Kole's been normal today. Which is... nice. Hey, cut me some slack, I am as emotionally stretched out as I have ever been. "Nice" is the best I can come up with.
While we're talking about emotions let's get this Postpartum Depression thing out on the table.
It was awful with Kole. You all remember. I avoided your calls. And the door. And the mirror. And my life. For a really long time. I couldn't snap out of things. Or get into anything. It's the weirdest, most disconnected feeling in the world. It's like being a living dead person. And not in the cool zombie way. (If you think zombies are cool... which I don't... but some people do.) You just feel like you are floating in gray water and no one can see that you are face down.
With the new baby coming on Monday, the thought has crossed my mind, "What if it comes back?" I don't really have an answer... just Yeah. What if? I've been reading articles and studies about it and I'm supposed to set up a support group ahead of time. Which sounds so cheesy and lame and like a pitiful cry for help.
But, honestly. I think that's what I need. I need people to call me. E-mail me. Try to contact me. Heck, pray to your God for me. And then... could you not be offended when I avoid your calls because my throat is too tight to say anything? Just leave a voicemail. I'll listen to it. It'll make me feel like me. Send me an e-mail with some LOLcats or something. Maybe I'll think LOLcats are funnier then. (Because I don't think they're all THAT great now.)
I just need to know I am thought about. That someone out there cares. That I crossed your mind. And that babies are wonderful and cute and cuddly.
Even though I might disagree with you at the moment.
Even though I might not be able to respond (or at least respond truthfully) to what is going on.
Even though I might not be able to say how I am feeling.
And keep in mind. This is precautionary. I might be just fine. I might swing right into this new baby with joy and bliss and excitement. Which is how I am feeling about him today.
Excited.
5 Days!
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
It's a MAD HOUSE
My friend told me that a couple weeks before her second baby came her 2-year-old son went off the handle and turned into El Diablo. I nodded and listened and in my head thought... I'm glad that won't happen to me. Kole is too mellow.
What a bunch of BS I was feeding myself. He has had a few shining moments in the last week. There have been a couple times when his eyes sparkled and he seemed like hims good old self. But the other 168 hours... *deep sigh*.... Heaven help me.
It is never stopping.
Let's start with the screaming, mmm kay? It's like a tiger growling combined with an angry monkey mixed with a kitten getting stabbed. It's so loud. And, fortunately, nonstop. So I have been given the opportunity to get used to it. I just haven't been able to.
Moving On.
Meals. Today for breakfast Kole had hot dogs. Don't judge, haters. He had ketchup too... so there's some veggie sustenance. I tried the toast. With butter and jelly and peanut butter. Heck- I would have put some GD sprinkles on that piece of toast if he would have asked me to. No go. Ended up on the floor. Got the cereal out. Nope. And it's not just a "no" by the way. It's a wail. Like I just shoved hot pokers under his finger nails. I offered fruit, granola bars, ping pangs (<---- pancakes), and finally I gave up.
"What do you want for breakfast stinky butt?"
"Hot Dog."
Fine.
Then there is the violence. He started throwing his toys. Which I'm putting the foot down on pretty sternly. Not a good habit. But it seems like if he's not throwing a stuffed animal, train track, or truck, he's coming after me! Fists a flying. Feet a kicking. Teeth bared. I mean, he's probably not more than 2 and a half feet tall? And he's weighing in at 29 pounds... but it's scary to be attacked! He's ready to give me all he's got. And it hurts! He knows my soft spots. Stomach and eyes. Youch.
I'd love to go into the sleeping that's not happening for anyone living here but I think it'll make me cry. Some things just aren't funny.
There's the diaper changing. He hates it all of the sudden. 3 weeks ago he was telling me when he needed his diaper changed and bringing me the diaper, wipes, and bumby cream. Now... he dashes. He hides. He hits and screams. And flails all over. This morning I was wrestling him on the changing table and he kicked me in my chin. I stumbled a little and he was trying to climb down. I grabbed him (sorta forcefully I admit) and held him on the table. He lifted his head and with the reddest face- screamed his highest loudest most aggravating scream at me. In what I consider my absolute worst mom moment to date I said, "Oh yeah? Well I don't like you either right now!"
Not so glad I stooped to that level.
Can't believe I lost it.
And in such a hurtful way.
I do like Koley.
He's just a big stinkweeder right now.
I shouldn't have said that and I felt horrible immediately.
I said I was sorry.
But neither my outburst or my apology had impact on the situation.
The no's, screaming, and kicking continued.
And haven't stopped since.
That was at 8:00 this morning.
What a bunch of BS I was feeding myself. He has had a few shining moments in the last week. There have been a couple times when his eyes sparkled and he seemed like hims good old self. But the other 168 hours... *deep sigh*.... Heaven help me.
It is never stopping.
Let's start with the screaming, mmm kay? It's like a tiger growling combined with an angry monkey mixed with a kitten getting stabbed. It's so loud. And, fortunately, nonstop. So I have been given the opportunity to get used to it. I just haven't been able to.
Moving On.
Meals. Today for breakfast Kole had hot dogs. Don't judge, haters. He had ketchup too... so there's some veggie sustenance. I tried the toast. With butter and jelly and peanut butter. Heck- I would have put some GD sprinkles on that piece of toast if he would have asked me to. No go. Ended up on the floor. Got the cereal out. Nope. And it's not just a "no" by the way. It's a wail. Like I just shoved hot pokers under his finger nails. I offered fruit, granola bars, ping pangs (<---- pancakes), and finally I gave up.
"What do you want for breakfast stinky butt?"
"Hot Dog."
Fine.
Then there is the violence. He started throwing his toys. Which I'm putting the foot down on pretty sternly. Not a good habit. But it seems like if he's not throwing a stuffed animal, train track, or truck, he's coming after me! Fists a flying. Feet a kicking. Teeth bared. I mean, he's probably not more than 2 and a half feet tall? And he's weighing in at 29 pounds... but it's scary to be attacked! He's ready to give me all he's got. And it hurts! He knows my soft spots. Stomach and eyes. Youch.
I'd love to go into the sleeping that's not happening for anyone living here but I think it'll make me cry. Some things just aren't funny.
There's the diaper changing. He hates it all of the sudden. 3 weeks ago he was telling me when he needed his diaper changed and bringing me the diaper, wipes, and bumby cream. Now... he dashes. He hides. He hits and screams. And flails all over. This morning I was wrestling him on the changing table and he kicked me in my chin. I stumbled a little and he was trying to climb down. I grabbed him (sorta forcefully I admit) and held him on the table. He lifted his head and with the reddest face- screamed his highest loudest most aggravating scream at me. In what I consider my absolute worst mom moment to date I said, "Oh yeah? Well I don't like you either right now!"
Not so glad I stooped to that level.
Can't believe I lost it.
And in such a hurtful way.
I do like Koley.
He's just a big stinkweeder right now.
I shouldn't have said that and I felt horrible immediately.
I said I was sorry.
But neither my outburst or my apology had impact on the situation.
The no's, screaming, and kicking continued.
And haven't stopped since.
That was at 8:00 this morning.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Patty McBeard
Ken has been teasing me about my excess facial hair lately. Lately as in the last year... maybe two. I always figured he was just joking. I mean I wax the mustachio and tend to the eyebrows. I've got my bases covered. I've got Italian in my blood which, according to Ken, is the cause of all my werewolf-ish-ness.
To come out with it: Ken says I had a beard.
Ludicrous right? I know I have longer sideburns. But it's like baby hair over there. No big deal.
Well, the hairy jabs had become an everyday thing. I was THE Bearded Lady around here. But I'd look in the mirror and just not see it. I felt my face and didn't get my hands caught up in the knots of hair growing from it. What was the big deal?
Last Sunday I was getting ready for church. I gave Ken a preview of my outfit (since sometimes I don't do that well matching on my own.) And he said, "You would look great if you lost the beard."
That was my last straw.
I grabbed a razor.
Oh. My.
He was so right. I started shaving my face... and like... a ton of hair came off! It looked like I shaved a bunny when I looked in the sink! I started thinking I should of used some Barbasol. The Beard Buster kind. I was so embarrassed. There was enough hair to donate to Barbie Locks of Love.
I went back all smooth and clean shaven and told Ken he was right. And I was really sorry if he felt like he'd been married to a man/woman the last 7 years of his life. I vowed to shave my face on a regular basis.
I figured every other month or so.
Well, it's been 4 days and the stubble is pretty prickly. I think I have a problem.
To come out with it: Ken says I had a beard.
Ludicrous right? I know I have longer sideburns. But it's like baby hair over there. No big deal.
Well, the hairy jabs had become an everyday thing. I was THE Bearded Lady around here. But I'd look in the mirror and just not see it. I felt my face and didn't get my hands caught up in the knots of hair growing from it. What was the big deal?
Last Sunday I was getting ready for church. I gave Ken a preview of my outfit (since sometimes I don't do that well matching on my own.) And he said, "You would look great if you lost the beard."
That was my last straw.
I grabbed a razor.
Oh. My.
He was so right. I started shaving my face... and like... a ton of hair came off! It looked like I shaved a bunny when I looked in the sink! I started thinking I should of used some Barbasol. The Beard Buster kind. I was so embarrassed. There was enough hair to donate to Barbie Locks of Love.
I went back all smooth and clean shaven and told Ken he was right. And I was really sorry if he felt like he'd been married to a man/woman the last 7 years of his life. I vowed to shave my face on a regular basis.
I figured every other month or so.
Well, it's been 4 days and the stubble is pretty prickly. I think I have a problem.
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