Wednesday, June 30, 2010

If my brain could, it would totally wash it's hands 38 times, everyday, all day.

It seems like every blog I click onto lately, someone is talking about their own experience with PPD, which is odd, since when I was going through my own personal hell, I had NO idea that so many other people were feeling my feelings, that they were other woman out there that hid in their showers and cried. To read these stories, and feel all those awful feelings come crashing around me once again, its humbling.

Its been almost six months, since I have started medication, and I am happy to report that even in the midst of all this change and uncertainty....I am doing alright.

Although, most days I start my mornings out with a full blown anxiety attack-I have learned how to curb those breathless moments, by writing, listening to music, and trying to turn off my brain.

I am an obsessive worrier.

Its just like my mind has to touch the wall 56 times before we can leave the house....Its obnoxious.

I worry about EVERYTHING, as if it is my sole responsibility to worry about every problem that ever existed. The medication helps, but at the end of the day, planning 10 years in advance and worrying about everything in the meantime  is just who I am, I guess.

I worry about worrying.

I check myself every morning:Am I winding myself up today?  Is this fake? Am I really OK? Why can't you breathe....? Breathe. Josh will find a job. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe SLOWER dammit....OK, stop hyperventilating. 

I told you, its obnoxious.

 

Monday, June 28, 2010

Teaching Manners starts with begging for ice cream

I am all ABOUT the fun people...it's like, my middle name.

I would have written sooner, but the sunburn I acquired over the weekend poisoned  my brain, and rendered me incapable of writing. Saturday, I shoveled mulch for 4 hours. Yup. And it was exactly as much fun as you would imagine shoveling mulch would be, while its 94 degrees out, in Atlanta, in the middle of summer. Thus, the sunburn, since I apparently think I am impervious to the sun's rays or something, I forgot to spray sunscreen on my back, and shoulders.

I am an idiot. And will seriously NEVER do that again. I feel like I am sleeping on hot crinkled tin foil at night, which is not very comfy. Unless you are like, in to stuff like that.

Sunday was a day of "good intentions" Josh and I brought Allessandra to the playground, but since both of us were still lobsters, being outside was, just a teeny weeny bit uncomfortable.
Plus, there were other people at the playground, and when someone's kid falls face first down the stairs, after he pushed me out of his way....well, I usually get myself in trouble for laughing out loud.
So we left.
And went to the cool confinement  of the mall.  Ahh yes, we were mall walkers. And it was worth every blast of AC.
But no matter how much fun we tried to have, I was bitchy. And I hate being stuck in bitch. There is nothing worse then being sun burnt, and also ridiculously hot, and then having your significant other push every one of your buttons, just case he can see you are bitchy and MUST make you even more pissed off, so that you will throw a fit in public. 
So yeah, good intentions people....not a great outcome.


Pictures from the weekend. Allessandra is OBSESSED with hugging the dogs, she follows them around with her arms out stretched.
The last pic is Daddy being a sucker, letting Allie stay up a little bit later cause she wanted to snuggle with him.
And he calls ME weak!
Boo to you Josh, Boooooo.

Friday, June 25, 2010

And why I now lock up my underwear...

The Dogs I live with are all up in my business.








Like my bathing suit area business.


It’s like sweet smelling crack.


How many times have I ripped a pair of my granny panties out of the adoring poodle's slobbering jowls?


Too many to count.


And I am not really sure which is worse, having my in laws find pairs of my ratty purple panties laid out all lovingly on their pillows, or finding my black lacy thongs laid out in the hallway, for Jesus and the whole word to see.


And it’s not like I don't put my shit away, it’s that my daughter pulls everything out of my dresser drawers and wears my underwear around her neck. I am not really sure what the underwear obsession is all about. Between her prancing around with leopard print thongs around her body, and the dogs following close behind, just waiting to snatch them away…it’s just all a little disturbing.


It’s like being forced to  go number 2 with the door open, you know, that kind of disturbing. Which, by the way, to my HORROR is happening more and more frequently, since Allessandra discovered she doesn’t appreciate closed doors.

And I am all, DO YOU WANT TO SCARE ME FOR LIFE CHILD? Do you have ANY idea HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO POO in this HOUSE?!

With every "inturruption"....well, I think it sets me back a week.

Another phase...



Four months ago, my child ate broccoli, beans, carrots, green beans, the TV remote, you name it...she shoved it down her throat.
Well now, now Allie would rather not eat. She's all set.  Thanks for playing mom, try again later. I have heard about this, I have friends who tell me how absolutely, brick smashing against face frustrating it is, when a child refuses to eat....but like the saggy boobs, I never thought it would happen to me.
But here I am, standing in front of the refrigerator for the sixth time, dragging out different cartons of food. She wont eat what we are eating, she wont eat what she is eating.....the only thing I can get her to eat...is cottage cheese.
That's it.
Cottage cheese for breakfast.
Cottage cheese for Lunch.
And fist fulls of cottage cheese for dinner.
Period. End of story. It is the ONLY thing I can ALWAYS get her to eat.
That, plus strawberry pop tarts...
And people are all, "well she has to learn, put her to bed hungry, ignore it, blah blah blah blah blah, SHE'LL EAT WHEN SHE'S HUNGRY!
Really people, really? She'll eat when she's hungry....thanks for that little token of advice, because lately her "hunger" kicks in, right around 1am. To which I am granted with a high pitch, unrelenting, stubborn, squealing toddler for 3 + hours.
And nothing says "mommy guilt" like listening to your child scream from hunger, while you lay there pretending  like 89 thousand bolts of lighting are not  shooting through your body, with every sob that rings from the adjacent room. There is no "sleeping through" listening to your toddler scream from hunger. Sorry. There isn't.



 I know she's been sick, and I know this is a "phase" or whatever, but it definitely does not make it any easier.



....

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Handcuff Tuesday....Join in!

...Handcuffs you say? Er...I feel uncomfortable and kind of itchy writing about this, knowing that my mother's eyes are scanning these words. When did handcuffs become so dirty anyways? I guess I am just glad my post is not laced with tales of me being thrown into a jail cell or something along those lines. I have never been arrested, or gotten in trouble with the Po Po. I have gotten pulled over twice. (Given how long it took me to get my DL you are probably shocked right?) Once for not pausing THREE SECONDS at a stop sign. Seriously? And the other, for cutting off a cop, who was turning left and I was going straight.....he yelled at me.
A year later, they put a turning lane in that intersection, so that cop can SUCK IT.
Anyways, my story, yes. Summer before I went to college I was gifted a pair of fuzzy handcuffs from my best friend...as a JOKE, cause we had that kind of  relationship and well I was in "puppy love" and having handcuffs was kind of funny, and a little bit riiiiskaaay. Long story short, I threw them into the back seat of my car, not thinking too much of them. As the summer wore on, people were in and out of my car, and obviously moved the empty cigarette boxes, magazines, clothes, bags, trash, and handcuffs to various spots in order for them to sit comfortably. Well, naturally the handcuffs ended up on the shelf that lies above the back seat...you know, so that anyone passing by my car would see HANDCUFFS, FUZZY BLACK HANDCUFFS, just sitting there, all dominatrix like.
I had forgotten about them, until both my Mom and DAD mentioned them....and because they were my parents, they didn't believe me for one second. suuuure they were a gift, suuuure you didn't know they were there.
I was beyond mortified. Honestly. If I was the type to actually use handcuffs. in my car...I would hope that I would have some sort of decency to like, put them out of sight?
If my Dad was alive today, I bet he still wouldn't believe me.


 ...Allie's reaction to mommy's use of handcuffs in the back seat of her car

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Oh, you wanted to hear about my day from hell? You're welcome.

I am pretty positive that if I am ever going to hell it will be a perpetual state of waiting in line at the DMV. For real people. Me and the DMV do not get a long, I mean seriously, you tell me that I have to go there and I am all faking stomach aches, taking hammers to my face, and/or trying to figure out how much trouble I would get in, if I just decided to drive without a license. I even tried to get out of changing my last name, solely because I did not want to drag myself to that crap hole.
When I was 18 I got my driver's license, on the third try.  I know, I know, laugh it up assholes. Just to be clear, I only failed once. Homeboy Po Po told me to pull up against the curb, and naturally what my stupid brain heard was, parallel park the car against the curb.... like....between 0 cars... back the car up.....onto the curb.
So, yeah. I failed.
And I cried. Uh huh. DMV fail #1.
Second time happened on a lovely, magical day.....9/11/01.  Sweet Mary Mother, not only did they take down the World Trade Center....yeah...they made me have to RESCHEDULE MY DRIVERS TEST. Guess which I was more upset about? Stupid self absorbed 18 year old.
Driver's Test #3. Pass. Thats right.

So, like, its only natural that today I went to the DMV to get my GA license-waited TWO HOURS, only to find out that the document that I had....was not valid.

 And you need 67 different documents to transfer a State license...and one of them....WAS NOT VALID.
BUT ALL JOSH'S WERE. Stupid Josh, who always passes on the first try, and never gets impatient or complains out loud about sweaty va jay jay's.
No one looked at HIM and judged HIM today....just me, who threw a temper tantrum and stormed out-leaving a trail of sweat with every angry step.
Today, was not a terrific Tuesday.

The only DVD I ever saw was "How not to shake your Newborn." or something along those lines...

There I was crouching low reading the spine of a vibrant blue book, that promised to "show me the path to God" I curiously thumbed through the pages, taking in the stacks and stacks of religious books lining the shelves. In the south, you can find a religious book like you can find fried chicken, or, sweet tea, or bet your bottom dollar that someone will utter "Bless your heart*  these things are just....common.
I ended up cross legged on the ground, with books scattered about, when an older woman and a very frazzled man happened to walk by, and plant themselves thisclose to me. I realized that I was also sitting next to the DVDs. I carefully gathered my Religious books together and stuffed them back into their appropriate spots, as I was turning to leave I couldn't help hearing their exchange:

Library Lady: So your wife, she just had a baby? Is she looking to exercise?
Frazzled Man: No, No, DVD on what to do....
LL: ....what to do? Blink.
FF-Like, how to take care of it, what to do with it.......

*Me...snort, cough.....*
LL looks entirely uncomfortable, like she might have to tell this man that the hospital did not hide the DVD manual on taking care of a newborn in the library. 
She seems to gain some composure, and points to the "Self help" section, "We have books...about childcare...but all we have on DVD is postnatal yoga... or the "Miracle of life....."
FF looking very panicked, shuffles himself to the elusive "Self help" section, and jerks "What to expect the First year" off the shelf. "This will tell her what to do, yes?"
LL....." um, Sure."

I couldn't help feeling a little bad for him, clearly his wife was all, "GO TO THE LIBRARY, GET HELP!" I am sure her nipples were bleeding, and the baby was screaming, her cha cha was on fire, and she was sitting helplessly in a tub full of water to ease the hemorrhoids and stitches....in that state of mind, who wouldn't send your frantic husband to the library to look for a DVD on how to raise it?

Ahh good times.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Father's day Eve

our little furnace..burning up at 103. Faaaaaaaaantastic.
She only wanted to rest her little head on her dad, which I found fitting, since that let me run around like a crazy person, grabbing wet cloths, motrin, juice, "QUICK, PUT HER IN AN ICE BATH!!!"  You know, useful things like that. She wanted none of it. She just wanted her Dad.

Yesterday, after her temp was off the charts, and my Mommy warning bells were ringing in surround sound, we hightailed it to Urgent Care. And guess what internet! 
Double. *Insert cuss word here* Ear infections.
Again.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Father's Day is not called "Josh Day"

I never know what to get Josh for Father's day.
Like his birthday, anything that pops into my brain, is an activity that will surely whisk him away from his fatherly duties, and I personally do not want to be responsible for enabling him.
Video games? Please. I would rather strangle him with the xbox wires, then ever go out and buy him a VIDEO GAME for FATHER'S DAY, hellllooo oxymoron anyone?
...And besides getting him a gift card to Starbucks, so that he can slowly sip a venti black tea with his pinkie sticking out.....I got nothing.

crickets....

When I mentioned my predicament to him, it came out more like, "You know I am not going to get you anything, cause you still haven't found a job yet, and my gift to you was actually giving you our daughter so that you COULD celebrate Father's Day, so truthfully I have already given you everything you could ever want."
And he was all, "I told you I didn't want anything."
To which I clearly asked, "Are you just saying you don't want anything, but secretly you really DO?"
And he was all, "Nooo, cause I don't have a vagina, and my name is not Chelsea."

I am thinking that perhaps he might really want my hand print dipped in paint along side Allessandra's.....No?
Should I write him a poem?
Get him balloons?
Let him change poop diapers all day, in celebration that he can?


Perhaps I should just give him Allessandra when he first opens his eyes, and be all, SURPRISE! YOU'RE A FATHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now get up and make us breakfast. *smile* 

Friday, June 18, 2010

You Want a wedding post........

I really liked my wedding....You would have liked it even more if I could find the pictures...bhahahh, lame. Whatever, maybe if you are lucky I will actually go look through boxes.

20 years later, I am still a showoff-with a bigger bottom.

Do you remember when swinging was like, the most awesomest thing ever? You would race to grab a swing at recess, potentially knocking that one kid to the ground in order to wrap your sweaty paws around the scorching chain links? Oh, you never knocked anyone down before? What are you, Mother Theresa? Fine, well, I think I may have once or twice been a turd and fought viciously for my swing, (I think I see where Allie gets it) *Looking away now*

I friggen LOVED to swing, I would pump my legs better then anyone, go the highest, and jump off the highest, always executing my dismount with flying colors. Other kids, well they thought I was the best swinger er ever. Well, at least that's what I told myself, and, or, believed.
Anyway, the point of this is Josh and I started to bring Allessandra to a playground that makes me want to turn the clocks back a few (20) years to where I was shorter, stronger, and way more flexible, and able to conquer the monkey bars and climb the rock wall, without feeling like I dislocated every joint in my body.
But the swings, the swings people were blazing glowing in the sun light, begging me to frolic to them. Which I did, ever so gracefully.

However, it seems that in 20 something years, my ass has grown grossly out of proportion  with the size of the swing strap. What the hell? I am all stuffing myself into the seat, being trapped by the searing hot metal links, now I know how fat people feel on airplanes. Oh well, I manage to get myself swinging, by one little pump of my legs, OMG, I feel the wave of nausea roll over me like a freight train. I try to continue swinging, since Allie is laughing herself into a full on epileptic fit, and well, I aim to please.  
But something is clearly wrong here. I am swinging. I feel like I am going to throw up. My stomach is in my throat, and with every swoop that the swing makes, I feel like I might pee my pants just a little. 
I decide to call it a day, and execute my dismount, 6 year old style. Except, well, I cant get MY ASS OUT OF THE SEAT PROPERLY.

And I am a little afraid to jump off, since I most likely will pee my pants. 

After Josh attempted the swing, and was met with the same dissatisfaction that I had encountered, he turned to me and said "That was not as much fun as I remembered it being."

I guess that's why its so much fun having a kid, and watching them lose their mind over a swing, or a sand box, cause back then, it so really was that friggen awesome. Wasn't it?
 

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Why I am currently hiding in the bathroom

Oh, Hi ginormous tornado looking cloud, welcome, please don't destroy my house.
Not shown is the periodic bolts of lightening.
Dooooooommm...
I look, super concerned, probably cause I forgot to wipe my eyes from all the mascara


This was right before I ran back inside.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

We have a lot of catching up to do

The AC is on, and for the first time since Friday, I can think straight. The one thing on my mind is not, sweaty sweat, dripping- boob sweat, ass sweat, there is sweat dripping down my leg, sweat in my ear, holy moly its fucking hot out, I wonder if I could roast an egg on the pavement, should I try it, to make a point? Oh, Allessandra needs to be picked up...but I don't want to touch her, she's sweaty, I am sweaty, can't she just shut up, its too hot to be changing poop diapers, its too hot to breathe, omg we made a HUGE MISTAKE. 
Because, ladies and gentlemen those are the types of thoughts, one has while sitting in the middle of the driveway on a fold out chair, while executing a "yard sale" while its 95 degrees out. Its the types of thoughts you have while deciding if you really NEED to get into your car/oven/OMGIJUSTBURNEDTHESHITOUTOFMYHANDSONTHEDOOR.
So, right. You get it.
But right now, apparently it just has to reach three digits for the Southerns to decide that its the right time to "take the edge off" "Perhaps bring it down to a cool 88" Hell, any lower and I will need a SWEATER. Are you catching my sarcasm here?

OK enough of that. Here are some food pics. Weight watcher style yo'

Greek yogurt with granola, with a cup of coffee and water. Plus a few pieces of watermelon
6 points
 Passion tea/unsweetened
0 points
 Tiny pigtails=Awesome

Lunch-whole wheat wrap with hummus/spinach/cheese/
            Baby tomatoes, 3 tiny cookies 7 points

Dinner- Pasta salad, corn, cat fish, and handful of salt and vinegar chips 10 points 
This was Allessandra during the yard sale, she fiercely disagreed with what we were trying to sell.

Annnnnnd just one more awesome video of us at the playground today. I had just as much fun, if not more then Allie. Minus the sweat.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Just wait till I post the pictures of the sweat stains. They will make your day.

First let me say that yesterday's humidity was "hot as balls" that is a direct quote, and an accurate statement. When I am suffering from lower back and butt sweat, its HOT, as. balls. out. And I deserve the right to whine about it, while walking uncomfortably, reaching behind me to sopp up the pouring sweat that is running down my back, with my shirt. Its a very natural task to complete down here, no one looks at you strangely, or judges you, when you announce that your butt is sweating, or that you feel like you "peed your pants" cause YES PEOPLE ITS THAT DAMN HOT. 
(As a side note, its 50 degrees out in MA right now, and its current 70 here....so, look, I am not complaining per say-just making observations and stating facts.)
Anyways, I digress.
So apparently my husband, in the 8 weeks we were apart, decided that now not only was he going to continue to follow WW until he weighs nothing, but he is also going to start exercising. I know right? Pigs, did in fact just fly out of my ass.
He got one of those new phones to obsess over, which happens to have an App (that's phone jargon for "application", Mom) that is basically a GPS/Garmin thingy -so it tells you how far you went, after choosing an activity to do. Well, he rode his bike 6 miles. And even had PROOF on his phone that he did just that. So instantly I felt guilty for stuffing my face with coffee brownie chunk ice cream, while my husband rode a bike 6 miles and was SNACKING ON FRUIT SALAD. What has the world come to?
So anyways, even though it was like, WAY HOT out, I wanted to try out Josh's sweet GPS thingy and see how far I run.
So, like, I go out, I do my normal route -and quickly flip the phone on to see how far that was, cause surely it had to be like a mile and a 1/2. WRONG. So horribly wrong. .5 miles. POINT, 5 MILES. As in, I walk farther then that at a mall, or to the bathroom and back. WTF?! Stupid GPS.
So I run the long way, expecting to hit at least 4 miles. WRONG AGAIN my friends.
I ran 2.36 miles.
And I shit you not, it looked like I jumped into a lake, I was sweating that much.

Even though I just got over Whooping cough/pneumonia/ Ebola/malaria and Scarlett Fever....I was pretty disappointed that I was that tired from running 2 and 1/2 miles, even if it was 100% humidity and mostly up hill....but I guess now I have accountability. 

Stupid, lying, piece of shit phone.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Maybe I just should have become a Doctor, damn me and my inability to add numbers

If Josh was not home right now, currently unemployed, we would never make any money. Want to know why? Because my kid keeps GETTING SICK. Last night for no apparent reason, she spiked a 103 temp.

So there I was, wishing a tiny bit of sympathy for my inability to blink my EYES without searing pain, and just wanted a moment to lay my tiny head on a cushy pillow-and Josh was all, "She feels really hot." Blink, Blink.
Well, I knew HE wasn't going to stick the rectal thermometer anywhere, but in the trash can, so I dragged my poor pathetic self towards the Vaseline and  went ahead and took her temp. Well as soon I even put that thing near her tiny bum-it spiked to 100, then 101, then 102.5. FANTASTIC. AND SHE"S ON ANTIBIOTICS, AND SHE HAS BEEN FOR ALMOST TWO FUCKING MONTHS. I am allowed to be pissed off about this, and you would be too. I literally am pissing away 100s of dollars on an EAR INFECTION THAT WONT GO AWAY. LIKE, AT ALL.

What the hell am I suppose to do with a kid that keeps getting sick-while we STILL don't have any health insurance.

Oh, sell a kidney? Right. On it.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

On how I should wear a helmet 24/7

As some of you already know, in my previous Mass living life I was a manager. So, like, I get it. I understand that while working, I am not a person, I am a filler, I am a body that is in the building with the sole purpose of working. When I am not there it is the job of someone else to fill my empty spot, no questions asked, no real sympathy, just "fill" and "replace".
With that being said, I have not missed work, although I was clearly dying. So, like, YEY, GO ME. Anyways, my point is, today I managed to like, knock myself out flat on my ass, while seeing stars and crap, from banging my head on a cubby. Right. Go ahead, laugh it up. It would be way more funnier if I did not have a mind numbing, splitting, pulsating, feel like I am underwater and DYING headache. For real, I was pretty sure I gave myself a concussion and was all waiting for the spewing of vomit- that thankfully never came.
I stumbled forward for a second, catching myself on the top of one of the shelves. I am pretty sure I yelped or let out some sort of digusting noise, because for the first time ALL DAY the room went silent. All eyes were on me, waiting, I think, for me to either fall over dead, or for me to leap into song and dance.
I kind of gasped, I think, and explained that I had gotten a boo boo-and needed to die sit down for a second. I think everyone jumped from their seats and pressed their bodies against my shoulder- some were blowing kisses, others were "blowing" on my "owie" and patting my arm. If I hadn't been wishing for a bottle of valium -I would have soaked up all the symapthy from those little loves....even if they were blowing spit into my eye sockets.

 Lets be real for a second, as a manager, I hear that one of my employees has a headache? Oh, poor thing *incert sarcasam here* "Take some tylenol, you'll feel better!" "Oh, you hit your head"? *snicker, roll eyes* "Be more careful, silly!"

Even though I felt like death for the rest of the day-I acted like it was no big deal, even though, at the moment I have an ice pack sitting on the top of my head, and have seriously consumed my body weight in tylenol. (Not really.)
Right now, at this very second, it feels like a big deal.

And I really needed to share that with someone.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Sunday recap

I was so grateful to be able to get out of the house for the first weekend in THREE, yes THREE weekends. I have seriously been sick that long people. Now, I am still hacking up green crap, sometimes to the point where it comes up a lot like I was throwing it up. You really wanted to know that didn't you. I know. You're welcome.
But I feel better. I have even started running again.
Nothing serious, just a mile or two-to stretch my legs and get out and moving.
Anyways, yesterday we ventured out to a park...er....that had a waterfall type thing that people were standing/swimming/slipping and falling in. It was lovely.
I only almost fell twice, the mud that lines the rock is like pure ice, and in my opinion pure death. I didn't go very far, nor did I allow Josh to take Allessandra very far.
The park also had a sweet playground area, and we spent a good thirty minutes sending Allie down the swirly slide.
She had a blast, and seriously could have gone down it for forty some hours, if Josh I were not sweating profusely.


Well, she was sweating pretty badly too, I guess.
Do you like our new house? A room for each of us.....


Sunday, June 6, 2010


Hanging out in the middle of a waterfall....

Lots to write about...but food is calling my name. We will catch up soon

Saturday, June 5, 2010

And why I am STILL medicated take 10009

I don't care what they say, being a mother is a lot harder then ANYONE will EVER tell you. 9 months of pregnancy is like friggen chocolate chip cheesecake with a helping of homemade whipped cream, in comparison to the actuality of RAISING A TINY TYRANT.
And I will be totally, brutally, honest with ya'll. I have NO idea what I am doing. Oh, you don't either? Great.
How did our parents manage? How, tell me am I sitting here with only a handful of emotional scars, panic attacks and over all neurosis, read: Histronic, depression, recovering cutter/bulimarexia. Out of my past, the mere fact that I can EVEN SHARE THAT WITH YOU means something.

I am going to swear for a second, so anyone of you that will become offended, QUICK, SHUT YOUR EYES!

I don't want to fuck Allie up.
I, as in, myself personally, don't want to give her bad habits. I don't like that she knows how to use the remote for the TV, or that she knows how to hold a travel mug of coffee. I do, however enjoy how she knows how to contort her body into a stellar downward dog position...which just plain rocks.
Maybe its my Postpartum rearing its ugly head, maybe I am feeling inadequate due to my current lack of stability, but I don't want to be that Mom.
I know Moms that still have their two year old with the car seat  turned around....like, seriously? Why not put a helmet on him and call it a day? They insist on feeding their three year old baby food, and never for one second will allow them to taste a cookie.
I am not that mom. I don't buy organic, I don't freak out if she eats an Oreo, I like it when she gets muddy and sticky, I want her to be a kid. With that being said, after having a rather upsetting talk with my Mom tonight, I realize that in the midst of everything, I am a particular type of Mom, one that smothers, with oozy, gooey, blanket giving, dripping love. For lots of different reasons, perhaps I am still harboring this irrational fear that I am going to lose her, or perhaps I am still mourning the loss of my own mother, who died when I was two. I don't know. All I know, is I don't want to be a reason for her to carry baggage (Read: blankie). Her behavior, and more importantly MY REACTION to her behavior is making me realize that I still have a lot of work to do on myself.
As a person, and as the type of Mom I want to be.

Nipping it in the bud, so she's not that weird kid that eats paste, or cupcake wrappers...

We have a blanket problem.
Again.
This time it has manifested itself into biting. As in, my daughter will BITE any child that even looks at her blanket. For real people. Her teacher dropped the word "obsessive" and "aggressive" and the dreaded, "not participating in activities" Blink, Blink, "Not socializing" Blink. "combative"  *Jaw dislocating from my face*
All because she would rather sit in the corner and make out with her blanket.  
 I am wondering WHY this was not brought to my attention earlier, as in I would have ABSOLUTELY have yanked that damn thing from her tiny grasp and set it on fire.
There is one thing, having it be her comfort, it is quite another for her to be the TURD in the classroom, or worse the classroom biter, all because she is fiercely protective of that damn blanket.
So, the blankie fairy is on her way to Georgia, scooping up all the blankets and giving them to tiny babies that need them. I thought I was smart yesterday, placing her favorite one on top of the super tall dresser. Turns out, Allessandra has super powers, and promptly stood in front of the dresser for twenty minutes pointing.
Wish me luck.

'Bye bye blankie"

Friday, June 4, 2010

Perhaps I should put her in the storage unit until shes past 13? Advice...Anyone? Anyone?

I think I knew rationally speaking, that when Allessandra figured out how to walk, things were going to drastically change. I must have known this, right? I must have known that at some point she would figure out how to run away from me, while screeching "nooooooo" and surely I have the mental capacity to understand that even though I tell her that sticking her hands into an un gated fan will hurt, she will most certainly have to give it a whirl anyway. (no pun intended, although kind of funny) The frustrating part, is she totally understands me. I say "NO!" And she laughs, grabs whatever object it is and takes off like a bat out of hell. Or, my favorite, do whatever I don't want her to do, with MORE intention and just slightly more vigorously.
I think I had mentally prepared myself to deal with full blown, body going limp, refusing to stand up, tantrums until she was AT LEAST two. But seriously, 15 months? And she is THROWING her body face first down on the ground and screaming bloody murder, because....I wont let her lick the bleach container...really? Is it THAT big of a deal? And the worse part, is I feel responsible, like my DNA caused her to go all "spoiled brat." The thing is, neither Josh or myself condone the fits, we don't give whatever she wants to her, we don't appease her with bags of candy, or pick her up and console her, we step over her screaming, fist pounding self and ignore it.  But it doesn't change it. Its not like she has come to the conclusion that hey, this doesn't work. She still absolutely does it, longer and louder.
I have a feeling it only gets worse from here.


I am looking at you Jay. *wink*

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

No one wants to read about this, but its something that I can't shake, (like this persistent lung wringing hacking) I was minding my own business today, unpacking and sorting-and a picture fell innocently to the ground. A picture that I had stuffed somewhere, somewhere where I couldn't find it. But today, of all days, when they were sitting on my shoulders, wrapped around all heavy around my back, that damn picture fell to the ground. A picture of all of us- all happy, smiling eagerly at the camera.

My brother's face is what throws me. I find myself staring really close, almost pressing it to my face-really trying to memorize each tiny detail. And its ludicrous to me, that he can be there, but not here. My brain is all, there you are, I see you, you are real, you exist. Its tricky to think that way, which is why I don't generally look at pictures and subject myself to the mind games. But today I did, and it sucked. Its like pressing rewind, and play, over and over and over again, when all you want to do is press forward until the tape stops and flips. *Yes I am making a cassette tape reference, stay with me*
And the frustration of losing people you love, is even two years later the anger seeps into everything, even if you are on anti-depressants, even if you are happy. Just when you think you can move a little further, you take fourteen giant leaps backward. 

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

I got big plans for June

First up, being thankful for all the gifts I have in my life. *Can you see how Allessandra is staring at her Dad? she is all, really Dad, a beard, really?*
It is beginning to grow on me tho...not literally, I stopped taking the steroids, I just mean, I think he looks less like a homeless person, and more like a Southern gentleman.