This Girl

Sigh.

2 weeks ago this girl was almost 100% cute.

Just last week she was cracking me up and melting my heart by calling out "Heavenly Father loves me, mom! Heavenly Father loves me, mom!" when she woke up in the morning and from her nap. Yelling, at the top of her lungs.

This week, she is choosing to act the 2-year old part very well. To the fullest. A fully fleshed out 2-year old character.

She's always been quite a character, a lot pf personality. She's always been stubborn and opinionated. But now, she is in full force. She wants to do everything by herself, her way, on her terms. She does not take kindly to any suggestion, request or compromise.

Tantrums and timeouts abound.

It's no accident that parenthood is an essential part of our development, purpose, and exaltation. There are so many lessons that cannot be learned any other way. There is no other relationship that can approximate the parent-child relationship, and I say this all from my vast 6 years of experience as a mother. But seriously, in only 6 years I have learned (or more likely just begun to learn) lessons and character traits and patience that I couldn't have learned in any other way. Parenthood is a crash course in many things including selflessness and compromises and it is not for the faint of heart. So naturally, I daily feel that I am not up to the task and there must be some mistake in allowing me to be responsible for the raising of these children.

Fiona is putting me through the ringer right now. It is making me examine every request and directive that comes out of my mouth and constant assessment of my priorities and what is really important. I am choosing my battles, as they say. The problem is, I am stubborn like a 2-year old myself. I want to fight all the battles. I want everything to be important to me. I want to take stand on every issue, to teach a lesson, a value, a skill, to make a point. Unfortunately that is all more than counterproductive with Fiona, it is damaging and threatens our sanity. I am having to let a lot of things go, relinquish control, disregard what others might think and take a lot, a lot of deep breaths.Basically, I am having to overcome all of my natural inclinations. 

Is it nap time yet?

(That is, until she finally learns to climb out of her crib. Say a little prayer for me.)

Verdict

The verdict is in: I am not doomed to an eternity of humiliation and blistered heels. Not today, anyway.
I was able to get in 2 runs this week before the race. Not great, but something. The first one was killer and the second was pretty good. I was still feeling nervous about it, but ready to face the music. The result? I beat my last time! By...

3 seconds. Seriously.

Awww yeah- Rockstar!

However, in my defense, this course was very hilly and harder than my previous two- Plus, i have been so lazy the last couple of months that I'm almost amazed I beat my time at all. However, I am still anxious to register for one next month and spend the next few weeks training to shave a couple/few minutes of my time. If I'm going to keep doing this, and I plan to, I need to find a sponsor! We just don't have it in the budget to pay race registration fees, let alone every month! The price of fitness.

I'm proud of myself for doing it even though I was afraid of the results this time. I'm proud that I ran the first mile without stopping to take a walk break. I'm proud that I completed a third race, that I have stuck with it and was ready to face the consequences of my laziness. I'm proud that it inspired me to keep working. However. It is hard not to diminish my efforts and achievements. I finished 95/100 in my division. I was in the 5th percentile. Awesome. Now, if there was a division for 28-year old women who have had three children by C-section in the last four years, one in the last year, who have only been running inconsistently for a few months, has lost 35 pounds and has Morton's neuroma, then maybe I could place. Anyone know of that race?
It kind of makes me feel like a loser that I am proud of my meager achievement, that my best is so far from anyone else's worst...I know I am generalizing- I wasn't the very last, after all, but still.
I imagine that everyone else there has always been running, that it has been easy for them, that they've always enjoyed it and been good at it. That none of them were ever in my shoes. Literally and figuratively.
I have plans and goals for the future but I get frustrated thinking that maybe I don't have the same athletic potential as others. That my goals may be unrealistic and laughable. Will I make the progress that I hope for? Do I just have to patient with my somewhat slow progression? I still feel like a fraud among other runners.
One more under my belt.

Note to Self:

Do not plan to do ANYthing between the hours of 7 and 11 pm. Unless those plans are to endlessly pace the floor, rock, pat, shush, sing, sway, change positions, nurse, practice 'Serenity Now' and becoming zen-inevitably giving in to the roar of white noise that is incessant screaming. No reading, no watching tv (if you want to follow it whatsoever), no cleaning, no talking, nothing productive and nothing enjoyable. After 11 pm. you may ready yourself for bed as quickly as possible, hope Fiona will sleep in the nursery and dive into bed, hoping for a possible 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep.
We're 1 hour in for tonight. 2-3 more to go.

Life with Reflux (a mother's perspective).

I've already detailed the horrors of nighttime reflux-induced colic, but here's an account of the rest of the side effects it causes. Sometimes she seems absolutely fine, other times she seems to suffer every textbook side effect of the disease. (Except for poor weight gain- for some reason she's go that down like a champ.)

Reflux babies must be fed on demand- no schedules allowed. That's fine by me since that's how I tend to feed anyway, except that because of the refulx, she needs to eat every 2 hours- sometimes sooner. During the day it is not uncommon for her to need to eat every hour and a half. There are two reasons for this frequent feeding: 1- they cannot or should not consume very much at each feeding. The amount they eat increases the likelihood of and the side effects themselves- namely spitting up and acid. 2- Feeding is a painful experience, and as they are reclined the acid comes up into their throats, burning as they try to eat. Swallowing is painful as well.
Besides being painful, feeding can be an extremely frustrating experience. She starts to feed ravenously and then pulls off either because she is choking, or because it is burning her throat. She pulls off in frustration, cries, realizes how hungry she is, attempts to feed again, repeat ad naseum. Eventually she gets so mad she is frantically searching but refuses to eat. In pain and hungry, we usually abandon that attempt and try again in a little while. Another reason for frequent feeding.
Of course there is the spitting up, but that has been significantly reduced by the Zantac she is on. Of course, she still 'ruins' my shirt several times a day and we can never be without a burp cloth when feeding. She no longer resists the incredibly vile Zantac which is a potent menthol suspended in alcohol. I tried it- it is truly heinous.
Sleeping is also difficult for the reflux baby, as laying down brings the acid up as well. They tend to sleep better on their stomachs, and it is sometimes recommended for severe cases of reflux. We alternate, depending on how she does and how much I need her to sleep. We still eat every 2-3 hours through the night. Sigh. At least she is mostly sleeping in her crib now! I wedge her in between the bumper pads and a boppy, so she feels secure. When she is particularly fussy she sleeps in bed with us, cradled in my arm so we can all get some much-needed sleep.
Another unfortunate side effect is congestion and wheezing. She has been really congested for about 4 or 5 weeks now. Constantly. We are frequently using the nasal aspirator to clear that out as much as possible. This also causing a lot of wheezing and the occasional cough.
Perhaps the worst symptom is gassiness- she is literally constantly gassy. Her stomach is hard and tight as she writhes around seeking relief, alternately pulling her legs p and flailing them about. I am frequently stretching and manipulating her legs, trying to help her. Even when she can pass gas, there seems to be little relief, as thre is always more that we cannot relieve.
So as you can probably tell, there is a lot of discomfort, pain, and frustration for everyone involved. Luckily she is usually at her worst when Bella is already in bed, so Bella doesn't have to stand by and hear the crying for hours, and I don't have to completely neglect her in order to fruitlessly try and soothe Fiona. Last night Fi started losing it right at Bella's bedtime which is a frequent occurrence. Timm was at work, so I had to put Bella down while trying to quiet Fi. The result is me rushing through the story and bedtime routine so I can get out of there and direct my full attention to the screamer. I'm glad that Bella's routine and attention is not any more disrupted than it is.
What I want to know is, why is colic worst at night? What difference does it make? Why do we have some days that go off without a hitch, and still more like alst night? What variables are there? None that I can tell.
I took her to an Ear, Nose and Throat (EMT) on Friday morning to rule out anatomical problems since her choking can be so severe. He scoped her and found nothing wrong there (her throat), but ordered us to go to the children's hospital on Monday morning to take some fils of her to chest. We need to rule out that there could be an anatomical problem causing her to aspirate into her lungs. Once that is clear, and I'm sure it will be, I will be referred to a pediatric Gastroenterologist (GI) who will diagnose reflux based on all of her symptoms. The only treatment we can really change is this case is to prescribe her a more proactive Prilosec instead of the mild Zantac. Colic sometimes improves at 3 or 4 months, but the cause and effects of reflux itself doesn't totally dissipate until their first year.
Oh deem, oh dee.
It's a good thing that I am experiencing this now because I have a better perspective after having Belle. I know that this time really is fleeting, just a stage, and i can only do my best. I am significantly calmer than I ever would have imagined, mostly because I have decided to be. She will scream no matter what, so I decide to be calm and collected. Why add to the misery by getting upset? I've yet to come to tears through through it all. We'll just keep on truckin'.
Incidentally I feel deliriously tired and keep nodding off while I am typing, resulting in almost intelligible writing. My fingers are not finding the proper keys or putting them in the right ordure of that matter so i better try and rest. Ha!
*edited to add* It is several hours later and I reread this post since I couldn't quite remember writing the whole thing, due to falling asleep during the process. I laughed my way through it, counting 16 blatant typos and leaving them all in place as evidence of my state of mind. You may find more...

Evidence

Just in case anyone thinks I am exaggerating or being dramatic about the issue of 'colic' and reflux around here, I submit this evidence.
If you are prone to migraines or hypertension, do NOT watch this video.

That was 15 seconds of what can amount to 3 hours of screaming and crying. Tonight she stopped about 30 minutes ago after 3 1/2 hours of intermittent crying, where there was more of that than there was of peace.
I tried to make cookies to stuff my frustration and stress, but only got so far. I abandoned it after 10 minutes. The amount of time that she stayed asleep in her crib when I transferred her from my arms. I left it all in the kitchen.
My bed, unmade for the last 2 days.
A project I undertook, organizing and storing my maternity clothes and cleaning out my drawers. A relatively simple project I started yesterday. Silly me.
My stack of books from the library awaiting my attention.
The one I am currently trying to get through in the very few minutes a day I can actually read.
Colic self-portrait.
Trying to deal.
And this is me, in all my glory. Lounge clothes with multiple large spit-up spots. Actually my second spit-up covered cleaning shirt of the day. Yesterday's makeup-smeared mascara and eyeliner. Zits dotting my entire face, no doubt from a combination of stress and a deluge of sugar and other large quantities of junk. My teeth aren't even brushed.
While it's true that the screaming is usually only at night, my days are often darkened by the shadow of the previous night's episode. Last night was another particularly bad 'sode, and today I was tired, lounged, and tried to recoup. Thus, my house in in disrepair, I am in... a sad and sorry physical state, and I miss my husband as more than a sounding board and an occasional relief from the screaming baby. I am actually dealing quite well and am very proud of myself on my emotional fortitude, but I still don't know how much more of this I can take. Right now she is mercifully asleep in her crib, (going on 20 minutes!!) and I am trying to steel myself for-at best, wakings at every 2 hours, and at worst, sleeping with her in my arms. Or maybe it's the other way around. I don't know anymore.
How on earth am I hosting my family's stay for Thanksgiving in 3 days? What the?
Help me. I am dead inside.
(that last part was supposed to convey a dry but humorous declaration of my mental state, but Timm said it read more like 'I am going to go kill myself.' So- it's not suicidal. It's dry humor at the expense of my sanity.)

Updates

Well, on the Fiona/colic front, things are kind of grim. The last two nights have included 3 hours of inconsolable, continuous screaming and crying. She is in such obvious pain and discomfort and writhes and flails without relief. I try Milicon, Gripe Water, and Zantac. Holding her on my shoulder, across my lap, in the football hold, on my knee. Rocking, swaying, bouncing,walking. Inside, outside. In my arms, the swing, the bouncer. Bottle, breast. Light, dark. Quiet, white noise, tv. Burping, farting, spitting up. We've done and tried it all. To no avail.

It is frustrating, maddening, and sad. I can't fault her for it, and although it drives me to the brink of tears and insanity, I am still sorrier for her than me. I turns out, dairy is in everything. Everything worth eating anyway. I was seeing big improvements even though milk proteins stay in your body for up to 2 weeks. Then 2 days ago I had a McDonald's ice cream cone. Over the years I have had numerous unverified sources tell me that they were non-dairy. It sounds asinine, I know, but how could so many unrelated people be wrong about such a little thing? Well they are. My first tip off was her extreme reaction of screaming and crying in severe pain for 3 hours. It was sudden, abrupt, and 4-6 hours after I ate the ice cream. I did a little research online, and it turns out the cone is just plain old reduced-fat vanilla ice cream. (Sorry, dad.) The next night gave a similar reaction, if a little less severe. The last two nights she has slept cradled in my arm, in bed with us. Today she has been fairly fussy all day, needing to be held and fed often, repeating all the aforementioned techniques. I feel like I've taken a huge backslide on the productivity scale, as in the newborn sleep-deprived walking zombie stage. I'm either busy trying to console and soothe all hours of the day and night, or exhausted from doing so. This definitely has a bit of the depression starting to close in on me. I am isolated, tired, an ineffective parent and covered in milk and spit-up. Once again I know it is a phase, but one that threatens to last at least another 1-2 months if it follows the typical colic pattern, as it has thus far. I can't believe I once said that I thought colic was merely an indication of personality... not so. My sweet baby girl is transformed into a screaming, writhing creature of pain, incapable of relief while I impotently try to console her. I'm making a Dr's appointment next week, continue to dose her with 3 different supplements and medication, and imposing stricter limitations on my own diet.
Bella updates to come...

Colic

We have it.
Or maybe I should say "colic", since the word is very loosely thrown around.
About 3 weeks ago Fiona started acting fussy, albeit not very fussy, but a definite change in personality for her nonetheless. My first instinct was that it was due to more milk in my diet, since I could logically link the two and the timing fit. With Bella I didn't change a thing about my diet except to eliminate caffeine, and I naively assumed I would have the same good fortune this time. She got very,very gassy, a hard and tight abdomen, spitting up, etc. Then as it persisted I came to the conclusion that it was reflux as she exhibits every symptom. Bella had reflux, but only suffered the profuse spitting up and none of the discomfort. I went to the family doctor, he agreed it sounded like reflux and prescribed Zantac. I was happy if only because it meant I didn't have to deprive myself of any delicious dairy products, and hopefully her discomfort would soon be alleviated. Now I'm not so sure. With the wonders of the internet I found that 2 other 'conditions' seem to aptly describe this as well. So I'm looking at reflux (or GERD), an intolerance to dairy products, or overactive letdown reflex. Hmm. Let's review.

Overactive Letdown Reflex

A baby who gets too much milk too quickly, may become very fussy, very irritable at the breast and may be considered "colicky". Typically, the baby is gaining very well. Typically, also, the baby starts nursing, and after a few seconds or minutes, starts to cough, choke or struggle at the breast. He may come off, and often, the mother's milk will spray. After this, the baby frequently returns to the breast, but may be fussy and repeat the performance. He may be unhappy with the rapid flow, and impatient when the flow slows. This can be a very trying time for everyone. On rare occasions, a baby may even start refusing to take the breast after several weeks, typically around three months of age.

Summary:

Gets milk too quickly: check.

Very irritable at the breast: check.

Coughing, choking, struggling: check.

Because of all of the struggling, it usually results in gulping and swallowing air, resulting in the gassiness and fussiness. Another thing to consider is that she eats better from a bottle, which would seem to support the overactive letdown reflex.

Foreign Proteins in the mother's milk

It has been shown that some proteins present in the mother's diet may be excreted into her milk and may affect the baby. It would seem that the most common of these is cow's milk protein. Other proteins have also been shown to be excreted into some mothers' milk. The fact that these proteins and other substances appear in the mother's milk is not necessarily a bad thing. Indeed, it is good.

Thus, in the treatment of the colicky breastfed baby, one step would be for the mother to stop taking dairy products. These includes milk, cheese, yogurt, ice cream and anything else which may contain milk. When the milk protein has been changed (denatured), as in cooking for example, there should be no problem.

Breastfed babies who are sensitive to dairy in mom's diet are sensitive to specific cow's milk antibodies, in the form of proteins (not lactose), which pass into the mother's milk. Cow's milk (either in the mother's diet or engineered into formula) is a common source of food sensitivity in babies. Cow's milk sensitivity or allergy can cause colic-like symptoms, eczema, wheezing, vomiting, diarrhea (including bloody diarrhea), constipation, hives, and/or a stuffy, itchy nose.

Summary:

It can cause all of the same gastrointestinal discomfort, causing the 'colicky' behavior. Other symptoms I have read about include a rash,congestion and mucus, all of which she has.

So...the symptoms fit for 3 different conditions. Since I have a hunch about the dairy I am first trying to eliminate it from my diet. Oh dee. I'm on day 2. I'm also going to include chocolate in my abstinence because I'm worried about that too. Double dee.

My primary concern is for her comfort, because she is obviously in pain, but I cannot deny how frustrating it is to deal with a colicky baby. 24/7. It is not confined to nighttime fussiness, although it seems at it's peak then. Last night I only slept when I took her into bed with us. Today she was only happy while being held. It is not seeming to lift either...

Not helping the situation is that with my hands constantly unavailable, nothing is getting done around here. Since I'm also potty training (yay!) I haven't left the house in 3 days. I haven't gotten ready in 3 days. I have no social outlet or break from the girls. When Timm gets home, he is great to help as much as possible, but that still leaves me with the entire day, all night long while everyone else is asleep, and much of the evening. The house is a mess, laundry is all over the house, I haven't eaten real food in days, I smell like sour milk... As of tonight I am officially frustrated. My inability to be productive while being cooped up in the house that is in disarray due to my non-productivity is getting me down. When will I be able to get anything done? When will my house be comfortably clean again? When will I get a full night's rest? When will she stop crying and be happy and healthy again?

This doesn't paint the clearest picture, because I have actually been feeling very good since Fiona's birth. I am adjusting much better than I thought I was capable of and have been very proud of my state of mind and stress management. That is all a post I have been meaning to articulate for some time, and still will. But right now, I'm repeating "It's only a phase.... an indefinite phase, but a phase all the same."

3 Weeks

{I'm really much bigger than this, unfortunately. This was taken over a month and a half ago. Close to two.}

What? Where did the last week go? I have no accounting for it. It's just gone.
I preface my statements by saying that I do not underestimate nor take for granted the miracle that is pregnancy. I know I am very blessed in that I get pregnant very quickly and easily, my pregnancies are only difficult in the myriad normal ways that pregnancy tends towards, I am healthy, yada yada yada. I know only too well what an absolute miracle it is to bring a healthy baby into this world. But.
I am so tired of it.
Seriously, how do women have so many kids? This is my third, and possibly my last pregnancy. My first pregnancy was probably the best- I was blissfully ignorant and mostly enjoyed each new baffling phase and symptom of pregnancy. All of these seemingly unrelated parts of the body and mind that were all simultaneously and dramatically affected by this force growing inside of me. It was exciting, new, and I felt like I was joining an inclusive and well-publicized club. Bella's pregnancy was obviously harder. I don't think I was anything less than psychotic for the duration of that pregnancy, and the physical part was difficult too, since they were back-to-back pregnancies. This time I started out heavier even than my delivery weight with the first two. Luckily I lost about 18 pounds in the beginning, due to dieting before I knew I was pregnant, so I've only net gained about 13 pounds, 15 total being my goal. Being heavier I think, has only exacerbated typical pregnancy complaints, and it is definitely harder now that I have a toddler to parent while I am pregnant. How do women go all the way to 40 weeks, or even beyond that? I am 33 right now and feel physically ready any time.
The mental/psychotic aspect this time around is nearly moot. I have produced a healthy child, so at least this time I know I am capable of it. I also know that there is nothing I can do to change the already-known outcome of this pregnancy, so I don't bother worrying about it. That has helped immensely. I had one dream at the beginning, but that was it. I'm just trying to enjoy it more than I did last time, knowing it's possibly my last pregnancy.
But. Can't a woman catch a break for sleeping at night? Seriously. There are a myriad of complaints that keep me from sleeping like I wish I could. First of all, there is the obvious bathroom breaks, about every 2 hours. Every time I wake up feeling bulging and with a rock-hard protuberance to navigate around. It takes about a 6-point turn to heave myself out of the bed to stumble to the bathroom. Once I return to bed, I often receive a volley of cramps (or 'contractions'- potato, potato...) due to my sudden movement. I try to ignore those for a few minutes until I fall back asleep. Then there are the sleeping positions: No back or stomach sleeping. Left-side is best, so I alternate between left and right sides all night, occasionally waking up on my back. It feels like I shift positions every hour. Who knows. Then there's the snoring. Yikes. It's really worsened (according to Timm) in the last couple of months, but apparently I keep him awake and he nudges me awake a couple time a night. Timm is indulgent and lets me keep the ceiling fan on all night because it is the only chance of me even falling asleep. I might use a sheet if I want to feel cozy, but I need all the cold air I can get. Our two stupid cats usually share the bed with us, and because they know I am ridiculously more indulgent, they sleep on my side. We only have a full bed as it is, and I am twice as big as I would like to be. Then we have these two hot sweaty cats sleeping side-by side between Timm and I and I rarely notice because they sneak in while I'm already asleep. And the worst- the acid reflux. What the hell? I don't remember having this problem at all with my first two, but I simply cannot comfortably lay down without feeling like my stomach contents are creeping their way up my throat, constantly threatening to spill over. I feel like my stomach resides somewhere in my chest cavity, and the horizontal position puts me in a precarious position to losing it entirely, making it's escape through my throat. No matter how uncomfortable this is, I can't seem to remember to simply stop eating or drinking for a couple hours before bed to give myself the best benefit.
During the day I shuffle around, kicking things around from room to room in an attempt to tidy up without trying to maneuver around my daily-expanding girth. When I muster the strength to bend down I look around for other things to pick up while I'm down there. I feel grotesque about 99% of the time and am still surprised when I daily discard clothes that seemed to have fit yesterday. I'm trying to do the minimum to keep my home looking presentable and not stress about all that is going undone.
So, try to remember after that rant that I do appreciate being pregnant. Really, I do. It's just that enough is enough already. But don't mistake that to mean that I am actually ready to have a baby. Just to have it outside of my body. 3 weeks from now, I'm not so sure...

Single-Parenting Depair

This time away from Timm has been so hard. For several reasons, but mostly because Bella has chosen this time to be particularly difficult, presenting some brand-new challenges. There is a marked increase in tantrums, tears, and defiance, which I know comes with the territory of 3. (So far- I do NOT like 3.) But perhaps most challenging are the new sleep issues. Sleep issues are the worst because it occurs at the only time you can hope to count on for some peace and quiet and alone recuperation time. We've been pretty lucky with her as she's always been a fairly reliable sleeper. There was a time, just a few weeks ago, that every single night when I put her down, that was it. I never heard from her again. Just the way I like it. Now it's a total crap shoot every night. She's not napping anymore except maybe 1 or 2 times a week. I continue with our same nurturing and non-rushed bedtime routine, if just a little earlier since she's not napping. She's fine until the very end when she loses it over something ridiculous, I try to calm her down to no avail, and finally tell her I'm leaving. I'm trying to be more consistent because I always used to say 'I'm not coming back in here.' only to return some time later to see what she wanted or to calm her down. No more. I go in one time after I put her down, then when I say I'm not coming back, I mean it. Otherwise she would pander relentlessly for drinks, tickles, more stories, laying down with her, etc. Tonight she chose that moment to start bawling that she was hungry, even though she'd just finished her dinner less than 45 minutes before. I tried to explain that she already had dinner and she couldn't have anything else until morning. I tried to talk to her, it was fruitless, so I left for the last time. I heard her crying and screaming for about 10 minutes, during which time I called timm for support and distraction. Then quiet. I assumed she fell asleep. About 45 minutes later she's at it again. I listen at her door and she's pathetically whimpering 'please, please...'. So I am racked with guilt and a dilemma I don't know how to solve. Stick to my guns and let her learn to fall asleep on her own again? Go in there, risking starting it all over again when she begs me to stay and satisfy her demands and I leave again? So I chose to stick to my guns. The problem is, I'm not accustomed to these sleep issues and the question of whether to let her cry it out. I have no yet become immune to her crying and pathetic whimpers. Conversely, I internalize it so that I feel it too, so I am wracked with guilt and uncertainty. I don't even know if I'm doing the right thing. I just want to be consistent and do what is best for her in the long run. That would be much easier to do if I was assured that what I was doing was the right thing. So here I am alone, these 2 weeks trying to weather and understand these challenging new turns in her personality and habits. I hate it. Parenting is hard enough without having to try and figure it out yourself, or having no one to commiserate with and lean on. I call Timm with all my frustrations and ask for advice, but it's not like having someone here, on your side, to help you figure it out. Will motherhood always be this way? Guilt? Fear that I'm damaging her in some way? Uncertainty that I'm even doing right by her? Frustrated, irritated and challenged by her more often than I enjoy her? I'm tormented, and these last weeks with her have often left me in tears and desperation. I don't know what to do with this girl. I don't know what's going on with her, I don't know how to help her or to remain sane through it. I want to say it's just a stage, or a phase, but is it? Do I just ride it out, knowing it will pass in time and that it is perfectly normal? Or am I ignoring some need she has and until it is met this could continue interminably? Motherhood is fraught with questions and uncertainty. How am I going to do this again? How does anyone ever do it again?

Well I'm Glad That's Over!

Yes, over.
I tried my best.
Bella tried her best.
It just isn't the time. Again.

I was really torn about whether to abandon this attempt so quickly, but Bella initiated it when I was already wondering if it was the right time. Last night and today she exhibited some of the most extreme behavior she ever has- my usually tractable, easy-going and happy little girl screamed and cried until 11:15 pm, driving me to the brink of insanity. At one point I even lay down with her until she fell asleep (a first) only to have her wake and scream the minute I tried to escape. Then she woke up in the middle of the night and I did it again! This afternoon, no doubt partially due to the exhaustion from last night's escapade, she threw the biggest tantrum she ever has. It was started by my firm suggestion that she just try to pee on the potty before I continued to read countless stories while she just sat there. (This was after already reading stories and her telling me she didn't need to go-) It escalated to the point where I needed to put her in time out, which is and of itself fairly rare. I had to half carry, half drag her there, bare-bottomed because she refused to put her underwear back on. Usually she just sits in her room and cries when I give her a time out, and seems to be more sad than mad. I usually feel a little bad because I internalize her sadness. Today she charged for the door several times and wouldn't let me close the door, trying to escape. I had to hold the door closed from outside to bar her repeated efforts to yank it open. This might be a normal tantrum for a lot of kids, but this was all very out of character for Bella. Firsts, in fact.
After I got her calmed down, which took considerable patience and time (all hail Prozac!), she mercifully took another 3-hour nap, and so did I. When she woke up we needed to run to the drugstore, so I told her we needed to try and go potty before we left. We sat on the toilet for a few minutes before she declared that she just wanted a diaper. I was hesitant to ask about it, because if she said she wanted to go back to diapers I felt more or less bound to do it, and I wanted to make sure it was the right decision. But she kept hounding me and wouldn't stop asking about putting on a diaper, where they were, etc. So when I asked if she wanted to be done with undies and the potty for now and wear diapers all the time she readily agreed. I was hesitant like I said, because I desperately wanted to stop this insanity, but didn't want to quit just because it was the easiest thing for me right now. If she really wasn't ready, and it wasn't working, and I was fighting a losing battle, then I could try again when she showed more readiness- but I didn't want to quit out of convenience.
So I guess she decided, and I hope that puts an end to her ridiculous behavior, because she pushed me to my breaking point. With Timm gone, pregnant, and dealing with the potty training and the sleep issues, I felt like I couldn't go on. Period. And was left wondering how on earth I ever thought I could have another child when clearly I had no idea what I was doing with this one. So here's to 2 kids in diapers. I have to really try hard not to feel like a failure because I gave up (again) or because she's going to be so old by the time she does potty train.
I know tonight is going to be rough- I have to pay for the inconsistencies and mistakes I made last night in a desperate effort to get her to go to sleep. Tonight I have to lay down the law and be firm, consistent, and let her cry if need be. I'm sure there will be lots of it, with nowhere to escape to, no one to take a turn or commiserate with. But hopefully consistency will put an end to it relatively quickly and I've removed the apparent trauma of potty training.
Raising kids is hard. And complicated.

*Next-Day Note: As if just to add credence to my theory that she is not ready, last night she was perfect. Went to bed like usual, never heard from her again, slept through the night and is amicable and cheerful today. Whew.

Potty Training: Day One

{Our bathroom setup}

So, I don't want to say 'no success', but...it kind of feels that way for today. She never once peed on the toilet. Not once. Through the power of blogging I was able to check back to when our first training attempt was, and it was in the middle of January. Even then, when we had 5 or 6 accidents before lunchtime, even then she still had several excited attempts on the toilet with just a trickle of pee. Today- none. She only had 2 accidents, so at least that kept me from going crazy. When she went down for a nap (which she mercifully took for the first time in 5 days-) I put a diaper on her, and even though I withheld fluids for an hour or so beforehand, she still woke up soaked. Saved it all for the diaper, I think.
What worries me is that she tells me she doesn't know how to pee and asks me for help. I try to explain what it feels like when you have to pee, when you do pee, but it's hard to do in terms she can understand. We've tried at least a dozen times on the potty today, setting the timer for up to an hour between attempts, and then any time she asks to try. I got some special juice which we never have, and have been trying to push fluids all day. We have books just for the potty, so she frequently lures me in there just to sit on the hard tile floor and read to her indefinitely while she keeps up the pretense of 'trying'. This afternoon I borrowed a floor potty from a friend, hoping that would encourage her. We set it in the living room. Oh, the things we do for our children and the desire to teach them some independence. A chamber pot in my living room. Still, nothing.
Oh, except she pooped in the bath, which I can't even remember the last time that happened. She seemed a little freaked out by it, so I immediately put her on the toilet, and somehow she seemed to 'finish' on the toilet so I was able to give her one reward for the day, and hopefully end on a good note.
I just hope she's ready- I assumed she would have to be since she's over 3, but at the same time I probably wouldn't be pushing her yet if the baby wasn't due soon. Timm described it well- he thinks that going to the bathroom is like breathing for her- she never thinks about how she does it, it just happens. So now that I'm asking her to identify it and do so ahead of time, she doesn't really know how. That's the part that makes me wonder.
I'm tired.
I want Timm to come back now.
And help.
And not go back to 3 jobs.
And I want her to go to sleep and stop crying so I can have some peace for at least a small portion of my evening before I do it all again tomorrow.
Is that too much to ask?
Apparently so.

Self-Medicating

Nothing lifts your spirits like a healthy combination of sugary treats plus antidepressants, so our first stop on the way home from the airport was Rita's Water Ice. I first saw a sign go up on this building several months ago and have been watching and eagerly anticipating it's opening ever since. We had Rita's where I grew up near Philadelphia and I have sorely missed this regional treat, indulging any time a visit to my parents coincided with Rita's inconvenient seasonal schedule. We even looked into franchising, knowing it would go over big in Utah, but they are not expanding west. To know that I now have one just down the street is exhilarating and dangerous. They first opened their doors on Friday, giving away free water ice. Paul and Linda treated our family and theirs and I delighted in my favorite treat- a Mango Gelati. Yesterday on the way home from the airport I decided to see if they were still giving away deliciousness, and they were. So Bella and I indulged again, lifting my spirits a bit and simultaneously teaching Bella to turn to food to drown her feelings.

The second part of my self-medicating combo is Prozac. I called my doctor a few days ago and finally got the okay to add it back into my treatment, starting very slowly. I've only taken it for three days, but I dare say that I can tell a marked difference in my anxiety! Even the morning after I took one piddly little pill I felt calmer and more able to cope. Before I started taking it again I felt like a taut wire ready to snap at the slightest agitation, and the recoil would lash out at anyone in close proximity. Everyone and everything around me drove me crazy and I truly felt like I was going to lose it and direct that at the two nearest people, Timm and Bella. 3 days later, still not up to my standard dose, I feel more like myself- Still not someone able to handle lots of chaos, distractions or stress, but someone better able to cope with those things. Too bad I didn't start sooner so Timm could benefit, but just in time for Timm's departure so Bella might survive this 2 weeks.

Alone Again

{us, shortly before leaving for the airport this afternoon.}

Well not alone exactly- I still have Bella, but Timm left again today for another 2 weeks of training, this time in New Hampshire. Can I tell you I hate it when he leaves? I'm so glad that traveling is not a regular aspect of his job- this last time was by far the longest we've ever been apart. Between his 2 week training and my near-3 weeks in Utah, it was a full month apart. Luckily my time was largely filled with other company. After he was gone for about 5 days my parents came to stay for a couple of days and then I left for Utah. While I still missed him terribly the whole time, I had great companionship during our separation. Way more adult time and socialization than I ever see! This time however, it's just me and Bella, at home, anxiously awaiting his return. I suppose I may get used to being apart if it happened more regularly, but I don't want to get used to it. I'm glad that after 5 years of marriage I still cry when we part and miss him the whole time. Pregnancy hormones and stress don't hurt- they make me ache all the more for his companionship and my selfish reliance on his help. When we were apart for so long I realized that I rely on him for so much- mostly in a good way. Whether it's his manly help lifting, fixing, and figuring things out, or the emotional support and reassurance he constantly gives me, I really rely on him. I can't imagine my life without him. Which is of course what I start to do as soon as I start to miss him- wonder what on earth I would ever do if I lost him for any reason. For the last 3 weeks Timm has been home most of the time as he continued to look for another job and await this training. He still worked 2 or 3 nights a week and Saturdays, but besides that we just spent all of our time together. We've never had that much time together-ever. My only regret is that I was getting so increasingly stressed, and therefore anxious, and frankly- bitchy at times. (Not due to his company, but my hormonal/medication problems...) When he gets home it will be back to the grind- he starts back at school the day after he gets home, returns back to his swim lessons, and is starting a new job serving at Red Robin's. Ahh.. .the plight of a high-school teacher. 3 jobs to makes ends meet. That is not going to go over well when we have a new baby...

{Me, teary-eyed immediately following his drop-off.}

So the short of it is, I love this man, I don't feel deserving of this man, I would rather spend my time with him than anyone else, and I am without him for another 2 weeks. Without him at a time of increased stress and hormones, and a lack of patience and fortitude. The countdown begins...

Pregnancy

This whole pregnancy I keep wondering if this is the last time I will do this. At most, we would have one more child after this one, little Fiona. In many ways I would like this to be our last child, and would relish that thought when infancy proves to be a trying time. I anticipate having 2 at home will be a big adjustment for me, and one that will probably take a long time for me to feel comfortable with. Unfortunately I do not adapt well to change, stress, or any kind of disruption or chaos, so I am realistic in my outlook for this transition. Having said that, it also makes me a little bit sad to think that this is the last baby I'll have. Obviously being 7 months pregnant is not really the time to determine how many more children I will have- that would be a very biased decision. Time will tell, and if we do have another one it will probably be spaced similarly to these two, so we're looking at over 3 1/2 years from now.
I will never take pregnancy for granted, but it is hard. Even as I say this, I recognize that mine are relatively easy, physically at least. Lola's pregnancy was pretty much cake, aside from the usual pregnancy complaints. I was pretty much psychotic during Bella's pregnancy, it being just 3 months after Lola died. The combination of post-partum and pregnancy hormones, as well as mourning made for an emotional train wreck. (Which I need no help with under the best of circumstances...) Not knowing why Lola died made my anxiety for Bella out of control. So emotionally, not a good experience. Physically, not my favorite either since I had 2 pregnancies back to back. Not having a baby to show for the first one made me feel like I was experiencing an elephant's gestation.
This one has been really stressful for financial reasons. So many times I wondered how we were actually going to bring this baby into the world. Getting pregnant this time was an act of faith. I did not feel ready, but also knew there was a very good chance that I would never feel ready. After being prompted for months I decided to heed the call. We thought we had made what financial provisions we could, but when that fell through we were in quite a bind. (That's another post for another time-) Now we've been blessed to get Medicaid even though we were initially denied (another post-), so the financial aspect is taken care of.
Still, even in the best of circumstances, pregnancy is hard, and I find that they really do get harder each time. Each pregnancy has been significantly harder than the last, and it doesn't help that I started this one overweight and out of shape. I will be glad to call an end to this pregnancy, though that in no way means I am ready to actually have a baby yet!


All said- I do not take pregnancy for granted. I know it is nothing short of a miracle to bring a healthy baby into this world. It is an amazing experience, and one I am blessed to have done 3 times now- feeling your baby move within you and the bond you create with your unborn child cannot be matched or adequately described. I do love the opportunity women are given to give life to a child- I just don't know if I will do it a 4th time. If I do, it won't be anytime soon. I'm going to try and focus on getting Fiona here safely, and when parenting 2 small children gets the best of me, I can comfort myself during the stressful periods by telling myself 'this is the last time you have to/get to do this.' Whether or not that is true remains to be seen...

p.s. After Tasha asked about my registry, I did decide to register for a few things at Target too. As long as you're pretend-shopping, you might as well go all out, right? I like to pretend.

Lemons into... Babies.

My little poppy seed is all grown-up! Not really, but he has transformed himself into a lemon, or at least the approximate size of one. I am now 14 weeks along and officially in my second trimester. I have more energy, am mostly well, and beginning to enter what is generally referred to as the 'honeymoon phase' of pregnancy. This does not however, preclude me from taking my afternoon naps, providing Bella does as well.
I assume all is well, but in reality I have not seen a doctor yet. In an ideal world I would have seen one a couple of times already, but as I am without health insurance and still lack an appropriate substitute, I am going on faith.
I don't want that to sound as irresponsible as it may- I am in the process of applying for Medicaid, after the discount program that I thought was our saving grace turned out not to be. After spending an emotionally taxing 3 hours in the social service department last week it was determined that we probably will not qualify for Medicaid, meaning that the total sum of approximately $20,000 will rest on our shoulders to pay. Somehow. And the hospital (of which most of that sum can be attributed to-) charges interest. In short, we will probably be paying for this child until he graduates from high school, and that's just the portion of money it takes to actually bring him into the world.
I probably won't be able to see a doctor until about half-way through my pregnancy, when we will know definitively the status of our Medicaid application. Most likely, that will only come in the form of a rejection letter, signifying the point when we can try and muster some tax money for our first visit, most likely the ultrasound where we will learn the sex of this baby. (a boy.)
Last week I would have painted a different picture and outcome. I now enjoy the perspective that things will work out. We are in no way an ideal financial situation, or even a feasible one right now. However, I was prompted for so many months that getting pregnant at this time was the right thing to do despite my misgivings and reluctance. I know we are supposed to have this baby, and things will work out to enable us to do so. I would prefer that miracle comes in the form of being accepted for Medicaid, giving us a free baby (at least the birth!), but however it pans out, it will work. So please keep praying that this mantra I keep repeating is true. :)

mantra

a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.
a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing. a strong will is a good thing.