Binkytowne

Real Moms Fight Sickness like a Superhero.

Believe me if I could have, I would have. I have had a gazillion colds since my little man was born. I've had the stomach flu two times too many, intestinal issues, pink eye, bruises, contusions, skinned knees and an ear infection. (My first ever, which probably wasn't his fault, but since I'd never had one before he came along, I find the correlation more than a little suspicious).

I've had allergies my whole life and I can usually do a cold standing on my head, but every once in while I get socked with one that kicks my ass. You know the kind, you can usually remember them; My last one was in August of 2006. I was moving and had a six month old and it was hotter than the surface of the sun. I sat in a restaurant that day after working myself ragged and cried. I felt bad. Really bad.

I did that same thing Tuesday morning. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and cried. I felt sorry for myself that I was waking up again, after falling asleep hoping big hopes that I would wake up feeling just a little bit better than I did when I dosed off (propped up on a stack of pillows to curb the incessant coughing), feeling like complete shit. The husband had a big meeting and had to leave earlier than he could drop the little one off at school. I had stuff that was due and people who needed answers from me at work. Lunches had to be made, toddlers needed to be wrestled with, diapers needed changing, cars needed to be crashed into each other, cereal with milk needed dishing out and I could barely imagine the long walk to the shower with a head that felt like I had steel wool for brains.

I took antihistamines, decongestants, ibuprofen, expectorants, cough suppressants, elderberry, zinc and some cough syrup that had codeine in it that expired six months ago. (It sill worked.) I sucked it up, carried a box of tissues around with me all day, gagged on cough drops and drank hot water with lemon. When it got too hard to read books without coughing, I whispered. I took hot baths after my boy went to sleep in steamy bathrooms. I slept with a vaporizer.

I survived under conditions that five years ago would have had me under the covers for two days. Today I feel fine. A bit of a residual cough remains along with some day glo colored snot but from onset to conclusion I kicked this cold in 4 days instead of letting it kick me.

Real moms don't have time to be sick.

Your turn. (Here's how it works: Put up a post "Real Moms [insert what you do here]", followed by an explanation, a picture, and a "Real Moms...". Go to Real Mom Truths for more details. This is contest (a good one) AND it's fun. The winner will receive this amazing 4G iPod Nano and Chocolate gift set, plus a link to their post on True Mom Confessions on Mother's Day.

Real Moms Fight Sickness like a Superhero.

Believe me if I could have, I would have. I have had a gazillion colds since my little man was born. I've had the stomach flu two times too many, intestinal issues, pink eye, bruises, contusions, skinned knees and an ear infection. (My first ever, which probably wasn't his fault, but since I'd never had one before he came along, I find the correlation more than a little suspicious).

I've had allergies my whole life and I can usually do a cold standing on my head, but every once in while I get socked with one that kicks my ass. You know the kind, you can usually remember them; My last one was in August of 2006. I was moving and had a six month old and it was hotter than the surface of the sun. I sat in a restaurant that day after working myself ragged and cried. I felt bad. Really bad.

I did that same thing Tuesday morning. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and cried. I felt sorry for myself that I was waking up again, after falling asleep hoping big hopes that I would wake up feeling just a little bit better than I did when I dosed off (propped up on a stack of pillows to curb the incessant coughing), feeling like complete shit. The husband had a big meeting and had to leave earlier than he could drop the little one off at school. I had stuff that was due and people who needed answers from me at work. Lunches had to be made, toddlers needed to be wrestled with, diapers needed changing, cars needed to be crashed into each other, cereal with milk needed dishing out and I could barely imagine the long walk to the shower with a head that felt like I had steel wool for brains.

I took antihistamines, decongestants, ibuprofen, expectorants, cough suppressants, elderberry, zinc and some cough syrup that had codeine in it that expired six months ago. (It sill worked.) I sucked it up, carried a box of tissues around with me all day, gagged on cough drops and drank hot water with lemon. When it got too hard to read books without coughing, I whispered. I took hot baths after my boy went to sleep in steamy bathrooms. I slept with a vaporizer.

I survived under conditions that five years ago would have had me under the covers for two days. Today I feel fine. A bit of a residual cough remains along with some day glo colored snot but from onset to conclusion I kicked this cold in 4 days instead of letting it kick me.

Real moms don't have time to be sick.

Your turn. (Here's how it works: Put up a post "Real Moms [insert what you do here]", followed by an explanation, a picture, and a "Real Moms...". Go to Real Mom Truths for more details. This is contest (a good one) AND it's fun. The winner will receive this amazing 4G iPod Nano and Chocolate gift set, plus a link to their post on True Mom Confessions on Mother's Day.

Pink is a lovely color

Just not in my two year old's eye first thing in the morning of the first scheduled mama vacation day scheduled since, um, July.

Because you know it won't just stay in one eye- it will jump to the other eye, my dogs eyes, my eyes (this is a given- it's itching as we speak just because I know I.must.not.scratch.it.)

Where did he pick up such a thing? Why the doctors office, of course. My Pediatrician's office, or  the soon to be ex-pediatrician's office has remodeled into this huge new open commons where I spent twenty minutes chasing him from one end of the place to the other and receptionist lady- don't look at me like that. Your sign says to tell you if it's been more than 15 minutes and whatever, if I have a toddler you shouldn't keep me waiting more than 5 minutes. Because then you wouldn't have to give me more dirty looks when he runs behind your desk shaking his bag of graham teddy crackers that I bought at the overpriced store downstairs. I took him there Friday for a flu shot, then had to pick him up an hour later from school because they called me and said he wouldn't stop crying. Oh yes, good times. Feeling particularly good about my mothering skills since that call. Why I didn't see that coming and take the rest of the day off I still don't know.

I'm not totally sure it's pink eye. It looks like he could have a bit of a sty but either way, I can't take him to school like that and the Ped can't get me in until 11:20. Seeing that little man woke up at 4, probably because his eye was bugging him, this is shaping up to be a banner morning. I can hardly wait to pin down an overtired super charged toddler who has been running wild in the mile long waiting room and put some goo in his eye.

Good times, my friends.

Pink is a lovely color

Just not in my two year old's eye first thing in the morning of the first scheduled mama vacation day scheduled since, um, July.

Because you know it won't just stay in one eye- it will jump to the other eye, my dogs eyes, my eyes (this is a given- it's itching as we speak just because I know I.must.not.scratch.it.)

Where did he pick up such a thing? Why the doctors office, of course. My Pediatrician's office, or  the soon to be ex-pediatrician's office has remodeled into this huge new open commons where I spent twenty minutes chasing him from one end of the place to the other and receptionist lady- don't look at me like that. Your sign says to tell you if it's been more than 15 minutes and whatever, if I have a toddler you shouldn't keep me waiting more than 5 minutes. Because then you wouldn't have to give me more dirty looks when he runs behind your desk shaking his bag of graham teddy crackers that I bought at the overpriced store downstairs. I took him there Friday for a flu shot, then had to pick him up an hour later from school because they called me and said he wouldn't stop crying. Oh yes, good times. Feeling particularly good about my mothering skills since that call. Why I didn't see that coming and take the rest of the day off I still don't know.

I'm not totally sure it's pink eye. It looks like he could have a bit of a sty but either way, I can't take him to school like that and the Ped can't get me in until 11:20. Seeing that little man woke up at 4, probably because his eye was bugging him, this is shaping up to be a banner morning. I can hardly wait to pin down an overtired super charged toddler who has been running wild in the mile long waiting room and put some goo in his eye.

Good times, my friends.

Crybaby

Today was a breakthrough of sorts. For the first time in one year, I was able to sit through a visit with my psychiatrist without crying.

This is not something I have been able to accomplish with my therapist. Yes, I have one of those too. The psychiatrist is the one who prescribes the blue pills and the one I have to visit every few weeks to check in so she can evaluate me and be sure I haven't gone completely full moon clothes on backwards mental.

I like her. She's warm in her detachment and she wears her gray, streaked long hair in a bun. She moves quickly but silently in her sensible flat shoes and her long skirts. Her hands are always drawn to whatever beautiful big stoned piece of jewelry is around her neck and when you talk she looks you straight in the eye and tilts her head a little to the side, giving you the impression that she's mulling over what ever it is you just said very carefully. She's quite motherly in her approach.

The therapist is the one I talk to where I really cry. A lot. While I try and figure out why I cry so god- damned much. 

I joke about being mental but the truth is I've never suffered life altering mental illness. I have dealt with depression on and off forever. I realize for some it can be brutal and is a very real disease, but fortunately, for me, depression is the annoying guest at the party who won't leave. I can still mingle at the party, snacking on pitas and hummus and mixing up a mean vodka tonic but in the backround I can't shake that loudmouth who is double dipping and talking too close and making me uneasy.

I have functioned up until about a year ago without any intervention or medicines. Sometimes better than others. I can remember times when I seemed fine, happy and normal. I can also remember times when I would cry, no, sob, silently in the bathroom at work over something or other. No matter what it was, it wasn't worth the emotional upheaval that I was going through and feeling.   

A year ago, crumbling under the weight of post partum and post breastfeeding hormones, trying to adapt to a life that was no longer my own, an identity I was unfamiliar with and the overwhelming sense of responsibility I was facing, I started to come unglued. Getting ready for work became an exercise of frustration and stomping about. I would stand in grocery store isles for five minutes looking at the pasta selection, completely unable to come to a decision between elbow macaroni and shells. I would lose my temper and feel utter rage at not being able to find my keys, swearing and throwing things. I slept a lot but I couldn't eat. I didn't want to. Not because I was concerned with baby weight, but because nothing looked or tasted appetizing. I wasn't hungry. I couldn't even feel happy about fitting into clothes that I couldn't wear before I was even pregnant - If that's not crazy, I don't know what is.

I found this psychiatrist who heard my history and hooked me up with anti-depressents and a psychotherapist. She is a bit older than me, is very easy to talk to and had her two children (as my mother likes to say regarding anyone who's given birth after the age 30) later in life. She's given me some very obvious truths that are not shocking to anyone, but still reassuring to hear from a professional, i.e., Working is not a crime - it's not something to feel guilty about, It's OK to make a decision using your logical side and tune out your emotional side & You must let your husband do things. It doesn't matter how it get's done - stop that business right now.

Right now I feel as though we are at an impass. During our last meeting I reminded her of what I told her the first time we met, that I wanted to understand what was making me cry. If I sat on the couch and she asked me how my son was, I would cry and I would continue to cry until I left. Once I was out the door it was as if a switch flipped and I would be fine again. There was something about being in the office, on the couch, so to speak, that brought up something from my psyche and I don't even care if I never stop crying, I want to know why it happens.

During my last check up I made a point of telling myself as I walked in, I won't cry today. There's no reason to cry. I have nothing to cry about. But I cried. As I teared up I told her I feel fine, better than fine, I feel good. Very good. That if I wouldn't have come to see her I would'nt have cried that day. That it was frustrating and I didn't know where to go next. She said maybe it's time to take a break and think about it. That even the best therapists can only be a lightening rod to help you find what you are looking for, that only I have the answers.

I don't have the answers. I have theories. Maybe going to see a motherly therapist and admitting my self doubt and fear and frustration of losing control was a substitute for not being able to talk about those feelings with my own mother. Perhaps this was a volitile time in my life and I needed time to adjust to a miscarriage and a baby in a year. Maybe it goes deeper than that, to the way I was parented and a deep fear that I won't know how to do it better, along with a good dose of sadness that my own parents didn't recognize that I needed something different from them that my other siblings did not.

But I didn't cry today. That's good enough for now.

 

Crybaby

Today was a breakthrough of sorts. For the first time in one year, I was able to sit through a visit with my psychiatrist without crying.

This is not something I have been able to accomplish with my therapist. Yes, I have one of those too. The psychiatrist is the one who prescribes the blue pills and the one I have to visit every few weeks to check in so she can evaluate me and be sure I haven't gone completely full moon clothes on backwards mental.

I like her. She's warm in her detachment and she wears her gray, streaked long hair in a bun. She moves quickly but silently in her sensible flat shoes and her long skirts. Her hands are always drawn to whatever beautiful big stoned piece of jewelry is around her neck and when you talk she looks you straight in the eye and tilts her head a little to the side, giving you the impression that she's mulling over what ever it is you just said very carefully. She's quite motherly in her approach.

The therapist is the one I talk to where I really cry. A lot. While I try and figure out why I cry so god- damned much. 

I joke about being mental but the truth is I've never suffered life altering mental illness. I have dealt with depression on and off forever. I realize for some it can be brutal and is a very real disease, but fortunately, for me, depression is the annoying guest at the party who won't leave. I can still mingle at the party, snacking on pitas and hummus and mixing up a mean vodka tonic but in the backround I can't shake that loudmouth who is double dipping and talking too close and making me uneasy.

I have functioned up until about a year ago without any intervention or medicines. Sometimes better than others. I can remember times when I seemed fine, happy and normal. I can also remember times when I would cry, no, sob, silently in the bathroom at work over something or other. No matter what it was, it wasn't worth the emotional upheaval that I was going through and feeling.   

A year ago, crumbling under the weight of post partum and post breastfeeding hormones, trying to adapt to a life that was no longer my own, an identity I was unfamiliar with and the overwhelming sense of responsibility I was facing, I started to come unglued. Getting ready for work became an exercise of frustration and stomping about. I would stand in grocery store isles for five minutes looking at the pasta selection, completely unable to come to a decision between elbow macaroni and shells. I would lose my temper and feel utter rage at not being able to find my keys, swearing and throwing things. I slept a lot but I couldn't eat. I didn't want to. Not because I was concerned with baby weight, but because nothing looked or tasted appetizing. I wasn't hungry. I couldn't even feel happy about fitting into clothes that I couldn't wear before I was even pregnant - If that's not crazy, I don't know what is.

I found this psychiatrist who heard my history and hooked me up with anti-depressents and a psychotherapist. She is a bit older than me, is very easy to talk to and had her two children (as my mother likes to say regarding anyone who's given birth after the age 30) later in life. She's given me some very obvious truths that are not shocking to anyone, but still reassuring to hear from a professional, i.e., Working is not a crime - it's not something to feel guilty about, It's OK to make a decision using your logical side and tune out your emotional side & You must let your husband do things. It doesn't matter how it get's done - stop that business right now.

Right now I feel as though we are at an impass. During our last meeting I reminded her of what I told her the first time we met, that I wanted to understand what was making me cry. If I sat on the couch and she asked me how my son was, I would cry and I would continue to cry until I left. Once I was out the door it was as if a switch flipped and I would be fine again. There was something about being in the office, on the couch, so to speak, that brought up something from my psyche and I don't even care if I never stop crying, I want to know why it happens.

During my last check up I made a point of telling myself as I walked in, I won't cry today. There's no reason to cry. I have nothing to cry about. But I cried. As I teared up I told her I feel fine, better than fine, I feel good. Very good. That if I wouldn't have come to see her I would'nt have cried that day. That it was frustrating and I didn't know where to go next. She said maybe it's time to take a break and think about it. That even the best therapists can only be a lightening rod to help you find what you are looking for, that only I have the answers.

I don't have the answers. I have theories. Maybe going to see a motherly therapist and admitting my self doubt and fear and frustration of losing control was a substitute for not being able to talk about those feelings with my own mother. Perhaps this was a volitile time in my life and I needed time to adjust to a miscarriage and a baby in a year. Maybe it goes deeper than that, to the way I was parented and a deep fear that I won't know how to do it better, along with a good dose of sadness that my own parents didn't recognize that I needed something different from them that my other siblings did not.

But I didn't cry today. That's good enough for now.

 

I should not be allowed to Google. Ever.

I'm convinced I'm in early menopause.

I can't lose any weight no matter how hard I try. Which is, in all fairness, not really that hard. I've been crabby for three weeks straight and since I got my period last, I have not exactly stopped getting it. Since I run on about a 24/25 day cycle, that means I'm due for another one in approximately three days.

I called the Dr's office. The nurse said it's not unusual to have an unusual cycle now and again. Wait and see if it happens again next month. Which I realize sounds reasonable to a reasonable person but I might just eat my weight in donuts and chocolate chips before that happens and how would you like to go 5 plus weeks with junk coming out of you? It's putting me over the edge. I've been doing really well at handling the demands of a busier job, a more temperamental toddler, a complete departure from every routine we've established but if this spotting doesn't stop soon someone is going to pay for it. Dearly.

According to Google I'm either pregnant with spotting or I'm in Peri-menopause which come on, after all the reproductive health issues women go through, they should call it what it is. If the word menopause appears, I don't care if it's got a hyphen or not, then baby you are in it.

I can't be pregnant. I've had sex like once in the past two years and have had a regular period since that exciting event occurred, so menopause it is.

Or it's just a fluke and I'm being over dramatic.

   

I should not be allowed to Google. Ever.

I'm convinced I'm in early menopause.

I can't lose any weight no matter how hard I try. Which is, in all fairness, not really that hard. I've been crabby for three weeks straight and since I got my period last, I have not exactly stopped getting it. Since I run on about a 24/25 day cycle, that means I'm due for another one in approximately three days.

I called the Dr's office. The nurse said it's not unusual to have an unusual cycle now and again. Wait and see if it happens again next month. Which I realize sounds reasonable to a reasonable person but I might just eat my weight in donuts and chocolate chips before that happens and how would you like to go 5 plus weeks with junk coming out of you? It's putting me over the edge. I've been doing really well at handling the demands of a busier job, a more temperamental toddler, a complete departure from every routine we've established but if this spotting doesn't stop soon someone is going to pay for it. Dearly.

According to Google I'm either pregnant with spotting or I'm in Peri-menopause which come on, after all the reproductive health issues women go through, they should call it what it is. If the word menopause appears, I don't care if it's got a hyphen or not, then baby you are in it.

I can't be pregnant. I've had sex like once in the past two years and have had a regular period since that exciting event occurred, so menopause it is.

Or it's just a fluke and I'm being over dramatic.

   

Much better thanks

Thanks to all who offered advice or good old fashioned virtual support over the past few days!

Turns out we had a mild version of croup. He was fine when he was up and around but as soon as he fell asleep the barking would commence. We had to travel to the in-laws this weekend, it could not be avoided and I thought, brilliant! Sleeping up right in the car seat! This will solve all of our problems! WRONG! Apparently, this virus activates when eyes close. Saturday he did not sleep at all- I think that's the first time since he was born that he didn't nap in any way shape or form for a whole day. Was he grouchy? Oh. You have no idea. Not coughing, but very unhappy none the less. (Get it? That's Seal. Barking? Like a seal? Get it?)

All things considered, it wasn't so bad. I expected much worse. If any of you have had to take care of a sick toddler at someone else's house, you will know that when you return home it's exponentially easier to tend to them than it had been when you were away. He's MUCH better today.. oh. yeah. Except for the huge gaping gash in his arm. More on that tomorrow.   

Much better thanks

Thanks to all who offered advice or good old fashioned virtual support over the past few days!

Turns out we had a mild version of croup. He was fine when he was up and around but as soon as he fell asleep the barking would commence. We had to travel to the in-laws this weekend, it could not be avoided and I thought, brilliant! Sleeping up right in the car seat! This will solve all of our problems! WRONG! Apparently, this virus activates when eyes close. Saturday he did not sleep at all- I think that's the first time since he was born that he didn't nap in any way shape or form for a whole day. Was he grouchy? Oh. You have no idea. Not coughing, but very unhappy none the less. (Get it? That's Seal. Barking? Like a seal? Get it?)

All things considered, it wasn't so bad. I expected much worse. If any of you have had to take care of a sick toddler at someone else's house, you will know that when you return home it's exponentially easier to tend to them than it had been when you were away. He's MUCH better today.. oh. yeah. Except for the huge gaping gash in his arm. More on that tomorrow.