Anticipation

You wanna know something? A few weeks ago, when the anxiety attack was looming, I had several thoughts on my mind.

One of the many being "Ansley will be 2 in September. People are already starting to ask. When do we add another?"

I'm not saying that that one thought brought on the issue, but I am saying that one thought has plagued me. For some time.

I LOVE being a mom. More than I thought I would. I love laughing with (and, honestly, at) Ansley. I love listening in on her conversations with her lovie and toy kitchen. And I know that I have enough love to add another arrow to the quiver.  That honestly used to be a fear of mine. I was concerned that I wouldn't love a second kid as much as the first. Crazy, no?

Anywho, I think I've got this parenting thing figured out, and I would go through labor and delivery again in a heartbeat. But it's getting to that point that makes me feel like I'm gonna pee my pants.

I didn't have a rough pregnancy, per se. But I did deliver 5 weeks early. And why? My doc was concerned that I was developing preeclampsia. Are you starting to see where this is headed?

Overall, I enjoyed being pregnant. I loved the baby kicks, and when I remember what that was like, I feel almost ready to throw caution to the wind. When I hold a little baby that snuggles into my neck, and offers one of those early smiles in my direction, I melt.

But, when I remember the fear of that morning when I saw the blood, and the following panic that ensued when my water broke, it's enough to make me want to stop right here, and practice the only 100% effective prevention of pregnancy (hello? I'm an abstinence educator. Remember?) When I remember having to scrub my arms and hands before going to sit by my baby's bedside, and the time that I couldn't hold her, and the first glimpse I had of her all covered in sensors and tubes and tape and an IV in her head, I'm ready to throw in the towel.

Because that was too much for me. And, maybe that's part of why I'm experiencing all this right now. Because I don't know that I really experienced it then. I had to be strong. It was expected. I was too tired to know what the correct emotions were. But now, now I'm experiencing all of them.

And I'm not sure I can go through that again. And I know I shouldn't feel like I have to. And, I don't. Not really. But there's still part of me that knows that people are anticipating the facebook post. Or the announcement at work, or the slight little bulge around my belt line (which, honestly, right now peeps its because I recently had a date with two very old and dear friends I hadn't seen in a very long while. Remember Ben and Jerry? Yeah, we hung out a few nights ago.).

And so, I wait. With the same anticipation. I wait, hoping that eventually, I'll know the right answer. And whatever that answer is, I'll trust that others will know that it is what is right. Even if they think I should have 10 kids.

At least, my primary care doc thinks I should have 10. My OB disagreed. He thought I should probably limit it to 6.

But right now, we're good. With one.

Hanging Out

I'm still here.

And I'll be right back. Soon.

Promise.

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Too good to be true

So much for waking up normal. Yeah, it didn't happen.

This sucks.

Too much

Is it possible for postpartum depression to hit more than a year after the child's birth?  Or, rather, anxiety?

The last two days have been hell. In fact, I don't even know how I'm able to sit here and type. I'm shaking, but not cold. I'm uneasy. I can't relax. Tonight isn't as bad as last, but it's still really difficult. And I don't really know what triggered it.

But it was too much for me last night. And I had to call Paul home. Because I was scared. And this morning, I woke up and called the doctor first thing. Because I had to get in.

And he saw me. Of course, I got the normal talk. Non-medicated verses medicated, or a combo of the two. Importance of exercise and sleep. And that I'm just wired this way, and it can't exactly be "fixed." Or simply "go away."

But I'm still scared. I'm scared about Paul going to work tomorrow. I'm scared because right now, my brain is running 1,000 miles an hour and I can't control where it is going. And I don't like that. I don't like where it's taking me.

I don't like that right now, I'm pounding out something on the keyboard while my husband plays with our daughter. I don't like that I can't settle down. I don't like that this feels like a spiral that I can't escape. I don't like that for 2 days now, I've felt like I can't function on my own.

Somewhere inside of me, I know this is ridiculous. I know that there is no reason for this. Which makes it that much more difficult. Because I want to make it stop. I want to make this go away. I want to be able to breathe deep breaths, enjoy a warm bath and cozy up with the hubs.

But instead, I'm clutching the hubs. Holding on for what feels like dear life. Because right now, he has the strength I need. He can function for me. And he can hold me, making me feel somewhat normal.

So, after stepping away for a few hours, I've ended the night, and it feels somewhat normal. I took some time to rock the kiddo, while she took some time to dance a little gig to the tunes that were playing softly. And I took that bath, finding a good book to start reading.

And now, I feel a little more normal, sitting in my fuzzy pink and white polka dot robe, as the hubs shuts down the house for the night.  And I'll snuggle in, hoping that when I wake tomorrow, normal will still be here, waiting for me to greet the day.

The white stuff

No, I'm not referring to that parody by Weird Al. Besides. NKOTB? Totally had the Right Stuff.

No. I'm talking about that powdery, white, wet, fluffy goodness that seems to have found its way into my yard again.

I'm talkin' snow, y'all!

Here's the thing. I think EVERYONE (ok, maybe not everyone. But everyone except for, like, three people) I know is totally sick of snow. Tired of winter. Wishing for spring. Longing for sunshine.

I do miss those bright rays we've been missing as of late, but I welcome the snow. Because we don't have a spring here. We go straight from winter to 80 degree days. Then to 90 degree days with like 97% humidity. And, me no likey.

Here's the thing. If it's going to be cold and wet, I would rather it be cold and wet with snow. I despise cold, rainy days. Nothing makes me want to crawl under the covers and sleep away the day more than cold, rainy days. But, snowy days? They mean playing outside with Ansley. Staying home from work. Throwing a snowball at the hubby. Hot chocolate with marshmallows. Hats. Scarfs. Sweaters. And brightness.

And a reminder of what was done on a cross for me so many years ago.

But soon, in just a couple weeks, really, the word "snow" will no longer be a part of local vocabulary for about 11 months.

People complain of the snow. The frustration that comes with travel difficulties. Of the cold. My opinion? I can always put on more clothes. I can snuggle.

But, when it's hot? There are only so many clothes you can take off. And then, my friends, you are naked.

And risk getting your booty sunburned.

So, I ask you, in all honesty. A sunburned booty, or a cozy scarf, some hot chocolate, and a fuzzy blanket while enjoying a day off of work.

Exactly.

this is HUGE

I mean, GINORMOUS. 


You really have no idea.  Do you remember the Sweet Harper Holidays giveaway?  That was huge. This is, well, off the charts I suppose.

Sweet Harper introduced me to Giddy Up and Grow. Super cute headbands and trinkets. I luff.

Giddy Up and Grow introduced me to Laura Winslow Photography. Aside from having absolutely stunning photographs, LWP has a stellar giveaway for the next week.

Are you ready for this? You may want to go grab an extra pair of pants because you are going to pee your current pair from the excitement. Seriously.

LWP has a giveaway. A giveaway for 61 shops. $2,600 worth of certificates and free goodies. FOR ONE WINNER.  And some of it? Props for photography. Just what a budding photographer might need if she were to, um... try to start something on the side hoping it would turn into something in the front??? Maybe???

So, head on over to Laura Winslow Photography and hit it up. Lots of ways to enter. Lots of goodies to be won.

Don't say I don't watch out for you, m'kay?

Am I really that insensitive?

It's beautiful out today. GORGEOUS, really.

So I opted to take the kiddo on a walk in the sunshine. We're walking along, with Ansley wearing her hot pink sunglasses which are too big for her head but apparently the sun was just too much for her today.

Anywho, she's still in her clothes from church.

So, we pass this couple with a little boy, prolly about 3 years old. I'm pretty sure he had just been to the park playing and that's why his face and clothes were dirty.

I'm not talking "Oh, that kid really enjoyed his lunch" kinda dirty. I mean dirt-dirty.


As we pass, the young mother looks at my kiddo, saying "She's really pretty."  To which I respond "Oh thanks. See ya later!"

::gulp::

Seconds later I realized I should have said something about her kid. "Man, he sure is healthy," or "He looks like he's a keeper," or "Bet he keeps you busy." But, no. Instead? I thank her for her comment about my child, and say "See ya later."

Total.utter.complete.loser.of.a.person.fail.

What was I thinking? For real?

So much for finding time to blog more.  We are just beyond busy at this house.

With a kiddo that refuses to sleep, a hubs that works about 20 hours overtime AND attends classes, and me who is too far behind to even think about working ahead, we are functioning on the bare bones here.

We are going on about 4 months of Ansley not sleeping well. We get about one night a week where she will sleep straight through, but even that is becoming more of a rarity.  I keep telling myself that this is all because ALL her teeth decided to come in at once. Seriously. We've had at least one tooth cutting since 13 months old. At times, we've had as many as three.  We're up to 6 teeth completely in with her cutting two more as we speak type.

So, I've thought of a possible solution to this problem. I think we are going to transition Ansley to a toddler bed. Very soon. Because as it is now, she wakes up, and if we want her to go back to sleep in her bed, it's about an hour to get her to sleep, with her waking again about 2 hours later. So, we put her in our bed.  And I'm so over it.

Now, before you start hassling me about how she's only waking up at this point to get into our bed, I KNOW. But there comes a point were sleep is more precious than insisting that your kiddo stay in her own bed.  And crying it out? Yeah, she's gone for a whole hours without letting up.

So, here's my plan. Move her to the toddler bed, gate her door so if she does wake up she is free to play herself back to sleep, and if she decides to cry, Mommy will go crawl in bed with Ansley. Once Ansley is sawing logs, Mommy goes back to her own bed. Hence, no more Ansley in my bed.

Hopefully.

That is the plan.

The only foreseeable hiccup? If Mommy falls asleep in Ansley's bed too.  Which, at my current state of exhaustion, is a very likely possibility.

Until then, I have an ever growing list of housework that needs to be done. And after last weekend's little mouse adventure, I feel like I need to scrub every surface of this house with bleach. Especially my pots and pans, which little mousey friend left little presents in. Fabulous.