The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Last week? So good.

Except for the record number of tornadoes that happened to ravage the south. And the fact that I wore two unmatching flip flops on Monday. And the fact that I've singlehandedly managed to eat all the peanut butter filled chocolate Easter candies. Ok, so that still counts as being so good.

But, today? I'm hoping it isn't a preview of what is to come this week.  Some small demon possessed my child. She was MEAN today. I'm pretty sure it is because 1.) She flipped between sitters last week, 2.) She is cutting yet another tooth, and 3.) She didn't nap. AT.ALL.

I've struggled with picking her up from the sitter's before. She isn't always the most excited about going home. I get a hug, but then she's back to playing with the two other kiddos. She normally will cry, saying "Pay, Pay!" Not because I haven't paid the sitter, but because she has a had time with the letter L. And, probably because I did forget to pay the sitter and she's teaching Ansley some not-so-subliminal messages.

But, today, it was the UGLY. Not only did she not want to come to me from the sitter, but, when I actually took her, she slapped my face and pulled my hair. And it hurt. Not physically. But emotionally, and it hurt my pride.

I'm quick to say, "Oh, my kid is so much better better than that one pitching a fit over a barbie doll at Walmart." But it's when it goes the other direction that I think I'm just as hard. On myself.

I know we've hit a stubborn streak. And I know she'll come back around to be that sweet little girlie. But right now, I feel like a failure. Because I frequently have the kid that is crying in the grocery store. Or refusing to eat at the restaurant.

Or I have the kid that isn't even excited about seeing Momma when she gets home from work.

Yeah, sometimes it sucks.

Just sayin'.

It finally happened.

Today, I was one of those moms.

You know what I'm talking about. The one with the screaming toddler in Walmart that wants to do everything and grab everything and push the cart with the handle and open the bag of mini donuts while yelling "DONUT" at the top of her lungs (the toddler does this stuff. Not the mom.)

That was me. And I tried everything. Put her in the cart basket. Cart seat. Hold her. Let her push. Give her something to carry and tell her to follow. Get down on her level and calmly explain to her that she is not making Mommy proud right now and there were going to be serious consequences to her actions if she did not behave while we were grocery shopping. I think she got a little hung up on the "consequence" word. Or maybe you just can't reason with an 18-month-old. I'm not entirely sure which.

But I was so embarrassed. I didn't want her screaming, but it was physically impossible for me to carry her AND push the cart. At least, push the cart in a controlled manner. And I wanted to give in. I wanted to give her what she wanted rather than discipline her for not obeying. And it suddenly became so easy to understand why some parents needed the help of "Super Nanny."

And Super Nanny would not have approved of my methods today. Because instead of a time out chair, Ansley got a spanking. ::gasp::

And then, that made me feel like even more of one of those moms. Because I heard myself saying "Ansley, do  you want a spanking?"  And people were looking at me. I'm not entirely sure if it was because I was threatening a spanking, or because I had about 5 pounds of cheese in my cart.

Either way, it was an ordeal. But I didn't want to leave her with someone while I went shopping. She is with the sitter for two hours on Monday afternoon, and I felt that it wasn't fair to pick her up and drop her off with someone else while I went out. So, I took her.

I don't regret it. I just wish she understood bribery  positive reinforcement.

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.

Seriously?

Dear police department that employs my husband,

Could you BACK UP OFF, please?

Listen, I know you guys are understaffed.  But that's what happens when you let 6 officers leave or get fired and you don't replace them!

My husband? He hates to leave people in a crunch. And I love that about him. But, 72 hours in a week? That is ridiculous. You may wonder why he is working so much. It's because your sergeants, who are ON CALL refuse to come in, leaving the hubs to take care of it all.  You know, he has two days off a week.  And when he volunteers to fill in on one of those, it doesn't mean that he's volunteering to fill in on that day for 8 months!

And when Thanksgiving is his day off, not something he asked for specifically, and you make him work it because somebody didn't double check the scheduling and scheduled someone who was out of town, that's your fault. You work it. Don't call my husband in because "you knew you could count on him." That's garbage. He's not even at the bottom of the totem pole!

Don't get me wrong. I am very thankful that my husband is employed. And I am so proud of the work he does. But right now, he's working on about 4 hours of sleep. He worked from 2 p.m. Saturday to 8 a.m. Sunday, and worked 2 p.m. Sunday to 8 a.m. today. And he's home now, taking care of our toddler. And he isn't sleeping!  And he's supposed to go back in at 2? You're kidding me, right?

This is what I don't understand. How come when someone calls out, the hubs is the one stuck filling in, but if he tries to call out he's told "Nope. Sorry. We don't have anyone to cover for you."

I know I'm a little grumpy about it.  But, you know what the worst part is?

Ansley sees less of her parents together than she sees us apart.  And that just isn't cool.

So, would you kindly work something out? Hire some new people? Have your on-call people actually be on call?  I miss my husband terribly, and I'm worried he's making himself sick.  And that just can't be going on in my house. So use your title of Chief or Deputy Chief, flex those muscles, and do something about it, m'kay? I don't want to have to get ugly about it. That just isn't the right thing to do.

And, after all, I am a lady.

Smooches!
Tiffany

Something is Coming Between Us

Me and the hubs, that is.

And it has light brown hair, blue eyes, an occasional snotty nose and is really stinkin' cute.

But I don't like it.  Because I like snuggling with my hubs.

Ansley goes down for bed just fine. Beautifully, actually. And she sleeps for about 4 hours. But between midnight and 1 a.m., something really weird happens.  She wakes up and starts crying. When I go in to comfort her, she's fine as long as I'm rocking her or bouncing her. But, even if she's sound asleep, as soon as I put her back in her crib, she wakes up. And then, it's like a little demon had joined us.

A few nights, we've decided to let her work it out on her own. Clean diaper, refusing milk, snuggled warmly, binkie and bear handy... but... no.  A few nights ago, she screamed for ONE HOUR. One hour of pure torture for a momma who wanted to go scoop up her little girl.  And after that hour, we still had to go calm her down.  And, she ended up in our bed.

Last night? The hubs and I slept back to back. And the kiddo was in the middle.  Not cool.

I love my kiddo. Dearly. But seriously, our bedroom is for us! The hubs and I have to fight for the time that we do get together, and 8 of those 10 hours a day are from 12 a.m. to 8 a.m.

I hoping this is just because she's teething. I hope so much, and pray that she isn't getting too attached to sleeping in the big bed, or on the couch with mommy, or in the recliner with mommy. Because those are all places we've had to sleep in the last few weeks.

All while the hubs slumbers soundly (normally) in the nice, comfy bed.  We paid far too much for our mattress for me not to use it.

Maybe that's the problem.  Do they make pillowtop crib mattresses?

Dumpy.

She's the eighth dwarf. And she's my daughter.

She's sniffly. Snotty. And occasionally screams bloody murder. And she's unable to be calmed. Which makes her sniffly. And Snotty.

Is this teething, or something else I am entirely unprepared for?

::hides head under desk, hoping Dumpy the Dwarf transforms back into sweet little Ansley::

Off the Face of the Earth

Ok, so I know I dropped off the face of the earth for just a little bit.

But, ya'll, I've been busy!

We celebrated Ansley's first birthday. We welcomed a house full of family for a weekend. We visited a very special little man that made his way into the world.

And, we've had some frustrations. Ok, so maybe a lot of them.

I love my daughter. With every ounce of my being, I love her from head to toe. But, sometimes she gets the best of me and I want to crawl in bed and just cry. Because I can't take it.

Overall, Ansley is a very good baby, er, toddler. With the exception of a bout with reflux which we were able to make some lifestyle adjustments for, she has been easy. She never fussed between breastfeeding and bottle feeding, took a variety of bottles and pacifiers, preferred to be put to bed awake, and didn't freak out when we stopped the bottle a couple months ago. She's never fussed about eating different foods, and actually prefers peas, and as I discovered last night, broccoli.

The only difficulty: the routine and schedule. Not setting it, but functioning without it.

I've heard that babies really enjoy having a routine. This I discovered early on with Ansley. Dinner, bath, playtime/snuggle, bottle, bed. She turned into a pumpkin at 8:30. And if we didn't follow this, she was a terror. As we discovered this weekend.

We took a trip to visit that new little man. Two hours away (though, really, it turned into about a 4 hour trip after dinner, ice cream, gas, tire pressure, yada yada yada). She slept in the car, which was fine, because we hit the road close to pumpkin time. What happened next, I can't really explain.

She was happy. She visited with Gramma and Pap-Pap. She played. She laughed. She was so.stinkin'.cute. But the time came when Mommy and Daddy were ready to hit the hay. So after another short car ride, it was bed time.

She went down easily, and I went to shower and get myself ready for bed. The mistake came when I reached in the crib and covered her with a blanket. She hadn't been asleep, but was just chillin'.

The sirens went off. Normally, I would let her cry. But, as guests in the house, I didn't want to wake those just down the hall. So, I put her in bed with us. Disclaimer: I know this is frowned upon in most circles, but I loved having Ansley sleep in our bed with she was younger. I liked cuddling, since she is opposed to that regularly.

Anywho, she couldn't get comfortable. Toss, turn, flip, turn, roll, toss, turn, jump, flop, climb, turn, toss, climb, roll, b-i-n-g-o. Ok, well, she wasn't crying, so how bout a few toys until she fades? Bang, laugh, howl, hoot, laugh, yell, bang, Bang, BANG, laugh, flop, flip, turn, use mommy and daddy as jungle gyms.

Next step: rocking in the recliner. Nope. Ain't.Gonna.Do.It. Ok, back to the bed. She slept for about 2 hours, and the process started over. Seriously, I finally took a blanket and tried to sleep on the floor hoping she would settle down if she had more room. Yep. I caught about an hour cat nap while she played with the car keys and the headboard.

It's so easy to have a kind heart for your child when they are upset, or ultra tired, or hungry. I found it very difficult to be patient when she was in a good mood and playing.

But it was 4 in the morning!!!!

And I haven't made up for it. When you have an infant that wakes in the middle of the night to eat, your body has learned to function with minimal sleep. But when your child has been sleeping through the night since 4 months, you get very angry. Especially when coffee isn't part of your vocab and you are a very grumpy person without sleep.

So, the point of this post? Don't feel like a bad parent for finding, and sticking with, a schedule or a routine. Obviously, you don't want to starve your child because it isn't dinner, but, speaking from experience, they really like that routine.

And, you know what? I do too.

Deep breaths.

I'm frustrated. And it's getting the better of me.

I'm frustrated that we are a one-car family again, with no end in sight. I'm frustrated that the hubs will be working 6 days a week until sometime next year. I'm frustrated that we see more of our coworkers than we do of each other.

I'm frustrated that my dog is knocked up, and despite being medicated, is covered in fleas. I'm frustrated that I brought Rufus home in the first place. I'm frustrated that Bunker ate two of my favorite pairs of shoes in two days.

I'm frustrated that the only decent channel we get has changed it's signal and we don't get it anymore. And I'm frustrated that it's the channel that shows baseball, football and Glee.

I'm frustrated that as I work my way off this medicine, I feel like my head is spinning, making me want to keep taking it. I'm frustrated that I'm tired all the time, and leave work with a headache almost every day.

I'm frustrated that the neighbor's don't have a stronger internet signal. I'm frustrated Ansley's room is the wrong color, and I can't find the time to repaint. I'm frustrated that the new curtain rods I bought don't fit. I'm frustrated that I can't squeeze the staple gun to finish recovering the recliner in Ansley's room.

I'm frustrated I can't blog more. I'm frustrated that I'm not as funny or have as many followers as other blogs I read.

I'm frustrated that Ansley has learned how to dump a bucket full of water out of the tub during her bath. I'm frustrated that she hasn't been sleeping well.

I'm frustrated that I'm jealous of an unborn baby. I'm frustrated that as we toss around the idea of a second child, I can't help but think it won't work, and we should just stop here.

I'm frustrated that I've gained weight, and my fat jeans are too small. And I'm frustrated that all I want to do is eat half baked ice cream and chocolate chip pancakes.

I'm frustrated that I have a college degree that I'm not using. I'm frustrated that despite being a 2-income family, I feel like we're barely keeping our heads above water.

And, I'm frustrated that I'm frustrated.

Tiffany and the Horrible, Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Yup. That was yesterday.

And what made it so bad, and worthy of such a title? Well, it really wasn't that much.

We were filming a webisode for work. A series of "Good Idea, Bad Idea" snipits.

Good idea: petting a cat. Bad idea: punting a cat.

I must first throw out the disclaimer that no animals were harmed during the filming. However, one educator was, and one pretty little girl is anxiously awaiting the return of her cat.

We were using my cat, er, Ansley's cat, as a prop. Very friendly. Totally on board with the good idea. However, when it came time for the "bad idea" portion and we decided to kick a stuffed cat through the uprights at a local football field, Cat was not on board.

We simply wanted to show him being dropped while being held. Kinda like he was about to be drop kicked. And since we don't have a football field in our back yard (much to the hub's dismay), my coworkers wanted to take Cat just down the street. Not very far.

His freaking out in the car should have been my first clue. He made noises that I've never heard him make. Once the car stopped just down the street from the house, Cat jumped out and took off.

I was able to round him up, and decided to walk him just up the street to the house. However, he was not too excited about that. At.All.

He clawed. He moaned.

Once we got to the main intersection, that was it. He tore me to shreds and jumped out of my arms.

And he still isn't home. I have puncture wounds on my shoulders, and scratches all over my arms and neck. I have the most painful cut in between my fingers, and even one in my ear. Yes, inside my ear.

I know I've had even worse days. But, not only am I covered in battle wounds, and not only is my daughter's favorite ball o'fluff not home, but there was another casualty. My shirt. A favorite Old Navy shirt. Shredded.

And, if that can't qualify as a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day, then I don't know what can.

I need a spork, please...

So I can gouge my own eyes out.

4 days out of the week, I totally love my job. I'm making a difference. I'm encouraged. I encourage. I complete an assignment on time. I leave my mark. I laugh.

But, sometimes, there's that one day. That day where I'm frustrated. That day where I feel unappreciated and under-paid. That day that I go without a thank you. That day where if I'm checked in on one more time, I may possibly scream. And, seeing as how we do transvaginal ultrasounds, screaming would not be good for business.

But I can't help it. Sometimes, it is best just to keep doing things the way they've always been done, because it works. And if it works, why struggle to change it? And, sometimes, if we're given a task, expect it to be completed without checking in.

Because we are all adults. And we should treat each other that way. With respect. And the ability to have a personal picture on our computer. Because, doggonnit, some of us have cute babies that we miss during the day.

And we would rather be there with them. And a pint of Half Baked. Because it does make the whole world a better place to be.

Am I McFatty Material?

Several of the mommyblogs I read have a series called "McFatty Monday." It's a group of women, that since the birth of their child, or just because, have decided to lose weight, get in shape, and just plain eat healthier. Each Monday, they post on their success of the previous week, any setbacks, and encourage others on the same journey.

After I had Ansley, I dropped my weight quickly. I'm not trying to rub it in anyone's face at all. However, that quick drop of the weight led me to believe that I could eat anything I wanted, not exercise, and not gain back any of the weight. I took my personal rule of "only one sweet treat a day" to mean I had to have a sweet treat every day, and size wasn't an issue.

So, 8 months, 10 pints of Ben and Jerry's and 2 pants size later, I've realized that I need to get back in shape. Pronto.

Now, I'm not sayin' I want to lose a bunch of weight like my McFatty Friends have done. But, I do want to be healthy. Terribly. I don't even think I need to really watch what I eat. I'm doing a pretty good job of watching it take up residence on my butt. Seriously though, I pretty much stay away from caffeine (I miss my sweet tea dearly), salt, non-water beverages and fast food.

But, dude, I need to exercise more. My muffin tops are back.

So, here's the deal. I want to exercise five days a week. Acceptable exercise includes (but is not limited to): DWTS exercise DVD, at least a 30 minute bike ride, 45 minute walk (which includes walking around the mall for 45 minutes).

Other forms of exercise (ahem, it's exercise. Ask any doctor) do not count toward my weekly goal, but will be strongly encouraged (by the hubs, as always).

The way I see it, if I put it in writing, people are bound to ask me how it's going. So, keep me accountable.

But, if you see me with a tall glass of sweet tea and a pint of Half Baked, just know it was probably a bad day, and it's making me feel better, m'kay?

Where is my sweet little baby girl?

To whomever kidnapped my child and replaced her with a carbon-copy lookalike, listen up:

I WANT HER BACK. NOW.

Somehow, you managed to sneak in here when she turned 9-months old, and switch her out with a baby that looks like her, and sounds like her, and pretty much acts like her, except at nap time and bedtime.

Here's the deal. Up until this point, Ansley was no trouble to get to sleep. Nap time would come, and she'd be put in her crib with binky and bear, and sleep. For 2 hours. It was wonderful.

And she'd do the same thing in the afternoon. One for Daddy, and one for Mommy. And at bedtime? Yeah, it was glorious. A few snuggles, rock rock rock, kisses, bedtime, sleep. And sleep went from 8:30 p.m. to 8 a.m., with only peaceful sighs in between.

No cries. No whines. NO SCREAMING FOR AN HOUR IF IN BED, AND PLAYING FOR AN HOUR IF UP.

This baby stands in her crib, and grabs the side and pulls it back and forth, making this super annoying clicking sound over the monitor. This baby woke up every hour last night because she had rolled to her stomach and didn't like it. Or had kicked off her blankets and was cold. Or wanted to play. At 5 a.m.

Please kindly return my sleep-loving baby, m'kay? Immediately. And, while you're at it, make sure the obsessive drooling goes too. And the chewing on everything, even toes. And, if you have to, go ahead and return her with a tooth if that will get things back to normal.

Kisses,
Tiffany