Sometimes it's catchy.

I have been struggling a lot lately. I hate talking about it because sometimes I feel like nobody cares and nobody really wants to hear it. I feel like you're wondering why I'm not better already, I must not be trying hard enough.

Maybe I should exercise and go outside more, right?

I feel like I'm doing a lot to get better. I go to therapy, I am medicated to the hilt. I go to all of my doctor appointments and do what I'm told to do. I fake it, I smile and I laugh. I make the effort, I try not to nap all the time, I try to get out of the house, I try.

But still.

I feel like I can't feel. When the kids do something really great and I should feel a swell of pride? Nothing. When I can't pay a bill and I should be worried or upset? Nothing. When the sun is shining and things are going good that day and I should feel content or maybe even happy? Nothing. I feel like I'm in a weird position because I can't decrease my medication because then I'm an emotional mess and I want to die. If I increase it I feel like a zombie. At least at this dose I can function and that's something.

It doesn't mean it's a good way to exist.

But there have been a couple of things that's happened lately that make me pause and think... maybe my struggles with mental health aren't primarily because of my AFE. Maybe that just made it worse. I go through my Facebook memories everyday mostly to help me remember things but I'm noticing a lot of posts from the start of my profile (2009) are me being... depressed. I'm down, I'm flat out saying I'm depressed, I'm displaying crazy behavior that shows I'm OCD and anxious, and I think I should probably have been in therapy. I thought I was fine, I was efficient and helpful, I was an over achiever and I was crazy. I fully recognize now that I was out of control and I wish someone had really sat me down and said, "You need help, you are dealing with high functioning depression." and I probably wouldn't have done anything right then but I would have thought about it.

Fast forward to now and I worry that me being the way I am now affects my kids negatively. As it turns out, all of the behaviors they witnessed when they were younger are what shaped them. (Which you're right, I think about what Penelope and Lucy are going to be like so I worry about this.)

Over the weekend we had the kids clean the basement floor. They were responsible for the mess, they need to clean it. I saw Jackson run through the house and upstairs but I didn't think anything of it. Olivia came up to tell me Jackson bailed on her and she was (rightfully) pissed off. I call Jackson down and tell him to go back and help his sister. Problem solved.

Then when I went to bed that night, I find this on my night table.

Deadly fear of centipedes. You guys, no way could that thing be alive, it's been FREEZING and it's so cold in my basement.

I had no idea we were even out of bread so at least I knew before I went to use it. He had left me like $2 rolled up. I grab it, while laughing, and I was going to bring it to his room when I saw this on my doorway:

At this point I have almost pissed my pants because this is hilarious and adorable but now I can't go down, he's going to have hurt feelings. I made Matt go down and give him his $2 back because I am not taking his money. But I wondered if I've instilled guilt into him. He worries incessantly about things I know I would have worried about but I could care less about now, and I worry that this is going to eat him up.

Then I have Olivia. She is my over achiever, do it all, exceed expectations, perfectionist kid. She wants me to come speak at her school.

But apparently she's fully over me and my forgetfulness but she's at least really nice about it.

Then I was taking her to dance and she's telling me she has to make herself lists but her lists can't be "uneven" and she had to re-do it. I asked her to pull it out and let me see and this was it: 

Am I being unreasonable to think this is crazy? I don't want her to grow up and be neurotic like I was. Is she going down the road of high functioning depression?

I tell you, when I first became a mom I figured I would just wing it and it would all fall into place. That this mysterious set of skills that you need for motherhood would just show up and it would come naturally to me. I know the fact that that didn't happen really put me in a tail spin and I have sincerely muddled through being a mom. 

When I was 23 with my first baby (this is Olivia at three weeks) I had no idea what was down the road from me. It's a special kind of sting to go through these photos and not remember any of it, I have no connection to any of it, and I want to know where I went wrong. Am I making those mistakes again? Maybe I'm making new mistakes? I just really don't want my kids to struggle like I am. I really don't want them to ever feel like this, even a small piece of this. It's not OK and I don't know how to help them when I can't fix myself.

It's the little things that get you.

If you're new to the blog, please read Lucy's birth story HERE otherwise you might not understand why I'm a hot mess. 

I know I've always been open about my depression, and this will be no exception. It feels like every time I'm making some progress, that maybe I'm getting better, the universe shows me how messed up I still am. I should have known better taking on this project because just a week or so ago when my brother, sister in law, niece and nephew were here I didn't do so hot. I was actually OK when I saw my baby nephew. Granted, I didn't full on look at him, but he was next to me and I was doing alright. I was a little warm and it felt like little pricks all over me. You know when your leg falls asleep and you go to move it but it feels like needles? That's what it felt like, but all over my body. 

Then he cried. 

The cry is what did it. It sent me over the edge. 

I tried so hard. I sat in my seat, looked at a light, looked at the ceiling and counted backwards. Counted my breaths, tapped out a line on my leg, tensed every part of me and let it go, I did all of that and I just couldn't stop. I started crying. I realized there wasn't anywhere for me to actually go so I grabbed my theraputty stuff and I was in the hallway and doing breathing and counting exercises, squeezing the hell out of the putty, and it took me about 15-20 minutes to calm down and be normal. Now, I could have said something to people but it's not their fault. They shouldn't have to change what they are doing because of me, it's my job to adapt to them because this is life. But I've thought about that episode a lot lately. 

At my recent medication adjustment psychiatric appointment I talked about the unbelievable fatigue I still have and how I can't even do basic things without feeling like I need a nap to recuperate. Do you remember those commercials for Energizer batteries that had the Energizer Bunny? I compare it to that, when the bunny goes and goes and suddenly the batteries go down so you see this bunny get slower and slower but finally stopping? That's me. I can feel it happening in my body, it feels like a curtain coming down and I have to take a nap and it doesn't matter where I am. Which is great if I'm at home, not so great if I'm at Target. I've been on three different drugs at maximum doses and it doesn't do anything for me. I didn't notice any kind of difference. So my next option is Ritalin.

You guys, I am a 36 year old woman just put on Ritalin.

It kind of works. Which is how this happened.

It's just before dinner time and I'm zipping along with my Ritalin and I got the idea that I would clean and organize. We have an unused dresser and I decided I was going to use it in the basement to store mementos of the kids growing up. I've been storing all of these things in the closet in my office and it's getting crowded in there so I figured this was a good time to move it all down. 

But of course, if you start pulling it out, you'll want to look in it. 

 So I labeled each box with their name on it. I started this when Olivia was little and it holds the hospital bracelets, ultrasound photos, coming home outfit/hat, etc. I just wanted a box that had their stuff in it so maybe they'd want to look at it someday. Or use the clothes/sweaters for their kids. I don't know. I'm just sentimental and I was really good at only saving what would fit in this little box. 

Then I looked into Lucy's box. 

And I cried. 

 Inside Lucy's box are my hospital bracelets, one of hers, some ultrasounds, a rattle, a few hats, mittens, two sweaters and a shirt. I know the shirt came from my friends Gini & Eric. The rest of it... I have no idea. I realize nobody saved her coming home outfit. Nobody took pictures of us coming home so I can't even include it. I didn't save her birth announcement. 

I know it's stupid. I know in the grand scheme of things, it's not a big deal and she likely isn't going to care. I know all of this. 

But it's a big deal to me. Maybe more so with Lucy because I don't remember any of it and I so badly want something to help me remember. I want something tangible from that time. It's one thing to have had the Amniotic Fluid Embolism, but it feels cruel to take my memories away, too. It's bad enough that I look at baby pictures and I may as well be looking at a stranger. I want to remember what her cry sounded like, if she had hair and what it felt like on my cheek, what did she smell like, what did she feel like laying on my chest? I want to remember looking at her for the first time, having her handed to me all bundled up safe and snug. Did she like kisses on her cheek like her Penelope and Jackson? Did she want nothing to do with me like Olivia? Did she like being swaddled? Did she like it when I sang You Are My Sunshine? 

I'll never know any of this. 

It makes me so sad. It makes me feel like a failure of a mom that her box isn't great. That her baby book won't be like the others. That I'll never be able to tell her what she was like. I'm angry because I know that all of the moments I have today with her will be gone in a week or two. They are only borrowed moments. The pictures won't matter to me, but maybe to her someday. I hope she knows even if her mother can't remember that her mother loved her a whole lot. I hate feeling like things aren't even between the kids. I hate feeling like Matt knew I kept all of this stuff and why it was important to me and he couldn't even do it right. And I absolutely KNOW he had a lot going on but I'm angry that this just highlights everything is on me. Having died twice isn't enough to get out of those duties- it's still my job even if I can't remember. It's so frustrating. 

For perspective, this is Olivia's box. All the bracelets, a large packet of photos, footprints, baby announcement, and ultrasounds. Coming home outfit, first winter hat and mittens, hat from hospital, sweater made by Matt's grandma Bernice, Piglet rattle because she had a Classic Pooh room, first socks, first pacifier in a holder, candle and button from first birthday. Jackson and Penelope's are identical. 

It makes me angry. It makes me sad. It makes me feel like a terrible mom. It makes me feel like I'm not getting any better so I'm frustrated. I feel hopeless. I feel defeated. 

Mommy Awards 2017

A few months ago I had heard about this local event called the Duluth Moms Blog Mommy Awards 2017. Immediately, I wanted to go because it's an excuse to get out of the house, maybe meet some new moms, and get to know more about the Duluth Moms Blog group, which is relatively new, only launching in November 2016.

I was originally going to go with my good friend Amber but as it turns out, she's got a bum knee and was having surgery the same night as the event. Instead, I invited my new friend Nina because like me, she hardly gets out and splurging on herself is completely unheard of. So we went for dinner and almost missed the event entirely because we have so much in common. We weren't even fashionably late, we were actually dead last. Like, the door was locked and we had to knock last. HA!

And I'm not going to write about all of the details because the Duluth Moms Blog did an amazing job with their post, but I'll talk about the moment where I almost peed myself.

When we came in, everyone had done the tour and mingled, cake was already eaten, and we were coming in basically as awards were being given. Proof that my memory is horrendous is the fact that I had no idea how you would get nominated for an award so imagine MY surprise when my name was called for the "I Showered Two Days in a Row" award.

Joke is on THEM, though because I have not done that in over eight months. I got a certificate (which I am absolutely going to frame because I'll take any positive affirmations I can get) and some wine. Which.. I gave that to the person who actually nominated me, my friend Amber. I don't drink at all and Amber is a fan of wine, so I figured I'd bring it over along with a meal as she recuperates.

We took a group photo outside of Glensheen, courtesy of JaneCane Photography.

And of course, got one with my date, Nina.

I don't know what the qualifications were to get this award, and I haven't seen what Amber wrote, but it was a sweet surprise nonetheless. Thank you, dear friend. Thank you.

Adventures with four: month seven

Everything from this post is from March, which ended up being a HARD month for me mentally. I didn't realize turning 35 was going to be a "thing" for me because I'm not that person who cares about their age at all. I went on a trip with my friend Tammy (more on that later), and I.... I don't know. It was hard. Here were entries out of my journal: 

Came back from my trip. I'm in pain, absolutely everything on and in my body hurts and this is what I come home to. It only affirms that if I died, everyone in this house would be dirty and naked. The level of pissed off cannot be measured. The entire house is a freaking wreck. I can barely keep up as it is and now they want me to perform miracles. Sometimes I hate my family.

Penelope is so... tough. She's an absolute love bug some days but others she is so emotionally and physically draining. I'm not equipped to handle this. Lucy is great, though. She's pretty easy and that might be because she knows full well I can't handle everyone in melt down mode at once. Bless her little heart. But we have officially given up on thinking Lucy can share a room with Penelope. We've moved the crib into our room and it's just draining. I just want a solid night of sleep.

Penelope is the family animal whisperer. At least she thinks she is. She mostly hugs them a lot and tries to stick their tails in her ear. They don't enjoy it but they know surely she can't keep up with this forever. Right?

Lucy is starting to enjoy food. I gave up around month six for her and we're slowing starting back into it. She seems far more eager for the foods that smell the worst. Lucky us.

She also gets excited so easily. She'll shake her little hands, give us this face, and sometimes try to bounce on her bottom. She's officially too big (and heavy) for the swing so Matt moved it out of the living room.

Sometimes in the morning, on the days when I have the hardest time actually becoming mobile and getting up and at 'em, I just bring Lucy into bed with me and try to doze off. It never works as I'm paranoid I'm going to roll her off the bed but I try anyways.

Oh Penelope. You're lucky this poor dog is as tolerant as he is. Truly.

Nobody loves ice cream like Penelope does. She'll keep saying "eat" and "more" as if she's yelling at herself to shovel it in faster.

My friend Cassandra had her birthday. I tried to send a birthday greeting, this was the best I got. Lucy eating cardboard and Penelope saying "cheese" with her damn eyes closed. Sometimes you just accept that terrible is the best you're going to get.

Weekends are the hardest. Matt goes to work and I am here with all four on my own. I'm not in any way qualified to do this. I don't work in a day care for a reason, and I never wanted four kids for a reason. I can't even call it controlled chaos anymore.

Sisters.

Don't let Penelope's face fool you, she was just excited about this walk as Lucy was. It's still chilly here, I don't care what anyone says, but I'm trying. I've discovered even simple walks, which used to be so great for me, are so hard. I always feel like I'm going to just collapse and then I hurt so bad I can barely move the next day. It's tiring to be falling apart like this.

Check back tomorrow when I talk about the Duluth Mommy Blog Awards and how I walked away with one.