twelve. II

I remember the doctor telling us that "we have a girl". I know the exact moment I heard you cry. Your first smile, your first laughter and your first word. I remember the day you first crawled away from me and when you first stood. I'm sure your many firsts to come will dim some of these memories for me. You will grow and time will move faster every year.

But for all the days and years to come the one thing I will never ever forget is the first time you looked in my eyes.

My sweet girl, happy first birthday.

twelve.

I wasn't going to write about today because I didn't want to burst into tears. Especially right now. Make-up and hair just so. I'm going to a fancy mall this afternoon and I want to look like a person, not an exhausted mommy.

But from the moment I woke up this morning I just couldn't get it out of my head. 12 years. My mother has been gone for 12 years.

For some reason I just cant wrap my head around that. It feels like I lost her yesterday.

It will always feel like yesterday.

But 12 years? It's not as profound as 10, not as emotional as 3.

No where near as devastating as 30 will be. When I will officially be the oldest she ever was.

12 seems to suggest a kind of acceptance of the years passing. A finality that only time can provide. It reminds me that no matter how much I would like to do otherwise, I measure my life in terms of years without her.

I still dream of her. Its not like it used to be though, the moment of pure elation upon seeing her; "OH! You're not dead!". Still smelling her in those foggy seconds between sleep and awake. The crushing blow of realization upon waking.

Now I feel almost a sense of trepidation upon meeting her. She's not supposed to be there, in the kitchen by the sink. This is my fathers house now. I feel as if I'm meeting an old friend and I don't know where to begin. My mind always snapping back to my father; wondering where he is.

Long before her death my mother told me that if ever one of them were to die, I should pray it was her. That for security, for safety, my brother and I needed my father.

I'm not sure if she really believed that to be true or the trauma of loosing her own father at 15 was so deeply set that she could not imagine that option for her children.

When my father was diagnosed with cancer, erm 12 years ago, I could see it in her eyes. If it was up to her, she would be the one to leave us.

Even then I saw her in my minds eye. Making a deal with God. Her bargain still rings in my head. Little more then a month from his diagnosis; she was gone.

I remember being little and finding my mother crying in her room over her father. It was ingrained in me so young to fear the loss of a parent. I don't wish that for my daughter, but how am I to avoid it? When with each passing year I take her hand to help light the candle in my mothers memory...and the next day light her birthday candle in celebration.

For now I know this, I miss my mother every day of my life.

But never more then today when I lost her.

And never more then tomorrow when I became her.

my dog ate my blogosphere.

Not that I even have a dog but if I did I bet you it would have....

I've been a total flake the last few months I admit, and I'm starting to feel really guilty about it. When I think about it I have all of these perfectly sound explanations for my absence...but when you pile them all together they just sound like excuses.

I am famous for excuses.

So here they are, my lame attempts to rationalize my guilt over my blog abandonment issues.

-I have been really really sick. Truly. For over a month I was on my back. A cold, MS, recovery, some weird hacking disease transmitted to me by an evil mouth breather at a play group.

-Due to said illnesses I have been napping when the baby naps and therefore loosing all of my off-duty parent web surfing time.

-I've struck a deal with Spouse that when he comes home the computer gets turned off.

-My absence from the computer is in direct proportion to the mobility of my baby.

-My absence from the computer is in direct proportion to the neediness of my baby who, whenever I plop down at the desk, immediately stops what she is doing to whine and cry at my feet until I return to my spot on the floor where she promptly leaves me to go chase cats.

-98% of my computer time is spent on Facebook playing Scrabble. I have a serious addiction issue but I'm also frighteningly good at it.

-My computer is a relic. I have 0% left on my hard drive (seriously) and loading any website, much less my blog reader, takes for-evah. This gives my baby ample time to shoot on over here and commence whining...and bouncing up and down while pulling on my pant leg...it's so freaking cute!

-Even when said blog reader does load it has a gazillion error messages and won't let me read/link to the hundreds of back logged posts I am yet to read. Therefore I eventually give up and walk away.

-Something did seriously eat my blogosphere...well blog reader really. Among all of those error messages I have the mystery of the disappearing~reappearing posts. I was so relieved to see no one else was really writing either. It made me feel like I wasn't the only one. This was until one day I checked and people had like 30 some odd posts out of no where. Just a little glitch and I swear me and my ancient computer are trying to catch up.

-I am totally depressed and don't want to talk about it.

-Ok, I'll talk about it, a little. This is the time of year my Mom died. We are quickly approaching the day, December 3rd, and each day it gets just a little harder to function. On that same note however I have the pending first birthday of my baby, December 4th, and I'm really struggling with the duality of the whole situation. What a great opportunity to write and share my feelings with others who know exactly what I'm going through you say? How healthy it would be for me to get this crap off the hamster wheel in my head? Yeah well, since when do we do what we know is healthy for us?

Since when do I do what is healthy for me?

Well I guess that last one really is the heart of it.

Thank you for those of you who stick with me even though I am totally giving nothing back right now in our relationship.

You and Spouse are in the same boat.

bubble.

Dear Fellow Mommy,

You selfish twit.

Did you think it was a good idea to venture out to a play group activity sick?

What stroke of genius did it take for you to not only park you snuffly ass next to me and my baby but for you to turn your head in our direction and cough.

Twice.

I understand I can't live in a bubble (although I certainly do try my hardest) but I would expect a certain amount of common sense and courtesy when nursing whatever illness you have.

Why haven't you seen me in three weeks? That's easy, because we have been sick. Unlike you I choose to stay within the confines of my home when down with disease.

I have been living the last month or so of my life mentally curled under my blankets in the fetal position; things are not all rosy and half full for me right now. I made a considerable effort this week to attend the play group activity for the good of my cagey daughter; we both needed to get out.

And the thanks I get? A cough. A sore throat. Geee thanks.

Now even if my immune system was not seriously compromised on a level you could not understand, I would be miffed.

Because you are sick and have no business around other moms and their babys. Got that? Food store I get, we all have to live....superfluous 1/2 hour activity that your aggressive and mean baby doesn't even seem to enjoy? Not so much.

So in short. To you and to your fellow germ ridden bone heads.

Stay the hell home.

Thanks!

well crap.

My heart is breaking.

My MS flared out of nowhere, I don't know what triggered it but it seems to be firing on all cylinders. I submitted to my doctor and had new MRI's run. They came back 'active'. Dangerous.

Tomorrow will be day 4 of The Juice. It could stretch to day 5. I'm a pin cushion. Today was my 8th stick with a needle/IV. If it weren't for the bruises I would have lost count.

I have to go back on my regular medication. Rebif. An injectable drug I can not breastfeed while taking.

I have to stop breastfeeding the baby. For good. Now.

And for that, not my illness, or the sticks, or the hours in an infusion room away from my family; my heart is breaking.

I have to stop. For real this time.

I have to keep saying it because I can not even begin to process this without hysterics.

I know I'm lucky, I know so many woman who don't get 2 hours; 2 weeks; 2 months nursing.

I've had almost 11 months.

And for every break of my heart I have a baby pulling at my shirt in tears; banging her head against me. She is getting desperate. I feel as if a fissure has opened up between us, I don't know what to do.

I try to look at the bright side. I can buy real bras again and be comfortable...

Maybe I'll get some new non-mommy undies to go with them?

Now I don't have to stress about being bit?

Not much of a bright side.

For the record; 2 years ago tonight, Halloween night, was my last shot of Rebif. I remembered the elation I felt when I took it. Freedom, for at least a little while. From the constant needles and medications. We were going to try and have a baby. That last shot meant the first step for a whole new life.

In the back of my mind the reality of having to go back to it was always there. I just didn't realize when it came down to it, how much it was going to sting...or how much nursing would change me.

Tonight those 2 years of freedom and our 11 nursing months just doesn't feel like enough for me.

It certainly isn't enough for her.

ten.

My bumble, my bubble, my boo.

I felt you move inside me at just 14 weeks and you have never stopped. You are perpetually in motion.

Even when you sleep.

not so wordless but at least it's wednesday.

No journalist left behind act.

Exactly how wrong is it that the article claiming my area schools have failed the states standardized tests (again) was littered with grammatical errors?

Seriously.

I went to WebMD so many times that I got a hemorrhoid.

So I'm just wondering...

Why exactly is it that stores hide things like Preparation H and Tucks?

Is it some kind of sick joke? Are the managers up there looking through their big brother cameras laughing at my plight?

I looked under Itching/Burning Creams.

I looked by Medicated Ointments/Wipes.

Nothing. I paced the aisles at the over sized retailer becoming increasingly aggravated. My problem becoming increasingly aggravated. Having never had this issue before I was at a total loss.

I saw no signs for Embarrassing Ass Problem.

No Secret Sore Relief.

Suffice it to say the Get Your Anorectic Treatment Here signs were lacking.

Are they trying to make it so I have to ask someone? So I have to go up to the baby faced teenager stocking shelves and listening to their Ipod; the one who is yet to experience anything publicly mortifying with their body; and inquire.

"Where is the ass cream??"

Finally I spotted a grouchy looking older woman. She was walking as if slightly uncomfortable and B-lining for the Antacid sign. I followed her.

I saw her stoop down and pluck a box off the shelf. Bingo.

I never thought to look in antacid...I mean, isn't that, while still connected, a totally different part of the body?

When she walked awkwardly from the aisle I swooped in. There they were, boxes of my needed relief, on the bottom shelf.

WTF?

Adding to all of the walking and looking and stressing about asking I now have to squat to select my savior?

Oh cruel irony your name is retail.

oops with an ending.

Allow me to fall all over myself with apologies for my poorly timed mini-vaca from everything but Facebook Scrabble all things internet.

I finally do have an update and an ending to what turned out to be a very long and very stressful summer.

See, Spouse was in danger of loosing his job. Well, maybe not in danger...lets say in imminent removal from. We had just 90 days for him to find a new one and let me just say those 90 days were hell.

There was pretty much a 98% chance we were going to have to move; whether it was to a new job in NH or back to NJ to live with my Dad. I even considered going back to work if Spouse was unemployed.

The horror.

We were making contingency plans.

We've been snipping at each other for months. There was no peace in this house, there was no money. Things were looking pretty scary.

And than a remarkable thing happened. This countries major financial institutions started to crumble.

Have I mentioned Spouse works in the crumbling financial industry? Well he does.

So finding a newer shinier job got that much harder. His old one started looking pretty good to him.

Have I mentioned Spouse is a pretty fast talker? Well he is.

And he gets to keep his job; with a few changes and a longer commute to a different campus.

Whatever.

We keep our house, we keep our new(ish) town.

We are actually happy again, a giant looming cloud was lifted. Can't you hear the angels singing?

So how did I celebrate? I instantly grabbed the baby and took off for Vermont to BF and family for a week. Leaving Spouse here alone. Aren't I nice?

Well it was the best thing; after this summer we needed a break.

Life is Good....at least that's what the tire cover on my Jeep says.

Now after I attend to my baby's cold/teething nightmare/growth spurt I will be blogging again.
I swear.

Oh and Amber...no more cliff hangers...Promise.

show me your poop face.

Yeah I know, it's wrong. But how can you resist a poop face like that?

Where have I been? Good question.

Involved, stressed and unsure. I've never been one to tell half a story so maybe tomorrow I'll know the ending; then I'll spill the beans.

No I'm not pregnant.

I know, I hate cliff hangers too.

updates.

After 11 days of hell waiting; I showered and flossed. Heaven.

I'm feeling much much better. The swelling continues to decrease...I look less and less like Franken-Mommy every day and more like me; which is such a good.

Eating has improved to foods I don't actually have to chew but can just swallow. Being that my jeans fit so well I am not concerned about this.


**************************************

It seems that there is actually a perfectly good reason to lick a baby.

As long as it's your baby....

...and she is arm deep in a bowl of mashed pears that got away from you.

**************************************

I had an awful dream last night.

Phoebe from Friends (not Lisa Kudrow...Phoebe) had Riley overnight while I was in the hospital for Lumpy.

My baby was not only not a baby when she was returned to me but she was Haley Joel Osment.




...And that is me off the pain killers.

nine.

I missed eight.



We have been so busy. You go everywhere with me and there is always a smile on your face. This last month it has been doctors and hospitals. It has been other states, family parties and chaos.


I have fought through it all but you have born it with interest and unwavering patience.

My sweet girl, with every day I can see your personality more and more.


You are independent. You have my stubborn streak.


There are so many firsts. When you clapped. When you tried to crawl (backwards). When you mimic.

When I wasn't there to kiss you goodnight.

Above all things, your smile still lights up a room.




And those eyes. Oh those eyes, they are holding fast as blue but I know they will change. No matter the color (I personally am holding out for your father's hazel) they will always be intense and look right at my heart.

the perfect diet.

I think I've finally figured out. After years of struggling with my body....the perfect diet.

I call it the Anti-Salivate diet and it's sorta based on Pavlov's Dog theory.

Think about food- make food- attempt to eat food.

Blinding searing pain. Radiating from my inner ear and pulsing through my whole head...certainly more effective than a bell.

If the food actually enters my mouth watch out, that is where the real punishment begins.

There's not a number on the pain scale for what I feel; and that's with copious amounts of percoset acetaminophen coursing in my veins.

My liver is loving it I'm sure.

Drugs I have to take (obviously) on an empty stomach. So if the cutting head pain wasn't enough to deter nutrition in any form entering my system the belly pains are a great follow up.

Psychologically it's really doing a number on me. Water seems to be the only thing I can have; but not too much. If I indulge a dull ache begins.

So the upside of having one of your main salivary glands partially removed is weight loss.

Take that Hollywood.

Because there has to be an upside; I'm really a glass is half full sort of girl.

all of those years of art school and I finally have something in common with Van Gogh.

This morning while talking to Spouse....

"It's been almost a week and I don't feel at this point that it's the stitches primarily holding my ear on..."

Really...I said that. In my kitchen. No one should ever have occasion to say that.

I think I have turned a corner this morning. Not because I can mock my predicament. Ok a little because I can mock my predicament. But because I woke up this morning and felt like me again.

Not the drugged up, sliced open version of me that was totally incapable of caring for either herself, her husband or her baby.

I completely underestimated the surgery and the recovery. For some reason I never really thought about it; I was too busy focusing on my smile.

I just figured a little slice here and there, Lumpy would pop out and that would be that.

Not so much.

They took my ear off.

Yeah you read that right.

They cut it and flipped it back and lord only knows what else.

I was F'ed up! Ask BF, she was here (out of the never ending goodness of her heart) and she took wonderful care of me. But she can support me here without me having to post really gross pictures (which I am happy to do if you guys want to see them). I was F'ed up.

I still cant feel my ear, but after cleaning out all the crusted yuck from it this morning I can hear again. So there's that.

The stitches come out Thursday and then I can actually shower.

I haven't washed my hair in a week.

So lets recap....Crust, stitches, sliced ear and neck, goo, yuck, no shower.

Go one...line up and who gets to be friends with me!

lump no more.

I can't really see straight to type right now.

Pain killers.

I have no hope that what I would write would be remotely coherent.

So I will just say this.

Seeing all of your loving comments this morning made me smile really BIG.

Because I can. Everything is ok.

Now...I am going to go make with the passing out in my bed.

there's no way out now.

My bag is packed (mostly), all the phone calls have been made. My Auntie is here to take care of Riley.


On the surface it looks like I'm ready.


Beneath the surface?


I am not OK.


I talk to Spouse about it and he tries to calm me. The baby will be OK, she will not starve, she may be mad...but she will be OK. People are here to care for her; he will be here with her at night. She will be OK.


But what he doesn't get is that it's not the baby I'm worried about. It's me.


I am not OK.


Yes, I am frightened about the results of the surgery; the side effects to both my face and the chance of aggravating my MS. But what bothers me most?


Being away from my baby. My sweet little girl. For the first time in our life together we will be separate.


Sure, I have had the occasional night out and pedicure appointment. But 48 hours apart? I can't imagine how much I will miss her. My breath catches in my throat when I think about it.


My surgery is at 11 AM today.


So here is to everything going swimmingly.


I am talking Micheal Phelps insanely successful- swimmingly.

the real olympics.

Anyone can watch swimming, basketball and gymnastics.

It takes a true sports fan to watch the lame real Olympics.

• Badminton
• Trampoline Gymnastics
• Water Polo
• Synchronized Mens Diving
• Ping Pong Table Tennis
• Indoor Cycling

A real sports fan...

Or maybe just a really bored one.

At least I have a DVR. Watching the Olympics at x2 speed...

...hysterical.

Lumpy's day out.

I was in Boston today for my second consolation with the surgeon who is taking Lumpy out a week from Monday.

I have touched on Lumpy before on this blog but never really explained him.

He (because everything in my life has to have a name and personality; the car, the camera, the tumors...) is a benign Parotid Gland Tumor located at the end of my left jaw line below my ear lobe. He is about the size of a shooter marble or a slightly undersized golf ball (if there even is such a thing).

While the news of him being benign caused me great relief I am still focused on the surgery itself.

I am freaking!

First, I will be away from my daughter for at least 48 hours if not more, I am praying it will be less.

Second, I am going under. All the way out. While this has the bonus of not having to "hold really still" it also comes with violent vomiting upon waking up.

What fun.

Oh and third, the surgery carries a small and the surgeon says he doesn't anticipate a problem but he won't really know until he gets in there risk of paralysis on the left side of my face.

You see the facial nerve runs right through/on/beneath Lumpy.

So when the surgeon starts talking about minimal scarring and pain I could really give two craps.

I will take a scar. I will take pain.

I will even take the promised numbness of my left ear.

I just want to be able to smile normally when it is all over. I want to be able to close my eye just like I closed it the day before. I want to puff out my cheek and suck it back in again.


Normal.


With in reason of course.

I am after all. Me.

you can't always go home again; and maybe that's a good thing.

I have finally returned from my last trip to New Jersey for this summer.

Can I get a Hip-Hip-Hoooo-Ray?

Riley and I have spent the last 10 days packed into my childhood home with my brother and his family who were in from California.

I can't tell you how good it is to be home.

And since I can't tell you that, I am going to tell you a little bit about being away.

Namely, about my parents house. Nay, father's house. My mother has been gone over 12 years and while the rooms are still as she left them; her smell and her presence are long gone.

Something creepy happens when a person lives in a house 35 plus years as my father has. You begin not to see things anymore. Items outside of your everyday needs and activities just sit there, unnoticed.

Unnoticed that is until your daughter comes back for a visit with camera and boredom in hand. Each night I tried to see the things that havn't moved (for the most part) in many years so I could share them with you. Because I know you care about this right? Well at least my girlfriends care; this is their drunken teen aged years childhood too.

Exhibit A: The Shelf in the Kitchen.



Lets get passed the wallpaper first ok. Circa 1970's at it's best baby. You would never know that years later my mother would actually become a kick ass interior designer.

Please take notice of the Charms container. When my sister in-law was pregnant she craved Charms sour balls like crazy. She was in New Jersey only once during her pregnancy. However here the balls sit. 5 years later. In the exact same spot they were left.

In addition. We have the NY Giants Santa Claus ornament that broke 3 years ago. Sitting right where it was originally put when it broke. It's severed football hand is in a small dish above the sink.

Oh and no mocking of the duck and chicken. I love those guys and they do actually serve a purpose.

Exhibit B: The Weird Hanging Paper Puppets in the 1/2 Bathroom.

Again...wallpaper, oui!

Not much to say about these guys except they have hung there almost 30 years now.

...and when I was there last week a kid, I made their hands do this:

Funny right?

Exhibit C: The Creepy Clown Bank.

I am terrified of clowns and this freaking thing has been taunting me for as long as I can remember. I hide it and as soon as I begin to feel comfortable again it reappears. I would drive it out to the pine barrens and leave it there but I really think it would try and kill me in the process.

Exhibit D: The Cathy Book.

This is the only reading material in our 1/2 bathroom and has been for over 20 years. It was a gift to me from one of my crazy aunts....do the math, I was 13...what were they trying to tell me??

Today it stands as a shining example how things never move in the house....well that and I honestly think everyone is frightened of the bacteria on the book to even dare disturbing it.

Please don't think less of me...especially since I have more pictures to show you at another time and you will have no where to go with your contempt.

That and my father has a cleaning lady (also around for over 20 years) who dusts everything but the book because we couldn't pay her enough for that these objects while she smokes cigarettes in the house.

Whole other story that.

Now...to finish unpacking. Later this week I will share the trip highlights!!

snippets.

While at the family party last weekend.

Crazy Uncle (admiring Riley): "She truly has your mother's eyes."

Me: "uhh thanks Crazy Uncle but she really does look exactly like my father in every way."

Crazy Uncle: "No, I meant, her gaze. She has your mother's gaze."

Me (examining baby and her unwavering intent gaze): "Yeah...yeah she does doesn't she?"


*****************************

While giving Riley a bath yesterday.

Nephew (all of 5): "Ummm when will she get her penis?"

Me (desperately trying to keep straight face): "She doesn't have a penis buddy, she has a vagina."

Nephew: "Well what's a vagina?"

Me: "Errrm, maybe you should go ask your mommy."

meet the family.

When my baby gets overwhelmed she shuts down. She doesn't cry, or squirm. She turns her head away and buries it in my shoulder. She scratches the back of my arm with one hand and digs into my chest with the other.

To anyone who doesn't know her it looks like a loving snuggle. It's not.

It is her saying, "Mommy, I am afraid. I can not even begin to process what is going on here."

So when I know better than you family members people tell me not to worry "She'll cry" if she is upset. "I'll take her, she looks so calm." I want to clock them one.

Because they are scaring her. They are in her face and she does not have the fight part of 'fight or flight'.

This is a baby that will sit in her poo, hungry, tired with her leg pinched in her car seat and not complain.

Much.

It takes a lot. When I say a lot I mean A LOT to really get to her.

So what these overbearing Aunts people are missing as they cackle in her face and pat her head and grab her hands and generally pester her to meet their own needs...

...is my baby. My sweet, funny, friendly, screechy little girl. Who has SO much personality.

If you just leave her the heck alone.

if these were the categories on Jeopardy I would be SO rich right now or my bottomless pit of useless non mainstream information.

First let me say.

Wow. Really, thank you guys (ahem, ladies) for not letting me feel like the total freak I was thinking I should feel like. Instead, I sort of feel normal. And not nearly as overwhelmed. And although I haven't exactly taken the trip to the pharmacy yet (really, I am getting there) I feel stronger just knowing I have the option; and support.

So thanks.

Now...the post in order.

My diabolical plan on how I would win Jeopardy.

Categories:

Joss Whedon; when it comes to Buffy trivia especially...my stake runneth over. Really, go on. Test me. I am begging for it see? Obsession is a tame word when it comes to me and all things Joss.

The Bridges and Tunnels of NYC and the surrounding boroughs; I am my father's daughter. While this comes with the down side of feet that are much too small for my body and a gigantic head it also gifts me the ability to zip around NY without need of a map or GPS. Want a back way into Yankee Stadium? I'm your girl. Stuck in traffic on the Van Wyck and need a detour, give me a ring.

NFL Referee signals; Yeah, I know them all. It was something I started memorizing to impress adults when I was little....and now I make my baby do them. She usually runs out of patience somewhere around "ineligible man down field".

Countries of the world; Not only do I know most of them (I say most because the former Soviet Union F's with me), but I can sing them to the Mexican Hat Dance.

Photography; This one is sort of a gimme since it's what I went to school for. To be fair however the wealth of my knowledge is pretty much limited to Photo II as those are the classes I TA'd for years.

Things Spouse said last week/last month/years ago that he has no shot at remembering but I can recall with deadly accuracy; A fight we have constantly is "he said/he did not say". I insist something happened a certain way, he insists it didn't happen at all and refuses to believe that I'm right because "he doesn't remember it". Well you know what? Not only do I remember it, I remember what we were both wearing and half the time the OPI color on my toes. I'll have "how I'm right for $1000 Alex".

Ok maybe that last one isn't the best example...but I'm bored and in New Jersey on a Friday night...

...watching Jeopardy.

mama's little helper.

I sat on the doctors table.

Sobbing.

I had arrived on time for my appointment but without the paperwork I needed for my "pre-op" visit.

You see, Lumpy's day out in quickly approaching and they need to make sure I am alive and well before his removal.

"I..p-p-put the p-p-paperw-ork in my b-agggg yes-t-t-terdayyyy" I blubbered.

I continued in an incoherent hysteria....

....I feel as if I am loosing my mind. I am miserable, I cry all the time, I am insecure and paranoid. I feel hopeless and sad. (I stopped blogging) I forget everything...I actually left the garage door to my bay open the other night. All night. And the pass door to the house. OPEN. With Spouse's big-wig financial institution laptop in his Jeep...Someone could have taken it! Someone could have taken the BABY....

I continued between racking sobs....

It was like I woke up one morning and someone flipped a switch. I went from perfectly normal (for me) to a total basket case. What was wrong with me?

My doctor listened to my rant. She assured me that while the brainlessness of a Mommy is normal and gets exponentially worse with each child...she feared there was more going on. And then she said it.

"Post...Par..." I cut her off.

NO, that's not me. Maybe other people, but not me. I was happy, look at my girl! She is remarkable isn't she?

(Riley squeals at this as if to say, dang straight mommy! You tell her!)

"I can't have po-pa-pp...you know...that. Because it's been almost 8 months and well frankly that is just not ME."

She patiently listened to my denials. She waited for me to calm down.

She told me there was most likely a chemical imbalance in my brain. It was probably caused by 'The Juice' and in combination with my baby hormones threw everything out of whack. She said it wasn't my fault. She offered me medication.

I stood at this. NO. No meds! I have been depressed before. I battled my way through the death of a parent without the help of legal drugs. I know myself so well, I am an adult in control of my own mind (sob) and I will not give in to medication.

I left with the name of a therapist in my area. I have had plenty of therapy in my life, it has served a great purpose. It has aided me in over coming the outside influences which I could not control and my reactions to them.

Logical right?

When I got home I discussed it with anyone who would listen to me Spouse. He agreed with my doctor. It made a lot of sense. 'The Juice' flipped a switch and maybe a little pill could switch it off.

Maybe. I was skeptical.

I traveled to New Jersey to spend a week with my father and BF. I thought it over.

Today I saw my doctor again and today I left with a prescription for 'The Prozac'.

I can't stand the idea that I would need something like this. But one night I went to bed happy, and the next morning I woke up miserable. Nothing remarkable happened, no tragic events, no traumatic experiences.

I just woke up a different person than I was the night before.

I'm frightened. I can't stand the idea of a non-recreational drug influencing me. Making me feel or better; allowing me to feel somehow other than I am.

Does that make sense? I get woozy on Tylenol, what the heck is this stuff going to do to me?

why I tune in.

The Free-Credit-Report.com guy has some competition...


This guy from The Greatest American Dog...





And this guy from The Last Comic Standing...



Just two more reasons why I think reality TV is such a good idea.

by osmosis.

My heart hurts.

As my baby plays quietly by herself on the floor (as I think she does too often) my fingers clack clackity away on pointless internet crap.

Have you played Sramble or Scrabulous on Facebook? My lord it's an obsession.

My car died again last night. I know AGAIN.

This time it was the battery, and this time it happened in my very own garage...this time Spouse could fix it. BUT; I didn't realize how scarred I was from my previous experiences with my piece of crap Jeep. The fear and stress descended upon me in an instant. I shook with anxiety.

not again not again not again.

10 Days in New Jersey, breaking down in a ghetto Springfield Massachusetts. The hits with this car just keep coming. Each time its happened I cry "new car"....and then we pay a small fortune get it fixed and Spouse cries "no money".

Which is very true. We have no money.

And we live kind of in the middle of no where.

And we don't really know anybody.

And the only times I feel like I leave the house are because I make an excuse to and it's always to go somewhere that people traditionally spend money.

Which we don't have.

In a car that is an afternoon with AAA waiting to happen.

Do you see where I'm going with this? My heart hurts. I'm lonely. I'm broke. I can't go too far.

shhhhh I think I may even be a teeny-eeny-bit....depressed.

There I said it.

I have looked for stuff to do....it's all far away. Kindermusik, Gymboree, Meet-ups, Mommy and Me. Far far away.

Money. Gas prices. Car time bomb.

Yes I know I make a lot of excuses, I'm famous for them (chime in here BF).

BUT; this time I am really trying.

And it's not working.

And that doesn't help.

I also happen to come along with the small handicap of imploding instantaneously in temperatures above 70 degrees.

My worst nightmare is that the car will leave me stranded on the side of the road on a hot day with my baby. I fear it.

Not in the way I fear clowns, but more in the inevitable end sort of way.

As if I'm waiting for it.

And that is no way to live.

I'm not happy and I think I said as much to Spouse last night. Although he may not have picked up on the words exactly, you know, with all of the crying and the blubbering and the finger pointing.

And here's the rub. I don't exactly feel as if I'm entitled to be unhappy. I have a wonderful husband, an amazing baby and a beautiful home. Where do I get off?

I know it's a dangerous trap to compare yourself to others, and I'm not doing that. I'm comparing myself to myself. I know when I have felt like this in the past and frankly things were awful.

To make myself feel better I would dream of this life I have now. But then I would attack myself and scold saying I would never get it. I didn't deserve it.

Well you know what, I know I deserve it and I worked really freaking hard to get it.

But it's not enough; I feel like a spoiled brat because I want the other stuff too. I want the friends who are there all of the time, physically as well as emotionally. I want things to do. I want some action.

Friendly, free, air-conditioned, action.

I just don't know where to look for it, and I don't know if my car can get me there.

my new neighborhood grocery store?

Dear Trader Joe's,

I am writing you to beg a new Trader Joe's location in Nowhereville, Connecticut.

Where you say?

Nowhereville (Yes I know it is a silly name). It's in the northeast corner of the state and very convenient to both the Massachusetts and Rhode Island lines. If you open here you will get three states in one! What a deal!

Seriously, Nowhereville has recently opened a large shopping center including a Lowes, Stop and Shop and soon to open Target and Bed Bath and Beyond. Since Nowhereville is now the only convenient shopping for quite a distance, this has generated a large amount of new traffic to the area.

Although you currently have stores in Worcester MA, and a new store in Warwick RI they are not easily accessed from the Quiet Corner of Connecticut. The traffic which formally would travel to these areas (like me) for shopping is redirecting to the closer center in Nowhereville.

I believe (because I am in no way biased or enchanted by your dark chocolate covered almonds) that this area is prime for a Trader Joe's.

As it is, organic produce in the area is spotty and the farmers market lacking.

For me, rising gas prices and a new baby prevent me from traveling as I used to, to secure the vegetarian pot stickers, chocolate cat cookies and aforementioned almonds, delicious and healthful food that your store provides.

What is a girl to do?

(insert begging and pleading for my very own Trader Joe's Nowhereville Neighborhood Grocery Store here.)

Sincerely,
Your biggest fan

**name of town changed from actual letter, cause oh yeah...I sent this.

Seven.

So it seems you are more like me then I feared.

While you come with a sunny disposition that not even the cloudiest day can sully...you also come with the unexplainable, inexplicable. BAD MOOD.

You get bored. So easily. A toy which held total fascination 15 minutes ago is thrown wildly from your body never to be seen again. Should I even dare to try giving it back you yell at me.

You yell at your mother, you mean it and you are only seven months old.

You and I could sleep forever. Curled into each other in a soft bed. Sleep has never been a problem. In that I am blessed.

You are social, we love to go on adventures together and neither of us ever.shuts.up.

When you are quiet, when you snuggle and when you are patient; you are your father. In those tiny moments when how something works not how it looks draws your attention; when you smile at me because you love me more then anything in this world.

Then you are 100% your father.

And I am more in love then I ever thought I could be.

Oh and look at that chubb...don't you just want to eat her up? Those thighs!

Rule #37

Yesterday Spouse and I went to a BBQ at our neighbor's up the hill.

We had a really nice time enjoying other people entertaining our baby relaxing and chatting the day away.

When Riley's bedtime rolled around Spouse was fairly well lit and wanted to stay. There were horseshoes! and boccie ball! and beer!

While he did offer to take bed time in hand I accepted my fate as Mommy and brought the girl home for bath! books! and bed!

Today we ventured out for breakfast and when we returned home I announced thoughtless of my slightly hung over hubby my need for a nap.

Spouse agreed to take over parenting duties so I could nap. See I keep saying nap.

To me, napping indicates 20-60 minutes of shut eye.

What did I do? I went back to bed.

Four hours later Spouse woke me from my dead sleep slumber with a very hungry baby.

I was racked with guilt when I saw the clock. What kind of weekend was this for my hard working Spouse? Sure he got to take advantage of the best parts of yesterday...the drinking, the smoking, the not going home for nap and/or bed time while there was partying to be had.

But I just couldn't get passed the fact that he had to deal with a cranky over tired baby on his Sunday.

Then it occurred to me.

Maybe Daddies stay at the party and get to have a blast blowing off the stress from days spent away from home and working all week.

Maybe Mommies get to crash mid-day without being disturbed so they can catch up from the night wakings and the hours of sleep lost all week.

We both get our jobs done and have our rewards.

Although, only one of us seems to be able to remember to change her diaper and feed her lunch.

I guess we cant have it all.

it's wrong.

I saw a woman jogging up hill today with her leashed dog.

It was a Pekingese.

SO freaking wrong.

this quiet life.

For as long as I can remember I have kept journals. They are a mish-mash of random quotes, drawings, song lyrics, set lists, poems and of course; my thoughts. I have always marked each entry, no matter how minimal, with date and time.

To me, the time and place something was said is as important as the fact that it was said at all.

The journals are scattered through out my life. With my cookbooks, in my night stand, with my art supplies. I seem to subconsciously stash them places to surprise and delight my future self.

At least that is what I tell myself so I don't feel as scattered and disorganized as I know I am.

I came across a few of them this afternoon and started reading.

At first I was struck by how incredibly hormonal and over dramatic my teen aged self was. I found myself thinking..."sister, get over it already...there is much worse to come..."

Then I was amused at my early twenties self and the over whelming amount of drug induced entries. Almost everyone of them a ramble of whatever concert I had been to that day, or what show I was going to that night....This was 1996, the summer I was 22. Just before I lost my mother.

Things change after that. I write less and less and almost everything is drawings. I have to admit some of them are pretty good and I can see why I wanted to go to art school.

The pages are littered with quotes from my friends, professors and TV. Nothing too telling of myself.

The journals fall off in 2003. I had graduated from college and moved home. In fact the very last entry was June 7th, 11:23 am.
My birthday.
...and the night I first noticed Spouse as more than a friend.

I have never written in a journal again.

I stopped drawing. I stopped recording my inane thoughts and dreams.

I am wondering if that is because they were finally met?

Or if it is because I finally have another person outside my head to talk to?

Or if by blogging and emailing I am able to fill that need; complete with time stamp....

I looked back at the journals and missed myself. I missed the constant stream of energy that was me. To go, to create, to meet, to grow. To constantly be moving. A flutter. A sparkle. To move so quickly that none of it meant anything.

To move quickly, because if I stopped. I would crumple and fall apart.

Spouse ran after me. He matched my pace and took my hand. He gradually brought me down. He distracted, he settled, he soothed.

He caught me when my body finally gave out from all of the years of running.

Now in this quiet life I find I am waking up again. The need to go and create fueled by the life I wish to lead for my daughter.

So I can not just show her who I was.

But who I am.

one week

The top 5 reasons why Daddy and Auntie Uma can not be trusted.

1)Gerber Peas are much yummier than mine.

2) I should look on the bright side right? At least she is checking her mirrors.

3) COFFEE!

4) I am at a loss for words...

5) You guys know we are Jewish right?

Seriously....I could not have survived without my wonderful Spouse and my wonderful friend. I am feeling much much much much much better. Like an actual person.

I even contemplated cleaning the house today.

I know, I know, don't rush into things you say. It has only been a few days.

Thank you to everyone for your wonderful thoughts of love and support. Truly, from the bottom of my heart. It meant the world.

dirty nickels.

Well I should have had no worries on the baby weening front. She has been refusing the bottle more and more. Especially from me.

Instead she tears at my shirt and bangs her head against my chest in frustration. She wants to nurse.

I need her to nurse.

Today was my last day of treatment. While there is conflicting evidence as to what the drugs would do to her...most doctors say nothing...lactation consultant says...nothing...I just can not reconcile myself with it.

Because if The Juice makes me feel like this....

What is it going to do to my baby?

all juiced up with nowhere to go.

I settled back into the hospital grade Lazy Boy and took in my surroundings. I looked out the window to the same river stone covered rooftop that I saw from the birthing center only 6 months ago. I was just on the other side of the building now; this time at least I could see blue sky and patches of the green tree line. All too familiar with the process of infusion this was my first time at my country hospitals Day IV unit.

It made the same effort towards comfort as the treatment center at The University of Pennsylvania where I brought my father for his Chemo 12 years ago. The only major difference was the cozy size of the room in which I now sat. Only four chairs instead of the countless rows of cubbies, tubes and stands at the large hospital...the drone of the hundred or so infusion boxes pumping away.

Now it was just me, just my tubes and droning and pumping.

The paralysing fear of a few weeks ago finally settled into bitter acceptance. While I have been plagued by problems in my right foot for years, the numbness on the bottom of my toes and in the arch of my foot was definitively new.

That is one of the things about MS. It keeps you guessing. New symptom or not new? Sick or not sick? When do you call for help?

For me the final straw was last Thursday when I realized that each time the tingles in my leg and foot subsided I had just lost a little bit more sensation. For me, I call when the fear of damage out weighs the fear of treatment.

Spouse and I were in a heated discussion about the complications of treatment. We were making the short list of the people who could maybe, possibly lend us a hand with the baby so I could get help. The phone rang and it was one of my best friends, my blanket girl (that is what I call my ladies, blanket girls) Uma. She was calling to say hello; rare that we get that chance in our busy lives.

My question was immediate, a teacher she was just starting her summer vacation.

Could she come?

The answer, as it always is with old trusted friends. Of course.

I was rattled with guilt when I hung up the phone. Her husbands birthday, gas prices, her second job...the things which people sacrifice for dear friends. For friends who are family.

I was distracted over the weekend with yet another trip to New Jersey. When we returned home my pending infusion of 'The Juice' (Solumedrol steroids) was all I could focus on. I whined until I made myself sick. I promised Spouse as we lay in bed Sunday night that in the morning I would 'Mom Up', I would suck it up and get it done.

The infusion was much smoother then I anticipated. The advantage of moving to a small town. I read my book uninterrupted and reacquainted myself with the cool sensation of the IV drip and the taste of dirty nickels flooding my senses.

That is a fun side effect of The Juice, your mouth and nose filled with spare change. Your skin crawling from the foreign substance flowing into your veins. The oncoming hot flashes and ravenous bouts of hunger.

The being wide awake at 4AM to blog about being wide awake at 4AM.

My guilt and fears are subsiding. Uma and Riley adore each other. Riley is taking to the bottle and the formula (just as long as it is 98.6 degrees...that one took a little while to figure out).

I have lingering bits of fear over loosing my milk, over my sweet little girl weaning herself this week. But I know now that there is nothing I can do. I have no choice, she needs me healthy more then she needs to breast feed. My heart broke a little when I nursed her for the last time before leaving for the hospital. She curled against my skin and I stroked her hair. She let out a deep satisfied sigh and she stroked me back.

I am exhausted. Terrible that my doctors tell me to rest all the while giving me a drug that makes it impossible. I am exhausted, but I am amped.

I will eat, I will pump and then I will go curl myself around a sleeping Spouse and wait for morning.

Another day of being away from my baby and in a plastic covered Lazy Boy. Another day of dirty nickels and a patch of green tree line.

I look forward to another day closer to life returning to normal and pretending that this week never happened.

go veg

You would think any child of mine would love her veggies.

Well I would think that...

...but...you see...look here...

Not so much loving her peas.

The thing is, her father makes the identical expression...

So maybe it's my cooking?

Six

When I was 10 weeks pregnant with you I bought your first stuffed animal. A large floppy dog that your father and I knew you would love; be you boy or girl.

We named him Mister Paws and he sat in your nursery waiting so many long months for you. I would go in there late in the afternoon and sit with him in the rocking chair. I sang and read you books as you moved inside me.

I looked at my future with you then...that each month on the day you were born I would capture a moment with you both.
I never could have imagined the joy I would find with each session. I never could have wished for more willing subjects.

The demands of daily life with you allow me to only look at the present. The days and months have flown by in a whirlwind that despite every warning I was given; I could never have been prepared for.

I am so grateful that we have our set date. We have your white onezie, your room, your smile and Mister Paws...counting to six has never been so much fun.