want to go test drive one. Thank you, but no.
Captain responsibility had talked me into at least "taking a look" within 20 minutes. Rob is a creature of clear conscious, sensibility, and is as hard working as they come. What you see is what you get with my husband. It is no surprise to me that he has chosen a military career as a Naval Officer because his character reads straight from Uncle Sam's wish list of American values. His wife, on the other hand, is one hot mess. Many times, OK, all the time he is the voice of reason when it comes to decision making. So it was no surprise that once he started talking-up van ownership, I was going to fold faster than an amateur poker player. Little did I know that less than 24 hours after that conversation my new minivan would be sitting in the carport.
Yesterday he planned on playing racquetball with his commander and then afterwards pick up Grace from preschool to return home right before nap time. I asked how racquetball was and he informed me due to his partner bailing on him, he had spent the morning at the dealership and was "knee deep" in buying us a minivan. All I had to do was just test drive it. We didn't have to buy it if I didn't want to...blah, blah, blah. My sweet beloved was playing me like a cheap fiddle and smiling the whole time.
I sheepishly walked into the dealership and found the dealer Rob informed me about. After polite introductions and strong handshake, I uttered like a sullen teenager, "I'm here to drive a minivan." He showed me the van, and I tried not to gasp in shock as he opened the sliding door. The entire interior was the color of a soft cream suede. Because part of the seats WERE SOFT CREAM SUEDE! What the hell was my husband thinking?! The demographic we belong to is sponsored by Gymboree, not AARP. What Rob saw was luxury and what I saw was a vehicle not child friendly. I obliged and test drove the orthopedic dreamship. My posture was ramrod straight and every bit of me was convinced that this whole minivan buying scheme had been the wrong idea from the start.
The dealer being the dealer showed me a second vehicle. Same exact model, just one level down in accessories package. I tore through it inside and out looking for the deal breaker, the negative aspect that would be the kiss of death to this vehicle purchase. It wasn't there. What was there was remote dual sliding doors, 3 DVD players, leather interior (black, not tan), power EVERYTHING, and the pair of aces in Rob's hand, space and convenience. I was done before I had even driven it, but once I did drive it I inwardly admitted defeat. Trying to reveal nothing, I thanked the dealer for his time and informed him Rob would be in contact with him if we were interested after a spousal pow-wow.
Driving home I felt excited and defeated at the same time. Had I really given in? Was this the end of cool as I knew it? I was conflicted and Rob could see that when I told him to go buy us that minivan. The smart and sensible part of me agreed, this was the vehicle for me. A small bit of me still lingered in remorse. Then Grace woke up and I went to her room to get her. She lovingly exclaimed, "Mommy," and that's when it clicked. Enter adulthood, stage right. A minivan was about suiting my needs and my family's needs. Seeing that adorable little face made me realize I wasn't doing this for just me, I was doing this for her and her brother too. And all their soccer gear, and pals, and juice boxes, and any other duties called upon this super-mom. No hero can do their job without the proper equipment.
Buying this van has made me feel more like a real mom than ever. My friend Peggy told me I would never look back. She's right, I haven't (I also haven't needed to with the reverse rear camera!). It is my first new vehicle and I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT. I did a happy dance when Rob pulled in the driveway. I opened the door to the carport to wish it goodnight before going to bed last night. This morning I padded through the house like a kid on Christmas morning just to peek and make sure it was still there. This analogy is very fitting considering I skittered right past our Christmas tree, which is still up.
This vehicle is so right in all the right ways. I can only imagine how excited that first mom was who drove the first minivan. She probably thought, "Finally." The minivan was created for mom, and mom is who I am. A super fabulous cool mom. Give me good beat and I will still be car-dancing at the stop-lights. I'm more mature now in adulthood and realize image is nothing and convenience is everything.
It all started less than 24 hours before. I returned home from a fabulous evening at Casa Mia with my book club pals to Rob greeting me with, "What do you think about trading the car in for a minivan?" No. My instant reaction was NO. Our car, a Chrysler Pacifica, worked just fine and ultra-fabulous Lilah would not be caught dead car-dancing at a stop-light in a minivan. No. No I didn't want a minivan, no I didn't want to go test drive one. Thank you, but no.
Captain responsibility had talked me into at least "taking a look" within 20 minutes. Rob is a creature of clear conscious, sensibility, and is as hard working as they come. What you see is what you get with my husband. It is no surprise to me that he has chosen a military career as a Naval Officer because his character reads straight from Uncle Sam's wish list of American values. His wife, on the other hand, is one hot mess. Many times, OK, all the time he is the voice of reason when it comes to decision making. So it was no surprise that once he started talking-up van ownership, I was going to fold faster than an amateur poker player. Little did I know that less than 24 hours after that conversation my new minivan would be sitting in the carport.
Yesterday he planned on playing racquetball with his commander and then afterwards pick up Grace from preschool to return home right before nap time. I asked how racquetball was and he informed me due to his partner bailing on him, he had spent the morning at the dealership and was "knee deep" in buying us a minivan. All I had to do was just test drive it. We didn't have to buy it if I didn't want to...blah, blah, blah. My sweet beloved was playing me like a cheap fiddle and smiling the whole time.
I sheepishly walked into the dealership and found the dealer Rob informed me about. After polite introductions and strong handshake, I uttered like a sullen teenager, "I'm here to drive a minivan." He showed me the van, and I tried not to gasp in shock as he opened the sliding door. The entire interior was the color of a soft cream suede. Because part of the seats WERE SOFT CREAM SUEDE! What the hell was my husband thinking?! The demographic we belong to is sponsored by Gymboree, not AARP. What Rob saw was luxury and what I saw was a vehicle not child friendly. I obliged and test drove the orthopedic dreamship. My posture was ramrod straight and every bit of me was convinced that this whole minivan buying scheme had been the wrong idea from the start.
The dealer being the dealer showed me a second vehicle. Same exact model, just one level down in accessories package. I tore through it inside and out looking for the deal breaker, the negative aspect that would be the kiss of death to this vehicle purchase. It wasn't there. What was there was remote dual sliding doors, 3 DVD players, leather interior (black, not tan), power EVERYTHING, and the pair of aces in Rob's hand, space and convenience. I was done before I had even driven it, but once I did drive it I inwardly admitted defeat. Trying to reveal nothing, I thanked the dealer for his time and informed him Rob would be in contact with him if we were interested after a spousal pow-wow.
Driving home I felt excited and defeated at the same time. Had I really given in? Was this the end of cool as I knew it? I was conflicted and Rob could see that when I told him to go buy us that minivan. The smart and sensible part of me agreed, this was the vehicle for me. A small bit of me still lingered in remorse. Then Grace woke up and I went to her room to get her. She lovingly exclaimed, "Mommy," and that's when it clicked. Enter adulthood, stage right. A minivan was about suiting my needs and my family's needs. Seeing that adorable little face made me realize I wasn't doing this for just me, I was doing this for her and her brother too. And all their soccer gear, and pals, and juice boxes, and any other duties called upon this super-mom. No hero can do their job without the proper equipment.
Buying this van has made me feel more like a real mom than ever. My friend Peggy told me I would never look back. She's right, I haven't (I also haven't needed to with the reverse rear camera!). It is my first new vehicle and I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT. I did a happy dance when Rob pulled in the driveway. I opened the door to the carport to wish it goodnight before going to bed last night. This morning I padded through the house like a kid on Christmas morning just to peek and make sure it was still there. This analogy is very fitting considering I skittered right past our Christmas tree, which is still up.
This vehicle is so right in all the right ways. I can only imagine how excited that first mom was who drove the first minivan. She probably thought, "Finally." The minivan was created for mom, and mom is who I am. A super fabulous cool mom. Give me good beat and I will still be car-dancing at the stop-lights. I'm more mature now in adulthood and realize image is nothing and convenience is everything.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
From DEFCON 3 & back
In an effort to blog more, I'm attempting this from my beloved iPhone. The events of today really needed me to give my writing muscles a good flex.
Georgia to Maine, everything went all to hell by 9am. I should have started packing earlier than last night, but my motives are questionable, and I chose to a playdate with pals instead. I loved the socializing, and even responsibly did three loads of laundry in prep mode.
Packing for myself and two babies is an organizational feat that results in stress overload. I am too much of a scatter brain to add "packing for a trip" to lists of strengths on my resume. (FYI, my current market is domestic engineering).
Exhausted, I dragged my tired tush to bed at 11:00 half packed in both mine and the kids suitcases. Quote, "I'll pack myself tonight and help you however you need tomorrow," Ron.* (names may have been changed to protect this subject from getting ripped a new
&$$hole).
T-minus two hours to leaving for the airport, I left my husband, his unpacked suitcase, two unfed & undressed babies to drop the dogs off to be boarded and grab last minute supplies at the Target. Did I forget to mention "Ron" was starting a load of his own laundry as I walked out the door?
Target happened first, and I returned to the car to find my very panicked Chihuahua had deuced in car and proceeded to freak herself out all about the interior. Nothing starts the morning right like enjoying a car full of aroma de dog shit the thirty minute drive roundtrip to the kennel. All before 9:00am. But by the grace of God go I, where I found the patience in very recesses of my sanity, I will never know.
Thankfully the rest of the day only got better. We made it to the airport, checked in, went through security, and boarded as seamlessly as can be expected with our cute yet challenging travel companions. The plane was wide open, so we had an entire row of 5 seats for our clan. It was lovely. Fin napped, Grace didn't, but we made it safely anyway.
Although the day started out shitty, literally, it got easier. We are still two hours from our final destination and I'm tip-tapping out this blog as our rental car zooms up interstate 95 in the cold dark Maine night. Sitting here next to my beloved "Ron," it feels good to be hoME.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Georgia to Maine, everything went all to hell by 9am. I should have started packing earlier than last night, but my motives are questionable, and I chose to a playdate with pals instead. I loved the socializing, and even responsibly did three loads of laundry in prep mode.
Packing for myself and two babies is an organizational feat that results in stress overload. I am too much of a scatter brain to add "packing for a trip" to lists of strengths on my resume. (FYI, my current market is domestic engineering).
Exhausted, I dragged my tired tush to bed at 11:00 half packed in both mine and the kids suitcases. Quote, "I'll pack myself tonight and help you however you need tomorrow," Ron.* (names may have been changed to protect this subject from getting ripped a new
&$$hole).
T-minus two hours to leaving for the airport, I left my husband, his unpacked suitcase, two unfed & undressed babies to drop the dogs off to be boarded and grab last minute supplies at the Target. Did I forget to mention "Ron" was starting a load of his own laundry as I walked out the door?
Target happened first, and I returned to the car to find my very panicked Chihuahua had deuced in car and proceeded to freak herself out all about the interior. Nothing starts the morning right like enjoying a car full of aroma de dog shit the thirty minute drive roundtrip to the kennel. All before 9:00am. But by the grace of God go I, where I found the patience in very recesses of my sanity, I will never know.
Thankfully the rest of the day only got better. We made it to the airport, checked in, went through security, and boarded as seamlessly as can be expected with our cute yet challenging travel companions. The plane was wide open, so we had an entire row of 5 seats for our clan. It was lovely. Fin napped, Grace didn't, but we made it safely anyway.
Although the day started out shitty, literally, it got easier. We are still two hours from our final destination and I'm tip-tapping out this blog as our rental car zooms up interstate 95 in the cold dark Maine night. Sitting here next to my beloved "Ron," it feels good to be hoME.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Maine
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Happy. Happy Birthday.
Blogging with two young-uns is tough. I've been meaning to blog about my birthday for a month now. Considering it's October 14th, that would be exactly a month. Really, I just stopped celebrating in the past couple weeks. Insert Earth, Wind, and Fire's September here.
My birthday is September 14th, but I started feeling special the beginning of the month and didn't stop until the end. I feel EXTRA important the actual day of my birthday. I LOVE LOVE LOVE birthdays. Not just my own, but birthdays in general. If ever informed of some one's birthday, I will often respond with, "It's your birthday?! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!" with a ginormous heartfelt grin on my face. Birthdays are significant. They mark the day you were born. The day you became a person. The day you entered the world. The beginning of your life. When someone wishes you a Happy Birthday, how can it not validate your existence? When I say it, I mean "I'm happy you were born," and more often than not, "I think you're pretty fabulous."
I turned 28 last month. Not sure what 28 is supposed to feel like, but to me it feels pretty damn fabulous. I have much to be thankful for. Receiving a heartfelt voicemail from a dear friend that day brought tears to my eyes thinking of all my blessings.
Rob surprised me with lobster. Umm, hello I love this man. When you're a Mainer, nothing says HOME or (in our family) LOVE, like real Maine lobsters thrashing at you angrily as their lives are about to end for your dining pleasure. It was a perfect gift and made me happy in so many ways.
The cake was made for me by my pal Deb off MMMM cakes, PLUG. It was chocolate cake with a white chocolate frosting and pink fondant polka dots (perfect for plucking off one by one for a birthday-tastic naptime treat for Mommy). By the time Rob got home from work, it looked like it had seen a flock of pecky seagulls. No, just me and my anxious little fingers. Unfortunately we didn't have the correct candles, but using a 7 and a 1 to represent the 8 suited me just fine. It was a yummy yum yum cake, just perfect for me.
My birthday was lovely. It was an ordinary day in my extraordinarily blessed life. I can only hope I have same enthusiasm and joie de vivre for many birthday celebrations to come.
My birthday is September 14th, but I started feeling special the beginning of the month and didn't stop until the end. I feel EXTRA important the actual day of my birthday. I LOVE LOVE LOVE birthdays. Not just my own, but birthdays in general. If ever informed of some one's birthday, I will often respond with, "It's your birthday?! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!" with a ginormous heartfelt grin on my face. Birthdays are significant. They mark the day you were born. The day you became a person. The day you entered the world. The beginning of your life. When someone wishes you a Happy Birthday, how can it not validate your existence? When I say it, I mean "I'm happy you were born," and more often than not, "I think you're pretty fabulous."
I turned 28 last month. Not sure what 28 is supposed to feel like, but to me it feels pretty damn fabulous. I have much to be thankful for. Receiving a heartfelt voicemail from a dear friend that day brought tears to my eyes thinking of all my blessings.
Rob surprised me with lobster. Umm, hello I love this man. When you're a Mainer, nothing says HOME or (in our family) LOVE, like real Maine lobsters thrashing at you angrily as their lives are about to end for your dining pleasure. It was a perfect gift and made me happy in so many ways.
The cake was made for me by my pal Deb off MMMM cakes, PLUG. It was chocolate cake with a white chocolate frosting and pink fondant polka dots (perfect for plucking off one by one for a birthday-tastic naptime treat for Mommy). By the time Rob got home from work, it looked like it had seen a flock of pecky seagulls. No, just me and my anxious little fingers. Unfortunately we didn't have the correct candles, but using a 7 and a 1 to represent the 8 suited me just fine. It was a yummy yum yum cake, just perfect for me.
My birthday was lovely. It was an ordinary day in my extraordinarily blessed life. I can only hope I have same enthusiasm and joie de vivre for many birthday celebrations to come.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Lilah of New
To say I've been busy lately would be a ginormous understatement. It's been a slow descent into fuss-filled chaos with the baby boy. Finley may or may not have the C-word (the one that rhymes with "frolic," not to be confused with the C-word that rhymes with "hunt"). Reflux medication, changing formulas, propping his bed, propping his head, changing his bottles, and purchasing a $20 bottle of Colic Calm all lead me to final swallow my pride and read up about colic. It described too many of Fin's symptoms to simply be coincidental and we've realized we were probably the one in five parents of a newborn that didn't dodge that bullet.
It's been the challenge of challenges, but surprisingly to all parties involved, I've risen to meet these demands. Rob and I spend many an evening tossing Fin between each other like a hot potato, and tag-team the toddler wrangling like a couple of rodeo clowns. The Lilah of Old would not have gone so quietly into these dark nights. Lilah of Old would have been a spoiled, sleep-deprived mess. I don't handle stress well, but I am worlds better than I used to be. Old me would have been kicking and screaming right along side these other two. Looks like I'm becoming an adult after all.
Many friends had informed me that life with two young children is very chaotic, but you "just do it." Like a super-mom themed Nike commercial, I suddenly know exactly what pals have been telling me. My commercial features a Baby Bjorn clad me in a 50-yard bottle making sprint while simultaneously changing a poopy diaper. Forget the inspiring theme music, and insert me singing "Don't park so close to me" (to the tune of the Police's "Don't Stand so Close") while maneuvering a parking lot. I can do it, and am doing it with the best of them. The endurance and stamina required for a colicky newborn and fiercely independent two-year old is nothing short of athleticism. (Nike, please feel free to contact me for further marketing ideas with this mom-empowerment campaign).
Lately there have been many times I have never felt so exhausted, frustrated, overwhelmed, guilty, inept, and out of control. But there are new developments as well. Better time management, coping skills, extreme multitasking, and huge improvement in suck-it-up factor have all been added to my momming-repertoire. I guess you just do it because you have to. It's part survival and part innate mothering capabilities. Woman have been mothers to two or more children for centuries, but this is a big life transformation for me. We're going stop while we're ahead and stop making babies. I was created with two arms for a reason. If God wanted me to have a whole Gosselin-load of children He would have given me more hands. I'm feeling tired and anxious most of the time, but most importantly, capable. That is all the can-do this fabulista needs.
It's been the challenge of challenges, but surprisingly to all parties involved, I've risen to meet these demands. Rob and I spend many an evening tossing Fin between each other like a hot potato, and tag-team the toddler wrangling like a couple of rodeo clowns. The Lilah of Old would not have gone so quietly into these dark nights. Lilah of Old would have been a spoiled, sleep-deprived mess. I don't handle stress well, but I am worlds better than I used to be. Old me would have been kicking and screaming right along side these other two. Looks like I'm becoming an adult after all.
Many friends had informed me that life with two young children is very chaotic, but you "just do it." Like a super-mom themed Nike commercial, I suddenly know exactly what pals have been telling me. My commercial features a Baby Bjorn clad me in a 50-yard bottle making sprint while simultaneously changing a poopy diaper. Forget the inspiring theme music, and insert me singing "Don't park so close to me" (to the tune of the Police's "Don't Stand so Close") while maneuvering a parking lot. I can do it, and am doing it with the best of them. The endurance and stamina required for a colicky newborn and fiercely independent two-year old is nothing short of athleticism. (Nike, please feel free to contact me for further marketing ideas with this mom-empowerment campaign).
Lately there have been many times I have never felt so exhausted, frustrated, overwhelmed, guilty, inept, and out of control. But there are new developments as well. Better time management, coping skills, extreme multitasking, and huge improvement in suck-it-up factor have all been added to my momming-repertoire. I guess you just do it because you have to. It's part survival and part innate mothering capabilities. Woman have been mothers to two or more children for centuries, but this is a big life transformation for me. We're going stop while we're ahead and stop making babies. I was created with two arms for a reason. If God wanted me to have a whole Gosselin-load of children He would have given me more hands. I'm feeling tired and anxious most of the time, but most importantly, capable. That is all the can-do this fabulista needs.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Post-partum moment of the month
Setting: Sitting outside Athens Regional Medical Center.
I had just been discharged earlier that day and absentmindedly forgotten my perineal cleansing bottle. After going to two pharmacies and a medical supply store, Rob dropped me off at the hospital to get another one.
Me: don't cry, don't cry (as Rob drives up with the pizzas and Grace in the car)
Rob: "What's the matter???"
Me: "THE NURSE WOULDN'T GIVE ME ONE!" sob sob sob...
Rob: "Why not?"
Me: big sigh, trying to collect my overreactive self, "She said couldn't give me one after I had been discharged already. She said it was just a ketchup bottle, but it's not, IT'S NOT A KETCHUP BOTTLE!" sob sob sob...
Rob: gives me a sympathetic glance
Me: wiping my eyes, "Ugh, I'm sorry, I feel ridiculous right now, I have no idea why I'm crying about this. I'm ok now."
Rob: more of the sympathetic glance, gently pats me on the leg.
Me: "I JUST LOVE IT SO MUCH! IT CLEANS ME SO GOOD!" sob sob sob...
Grace: starts trying to cry in response to my crying
Rob: laughs, "I'm sorry I'm laughing, but this is so ridiculous and funny."
Me: sniffle, sniffle, "I'm not mad about you laughing, I'm just obviously not feeling like myself right now. Did you happen to pick up my Cymbalta prescription from the pharmacy?"
Rob: "YES."
It's not a ketchup bottle, bitch.
I had just been discharged earlier that day and absentmindedly forgotten my perineal cleansing bottle. After going to two pharmacies and a medical supply store, Rob dropped me off at the hospital to get another one.
Me: don't cry, don't cry (as Rob drives up with the pizzas and Grace in the car)
Rob: "What's the matter???"
Me: "THE NURSE WOULDN'T GIVE ME ONE!" sob sob sob...
Rob: "Why not?"
Me: big sigh, trying to collect my overreactive self, "She said couldn't give me one after I had been discharged already. She said it was just a ketchup bottle, but it's not, IT'S NOT A KETCHUP BOTTLE!" sob sob sob...
Rob: gives me a sympathetic glance
Me: wiping my eyes, "Ugh, I'm sorry, I feel ridiculous right now, I have no idea why I'm crying about this. I'm ok now."
Rob: more of the sympathetic glance, gently pats me on the leg.
Me: "I JUST LOVE IT SO MUCH! IT CLEANS ME SO GOOD!" sob sob sob...
Grace: starts trying to cry in response to my crying
Rob: laughs, "I'm sorry I'm laughing, but this is so ridiculous and funny."
Me: sniffle, sniffle, "I'm not mad about you laughing, I'm just obviously not feeling like myself right now. Did you happen to pick up my Cymbalta prescription from the pharmacy?"
Rob: "YES."
It's not a ketchup bottle, bitch.
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