My younger brother came barging into my room that morning, just before 9am (central time). He had this weird, panicked look on his face, and said, "A plane crashed into the World Trade Center." I argued with him for a minute in disbelief, before I realized my skinny white brother was just too pale to be lying. I went downstairs to my mom's room, where she was sitting on the floor, holding my then two year old brother in her arms, just horror-struck. As I looked towards her small TV set, saw the smoke and fire, and heard the fear in the voices on the television, my heart sank, and my life was forever altered.
Throughout the coming months and years to follow, as our country banded together and geared up for the fight that is still ongoing, 8 years later, my brother and I were struck with the unwavering desire to help. Of course, at 10 and 13, there wasn't much we could do. But I remember feeling so angry and so helpless. I didn't know how I'd help, but I vowed someday, I would. When the War on Terror began, I had my answer. I turned to my mom one day and informed her, point blank, that I'd be enlisting into the military when I was old enough. I was going to DO something.
5 years and 2 months later, still holding on to the promise, I raised my hand and swore to defend my country against all enemies, both foreign and domestic. When I shipped for basic training in January of 2007, I was nervous, sure, but not afraid. I knew whatever I had to go through, I would bear. I had no qualms about my choice. No lack of steel in my spine when it came to years of my life spent in the desert. If I did start to lose my faith in myself, all I had to do was remember the smoke rising and hear the haunting screams of people running away from the epicenter that is Ground Zero, and once again, I was ready for anything.
Now, 8 years later, my life looks quite different. After 7 months in training, I was given a medical discharge from the Army, due to injuries sustained during training. I now have a 10 month old son that I'm raising on my own, and the only support I can give to the war effort at this time is the sacrifice of my husband for a year or more as he himself serves our country in the same effort. I still hold a great love for my country in my heart. My husband and I will raise our son to have the same respect for what America stands for as we do.
Will I re-enlist someday? I have hope that I will. Right now, it's not something I can do in good conscience, with a small child at home and his daddy in a war zone himself. But as I watch the footage of that awful day run again, I'm struck with all the same feelings. I want to help. I want to do something. And most importantly of all, I have hope that, just as before, our country will rise from the ashes, stronger and smarter. We will pass this test.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
sort of sorry
I haven't been around much. If you're a facebooker, you know the basics of why. Oh the drama. But I haven't been able to muster words to start at square one and go from there to process. So wine, girl talk, and deep fucking breaths are the call of the day-week-month.
I do see a light at the end, though. I feel my strength returning. We will pass this test. Be back soon. :)
I do see a light at the end, though. I feel my strength returning. We will pass this test. Be back soon. :)
Saturday, August 29, 2009
a light in the dark
Sometimes, you just have "one of those days." Sometimes, "one of those days," turns into a week or two. Cue the story of my life. I think I'm at the point, almost 9 months in, where I just can't take it any more. I've said it before, when I get upset and miss my husband too much, but really... I've stopped saying it. As if to say the words aloud sap the last iota of courage and strength flowing through my veins. As if admitting that I'm having a hard time is to hang my head in defeat. It's not just the deployment, though. If it were just missing my husband for a year, it'd suck a lot of sweaty ass, but I could do it. It's the everything else thrown in for good measure. It's having to deal with life going on without your spouse. Birthdays, Christmases, anniversaries, first steps/words/haircuts of our child, moments in time that we'll never get back. It's the car battery dying, and 10 feet of snow overnight when the baby has a doctor's appointment. It's so many things that to list them would be like trying to count stars.
It's hard to justify what he's doing, what I'm doing, at this point, when it's been so long, you tend to run out of ways to placate yourself and you just try to push it out of your mind and get through 5 more minutes, and then 5 more.
One upside (besides not having to share the remote), though, is definitely the other spouses and dependents. I've found a community, a family in them that I never could have imagined. Anywhere I turn, in person or online, someone understands, someone can relate. Of course when you just want to be pissed and everyone around you knows how you feel, it does take a bit of the fire out of it, but that's pretty rare for me. Anyway this big long thing is just basically a thanks. To any and all of you who have listened to me and will continue to stand by me and help hold me up when I stumble under the pressure. Know that no matter what, I'll be there to do the same for you.
It's hard to justify what he's doing, what I'm doing, at this point, when it's been so long, you tend to run out of ways to placate yourself and you just try to push it out of your mind and get through 5 more minutes, and then 5 more.
One upside (besides not having to share the remote), though, is definitely the other spouses and dependents. I've found a community, a family in them that I never could have imagined. Anywhere I turn, in person or online, someone understands, someone can relate. Of course when you just want to be pissed and everyone around you knows how you feel, it does take a bit of the fire out of it, but that's pretty rare for me. Anyway this big long thing is just basically a thanks. To any and all of you who have listened to me and will continue to stand by me and help hold me up when I stumble under the pressure. Know that no matter what, I'll be there to do the same for you.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
is that a sock in your diaper? ugh, wtf?
Do's and Don't's for a mom running on 3 hours of sleep, half a Coke, and 8.5 months of deployment.
1. Under no circumstance should you make life-altering decisions when you're so tired you can't see straight. Oh, by the way, congratulate me, I enrolled in nursing school today!
2. You also should not attempt to shower, as you risk mixing up your toothbrush and razor. I'll let your imagination figure out which one I mixed.
3. You should probably find alternate means of child care for the day, otherwise, you may end up with all kinds of interesting diaper changes, and a few moments of head hanging defeat as you watch a 10 month old naked ass rip roar across the living room, taunting you as if to say, "Too slow!"
4. You definitely SHOULD take a three-way call with your college freshman brother and mom. You'll be silent most of the time, trying to figure out why the word "chip" sounds so strange, but you'll probably get a few laughs out of the story behind your brother's new college nickname. Try to keep it to yourself, though, because your mom will think she should know, but in reality, you should know better than to admit he said anything starting with, "So, FUNNY STORY..." We'll tell you when he's 25, Mom. Maybe.
5. You should take notes on the last time you fed your child, because waiting until he cries, I've heard, is a late indicator of hunger and may leave you with the sneaking suspicion that it's been about 6 hours since he had a bottle, but hey, at least he got some Goldfish in there.
6. If you finally wise up just before 4pm and decide to make a pot of coffee, try not to burst into tears when you can't find your coffee filters-- they're above the stove where you've always kept them.
7. I know by now you realize that if you hear SILENCE, that you should run, but just for the record, if you hear a strange NEW noise, you should also run, because I tell you it means trouble. And that the baby discovered how to pull the 5 gallon Goldfish carton off the table and onto the living room floor. Yaaaay!
8. When your friends come downstairs to see if you want to go to the park, and your body sags in exhaustion just thinking about it, you should probably just bow out. If you go anyway, you may end up with a picture similar to this, because you were too tired to chase your son before he made it to the street, but your friends thought a picture was appropriate.
9. When the coffee is done brewing, run, don't walk. You need all the help you can get to make it to 7pm bedtime.
10. As a side note, find a new spot to hide the phone. 911 doesn't care how smart he is for dialing, they are not amused.
::edit:: also, if you've only had 3 hours of sleep, you might mention a picture, forget to post it, and end up with a living room that looks like this in the time it took you to fix your oopsie:
1. Under no circumstance should you make life-altering decisions when you're so tired you can't see straight. Oh, by the way, congratulate me, I enrolled in nursing school today!
2. You also should not attempt to shower, as you risk mixing up your toothbrush and razor. I'll let your imagination figure out which one I mixed.
3. You should probably find alternate means of child care for the day, otherwise, you may end up with all kinds of interesting diaper changes, and a few moments of head hanging defeat as you watch a 10 month old naked ass rip roar across the living room, taunting you as if to say, "Too slow!"
4. You definitely SHOULD take a three-way call with your college freshman brother and mom. You'll be silent most of the time, trying to figure out why the word "chip" sounds so strange, but you'll probably get a few laughs out of the story behind your brother's new college nickname. Try to keep it to yourself, though, because your mom will think she should know, but in reality, you should know better than to admit he said anything starting with, "So, FUNNY STORY..." We'll tell you when he's 25, Mom. Maybe.
5. You should take notes on the last time you fed your child, because waiting until he cries, I've heard, is a late indicator of hunger and may leave you with the sneaking suspicion that it's been about 6 hours since he had a bottle, but hey, at least he got some Goldfish in there.
6. If you finally wise up just before 4pm and decide to make a pot of coffee, try not to burst into tears when you can't find your coffee filters-- they're above the stove where you've always kept them.
7. I know by now you realize that if you hear SILENCE, that you should run, but just for the record, if you hear a strange NEW noise, you should also run, because I tell you it means trouble. And that the baby discovered how to pull the 5 gallon Goldfish carton off the table and onto the living room floor. Yaaaay!
8. When your friends come downstairs to see if you want to go to the park, and your body sags in exhaustion just thinking about it, you should probably just bow out. If you go anyway, you may end up with a picture similar to this, because you were too tired to chase your son before he made it to the street, but your friends thought a picture was appropriate.
9. When the coffee is done brewing, run, don't walk. You need all the help you can get to make it to 7pm bedtime.
10. As a side note, find a new spot to hide the phone. 911 doesn't care how smart he is for dialing, they are not amused.
::edit:: also, if you've only had 3 hours of sleep, you might mention a picture, forget to post it, and end up with a living room that looks like this in the time it took you to fix your oopsie:
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
AHH!
I refuse to bitch about my husband in public, but that's all I've got, so I'm not blogging til I have something nice to say. Maybe on our anniversary, I'll be able to grit my teeth and get through something, or maybe something else entirely will come up blog-worthy. Until then, faithful few, just know I'm still alive and kicking (though I wish I could put my kicking foot firmly in my spouse's hind parts).
Monday, August 24, 2009
shameless plug
I started an alternate blog today with Bee, we're doing the couch to 5k together (well, apart) and we're blogging about it here. Read, bookmark, enjoy. She and I are a lot alike, but I happen to think she's funnier than I am.
Now I'm off to drink more water and take more Tylenol (I have a headache I can't get rid of). I'll blog later-- I had a good one in my head earlier, but it's lost (forever or til later I'm not sure).
Now I'm off to drink more water and take more Tylenol (I have a headache I can't get rid of). I'll blog later-- I had a good one in my head earlier, but it's lost (forever or til later I'm not sure).
Sunday, August 23, 2009
snack packs and midnight musings
I've often heard that your senses are very closely tied with memory. It makes sense, though-- how many of us have caught a hint of cologne and thought of an ex (or current)? Walked into Mom's house on Thanksgiving and remembered so many other years? Heard a song and thought of the first time you heard it play?
Well at any rate, it happened to me tonight, and the place it took me was, well, a little less pleasant than turkey and cranberry sauce. I opened a chocolate pudding cup and scooped a spoonful. The minute it hit my tongue, I was taken back to being 14 and hospitalized for anorexia. I had been admitted a few days before, tipping the scales at 82 pounds, so weak and lethargic I couldn't even lift myself off of the floor where I was laying to watch TV. I remember the terror on my mom's face when she realized that I wasn't being defiant when she told me to get up, I literally couldn't do it.
I've worried about my weight for as long as I can remember. My mom tells a story that when I was 3 years old, I looked up at her and asked, "Mommy, am I fat?" Who knows where I heard that. I got in trouble once when I was little, for calling my preschool teacher fat, too. Once I started taking ballet and getting really serious about it, I went to a summer-long intensive training camp, and was told (at age 13) that I should watch what I was eating, or my partner would continue to drop me. I was 5'7" and very thin. Looking back now, I realize that the fault was with my dance teacher-- for, rather than partnering me with an older boy who could match me for height and therefore support my body during lifts better, she put me with a boy my own age, who was a good few inches shorter than I.
I firmly recall that summer beginning my full-on obsession. We never had a scale in the house, so that really wasn't an option, but I started trying to "pinch" fat on my body, looking for things that were wrong. It really was a slow descent, because it took about a year before I was really in a physically dangerous place, but it seemed to be an eternity of counting how many Saltine crackers I ate a day, rationing out how much I could eat at dinner and "get away with," wearing bigger clothes so that people would stop commenting on how skinny I was (it only made me angry, because I never agreed).
Finally, though, I had been busted. It was a relief in some way, going through admissions. People realized, "Ashley has a Problem." But then came my wake-up call. There's nothing like being diagnosed with a problem with a capital "P" and tossed into a hospital, put on suicide watch for the first 48 hours (just in case), and locked up with people who had no idea what it was like to deal with your particular issue (I was placed in a general in-patient treatment center, where they not only had no specialty in dealing with eating disorders, they had never dealt with something like this before). Here I was, this half-starved little homeschooled girl who didn't even have cable TV, sitting next to a girl who'd done so much extacy that she had no more spinal fluid, another who had taken a box cutter to her wrists (and the police officer who tried to contain her), a boy who had "anger problems" (to understate things), another who had a sexual addiction, etc., etc. To say that I received a crash course in even more destructive behavior would be a gross understatement.
Anyway, back to the chocolate pudding. All the doctors knew to do for me was to "make me eat." They'd give me these frozen chocolate shakes between every meal, and I had to finish them (or slip them to someone else) before I could leave the table in the center of the day room. How utterly humiliating, if you can imagine, being surrounded by people while you face your worst enemies-- food, and yourself. I strongly considered bulimia during my stay, but I just couldn't figure out how to get myself to actually throw up instead of just gagging and crying (still can't, by the way, I tried once or twice during morning sickness). So I just went through the motions for 6 weeks until I was considered "cured" (and medicated into a zombie-like state). When I got home, I not only had an arsenal of new ways to destroy myself (rebellion, self-mutilation, and some serious anxiety issues), but I knew all new ways of hiding everything from watchful eyes.
Eventually, I did hit a rock bottom on my own, seek better forms of help, and turn things around before I killed myself. I still struggle with my weight, and in times of severe stress, I have relapsed a time or two (okay, three, but who's counting). Who honestly knows if I will ever be totally "cured," but I know that I have reached a place now where I can be honest with myself and others when I'm struggling, encourage others when they start to veer towards dangerous waters that I have tread before, and, for the most part, I've stayed pretty level.
As a side note, I discovered while I was in basic training in 2007, that because of my love-hate affair with food and my body, I've permanently altered the composition of my bones. I was so malnourished for so long, that I now have a very low bone density and am highly prone to breaks and fractures-- with a very, very slow healing time (as evidenced by my medical discharge from the Army). It's a consequence that I will always have to bear, along with some complications I faced during my pregnancy that could have been avoided altogether.
All that from chocolate pudding. Who would have thought?
Well at any rate, it happened to me tonight, and the place it took me was, well, a little less pleasant than turkey and cranberry sauce. I opened a chocolate pudding cup and scooped a spoonful. The minute it hit my tongue, I was taken back to being 14 and hospitalized for anorexia. I had been admitted a few days before, tipping the scales at 82 pounds, so weak and lethargic I couldn't even lift myself off of the floor where I was laying to watch TV. I remember the terror on my mom's face when she realized that I wasn't being defiant when she told me to get up, I literally couldn't do it.
I've worried about my weight for as long as I can remember. My mom tells a story that when I was 3 years old, I looked up at her and asked, "Mommy, am I fat?" Who knows where I heard that. I got in trouble once when I was little, for calling my preschool teacher fat, too. Once I started taking ballet and getting really serious about it, I went to a summer-long intensive training camp, and was told (at age 13) that I should watch what I was eating, or my partner would continue to drop me. I was 5'7" and very thin. Looking back now, I realize that the fault was with my dance teacher-- for, rather than partnering me with an older boy who could match me for height and therefore support my body during lifts better, she put me with a boy my own age, who was a good few inches shorter than I.
I firmly recall that summer beginning my full-on obsession. We never had a scale in the house, so that really wasn't an option, but I started trying to "pinch" fat on my body, looking for things that were wrong. It really was a slow descent, because it took about a year before I was really in a physically dangerous place, but it seemed to be an eternity of counting how many Saltine crackers I ate a day, rationing out how much I could eat at dinner and "get away with," wearing bigger clothes so that people would stop commenting on how skinny I was (it only made me angry, because I never agreed).
Finally, though, I had been busted. It was a relief in some way, going through admissions. People realized, "Ashley has a Problem." But then came my wake-up call. There's nothing like being diagnosed with a problem with a capital "P" and tossed into a hospital, put on suicide watch for the first 48 hours (just in case), and locked up with people who had no idea what it was like to deal with your particular issue (I was placed in a general in-patient treatment center, where they not only had no specialty in dealing with eating disorders, they had never dealt with something like this before). Here I was, this half-starved little homeschooled girl who didn't even have cable TV, sitting next to a girl who'd done so much extacy that she had no more spinal fluid, another who had taken a box cutter to her wrists (and the police officer who tried to contain her), a boy who had "anger problems" (to understate things), another who had a sexual addiction, etc., etc. To say that I received a crash course in even more destructive behavior would be a gross understatement.
Anyway, back to the chocolate pudding. All the doctors knew to do for me was to "make me eat." They'd give me these frozen chocolate shakes between every meal, and I had to finish them (or slip them to someone else) before I could leave the table in the center of the day room. How utterly humiliating, if you can imagine, being surrounded by people while you face your worst enemies-- food, and yourself. I strongly considered bulimia during my stay, but I just couldn't figure out how to get myself to actually throw up instead of just gagging and crying (still can't, by the way, I tried once or twice during morning sickness). So I just went through the motions for 6 weeks until I was considered "cured" (and medicated into a zombie-like state). When I got home, I not only had an arsenal of new ways to destroy myself (rebellion, self-mutilation, and some serious anxiety issues), but I knew all new ways of hiding everything from watchful eyes.
Eventually, I did hit a rock bottom on my own, seek better forms of help, and turn things around before I killed myself. I still struggle with my weight, and in times of severe stress, I have relapsed a time or two (okay, three, but who's counting). Who honestly knows if I will ever be totally "cured," but I know that I have reached a place now where I can be honest with myself and others when I'm struggling, encourage others when they start to veer towards dangerous waters that I have tread before, and, for the most part, I've stayed pretty level.
As a side note, I discovered while I was in basic training in 2007, that because of my love-hate affair with food and my body, I've permanently altered the composition of my bones. I was so malnourished for so long, that I now have a very low bone density and am highly prone to breaks and fractures-- with a very, very slow healing time (as evidenced by my medical discharge from the Army). It's a consequence that I will always have to bear, along with some complications I faced during my pregnancy that could have been avoided altogether.
All that from chocolate pudding. Who would have thought?
Saturday, August 22, 2009
25 things you didn't need to know
1. I brush my teeth in the shower.
2. I CAN cook, just not very well, and I don't really like it. So when my husband gets home and is expecting a big meal for Christmas day... it will be take out, or Wal-Mart deli.
3. I'm the oldest of 6 kids and I also have a younger step-brother. So I guess 7.
4. I was home and public schooled. We went back and forth a lot.
5. I doubt myself in the strangest situations.
6. If I could get rid of a body part on myself and replace it with "better," I'd trade in my calves.
7. I have 5 tattoos, and am planning to get more.
8. The beach = my own personal Heaven.
9. I love, love, love to read. I don't have as much time for it these days, but I still try to squeeze in a good book every once in a while.
10. I haven't recently tested this, but I used to be able to text what a person was saying as fast as they could say it.
11. I met my husband in Basic Training. We both got hurt, he healed, I didn't (well not fast enough anyway, I'm fine now).
12. I love coffee, but I don't drink it very often. I forget a lot.
13. I'm not really into a lot of sweets, but when I want them, I have to have them on hand.
14. When I was pregnant with my son, I craved all the foods my husband likes.
15. I am a freak for a good burger, but even more so for GREAT Mexican food.
16. There are only a select few people I like talking on the phone to.
17. I enjoy making new friends.
18. In high school, I took every.single.English and writing class that was available to me. I love it!
19. I hate putting on makeup, but I like how I look with it on.
20. I have more than one best friend, but I don't throw the word around lightly. Except when I'm really drunk, then I tend to tell people I just met how much I lurve them.
21. I am obsessed with Law and Order: SVU. Oh, and I like Disney. A LOT.
22. I've gotten somewhere in the neighborhood of 13 speeding tickets in my life. Let's not get into the number of times I SHOULD have gotten busted. Or taken to jail. I have a lead foot. It's getting better now that I have a little man in my backseat, though.
23. I love to be touched. Physical contact makes me feel more grounded. My husband doesn't understand this all the time, he tends to think I'm hitting on him.
24. I am a firm believer that married sex is the best. I don't know why, I don't analyze it, all I'm saying is I put a ring on that man's finger and things MUCH improved (not that they needed to).
25. I really strive to be a good listener. I think I fail sometimes, because I over-relate to people when I should just stay quiet. I'm working on it.
2. I CAN cook, just not very well, and I don't really like it. So when my husband gets home and is expecting a big meal for Christmas day... it will be take out, or Wal-Mart deli.
3. I'm the oldest of 6 kids and I also have a younger step-brother. So I guess 7.
4. I was home and public schooled. We went back and forth a lot.
5. I doubt myself in the strangest situations.
6. If I could get rid of a body part on myself and replace it with "better," I'd trade in my calves.
7. I have 5 tattoos, and am planning to get more.
8. The beach = my own personal Heaven.
9. I love, love, love to read. I don't have as much time for it these days, but I still try to squeeze in a good book every once in a while.
10. I haven't recently tested this, but I used to be able to text what a person was saying as fast as they could say it.
11. I met my husband in Basic Training. We both got hurt, he healed, I didn't (well not fast enough anyway, I'm fine now).
12. I love coffee, but I don't drink it very often. I forget a lot.
13. I'm not really into a lot of sweets, but when I want them, I have to have them on hand.
14. When I was pregnant with my son, I craved all the foods my husband likes.
15. I am a freak for a good burger, but even more so for GREAT Mexican food.
16. There are only a select few people I like talking on the phone to.
17. I enjoy making new friends.
18. In high school, I took every.single.English and writing class that was available to me. I love it!
19. I hate putting on makeup, but I like how I look with it on.
20. I have more than one best friend, but I don't throw the word around lightly. Except when I'm really drunk, then I tend to tell people I just met how much I lurve them.
21. I am obsessed with Law and Order: SVU. Oh, and I like Disney. A LOT.
22. I've gotten somewhere in the neighborhood of 13 speeding tickets in my life. Let's not get into the number of times I SHOULD have gotten busted. Or taken to jail. I have a lead foot. It's getting better now that I have a little man in my backseat, though.
23. I love to be touched. Physical contact makes me feel more grounded. My husband doesn't understand this all the time, he tends to think I'm hitting on him.
24. I am a firm believer that married sex is the best. I don't know why, I don't analyze it, all I'm saying is I put a ring on that man's finger and things MUCH improved (not that they needed to).
25. I really strive to be a good listener. I think I fail sometimes, because I over-relate to people when I should just stay quiet. I'm working on it.
Friday, August 21, 2009
this post is gross. don't say you weren't warned.
I suppose this officially puts me in the mommy blogger category with both feet... but ohmygosh I just have to tell you by FAR the strangest experience of motherhood for me to date.
So my son got up at 4am, as per usual, he got a bottle and a new diaper and went back to sleep. Around 815, I heard him awake in his bed, but not crying, so I just laid in bed and listened to him coo and entertain himself. After a few minutes, I got up and went to the kitchen to fix his bottle. When I went into his room, I was greeted by my smiling boy sitting up in his crib, butt naked.
Insert dangerous theme music... Beeeecaaaauuuusssseeee... He was COVERED. And I mean COVERED. In his own poop. Yup, I went there. From the crown of his head to the tips of his cute little toes he was smeared with feces like a bacteria-infested Picasso painting. I dropped the bottle, grasped him gingerly by the armpits (he missed a couple spots thankfully) and deposited him into the empty bathtub. I left him there while I ran for the phone-- OH YES I called 911. The conversation, over bathwater and more happy baby sounds, went something like:
Operator: 911, What is your emergency?
Me: Well, er, um, my son seems to have eaten his morning shit.
Operator: I'm sorry, what did you say?
Me: Well, there's a wet diaper in his crib with absolutely no poop in it, and a lovely brown masterpiece on his sheets, and, well, let's just say there is plenty of evidence around his mouth that he has, in fact, ingested most of his home made art supplies.
*Operator chuckles and clears throat*: Well, we can send an ambulance out... But I'd suggest calling your family doctor, as that's all the paramedics will do for you when they get there. If your physician tells you you need it, we can provide a transport for you to the Emergency Room.
Me: Well... Okay, I can call a doctor, but is there anything I can get him clean with? Cause I mean, it's POOP. I mean, I've got some bleach, no wait, that's bad. OH I KNOW, how about baking soda?!
Operator: Ma'am, please refrain from using anything but soap and water on your child. If you feel like you are going to harm him, please tell me now.
Me: What? No I'm not going to hurt him, but I'm definitely never kissing him again. Iwas wondering how to break myself of that pesky toe chewing habit I have... Guess this solves it!
So anyway, I cleaned the boy (ahem, almost drowned him with so much scrubbing and rinsing (ONLY SOAP, and don't ask me what the fuck I was thinking with that baking soda thing, I was straight panicking-- why did I think combat medic would be a good job for me? Motherhood is WORSE!) and the tub, and the floor, and the crib and the sheets and the wall and the floorboards and, well, you get it.
I called his pediatrician, was told to push fluids and to "make an appointment" if he was "vomiting more than 3x an hour for more than three days, having explosive diharrea for more than 5 days, or running a fever over 102.5 for more than two days." I told her my child ATE HIS OWN SHIT, and if any of that popped up for more than 5 minutes I was parking my ass in the middle of the clinic til I got seen.
Anyway, so I'll spare ya'll the details of the lovely swirl patterns he left all over the crib slats, or that I found some nice chunks in weird places in and under his bed-- leading me to believe it was not his usual semi-solid poo, but an actual adult-looking poo. I will, however, share, because if you've made it this far, you SO want to know... That after two days of no solid foods and just fomula/apple juice, he FINALLY pooped.
Doubly-digested feces end up like the equivalent of corn in a diaper. You know. You can totally see the chunks no matter how good you THOUGHT you chewed.
I'm giggling typing this all. I'm off now to think of naughty tags to put on this post.
So my son got up at 4am, as per usual, he got a bottle and a new diaper and went back to sleep. Around 815, I heard him awake in his bed, but not crying, so I just laid in bed and listened to him coo and entertain himself. After a few minutes, I got up and went to the kitchen to fix his bottle. When I went into his room, I was greeted by my smiling boy sitting up in his crib, butt naked.
Insert dangerous theme music... Beeeecaaaauuuusssseeee... He was COVERED. And I mean COVERED. In his own poop. Yup, I went there. From the crown of his head to the tips of his cute little toes he was smeared with feces like a bacteria-infested Picasso painting. I dropped the bottle, grasped him gingerly by the armpits (he missed a couple spots thankfully) and deposited him into the empty bathtub. I left him there while I ran for the phone-- OH YES I called 911. The conversation, over bathwater and more happy baby sounds, went something like:
Operator: 911, What is your emergency?
Me: Well, er, um, my son seems to have eaten his morning shit.
Operator: I'm sorry, what did you say?
Me: Well, there's a wet diaper in his crib with absolutely no poop in it, and a lovely brown masterpiece on his sheets, and, well, let's just say there is plenty of evidence around his mouth that he has, in fact, ingested most of his home made art supplies.
*Operator chuckles and clears throat*: Well, we can send an ambulance out... But I'd suggest calling your family doctor, as that's all the paramedics will do for you when they get there. If your physician tells you you need it, we can provide a transport for you to the Emergency Room.
Me: Well... Okay, I can call a doctor, but is there anything I can get him clean with? Cause I mean, it's POOP. I mean, I've got some bleach, no wait, that's bad. OH I KNOW, how about baking soda?!
Operator: Ma'am, please refrain from using anything but soap and water on your child. If you feel like you are going to harm him, please tell me now.
Me: What? No I'm not going to hurt him, but I'm definitely never kissing him again. Iwas wondering how to break myself of that pesky toe chewing habit I have... Guess this solves it!
So anyway, I cleaned the boy (ahem, almost drowned him with so much scrubbing and rinsing (ONLY SOAP, and don't ask me what the fuck I was thinking with that baking soda thing, I was straight panicking-- why did I think combat medic would be a good job for me? Motherhood is WORSE!) and the tub, and the floor, and the crib and the sheets and the wall and the floorboards and, well, you get it.
I called his pediatrician, was told to push fluids and to "make an appointment" if he was "vomiting more than 3x an hour for more than three days, having explosive diharrea for more than 5 days, or running a fever over 102.5 for more than two days." I told her my child ATE HIS OWN SHIT, and if any of that popped up for more than 5 minutes I was parking my ass in the middle of the clinic til I got seen.
Anyway, so I'll spare ya'll the details of the lovely swirl patterns he left all over the crib slats, or that I found some nice chunks in weird places in and under his bed-- leading me to believe it was not his usual semi-solid poo, but an actual adult-looking poo. I will, however, share, because if you've made it this far, you SO want to know... That after two days of no solid foods and just fomula/apple juice, he FINALLY pooped.
Doubly-digested feces end up like the equivalent of corn in a diaper. You know. You can totally see the chunks no matter how good you THOUGHT you chewed.
I'm giggling typing this all. I'm off now to think of naughty tags to put on this post.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
random whining
I promise one of these days I will post something super sappy and positive and uplifting. Eventually. You know, maybe once my husband is home and I'm all sexually satisfied and shit. But for now, here's what I've got:
- If my kid doesn't get a fucking tooth soon I'm gonna lose my mind. He is such a pain right now.
- If my husband doesn't quit spending all our money I'm going to kill him. And then lose my mind cause I'd so get caught and sent to prison and eventually feel bad for killing him- if not for loss of him, then for not getting to watch my son grow up.
- I am so tired of vacuuming Goldfish out of my carpet every night. I don't see why those dang orange fish instill the desire in my son to push them into a pile and roll all over the top of them. It might actually be funny if it wasn't MY floor.
- I know I keep saying I want winter to come, but really, I hate the cold, so if I could just get my husband back before that happens, that'd be great... Cause I do not generate much body heat on my own and I need his to steal.
- Seriously. About the tooth... Get. Here. Now.
- I have hardcore post R&R insomnia. Now maybe some people just roll like that, but I don't anymore, and my kid does NOT care that mommy is a useless pile of crap all day, he still insists on being fed and changed and paid attention to. High maintenance little thing.
- I just read a blog post about pinkeye and it's making my eye hurt. Can we say psychosomatic?
- I miss my mom a lot and I want to go home one more time before the deployment is over... But it's probably not going to happen.
- Also, speaking of my mom, HER mom is coming to see me in a couple of weeks. Cue even more stress I didn't need. Maybe she'll buy me some fall clothes. Ha.
- I really don't have a cute way of ending this at all... So maybe I just won't.
- If my kid doesn't get a fucking tooth soon I'm gonna lose my mind. He is such a pain right now.
- If my husband doesn't quit spending all our money I'm going to kill him. And then lose my mind cause I'd so get caught and sent to prison and eventually feel bad for killing him- if not for loss of him, then for not getting to watch my son grow up.
- I am so tired of vacuuming Goldfish out of my carpet every night. I don't see why those dang orange fish instill the desire in my son to push them into a pile and roll all over the top of them. It might actually be funny if it wasn't MY floor.
- I know I keep saying I want winter to come, but really, I hate the cold, so if I could just get my husband back before that happens, that'd be great... Cause I do not generate much body heat on my own and I need his to steal.
- Seriously. About the tooth... Get. Here. Now.
- I have hardcore post R&R insomnia. Now maybe some people just roll like that, but I don't anymore, and my kid does NOT care that mommy is a useless pile of crap all day, he still insists on being fed and changed and paid attention to. High maintenance little thing.
- I just read a blog post about pinkeye and it's making my eye hurt. Can we say psychosomatic?
- I miss my mom a lot and I want to go home one more time before the deployment is over... But it's probably not going to happen.
- Also, speaking of my mom, HER mom is coming to see me in a couple of weeks. Cue even more stress I didn't need. Maybe she'll buy me some fall clothes. Ha.
- I really don't have a cute way of ending this at all... So maybe I just won't.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
JSYK
I may not be what you would call a Bible thumper (why is my spell check going off on the word thumper?). Depending on your definition, I suppose. I was raised in a Christian home, by all means. I was raised that if you did wrong, you got spanked, if you sat down to eat, you blessed your food, that you were to honor your mom and dad even if you secretly thought they were huge buttheads for making you eat your vegetables, that you should start every day by putting on the full armor of God (we had a routine in the car or before walking out the door, I still remember the whole thing mom!), and, I think most importantly, that Jesus died on the cross for our sins, so that we could have a relationship and forgiveness from God (oh yeah and that whole Heaven deal was a pretty sweet bonus too!). I grew up going to churches of many denominations, even went to a Christian college (before I developed a Wednesday- Tuesday drinking problem and a nifty little teen pregnancy... post for another day). My point to all of this is to say that even though I was "raised right," I didn't and haven't always stayed true to what I know is correct.
By far, I am not professing perfection and I never have. But my back and forth war with God, though ongoing, has taught me this much: that there really is no cut and dried "perfect" Christian. Really, anyone who would say that they ARE the perfect example probably needs the most work. I have learned, however, that no matter how far I run in the opposite direction, I always end up being pursued by God in ways I can't even begin to explain. Dude must think I fucking rock. I'm just saying.
Oh. And speaking of the F bomb in conjunction with God... I'll be straight with you, lest anyone think I'm being a hypocrite. I had premarital sex (not saying that was a good call cause honestly married sex is better but again that's another post entirely). I have tattoos and WILL get more. I drink. I smoke (sometimes). I cuss. I eat crap food. I don't read my Bible as much as I should. I watch "bad" movies. I yell at my husband. Some days I hide from my baby cause I don't want to hear him whine. And guess what? Like I said, I am still totally loved by God. Just as much as the next guy. I'm still absolutely, 100% saved by grace.
And I just happen to think that fucking rocks. :)
By far, I am not professing perfection and I never have. But my back and forth war with God, though ongoing, has taught me this much: that there really is no cut and dried "perfect" Christian. Really, anyone who would say that they ARE the perfect example probably needs the most work. I have learned, however, that no matter how far I run in the opposite direction, I always end up being pursued by God in ways I can't even begin to explain. Dude must think I fucking rock. I'm just saying.
Oh. And speaking of the F bomb in conjunction with God... I'll be straight with you, lest anyone think I'm being a hypocrite. I had premarital sex (not saying that was a good call cause honestly married sex is better but again that's another post entirely). I have tattoos and WILL get more. I drink. I smoke (sometimes). I cuss. I eat crap food. I don't read my Bible as much as I should. I watch "bad" movies. I yell at my husband. Some days I hide from my baby cause I don't want to hear him whine. And guess what? Like I said, I am still totally loved by God. Just as much as the next guy. I'm still absolutely, 100% saved by grace.
And I just happen to think that fucking rocks. :)
Irrationality. Woe Is Me.
Life isn't always (ever?) fair. I know this, I live it. Sometimes, I still have to bitch about it. If you can't handle a little bitching, please come back another day. If you can handle the bitching, please don't attempt to give me "pat on the back" comments afterwards. I really don't need that at all, so if you could all just skip the "hang in there" speeches, it'd be much appreciated.
That being said, I am SO FUCKING JEALOUS. There are a few friends of mine whose deployments started AFTER ours and are now ending. Like within the month. I know, I know, shoulda been a Marine wife... but that Army boy was just so dang charming. And the sex... well... anyway... Back to my rant?
How seriously twisted is it that these wives are getting ready for homecoming AND they just got R&R AND it's only been 8 months? I just hate it. I mean, I'm happy for them and all, I do emphasize that they are my friends but it just pisses me off that we still have another 4-5 months until we MIGHT be able to hope for homecoming. I don't even know if my husband will be home in 2009. *deleted: rant about how I've been doing this longer than 99.9% of the wives in our unit* I'm so sick and tired of dealing with all of this. I just want him home. I don't want to do this alone anymore, I don't feel like my strength will hold out much longer. I was hanging by a frayed thread before R&R, and now I'm a little better after seeing him, but really, let's face it, I'm not myself without my husband. Not that I lost myself in being with him, more that I found the rest of me that I didn't know I was missing, and now it's gone again.
I just don't feel like I can handle another lonely night, another endless day to get through without his smiling face peeking around the corner and saying, "Hello my family!" And it is KILLING ME to watch all these wives get ready for homecoming. I feel like we deserve it just as much, but we won't be getting it any time soon. I'm almost to the point of wanting to make nasty comments to these girls... but I don't WANT to do that, it's just the evil part of me that wants to rain on their parade cause I'm sitting here all miserable. Isn't that the definition of a bully? Ugh. Compassion fail.
I miss you, husband of mine, and nothing is going to fix that or fill the void in our house that you left until you're home again.
That being said, I am SO FUCKING JEALOUS. There are a few friends of mine whose deployments started AFTER ours and are now ending. Like within the month. I know, I know, shoulda been a Marine wife... but that Army boy was just so dang charming. And the sex... well... anyway... Back to my rant?
How seriously twisted is it that these wives are getting ready for homecoming AND they just got R&R AND it's only been 8 months? I just hate it. I mean, I'm happy for them and all, I do emphasize that they are my friends but it just pisses me off that we still have another 4-5 months until we MIGHT be able to hope for homecoming. I don't even know if my husband will be home in 2009. *deleted: rant about how I've been doing this longer than 99.9% of the wives in our unit* I'm so sick and tired of dealing with all of this. I just want him home. I don't want to do this alone anymore, I don't feel like my strength will hold out much longer. I was hanging by a frayed thread before R&R, and now I'm a little better after seeing him, but really, let's face it, I'm not myself without my husband. Not that I lost myself in being with him, more that I found the rest of me that I didn't know I was missing, and now it's gone again.
I just don't feel like I can handle another lonely night, another endless day to get through without his smiling face peeking around the corner and saying, "Hello my family!" And it is KILLING ME to watch all these wives get ready for homecoming. I feel like we deserve it just as much, but we won't be getting it any time soon. I'm almost to the point of wanting to make nasty comments to these girls... but I don't WANT to do that, it's just the evil part of me that wants to rain on their parade cause I'm sitting here all miserable. Isn't that the definition of a bully? Ugh. Compassion fail.
I miss you, husband of mine, and nothing is going to fix that or fill the void in our house that you left until you're home again.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Has Anyone Seen My Sanity (Or... Is That Another Tooth? DAMN!)
Having just scraped through teeth numbers 5 and 6 this past week, I collapsed into my bed, weeping openly in gratitude that it was OVER and I could get a BREAK at night (and during the day too let's not kid). Well, I should have skipped the time to cry and just slept, cause after 3 blissful days, we're back on the teething train, and I might die.
Now, I know I don't have it as bad as some... He only got the flu-like teething with the first two (let me tell you how that terrified me)-- fever, vomit, diarrhea, all to the point that the doctors almost admitted him into the hospital because he had lost 3 pounds and couldn't hold down even a few MLs of pedialyte for more than 5 minutes at a time. It kinda makes me want to cry just remembering all the time I spent holding my hot-bodied little baby over the sink so he could express the contents of his stomach before he collapsed against my chest, whimpering. But it passed after about 10 days and then we had teeth! Yay! The "vampire fangs" that came next (top teeth, but not the front ones) totally snuck up on me. I didn't even realize they were in until I flipped him upside down one day to get better tummy access to tickle him. So that was no sweat! Then came the front ones... Lots of crying... Two weeks of 5-bottles a night, Tylenol every window of opportunity, teething tablets were purchased in bulk, etc., etc. It was like having a newborn at night, and a WHINY CRYBABY chasing me around the house during the day*. He didn't want to be put down, he didn't want to be held, he didn't want to look at me, but woe to me if I left his sight (anyone making a PMS connection? jeez). This time? Well, all I know is we're back to living on ice cubes and bottles (he won't take solid food to save his life) and we're joined at the f--king hip. He is like an octopus with an attitude problem. AND AND AND. I forgot to tell you the best part (I know, right, like it could get better in this baby-infested bitch fest)... He does this stressed out grunt... As if he was passing a poop the size of Rhode Island... but he's NOT. He's just mad that his mouth hurts. Jeez. Give the kid a shot of Lidocaine and call it a day or something.
My point to all of this, is that my house is in disarray, my legs are hairy (because I can't even shower alone), and I don't even think I've gotten the shampoo out of my hair the last couple showers cause it's lookin a little strange. Now I'm sure some of you are going, well, why don't you just do all that after he goes to bed? Because. I have PTSD from my baby. When he goes to bed, I toss the toys that have been attempting my murder all day into the toy basket and then I flop onto the couch til I can't find anymore junk TV to watch. I don't think I even eat dinner anymore. I look for food... but then my eyes glaze over and I just go back to the couch and enjoy not being smacked by little hands.
*My son, typically, is not one to freak out. If he's crying, there's a specific, easily fixable reason. Kiss the boo-boo, fill the tummy, or give him his freaking Tigger doll and leave him alone to take a nap!
Now, I know I don't have it as bad as some... He only got the flu-like teething with the first two (let me tell you how that terrified me)-- fever, vomit, diarrhea, all to the point that the doctors almost admitted him into the hospital because he had lost 3 pounds and couldn't hold down even a few MLs of pedialyte for more than 5 minutes at a time. It kinda makes me want to cry just remembering all the time I spent holding my hot-bodied little baby over the sink so he could express the contents of his stomach before he collapsed against my chest, whimpering. But it passed after about 10 days and then we had teeth! Yay! The "vampire fangs" that came next (top teeth, but not the front ones) totally snuck up on me. I didn't even realize they were in until I flipped him upside down one day to get better tummy access to tickle him. So that was no sweat! Then came the front ones... Lots of crying... Two weeks of 5-bottles a night, Tylenol every window of opportunity, teething tablets were purchased in bulk, etc., etc. It was like having a newborn at night, and a WHINY CRYBABY chasing me around the house during the day*. He didn't want to be put down, he didn't want to be held, he didn't want to look at me, but woe to me if I left his sight (anyone making a PMS connection? jeez). This time? Well, all I know is we're back to living on ice cubes and bottles (he won't take solid food to save his life) and we're joined at the f--king hip. He is like an octopus with an attitude problem. AND AND AND. I forgot to tell you the best part (I know, right, like it could get better in this baby-infested bitch fest)... He does this stressed out grunt... As if he was passing a poop the size of Rhode Island... but he's NOT. He's just mad that his mouth hurts. Jeez. Give the kid a shot of Lidocaine and call it a day or something.
My point to all of this, is that my house is in disarray, my legs are hairy (because I can't even shower alone), and I don't even think I've gotten the shampoo out of my hair the last couple showers cause it's lookin a little strange. Now I'm sure some of you are going, well, why don't you just do all that after he goes to bed? Because. I have PTSD from my baby. When he goes to bed, I toss the toys that have been attempting my murder all day into the toy basket and then I flop onto the couch til I can't find anymore junk TV to watch. I don't think I even eat dinner anymore. I look for food... but then my eyes glaze over and I just go back to the couch and enjoy not being smacked by little hands.
In conclusion, teething turns my kid into a soul sucking octopus of a child. Upside? A few extra minutes of snuggling after naps. Downside? You try to clean the bathtub with the Flozell Adams of all babies attached to your hip/leg.
*My son, typically, is not one to freak out. If he's crying, there's a specific, easily fixable reason. Kiss the boo-boo, fill the tummy, or give him his freaking Tigger doll and leave him alone to take a nap!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Anonymity?
So, since I have a few followers I don't know, some I do, I've really been wrestling with how much to reveal. We've all heard stories about creepers*, and I remember seeing a news story when I was a kid about how you should ALWAYS Google yourself to see if anyone has set up a creepy stalker fan site in your honor (personally I don't think I'm THAT cool) and so on. But really, I've never been ALL that careful online. My screen names tend to be, well, my first name, middle initial, and last name. I don't click spam links or anything, and if I post an ad on Craigslist, I don't put my name or phone number, I just let them send emails to the anonymous address. So I'm not an idiot, but I'm also not paranoid. But when it comes to revealing details about my life on the day to day front, I'm feeling the need to be a bit more cautious. Thus far, I have not posted anyone's name but my own, but that's bound to get confusing sometime down the line. So I've been throwing around aliases for those that I mention the most, trying to decide if I really want to go the route of full on nicknames, or just put initials (which I do for convenience sake in any other forum I use online). I haven't decided yet... But I'm curious. What do you reveal about your "real life" in your writing? Are you super anonymous, bold as they come, or somewhere in the middle? Cause it's one thing, I think, for me to write a post ranting about my husband's stinky socks and my son wiggling away mid-diaper change to leave a trail of pee as he crawls, but quite another, to me, to mention their names. Does that make sense?
*not that I think anyone's a creeper on here, again I don't think I'm that cool, but that "follow anonymously" thing skeeves me out a bit.
*not that I think anyone's a creeper on here, again I don't think I'm that cool, but that "follow anonymously" thing skeeves me out a bit.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Mommy Police
So I can't properly rant in the way that I'd like because I posted a link to this blog one too many times on Facebook and now I have no damn idea who still reads because a couple people who don't blog say they bookmarked me and check back, though those specific people I don't mind cause hell I'd say this shit in front of them anyway... It's the sneaky checkers I worry about. The sneaky checkers (allegedly) that are pissing me the HELL off.
First of all, as a disclaimer (first and last, ever), if you are the type to typically ask, "is this about me?" Nope. Sure isn't.
Now on to the goods. I've taken a lot of shit off of other women since becoming a wife and mother. Of course it's all "meant well" and no one means to offend or belittle with their appallingly bitchy-bossy-rude-hateful-judgmental comments-stares-throat clears... But I wasn't born yesterday. I may have been home schooled (haha) but I know when someone's patronizing me. I know when you think that how I'm living my life/loving my husband/raising my son is below the standard. I have let it get to me, eat me up, even doubt myself and my abilities to be a kick ass mom, a BAMF wife to my husband*, and, let's face it, a smokin hot redhead (I throw that in for kicks cause I can).
I was talking to a friend last night, and I realized I LET people push me into a lot of decisions that I now regret. I keep thinking about that Eleanor Roosevelt quote, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent," and it makes me mad that I gave my consent so freely. That it was so easy for people who don't matter a bit at the end of the day to shake my confidence.
If I could go back in time, oh the things I'd change. Not to say that I'm in a bad spot now, or that I jacked my kid up (wait til he's 18 then we'll decide for sure), but I just feel like if I had been strong enough to stand up to the "Mommy Police**," things would be much different. There have been a lot of concessions that have been made on my part, but there's a specific issue that's been brought up lately, and it took me a while to realize, you know what, the fact that I do things differently, doesn't make me a bad mom. At fucking all. At the end of the day, if you want to sit on your high horse and judge me, call me names and belittle my abilities as a mom, that's your perogative. By the same token, it's mine as well to flip you the bird and not ask you to come hang out at my house anymore.
So if the way I handle things makes me ignorant, or paraniod (how can you be both, I ask?), or a "friggin hippie," or just plain over-attached (again, those seem to contradict...), then okay. I'm fine with it. I'm not by any means claiming perfection. I sooo don't have the energy to keep that shit up. But if I really need advice, I know who to go to. I know the opinions that I trust, and I need to stop letting the nonsense creep in and shake my confidence. It's so annoying.
So let me just say... I'm ABSOLUTELY the mom who
-lets her kid watch the Disney channel while she catches a few more minutes of sleep
-lets her baby run around in just a diaper
-and play by himself if he so chooses
-and sleep with me when he doesn't feel good
And I don't believe in
-the flu shot (or any shots, but that's one of the things I gave in on)
-daycare just for the hell of it
-freaking out that he is obsessed with his Daddy's (big, adult sized) blanket and likes to sleep with it AND a stuffed animal (Tigger, for the detail oriented)
-worrying how long he'll like his Binky (and omgosh it's so cute when he shares it!)
-public school as a rule (if it doesn't work, I'll homeschool, I don't care!)
I don't worry about a lot of things that people think I should. That's not to say I don't care, cause I absolutely do. I have reasons behind everything I have chosen, and my husband feels the same way (or respects the way I feel and doesn't argue, which is almost the same, right?).
I aim to raise my son to be respectful of others, but firm within his own self (better get stronger in that myself). I want him to be self sufficient, but I also want him to know that it's okay to ask for help when you need it (and to offer it when you see someone else needing it). I want him to be all the good things in my husband and myself, none of the bad, and more! I have high hopes for my son. But I don't plan to spend his childhood in a stressed out quivering mess in the corner. I'm making the choices that I feel are right, and if you don't agree and can't keep your damn mouth shut, feel free to hit the road, Jack!
*when I want to be, that is.
** see definition here
First of all, as a disclaimer (first and last, ever), if you are the type to typically ask, "is this about me?" Nope. Sure isn't.
Now on to the goods. I've taken a lot of shit off of other women since becoming a wife and mother. Of course it's all "meant well" and no one means to offend or belittle with their appallingly bitchy-bossy-rude-hateful-judgmental comments-stares-throat clears... But I wasn't born yesterday. I may have been home schooled (haha) but I know when someone's patronizing me. I know when you think that how I'm living my life/loving my husband/raising my son is below the standard. I have let it get to me, eat me up, even doubt myself and my abilities to be a kick ass mom, a BAMF wife to my husband*, and, let's face it, a smokin hot redhead (I throw that in for kicks cause I can).
I was talking to a friend last night, and I realized I LET people push me into a lot of decisions that I now regret. I keep thinking about that Eleanor Roosevelt quote, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent," and it makes me mad that I gave my consent so freely. That it was so easy for people who don't matter a bit at the end of the day to shake my confidence.
If I could go back in time, oh the things I'd change. Not to say that I'm in a bad spot now, or that I jacked my kid up (wait til he's 18 then we'll decide for sure), but I just feel like if I had been strong enough to stand up to the "Mommy Police**," things would be much different. There have been a lot of concessions that have been made on my part, but there's a specific issue that's been brought up lately, and it took me a while to realize, you know what, the fact that I do things differently, doesn't make me a bad mom. At fucking all. At the end of the day, if you want to sit on your high horse and judge me, call me names and belittle my abilities as a mom, that's your perogative. By the same token, it's mine as well to flip you the bird and not ask you to come hang out at my house anymore.
So if the way I handle things makes me ignorant, or paraniod (how can you be both, I ask?), or a "friggin hippie," or just plain over-attached (again, those seem to contradict...), then okay. I'm fine with it. I'm not by any means claiming perfection. I sooo don't have the energy to keep that shit up. But if I really need advice, I know who to go to. I know the opinions that I trust, and I need to stop letting the nonsense creep in and shake my confidence. It's so annoying.
So let me just say... I'm ABSOLUTELY the mom who
-lets her kid watch the Disney channel while she catches a few more minutes of sleep
-lets her baby run around in just a diaper
-and play by himself if he so chooses
-and sleep with me when he doesn't feel good
And I don't believe in
-the flu shot (or any shots, but that's one of the things I gave in on)
-daycare just for the hell of it
-freaking out that he is obsessed with his Daddy's (big, adult sized) blanket and likes to sleep with it AND a stuffed animal (Tigger, for the detail oriented)
-worrying how long he'll like his Binky (and omgosh it's so cute when he shares it!)
-public school as a rule (if it doesn't work, I'll homeschool, I don't care!)
I don't worry about a lot of things that people think I should. That's not to say I don't care, cause I absolutely do. I have reasons behind everything I have chosen, and my husband feels the same way (or respects the way I feel and doesn't argue, which is almost the same, right?).
I aim to raise my son to be respectful of others, but firm within his own self (better get stronger in that myself). I want him to be self sufficient, but I also want him to know that it's okay to ask for help when you need it (and to offer it when you see someone else needing it). I want him to be all the good things in my husband and myself, none of the bad, and more! I have high hopes for my son. But I don't plan to spend his childhood in a stressed out quivering mess in the corner. I'm making the choices that I feel are right, and if you don't agree and can't keep your damn mouth shut, feel free to hit the road, Jack!
*when I want to be, that is.
** see definition here
uhm...
Wow. So. I have meant to write something-anything for a WEEK now... Seriously, half written blogs are making my brain overflow. But I just can't seem to find the next note in my song. I feel like I'm in this stupid, stupid place. I'm holding my breath, waiting to see what's about to happen next. So many questions that I'm hoping have easy answers that don't involve me having to fight for my life slash future children. But I don't want my life to pause on the "I might have cancer" note because, hell, if I refuse to let OTHER stupid shit define me (deployment, drama, etc. etc.), no matter how life altering... Why would I let the POSSIBILITY of something define me? I mean, if we're gonna go that route, I might as well just live in fear of a piano falling on top of my head and squishing me like a bug (what movie was that from? Final Destination or something? My movie trivia is not up to par). If I'm gonna let possibility cripple me, instead of living in hope and continuing to smile, that just kinda sets me up for a bad deal if I DO end up being sick. Hello. Mind over matter anyone?
So now that I've got that out of the way... I just want to marvel at the fact that in less than a month, my husband and I mark the two-but-really-feels-like-five year anniversary of our being together. Our first date was September 1, 2007. *Jaw dropping math moment in 3... 2... 1...* And on November 21, we celebrate our second wedding anniversary*. To say, "We've come a long way," is a huge understatement. We've been through a-freaking-lot. AND, may I add, made one stinking perfect son. I'll save the sappy posts for the actual anniversary days, but I just realized it's only been two years!
*We DID know each other for 6 or 7 months before we were actually an item. And we waited almost a week before we quit denying that we were... ahem... involved. Once your 13 year old sister calls you on your shit, you pretty much know you're busted. But that's another story for another day (and would involve my adding one of those "I consent to view adult content" buttons before you go to my page).
So now that I've got that out of the way... I just want to marvel at the fact that in less than a month, my husband and I mark the two-but-really-feels-like-five year anniversary of our being together. Our first date was September 1, 2007. *Jaw dropping math moment in 3... 2... 1...* And on November 21, we celebrate our second wedding anniversary*. To say, "We've come a long way," is a huge understatement. We've been through a-freaking-lot. AND, may I add, made one stinking perfect son. I'll save the sappy posts for the actual anniversary days, but I just realized it's only been two years!
*We DID know each other for 6 or 7 months before we were actually an item. And we waited almost a week before we quit denying that we were... ahem... involved. Once your 13 year old sister calls you on your shit, you pretty much know you're busted. But that's another story for another day (and would involve my adding one of those "I consent to view adult content" buttons before you go to my page).
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
desires of your heart
Ever since I was a little girl, I've always wanted to be a mom. When other kids wanted to be doctors and lawyers and teachers, I always just wanted to be a mom. I've always wanted lots of kids. By lots, I mean like 4 or 5 (No TLC special for me, cause if I do it naturally, who could top the Duggars (and WHO would try?), and hello, we're military-- we's too broke to do it any other way BUT naturally!). I married someone whose heart's desire was also a big family (though he'd like his own baseball team). We got married and never once considered waiting until later to start our family-- 3 months into our marriage, we found out I was pregnant with our son. We were over-stinking-joyed. My husband started talking about baby number two in the hospital ON delivery day (telling our son he needed a baby sister now). I wasn't ready quite that quickly, I wanted to at least let my stitches heal, but by R&R I was ready as well. Of course, we didn't get pregnant, and now I am finding out why... And also that more children may not be an option for us.
I won't lie. That. Breaks. My. Heart. I just can't understand why God would put the desire in my husband and I SO strong for a big family, and then take the option away. It says in the Bible that God will give you the desires of your heart. And I'm so angry. Absolutely devastated. I feel utterly betrayed by my body and things beyond my control. Because even if I don't have cancer, the doctor says I probably have PCOS, and may (read probably will) need surgery to remove at least one ovary (He also informed me that I have the beginnings of the same problem I have on my right side, on my left side).
I just don't understand. I keep saying that. And I keep crying. I think I'm more stressed about that than the cancer possibility. Cancer I can beat. Straight inability to have children? It makes me doubt EVERYTHING. And I mean everything. God, my marriage's ability to withstand infertility, myself, myself, myself.
I don't know what to think anymore.
I won't lie. That. Breaks. My. Heart. I just can't understand why God would put the desire in my husband and I SO strong for a big family, and then take the option away. It says in the Bible that God will give you the desires of your heart. And I'm so angry. Absolutely devastated. I feel utterly betrayed by my body and things beyond my control. Because even if I don't have cancer, the doctor says I probably have PCOS, and may (read probably will) need surgery to remove at least one ovary (He also informed me that I have the beginnings of the same problem I have on my right side, on my left side).
I just don't understand. I keep saying that. And I keep crying. I think I'm more stressed about that than the cancer possibility. Cancer I can beat. Straight inability to have children? It makes me doubt EVERYTHING. And I mean everything. God, my marriage's ability to withstand infertility, myself, myself, myself.
I don't know what to think anymore.
an open letter
Dear Potentially Cancerous Mass,
I just wanted to say hello. I'm acknowledging your presence. I'm also ready to send out a big "Fuck you very much," just in case you thought you were welcome in my body. I thought I should mention, too, that I have a baby to raise. I will walk my son to his first day of Kindergarten. I will watch him walk across the stage and get his diploma from high school AND college. And when he meets the girl of his dreams, I will watch with tears in my eyes as he puts a ring on her finger and promises her forever. I will grow old and wrinkly and gray with my husband. I will spend many many more years enjoying his sweet smile and being frustrated at his love of Robot Chicken and video games that make my eyes want to bleed. I will watch my brothers and sisters grow up. I will enjoy my friends and family in peace, without worrying about anything sneaking up to try to snatch all of this away from me. You won't beat me-- I have too much left I have to do. As hard as you may try to dig your heels in, I'll fight harder. You won't take me down, you won't over power me. Even if you're not cancer, all of this still applies. I will do whatever I have to do to eradicate you from my body, and that will be that. So if you'd like to slink away in fear and not even start with me, that would be appreciated. If not, consider it on like Donkey Kong between the two of us.
Sincerely,
Ashley
I just wanted to say hello. I'm acknowledging your presence. I'm also ready to send out a big "Fuck you very much," just in case you thought you were welcome in my body. I thought I should mention, too, that I have a baby to raise. I will walk my son to his first day of Kindergarten. I will watch him walk across the stage and get his diploma from high school AND college. And when he meets the girl of his dreams, I will watch with tears in my eyes as he puts a ring on her finger and promises her forever. I will grow old and wrinkly and gray with my husband. I will spend many many more years enjoying his sweet smile and being frustrated at his love of Robot Chicken and video games that make my eyes want to bleed. I will watch my brothers and sisters grow up. I will enjoy my friends and family in peace, without worrying about anything sneaking up to try to snatch all of this away from me. You won't beat me-- I have too much left I have to do. As hard as you may try to dig your heels in, I'll fight harder. You won't take me down, you won't over power me. Even if you're not cancer, all of this still applies. I will do whatever I have to do to eradicate you from my body, and that will be that. So if you'd like to slink away in fear and not even start with me, that would be appreciated. If not, consider it on like Donkey Kong between the two of us.
Sincerely,
Ashley
The C Word
I don't even know where to begin. My mind is such a mess right now that nothing I type goes into any order. I don't want to panic, I don't want to cry and freak out and freak everyone else out... But let's face it, it's a big fucking shit your pants kind of deal when you drag your 9 month old baby in with you to the "lady doctor" and they tell you that pain you've been living with for a month is actually a mass the size of a golf ball in your ovary and that it shows indications of being cancerous. Cue pale(r) face and my third anxiety attack in 5 hours just typing this. As soon as I had cell service (thanks T-Mobile for SUCKING up here), I called my mom and told her. She said, "You know I think there's a statistic that says 1 in 3 people get cancer. We're a family of 7." Apparently since my baby brother got cancer last year, it's my turn to even up the stats. Awesome!
It just seems really surreal to be going in for tests and labs to check for further growth and to check my cell counts and all these things that I know because of my brother, but never crossed my mind even once when I was worrying about what the doctor might tell me is wrong. I did ask the doctor about the other worries I was having-- PCOS, surgery, no more kids-- apparently they're all valid concerns if I don't have cancer! Eeeeevennnn better.
I'm scared, I'm angry, and I want my mom/husband/family around. Lucky for me, everyone else is going through lots of trauma and drama of their own, so while they are lending moral support, no one can rush to my side and hold my hand. Maybe I'm getting more of a lesson than I could have ever dreamed in dealing with scary shit on my own. I'm not blaming anyone for having other things to deal with. It's just all really shitty timing. I feel like I need to be there for everyone else as they deal through their issues, and now it turns out I have enough on my own plate that I can't save the world around me as well.
It just seems really surreal to be going in for tests and labs to check for further growth and to check my cell counts and all these things that I know because of my brother, but never crossed my mind even once when I was worrying about what the doctor might tell me is wrong. I did ask the doctor about the other worries I was having-- PCOS, surgery, no more kids-- apparently they're all valid concerns if I don't have cancer! Eeeeevennnn better.
I'm scared, I'm angry, and I want my mom/husband/family around. Lucky for me, everyone else is going through lots of trauma and drama of their own, so while they are lending moral support, no one can rush to my side and hold my hand. Maybe I'm getting more of a lesson than I could have ever dreamed in dealing with scary shit on my own. I'm not blaming anyone for having other things to deal with. It's just all really shitty timing. I feel like I need to be there for everyone else as they deal through their issues, and now it turns out I have enough on my own plate that I can't save the world around me as well.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
I ain't missin' you at all since you've been gone...
I've been lying to myself these days...
I've realized the past couple of weeks that the only reason I was "coping" so well with the deployment the past 7 1/2 months (wow) was that I was able to talk to my husband almost every day. Now, it's been one day shy of two weeks and we've talked four times. One line emails included in that count! I. am. losing. it. As much as I am his support, he is absolutely, 100%, mine. He's my encouragement when I feel like everything is going wrong. He helps "shore up my defenses" when I just can't take another damn thing. And now... I'm feeling very alone in a time when I need him more than ever. Between little things (like the baby cutting teeth), to big things (like our first REAL house and moving by myself), to scary things (like finding out if we can have any more kids on Tuesday), to sad things (my best friend's grandpa just died today), to happy things (another good friend is in labor right now), I can't share my heart and my life with him. It makes me feel isolated, and a little resentful.
I CAN do all these things on my own, and this is not to imply that I don't have a great support system in place, but you all know that nothing replaces the support of your mate. Even when he's totally clueless as to how I'm feeling and what I'm going through, he's just... well, he's just my penguin (you know, they mate for life... aww big sigh from the audience) and I need him.
Dear Husband, please come home soon. I miss laughing with you, and chasing you all over the bed at night to cuddle, watching you play with our son, and making fun of the gooey eyes you give me when you don't even have to say how much you love me. I miss you, and everything about you. Even your gross wet towels all over my house. I love you.
I've realized the past couple of weeks that the only reason I was "coping" so well with the deployment the past 7 1/2 months (wow) was that I was able to talk to my husband almost every day. Now, it's been one day shy of two weeks and we've talked four times. One line emails included in that count! I. am. losing. it. As much as I am his support, he is absolutely, 100%, mine. He's my encouragement when I feel like everything is going wrong. He helps "shore up my defenses" when I just can't take another damn thing. And now... I'm feeling very alone in a time when I need him more than ever. Between little things (like the baby cutting teeth), to big things (like our first REAL house and moving by myself), to scary things (like finding out if we can have any more kids on Tuesday), to sad things (my best friend's grandpa just died today), to happy things (another good friend is in labor right now), I can't share my heart and my life with him. It makes me feel isolated, and a little resentful.
I CAN do all these things on my own, and this is not to imply that I don't have a great support system in place, but you all know that nothing replaces the support of your mate. Even when he's totally clueless as to how I'm feeling and what I'm going through, he's just... well, he's just my penguin (you know, they mate for life... aww big sigh from the audience) and I need him.
Dear Husband, please come home soon. I miss laughing with you, and chasing you all over the bed at night to cuddle, watching you play with our son, and making fun of the gooey eyes you give me when you don't even have to say how much you love me. I miss you, and everything about you. Even your gross wet towels all over my house. I love you.
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