Parenting

Please read Part I, Part II and Part III before continuing . . .

I graduated from college in December 2001. No one was hiring in the aftermath of the 9/11 tragedy and therefore I moved back in with my parents as I had nowhere else to go. It’s a strange thing to live independently for four years and suddenly be thrust back into living like you did when you were a teenager. But I was thankful for gracious parents who understood there was no way for me to pay rent if I didn’t have a job.

Please read Part I and Part II before continuing with Part III.

I am ashamed to admit that I did not stay in the psychiatric hospital that night. Did I belong there? Absolutely. But I did not stay. I barely remember going up the elevator. I can scarcely recall anything about the experience at all. As with other terrifying experiences I think my brain shut down to protect me from these memories. But I know was when I was shown my room, a shared room, I was suddenly resolved to get the fuck out of there. I could not let my parents leave me there. I didn’t belong there. I was not crazy. These other people that I saw walking the halls. They were crazy. But not me. No, not me. How did I end up here?

***No matter how dark the night, ******the star of Christmas shines on, ******undimmed by human despair. ******May that same star ***fill your heart with light.

Moravian Hymn

I was so busy this week at work. Trucking along just waiting for Thursday. My last day at work before my holiday celebration could begin. I didn’t want any extra work. I didn’t want to stay late. I only wanted to come in, do my job and get home to my boys. Keep it simple.

*Please read Part I: On the Edge before continuing. *

The same thing happens every year at the beginning of August. I see girls walking around in stores with their moms. Picking out sheet sets and mini fridges and wall decor. The girls always have big smiles on their faces. Eyes wide open, as if a particular coffee pot will mean the difference between success and failure in their first year of college.

I have thought of how to write out these memories time and again. Gone back and forth about why I should or shouldn’t write them. Why I should or shouldn’t post them for the world to see. Because I have no idea who will read it. And I have no control over what they will think. But I guess, after all these years, I finally feel ready. I’m ready to talk about the most painful memories of my life.

I grew up in a house filled with music. My dad has been a high school band director for more than 40 years. When I was young he always conducted the pit orchestra for the musicals put on by community theater. I think this is where my love obsession of musicals came from. Grease, Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera. I’m not picky. As long as there are real people standing on a stage singing and I’m watching them I’m pretty darn happy. By the way, did you know my pug Roxie is named after the main character in Chicago? I just spelled it differently to throw people off. Yep, I’m obsessed.

Monday was not a good day. Honestly, we’ve been having more bad days than good lately. Monday afternoon I was feeling downright sorry for myself.

Probably because we spent Monday afternoon at the children’s hospital. Brigham is still grabbing his ears and screaming and also has a wet cough that won’t quit. Considering I just got over pneumonia I was concerned that he got it from yours truly.

As if that weren’t enough, Landon was bitten by an insect on his foot. At first it was just a little red spot. But after a few days it was clearly infected. The redness spread and he developed a little whitehead with a black dot in the center. He kept saying, “Boo boo hurt bad, mama.” He was in a lot of pain and had been crying off and on.

This post is in honor of Theta Mom’s First Blogoversary contest!

When I was in college my girlfriends would often talk of the future and all the dreams they had for themselves. Marriage and babies would usually become the common denominator during these conversations. I would give them a polite nod as they gushed about marrying their long-time boyfriends. But I knew all along their dreams had little to do with my own.

I spent Friday night in the ER getting my right breast cut into. But let me go back a bit to fill you in. I developed a small lump at the top of my right breast over two weeks ago. I assumed it was a clogged duct and massaged it and applied heat/ice packs to try to help it go away. It did not go away. It just kept getting bigger. It was also red on the outside and very painful. A few days after that lump formed another smaller lump formed near my armpit. This one wasn’t as large but it was just as painful. So much so that it hurt to move my right arm.

I’ve been reading so many birth stories lately in preparation for the birth of our next baby boy. I always appreciate the honesty and vivid descriptions. It helped me before I gave birth to Landon and it’s helping me again. Mostly it helps me realize that each story is unique and individual and that what happens is NOT in your control. I went back and realized that I never posted Landon’s birth story on my own blog! So here it is, a year and a half later . . . I hope this helps someone!

The post title says it all . . . I’m pregnant with baby #2!  It has been a huge shock to us {and everyone else}.  I was on birth control so this took us by complete surprise.  We always knew we wanted another baby but didn’t think it would be so soon!

This experience has been the total opposite of the first time we found out.  We were both pretty confused as to how this happened.  I mean, yes, we know how this happened but still . . . how did this happen?  A lot of stars had to align for me to become pregnant!  My doctor believes that my birth control failed after a month of taking antibiotics to try to stop the terrible symptoms I had been having. But now that green bean is a part of me I wouldn’t want it any other way.

You know that thing they call the “corporate ladder”?  Well, I just stepped off of it and got onto the “Mommy Ladder”.  I resigned from my job on Thursday.  After six months of working myself to the point of utter physical and mental exhaustion I decided I had had enough.

Most people would probably think it’s a non-profit so how stressful could it be?  Just add a micro-managing, power hungry, overly-demanding volunteer to the mix and you’ve got your answer.  I was expected to work nights and weekends and the stress was unmanageable.  No one there had kids and they were not understanding about daycare pick-ups and doctor’s appointments.  That is unacceptable.