As we near then end of the Keppra weaning process, my anxiety mounts once again. I'm posting this with the hope that 5 minutes, 5 days, 5 years from now when a mom is looking for ANY sort of information about the weaning process, she may somehow come across this blog and know that someone, somewhere has "been there." It's so hard to find REAL information about seizures and the pain they cause because everything you read on medical sites is so sterile. It doesn't give you any idea of the physical and emotional toll that living with seizures can present.
I think the most difficult thing about seizures is that they are so unpredictable. Obviously the first one a person has is not going to be expected, but even a repeat episode can come with little to no warning. It's such an "out of control" feeling. I have never felt more helpless as when my son's body was jerking uncontrollably. Doctors and nurses were whirling around our heads, giving medications, giving orders, and saying what I would eventually learn is the mantra for seizures, "we just don't know." This initial shock to the system is also when one learns how to live with a constant knot in the pit of your stomach.
Unfortunately, it doesn't get easier from there because now you get to play the medication titration game. They try all kinds of different combinations and cocktails of medications, all with the express purpose of shutting the brain down. You then see the seizures start to subside, but you also see your child slip further and further away from you. So, you tell me what I'm supposed to hope for at that point. Do you hope that the meds work and the seizures stop only to realize that your child is now an unrecognizable shell of his former self? I thought that weaning would be less stressful because we'd be getting rid of the awful drugs that make him so sleepy and lethargic. Of course, it's not easier. In fact, I feel as anxious bringing him off of a medication as I did when we were adding them. The actual act of weaning makes him anxious and cranky and twitchy. He physically can't stop moving long enough to fall asleep even though he's exhausted. It breaks my heart every time he looks at me as if to say, "What is wrong with me? Why do I feel like this?" I'm his mom, his comfort, and I can't give him an answer. I can't take away his pain.
We have moved from three medications, phenobarbitol, topamax, and keppra down to just one. Tonight is the last dose of Keppra, and the knot in the pit of my stomach has returned full force. The questions play over and over in my mind: What if I'm doing the wrong thing? What if he actually needs this medication? What if we make it all the way to the end and he seizes again? What if we get rid of the thing that we think is holding him back only to find out that this was as far as he was ever going to go? What if the jerking movements continue even in the absence of the medication? He has made so much progress and we are grateful for every single thing he does all day long, but that doesn't mean that we stop hoping for him. We haven't stopped dreaming that one day we'll get to chase him through the park, or watch him get his first hit in tball.
Sometimes I feel like we are jumping out of an airplane, and we have a parachute, but it's only a picture of one. It's like we are able to see what safety and security look like, we just aren't allowed to actually have them. So, tonight, as I give the "last" dose of medication I will be both excited and terrified. And, parachute or not, we've got to make the jump.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
My Re-Initiation into Womanhood
I have been pregnant and/or breastfeeding for over 8 years now. This little tidbit of information is important to note as my most recent revelation has to do with something that is old and familiar but in an odd way, sort of new and pretty annoying...my period. Now, 99% of the men reading this blog have already turned their computers off by way of dropping it on the floor in horror. This is something I've never understood. I mean, simply reading this blog does NOT mean that you are going to get anything ON you. The male reaction to the word tampon is also ridiculous. Why is it that at the mere mention of that word, they snarl their lip and back away as quickly as possible? Here is the thing boys, we don't purchase them used. I'm sure that, by now, any man with enough kahunas to continue reading after the word "period" has officially logged off as the buzzing in their ears has now given way to lightheadedness. Why is that? Why is this such a big deal? Maybe this is my nursing background coming to light, but I just don't see why we have to get all hush, hush and freaked out about it. I mean, to me, we're just talking about body parts, and I've never seen anyone get all twitchy over an elbow. Knowledge is power people, just ask questions.
But, I digress. The real reason I've been so overwhelmed by this subject is that I've actually had to deal with it lately! Eight years is quite the hiatus after all, an apparently there are a lot of "new" annoyances associated with periods that I know were not there when I was in my early teens. This must be the new and "improved" version. Anyway, it is extremely annoying to workout everyday, eat right, and finally start feeling good about yourself only to be blindsided by an animalistic need to devour 8,000 calories in the next 5 minutes. This is NOT a joke, men. It is NOT a "craving" as that implies that someone simply WANTS to eat a specific forbidden food. I am talking about the fact that I would have chewed off my own right arm to have a plate of nachos the other day. And, don't even get me started on the fatigue. Holy crap! This is worse than pregnancy. My husband tried to tell me the other night that he was "tired." This seems like a harmless statement, but not when you're saying it to a woman who is re-learning what it means to have to pick your eyelids up of the floor.
And perhaps, just perhaps I may be a little more moody than I remember??? I'm sure that my darling husband would disagree or at least he would have until a few days ago when he said one of the dumbest things I've ever heard spill from his lips (and that's no easy feat). I was nursing our son, and he was reading the paper. First of all, how nice would it be to get to sit in a chair by yourself and actually READ something while children are awake? Anyway, he says (without even looking up from the paper), "You know, son, when you're 2 we're cutting you off." Once the smoke coming from my ears cleared the room, I believe my rant went something like this:
"Oh, wasn't that interesting, Easton? Wasn't it amazing to hear such a unilateral decision made by someone whose boob is NOT in your mouth? I mean, you would have thought that HE was the one getting up with you 3-6 times every night for the past year. And HE must have been the one pumping every three hours when you were sick, bawling his eyes out wondering if the milk he was working so hard to preserve was ever going to be given to you? He must be the guy that's working with you every day, at least 5 times a day trying to teach you to drink from a sippy cup while juice spills all over his arms and frustration threatens to send him heaving the cup through the kitchen window!"
I think he got the point.
But, I digress. The real reason I've been so overwhelmed by this subject is that I've actually had to deal with it lately! Eight years is quite the hiatus after all, an apparently there are a lot of "new" annoyances associated with periods that I know were not there when I was in my early teens. This must be the new and "improved" version. Anyway, it is extremely annoying to workout everyday, eat right, and finally start feeling good about yourself only to be blindsided by an animalistic need to devour 8,000 calories in the next 5 minutes. This is NOT a joke, men. It is NOT a "craving" as that implies that someone simply WANTS to eat a specific forbidden food. I am talking about the fact that I would have chewed off my own right arm to have a plate of nachos the other day. And, don't even get me started on the fatigue. Holy crap! This is worse than pregnancy. My husband tried to tell me the other night that he was "tired." This seems like a harmless statement, but not when you're saying it to a woman who is re-learning what it means to have to pick your eyelids up of the floor.
And perhaps, just perhaps I may be a little more moody than I remember??? I'm sure that my darling husband would disagree or at least he would have until a few days ago when he said one of the dumbest things I've ever heard spill from his lips (and that's no easy feat). I was nursing our son, and he was reading the paper. First of all, how nice would it be to get to sit in a chair by yourself and actually READ something while children are awake? Anyway, he says (without even looking up from the paper), "You know, son, when you're 2 we're cutting you off." Once the smoke coming from my ears cleared the room, I believe my rant went something like this:
"Oh, wasn't that interesting, Easton? Wasn't it amazing to hear such a unilateral decision made by someone whose boob is NOT in your mouth? I mean, you would have thought that HE was the one getting up with you 3-6 times every night for the past year. And HE must have been the one pumping every three hours when you were sick, bawling his eyes out wondering if the milk he was working so hard to preserve was ever going to be given to you? He must be the guy that's working with you every day, at least 5 times a day trying to teach you to drink from a sippy cup while juice spills all over his arms and frustration threatens to send him heaving the cup through the kitchen window!"
I think he got the point.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
The Climb
"I can almost see it, this dream I'm dreaming. But, there's a voice inside my head that says, 'You'll never reach it.'"
We all have our own crosses to bear, our own mountains to climb. A friend of mine recently asked me when I was going to be posting a new blog, and I told her that I had tried to express some changes I've been experiencing but had started to write several times and just couldn't get it quite right. Usually I just sit down and start typing, and am generally satisfied by the time I'm finished. For some reason, I couldn't quite pinpoint exactly what I was feeling. Leave it to one of my children to show me how.
I've noticed that my attitude is different. Now, that's not a blanket statement. I'm still a cynical, straight-forward, pain in the ass. But, I have noticed that, lately, my reactions to situations seem to have more of a "soft" edge. I still react to things that have bothered me in the past, but with renewed perspective. For example, houses with children in them are going to be dirty. If you don't believe me just take a look at any of your old home videos. You'll notice that your children can only do camera-worthy things when your house is trashed. The kid will be standing there singing a rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" that rivals Sinatra, but you may not be able to distinguish which child it is because you haven't dusted in about three months. You can go ahead and clean beforehand and fully charge your camera battery in preparation for what you are just sure will end up being your little genius' audition for Julliard, but the kid will inevitably end up in some sort of staring trance and may even drool a little. You can't plan these things. They just happen, and at one time I may have obsessed a little more about a messy house. But now, all I can think of every time I see a stray toy is that it's a sign of LIFE in my house. Don't get me wrong, I still go all ape-shit when someone leaves a trail of dirty laundry down the hallway, but the fuse is a little longer now.
Easton is in the hospital again. This time we're in our local hospital for his respiratory issues. My reaction to the announcement of this current hospital stay actually made me laugh out loud. When the doctor told me that we'd have to head over to the hospital, my first thought was, "Do I have the good kind of chap-stick at home?" This is hilarious to me because of all the things I could have been thinking in that moment, I was worried about what kind of lip balm I'd be using! Anyone who has had an extended stay in any hospital knows that the air is very dry and it's almost imperative that you have a good tube of chap-stick. But, really? That's my reaction to, "Your child needs to be hospitalized,"? Let me tell you, it absolutely IS the reaction you have when the word "crisis" has been changed forever. I now know what serious is, and this isn't serious. It is slightly annoying, mildly exhausting, and occasionally troubling, but it isn't an "intubation, coma, near-death experience."
Hospitals are the worst places on earth in terms of getting anything approaching a good night's sleep. I'm extremely tired, and I'm sure I wouldn't like to keep this pace very long but every time I look over in that crib, a bright-eyed, ornery little boy grins back at me. I would take 100 more visits like this one, if it meant I'd never have to see my child motionless again. So we pay a few more hospital bills, and we lose a little more sleep. It's nice to be able to complain about such things. The paths may be a little steeper and a little more treacherous than before, but the scenery along the way has been infinitely more beautiful. I want to thank my children for changing my mountain.
"It ain't about how fast I get there, ain't about what's waiting on the other side...it's the climb."
We all have our own crosses to bear, our own mountains to climb. A friend of mine recently asked me when I was going to be posting a new blog, and I told her that I had tried to express some changes I've been experiencing but had started to write several times and just couldn't get it quite right. Usually I just sit down and start typing, and am generally satisfied by the time I'm finished. For some reason, I couldn't quite pinpoint exactly what I was feeling. Leave it to one of my children to show me how.
I've noticed that my attitude is different. Now, that's not a blanket statement. I'm still a cynical, straight-forward, pain in the ass. But, I have noticed that, lately, my reactions to situations seem to have more of a "soft" edge. I still react to things that have bothered me in the past, but with renewed perspective. For example, houses with children in them are going to be dirty. If you don't believe me just take a look at any of your old home videos. You'll notice that your children can only do camera-worthy things when your house is trashed. The kid will be standing there singing a rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" that rivals Sinatra, but you may not be able to distinguish which child it is because you haven't dusted in about three months. You can go ahead and clean beforehand and fully charge your camera battery in preparation for what you are just sure will end up being your little genius' audition for Julliard, but the kid will inevitably end up in some sort of staring trance and may even drool a little. You can't plan these things. They just happen, and at one time I may have obsessed a little more about a messy house. But now, all I can think of every time I see a stray toy is that it's a sign of LIFE in my house. Don't get me wrong, I still go all ape-shit when someone leaves a trail of dirty laundry down the hallway, but the fuse is a little longer now.
Easton is in the hospital again. This time we're in our local hospital for his respiratory issues. My reaction to the announcement of this current hospital stay actually made me laugh out loud. When the doctor told me that we'd have to head over to the hospital, my first thought was, "Do I have the good kind of chap-stick at home?" This is hilarious to me because of all the things I could have been thinking in that moment, I was worried about what kind of lip balm I'd be using! Anyone who has had an extended stay in any hospital knows that the air is very dry and it's almost imperative that you have a good tube of chap-stick. But, really? That's my reaction to, "Your child needs to be hospitalized,"? Let me tell you, it absolutely IS the reaction you have when the word "crisis" has been changed forever. I now know what serious is, and this isn't serious. It is slightly annoying, mildly exhausting, and occasionally troubling, but it isn't an "intubation, coma, near-death experience."
Hospitals are the worst places on earth in terms of getting anything approaching a good night's sleep. I'm extremely tired, and I'm sure I wouldn't like to keep this pace very long but every time I look over in that crib, a bright-eyed, ornery little boy grins back at me. I would take 100 more visits like this one, if it meant I'd never have to see my child motionless again. So we pay a few more hospital bills, and we lose a little more sleep. It's nice to be able to complain about such things. The paths may be a little steeper and a little more treacherous than before, but the scenery along the way has been infinitely more beautiful. I want to thank my children for changing my mountain.
"It ain't about how fast I get there, ain't about what's waiting on the other side...it's the climb."
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Tooth or Dare
Every mom knows that there are a few simple truths that we must accept as fact. For example:
FACT: If you have a particularly embarrassing story that you had hoped would NEVER be repeated while you were still alive, your 4-year-old is going to make re-telling it to the wal-mart cashier her top priority.
FACT: If two or more children are sitting within spitting distance of one another at least one of them is going to inhabit the other one's "space." (and probably do a little spitting too, for that matter.)
FACT: If you forget to pack an extra set of clothes one damn day out of the entire freaking year, THIS will absolutely be the day that your child pees, poops, or pukes all over themselves.
FACT: If you lift up any one of the couch cushions in your house at any given time, you are likely to find at least three cheerios (even if you've never purchased any...cheerios can appear by spontaneous generation), an earring you thought YOU lost two years ago, and something that you "hope" is a raisin.
FACT: If you decide to be a "good mom" and encourage your children to brush their teeth, that's fine but just know that you are to blame for the new toothpaste wallpaper in your bathroom.
This last one is particularly disturbing to me. I've tried and tried to figure out exactly how that much sticky nastiness can come out of that tiny little tube. It's freaking EVERYWHERE!!! It covers the sink, the wall, the toilet, the 4-year old. I seriously don't understand this. I don't think children should be allowed to have a mirror in their bathroom because no matter how many times you clean it as soon as you turn around, the toothpaste fairy spatters crap all over it again. And of course it isn't a nice, minty smell that you may be able to stand for 5 seconds. OH NO, it's that uber-sticky, glitter-clad, bubble gum nastiness that your children just HAD to have. I have shown my children NUMEROUS times how to properly spit in the sink and rinse their toothbrushes out. It isn't rocket science, and my kids are relatively intelligent beings. So, I continue to ponder the reason for the incessant stickiness. Do they not understand? Do they have some sort learning issue I haven't yet discovered? Or do they just hate me and like to see my face turn 6 shades of red on a daily basis?
Well, I think I may have recently discovered the answer. Due to the growth of our family over the past couple of years, we have had to do a little room rearranging. I used to have my own bathroom, and the kids shared a bathroom with their dad. Now the adults share one bathroom, the kids the other. A few nights ago, I was talking to my husband while he was brushing his teeth and I watched in horror as he finished up and walked out of the bathroom. It WASN'T that my kids didn't understand. It WASN'T that they had some sort of learning disability. It WASN'T that they hated me so much...IT WAS GENETIC.
FACT: If you have a particularly embarrassing story that you had hoped would NEVER be repeated while you were still alive, your 4-year-old is going to make re-telling it to the wal-mart cashier her top priority.
FACT: If two or more children are sitting within spitting distance of one another at least one of them is going to inhabit the other one's "space." (and probably do a little spitting too, for that matter.)
FACT: If you forget to pack an extra set of clothes one damn day out of the entire freaking year, THIS will absolutely be the day that your child pees, poops, or pukes all over themselves.
FACT: If you lift up any one of the couch cushions in your house at any given time, you are likely to find at least three cheerios (even if you've never purchased any...cheerios can appear by spontaneous generation), an earring you thought YOU lost two years ago, and something that you "hope" is a raisin.
FACT: If you decide to be a "good mom" and encourage your children to brush their teeth, that's fine but just know that you are to blame for the new toothpaste wallpaper in your bathroom.
This last one is particularly disturbing to me. I've tried and tried to figure out exactly how that much sticky nastiness can come out of that tiny little tube. It's freaking EVERYWHERE!!! It covers the sink, the wall, the toilet, the 4-year old. I seriously don't understand this. I don't think children should be allowed to have a mirror in their bathroom because no matter how many times you clean it as soon as you turn around, the toothpaste fairy spatters crap all over it again. And of course it isn't a nice, minty smell that you may be able to stand for 5 seconds. OH NO, it's that uber-sticky, glitter-clad, bubble gum nastiness that your children just HAD to have. I have shown my children NUMEROUS times how to properly spit in the sink and rinse their toothbrushes out. It isn't rocket science, and my kids are relatively intelligent beings. So, I continue to ponder the reason for the incessant stickiness. Do they not understand? Do they have some sort learning issue I haven't yet discovered? Or do they just hate me and like to see my face turn 6 shades of red on a daily basis?
Well, I think I may have recently discovered the answer. Due to the growth of our family over the past couple of years, we have had to do a little room rearranging. I used to have my own bathroom, and the kids shared a bathroom with their dad. Now the adults share one bathroom, the kids the other. A few nights ago, I was talking to my husband while he was brushing his teeth and I watched in horror as he finished up and walked out of the bathroom. It WASN'T that my kids didn't understand. It WASN'T that they had some sort of learning disability. It WASN'T that they hated me so much...IT WAS GENETIC.
Friday, September 2, 2011
The Garden
One of the most beautiful places I have ever been is "The Garden" at St. Louis Children's hospital. Part of it's beauty has to do with the hundreds of different flowers and plants, and the soothing water running through the middle. But the thing that makes The Garden so unique is it's ability to provide therapy for the patients and families at the hospital. If those flowers could talk...but that's exactly why it's the best type of therapy. It's a place that you can go to feel every emotion that comes with having a sick child, and you don't have to speak to anyone. You are free to really FEEL everything on a very raw level.
When Easton was in the hospital, I never left the grounds. And while that may sound sweet and sacrificial, in reality it wasn't very healthy. At times I felt crazy. I didn't sleep, or eat and I rarely went outside to walk around. The Garden became my sanctuary. When we got bad news, and I couldn't handle it anymore, I would go up there and feel what I felt was stifled by the walls of the hospital. I went there to cry and to scream, but also to smile and laugh. And sometimes I went out there just to breathe. I remember one moment when everything seemed to be falling apart, I went out there by myself and as soon as I stepped on that little path around the water, I was able to release a flood of tears. I called my friend Jamie, who unfortunately knew the pain of watching your child suffer. I don't even remember dialing the number. I just remember her voice on the phone, and then my voice as I yelled and screamed and pleaded for her to tell me how to deal with all of it. She just listened and said all the right things, and I will be eternally grateful for that.
I remember going up there another time and seeing all of these children being wheeled around in wagons. They were pointing to the flowers and laughing. I was so angry that Easton couldn't do something as simple as ride the elevator up 1 floor to come out and enjoy the flowers with me. And, I don't just mean "angry." There were times that I was seething. Every emotion was supercharged and lined with pain. I also felt fear... overwhelming fear that sucks the breath right from your lungs.
I remember then the first time they allowed us to take Easton to The Garden with us. Jeff and I were so excited to get him out of his room, but even more so to share with him the only place that had allowed for true BREATHING in the past month. We took the camera, and you would have thought that it was his first birthday! We took about 20 pictures of him outside enjoying the air around him. At the time I don't even know if he knew that he was outside. But we felt like it was such a huge step forward that we pretended that he knew exactly what we were talking about. We pointed out flowers and we showed him the fish. We held him in the swing, and we showed him big rotating ball in the water. That was 4 months ago.
Today, September 2, 2011, we didn't have to pretend. We had to return for a follow-up appointment and between office visits, we decided to take him out to The Garden. We pointed to flowers and he reached for them. We showed him the fish and he stood alone, holding onto the bridge and laughing at the water. We sat him next to the big rotating ball and he reached out and touched it with an ornery grin on his face. I laughed at him, and marveled at the progress that he's made in 4 months. This had been my dream such a short time ago. I had begged some silent power to let me see him enjoy this place that I'd grown to love so much. As I stood there feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and hope, I noticed the wetness on my face. I guess there will always be tears in The Garden.
When Easton was in the hospital, I never left the grounds. And while that may sound sweet and sacrificial, in reality it wasn't very healthy. At times I felt crazy. I didn't sleep, or eat and I rarely went outside to walk around. The Garden became my sanctuary. When we got bad news, and I couldn't handle it anymore, I would go up there and feel what I felt was stifled by the walls of the hospital. I went there to cry and to scream, but also to smile and laugh. And sometimes I went out there just to breathe. I remember one moment when everything seemed to be falling apart, I went out there by myself and as soon as I stepped on that little path around the water, I was able to release a flood of tears. I called my friend Jamie, who unfortunately knew the pain of watching your child suffer. I don't even remember dialing the number. I just remember her voice on the phone, and then my voice as I yelled and screamed and pleaded for her to tell me how to deal with all of it. She just listened and said all the right things, and I will be eternally grateful for that.
I remember going up there another time and seeing all of these children being wheeled around in wagons. They were pointing to the flowers and laughing. I was so angry that Easton couldn't do something as simple as ride the elevator up 1 floor to come out and enjoy the flowers with me. And, I don't just mean "angry." There were times that I was seething. Every emotion was supercharged and lined with pain. I also felt fear... overwhelming fear that sucks the breath right from your lungs.
I remember then the first time they allowed us to take Easton to The Garden with us. Jeff and I were so excited to get him out of his room, but even more so to share with him the only place that had allowed for true BREATHING in the past month. We took the camera, and you would have thought that it was his first birthday! We took about 20 pictures of him outside enjoying the air around him. At the time I don't even know if he knew that he was outside. But we felt like it was such a huge step forward that we pretended that he knew exactly what we were talking about. We pointed out flowers and we showed him the fish. We held him in the swing, and we showed him big rotating ball in the water. That was 4 months ago.
Today, September 2, 2011, we didn't have to pretend. We had to return for a follow-up appointment and between office visits, we decided to take him out to The Garden. We pointed to flowers and he reached for them. We showed him the fish and he stood alone, holding onto the bridge and laughing at the water. We sat him next to the big rotating ball and he reached out and touched it with an ornery grin on his face. I laughed at him, and marveled at the progress that he's made in 4 months. This had been my dream such a short time ago. I had begged some silent power to let me see him enjoy this place that I'd grown to love so much. As I stood there feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and hope, I noticed the wetness on my face. I guess there will always be tears in The Garden.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Low Carb and Loving It
So, I've lost a couple of pounds. Nothing amazing or earth-shattering, just enough that I'm not currently lying on the bed to button my jeans. (Wonder what that little running bunny would think of me now???) Anyway, I've been working out 20 minutes a day and watching my carb intake. I, like every other woman I've ever met, LOVE carbs. However, it's probably one of the most effective ways to lose a few pounds. Having said that, I am NOT one of those people that will tell you that the modified meals that I've been eating are "just as good as the real thing." Who do these people think they're kidding? If it's fat free and sugar free, it's gonna taste something like flavored cardboard. We all know it's the truth, no matter what we tell ourselves.
I recently saw fat free oreos in the grocery store. What the hell is the point? If I'm gonna eat an oreo, it's gonna taste like a freaking oreo. Can you imagine wasting the few precious calories you get in a day on something that someone "tried" to make taste like the real thing? No. And don't ever trust a skinny person when they tell you that this "new hamburger bun made entirely of wax paper" is delicious!! They have forgotten what food tastes like, and are pissed because they haven't actually eaten in the past 10 years.
The truth is, the weight-loss thing is not easy for all of us. If you are thin, one of two things are probably true. You are either one of those people who just happen to be skinny despite eating 6 ding dongs for breakfast everyday (in which case you should probably sleep with one eye open), or you've been in a state of near-starvation for an extended period of time and are lying to yourself about the "deliciousness" of the newest rice cake. I was once actually interested in how the whole vegetarian/vegan thing works and read a book about the types of foods they eat and why. I was almost sold on the idea until one of them started talking about this "new cheese that looks and tastes like the real thing and ALMOST melts!" Ummm, excuse me? We have to get excited about cheese melting? Sorry, but that is one thing that I fully expect my cheese to do. If we are looking for ways to make it melt, it isn't cheese, and I'm not eating it. So...vegan...out.
It's also difficult to stay on a diet during that one time of the month that you are likely to become ravenous, and dream of emptying every cabinet in your kitchen. (If you are a man reading this and just became uncomfortable, get over yourself. It happens, and there isn't anything you can do about it, so quit fearing it. In fact, get out a book or two and educate yourself. It would save me a LOT of exasperated eye-rolls). Anyway, I hate it when people try to give me snacks that are going to get me through this time of immense craving. "Here, try this sugar-free jello with cool-whip! You'll love it! You won't even know it's healthy!" Yeah, ok lady, you keep telling yourself that, while I go over to the refrigerator section and pour chocolate syrup directly into my mouth.
Needless to say, I may not be following the most strict diet available, but I do think it may be time to call that little energizer bunny and challenge her to a rematch. I'll bet this time I'd only have to wear ONE pair of spanx, and only throw up half of my lung. She'd be so jealous.
I recently saw fat free oreos in the grocery store. What the hell is the point? If I'm gonna eat an oreo, it's gonna taste like a freaking oreo. Can you imagine wasting the few precious calories you get in a day on something that someone "tried" to make taste like the real thing? No. And don't ever trust a skinny person when they tell you that this "new hamburger bun made entirely of wax paper" is delicious!! They have forgotten what food tastes like, and are pissed because they haven't actually eaten in the past 10 years.
The truth is, the weight-loss thing is not easy for all of us. If you are thin, one of two things are probably true. You are either one of those people who just happen to be skinny despite eating 6 ding dongs for breakfast everyday (in which case you should probably sleep with one eye open), or you've been in a state of near-starvation for an extended period of time and are lying to yourself about the "deliciousness" of the newest rice cake. I was once actually interested in how the whole vegetarian/vegan thing works and read a book about the types of foods they eat and why. I was almost sold on the idea until one of them started talking about this "new cheese that looks and tastes like the real thing and ALMOST melts!" Ummm, excuse me? We have to get excited about cheese melting? Sorry, but that is one thing that I fully expect my cheese to do. If we are looking for ways to make it melt, it isn't cheese, and I'm not eating it. So...vegan...out.
It's also difficult to stay on a diet during that one time of the month that you are likely to become ravenous, and dream of emptying every cabinet in your kitchen. (If you are a man reading this and just became uncomfortable, get over yourself. It happens, and there isn't anything you can do about it, so quit fearing it. In fact, get out a book or two and educate yourself. It would save me a LOT of exasperated eye-rolls). Anyway, I hate it when people try to give me snacks that are going to get me through this time of immense craving. "Here, try this sugar-free jello with cool-whip! You'll love it! You won't even know it's healthy!" Yeah, ok lady, you keep telling yourself that, while I go over to the refrigerator section and pour chocolate syrup directly into my mouth.
Needless to say, I may not be following the most strict diet available, but I do think it may be time to call that little energizer bunny and challenge her to a rematch. I'll bet this time I'd only have to wear ONE pair of spanx, and only throw up half of my lung. She'd be so jealous.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Sticky Situation
Why is my life so sticky? About 8 years ago, I started noticing the beginnings of a strange sort of "gooiness" in my life. I've decided that something being "gross" is very much relative to your current situation. For example, I have known those women who wear gloves when they do dishes because the feel of the water on their hands is just "yucky." Yeah, well let me tell you something about yucky, my friend. Kids give you a whole new perspective when it comes to all things disgusting.
A friend of mine recently told me that she noticed something on the back of her neck. She reached up to scrape it off and found it to be a dried on piece of some sort of food. She has no idea when it got there, and is fairly certain that she was not the one eating it. This is the perfect way to explain the "ickiness" of being a mom. We are literally, a human kleenex. I honestly can't remember the last time I had a shirt that DIDN'T have something crusty/gooey on the left shoulder. And, I absolutely LOVE when a newly engaged friend flashes her sparkly diamond my way, because I almost immediately think, "That's awesome, wonder what it will look like with baby poop smeared on it."
It's like being a mom means that you no longer recognize a "right place" and "right time" to have the icky conversations. My daughter went to the bathroom in a store once, and came out with a horrified look on her face. Of course the stalls were full of other women, and she says, "Mommy!!! Come look at my poop! It's green, and it has a beard!!" Yeah, great. One more place that I can't shop anymore. Thanks, dear.
We've all done the unthinkable as moms. And if someone tells you they haven't done something absolutely repulsive as a result of mommyhood, they are either a) lying, or b) not actually raising their own children. Here are a few of the gross things we've all done, but some are too embarrassed to admit (note: after 4 children embarrassment is sort of non-existent). You know you're a mom if...
1. You've ever given your child a 30 second spit-bath before meeting someone new.
2. You've ever lifted a child high enough into the air in order to stick your nose directly into their butt-crack to determine whether or not you need to change a number 2. (note: mothers do this all the time, and we don't give it a second thought. It's sort of like waiting for the turkey timer to pop up. Just part of the day.)
3. You've ever dropped your child's pacifier, picked it back up off of the street and licked it off before shoving it back into your kid's mouth. (a slightly germy, quiet baby is better than a screaming one.)
4. You've ever pulled over on the side of the road, held your daughter up in a sort of squatting position and watched helplessly as she pees directly on your foot.
5. You've ever smelled something exceedingly vile, checked every butt in the house and eventually discovered that it's the soured milk smell of your nursing bra. Yeah, gotta change those things every once in awhile.
6. You've ever looked down at your hands after a really long, hard day and noticed something slightly yellowish smeared across your knuckle and tried to remember if you'd eaten mustard that day. In all likelihood it is baby poop, but you figure that pretending it's mustard means that you can just wash it off tomorrow if it happens to be shower day.
These are just a few of the beautiful moments in a Mommy's life. But, like anything else, we must take the good with the bad. Sure, I have to wipe butts while eating, but I also get the biggest, squishiest hugs imaginable. And to be honest, I wouldn't trade those for anything. Even if they are slightly sticky.
A friend of mine recently told me that she noticed something on the back of her neck. She reached up to scrape it off and found it to be a dried on piece of some sort of food. She has no idea when it got there, and is fairly certain that she was not the one eating it. This is the perfect way to explain the "ickiness" of being a mom. We are literally, a human kleenex. I honestly can't remember the last time I had a shirt that DIDN'T have something crusty/gooey on the left shoulder. And, I absolutely LOVE when a newly engaged friend flashes her sparkly diamond my way, because I almost immediately think, "That's awesome, wonder what it will look like with baby poop smeared on it."
It's like being a mom means that you no longer recognize a "right place" and "right time" to have the icky conversations. My daughter went to the bathroom in a store once, and came out with a horrified look on her face. Of course the stalls were full of other women, and she says, "Mommy!!! Come look at my poop! It's green, and it has a beard!!" Yeah, great. One more place that I can't shop anymore. Thanks, dear.
We've all done the unthinkable as moms. And if someone tells you they haven't done something absolutely repulsive as a result of mommyhood, they are either a) lying, or b) not actually raising their own children. Here are a few of the gross things we've all done, but some are too embarrassed to admit (note: after 4 children embarrassment is sort of non-existent). You know you're a mom if...
1. You've ever given your child a 30 second spit-bath before meeting someone new.
2. You've ever lifted a child high enough into the air in order to stick your nose directly into their butt-crack to determine whether or not you need to change a number 2. (note: mothers do this all the time, and we don't give it a second thought. It's sort of like waiting for the turkey timer to pop up. Just part of the day.)
3. You've ever dropped your child's pacifier, picked it back up off of the street and licked it off before shoving it back into your kid's mouth. (a slightly germy, quiet baby is better than a screaming one.)
4. You've ever pulled over on the side of the road, held your daughter up in a sort of squatting position and watched helplessly as she pees directly on your foot.
5. You've ever smelled something exceedingly vile, checked every butt in the house and eventually discovered that it's the soured milk smell of your nursing bra. Yeah, gotta change those things every once in awhile.
6. You've ever looked down at your hands after a really long, hard day and noticed something slightly yellowish smeared across your knuckle and tried to remember if you'd eaten mustard that day. In all likelihood it is baby poop, but you figure that pretending it's mustard means that you can just wash it off tomorrow if it happens to be shower day.
These are just a few of the beautiful moments in a Mommy's life. But, like anything else, we must take the good with the bad. Sure, I have to wipe butts while eating, but I also get the biggest, squishiest hugs imaginable. And to be honest, I wouldn't trade those for anything. Even if they are slightly sticky.
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