I have really dreaded coming back to this. Coming back means admitting I fell off the bandwagon.
Over the past month I've pretty much sucked. Hardcore yo. I gained back 4 or 5 pounds, last time I weighed myself it was 177 something, last Saturday. I've had a few good days this week. Got my workout on.
I did however just eat a pouch of muffins for dinner. But to my defense I brought one of those smart ones dinners, one I'd never tried before and it SUCKED so I had to get something out of the vending machine at work.
Anyway, let's start with Saturday. Saturday night I got Travis to babysit, so I actually got to leave my house. This is I think the third night this year I've actually gone out of the house after the kids went to sleep so I was pretty excited. I got pretty drunk, I know, sooo many calories in alcohol, and then to make things even worse I went to Denny's after and I the greasiest burger. It's okay though, I did a nice full body work out for two hours after I got home and promptly puked violently into the toilet afterwards so I'm pretty sure I ended up breaking even that night. In other news I'm pretty sure that burger was delicious and on Tuesday I found a drunk person selfie I took but don't remember doing. Kind of made me laugh.
Yesterday I was planning on working out, got way more of a workout than I'd planned. First I did my cleaning, not a huge deal, I have to clean my house on a daily basis because of the kids at least a little bit, put on some music and turn the ten minute pick up into a half hour dance festival, I think that's the only reason I didn't gain more weight this past month! But anyway. I was experimenting with some ways to work a workout into my every day stuff. So I was doing lunges as I ran the vacuum and squats and some booty shaking when I picked things up lol. Yes, it would of been humiliating for anyone else to watch.
But here's where shit got real. The house I'm renting had a fridge when I moved in, but I had my own fridge too. I knew I wouldn't be here forever and the landlord said he wasn't planning on replacing these if they went under, so I naturally decided to keep the fridge I already had. I moved it into the basement and used it as extra freezer space where I put my wok lunches and foods that I hoped to deter myself from eating by putting them in the basement lol.
Anyway, the fridge that was here started to smell like it was burning and was warm to the touch. It was still working, cold on the inside and all that, but I really wasn't in the mood for it to explode or something like that. So I asked Travis if he would help me bring the other one upstairs. Well, when he slept until 2pm this naturally led to a large argument and I ended up first scrubbing the shit out of the fridge in the basement, and then bringing everything from the fridge and freezer upstairs and into the basement to store in the one down stairs. Awfully annoying when I was trying to cook and had to travel downstairs for milk and butter to complete my meal. Literally a half hour after I've finished moving everything Travis texts me and says (only because I merely said I would have someone else help me) he'd be there in ten minutes to help me so I had to clear everything out of the fridge downstairs, bring everything back up stairs, and move the fridge and then put everything back in it.
I think I pinched something in my back. Needless to say the kids went to sleep a little early last night so I could go to sleep a little early, which of course never works out anyway but the effort was there and that matters.
Despite gaining some of my weight back I've actually been feeling pretty good about my body lately. Which is maybe a little odd. But I don't know, I guess I've gained some more confidence as my own person or something. Who knows. What I do know is I can still see my collarbones (not like super defined but whatever) even four pounds heavier I'm still 14 pounds less and that's a big deal, my hair lately has been awesome, I'm having a great butt day, I finished writing an entire book in less than a month (I've started dozens and this is only the second I've finished so superrr exciting) and of course, the eagles are running 3-0 so far. I guess I just feel like there are a lot of things going well right now in my life. My weight is not something that defines me, but don't get me wrong, it's still something I'm very serious about correcting because it does play a huge factor into what kind of future I will have and hold long my kids will have their mommy for. So here I am, four or five pounds heavier than I was a month ago and still feeling strong. I'm ready to fight, get back on the horse.
I actually enjoy working out once I do it, it's just getting started...
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Monday, September 22, 2014
More anxiety posts
I'm kind of just rolling with this anxiety thing. I decided to post some more about it. A lot of people mistake getting anxiety as having anxiety. Everyone gets anxiety, it is a natural part of life, it actually helps people to grow. Having a big speech to make and getting anxiety but forcing yourself through it, that's healthy anxiety. That's situational anxiety.
I've realized that a lot of people don't really understand anxiety. Nor do they understand how to be around someone with anxiety. So I'm going to share some more of my own anxiety tidbits. Basically somethings I feel like you should know about people with anxiety, some of my own anxiety reactions, and things not to say to someone who has anxiety.
WELL IDFK. I know, that seems like a fairly reasonable question doesn't it? When someone is upset you want to know why, and how you can help? My anxiety doesn't often come with an explaniation, a formal warning. It just happens. I have certain triggers, but a lot of the time I don't understand anymore than you do.
When I tell you I don't know. I just don't know. Bombarding me with other questions isn't going to make me know any sooner, I probably won't ever figure it out. "Well are you stressed at work?" "Did you and Travis have a fight?" "Did I do soemthing." I. DO NOT. EFFING. KNOW! I love that you are invested in my life right now that you want to help but I don't know.
Here's a special segment just for you lovely readers on things not to say to someone with anxiety.
Remember folks, us anxiety filled people are human too. We tend to feel things stronger and definitely overreact, but you'd probably be surprised how hard we try not to.
I've realized that a lot of people don't really understand anxiety. Nor do they understand how to be around someone with anxiety. So I'm going to share some more of my own anxiety tidbits. Basically somethings I feel like you should know about people with anxiety, some of my own anxiety reactions, and things not to say to someone who has anxiety.
We look like normal people
You'd be surprised that the person sitting right beside you could be having anxiety right this very second. Anxiety is not the same as an anxiety attack, though most people with serious anxiety problems will experience them and even those who don't have an anxiety disorder can have panic attacks if provoked. The funny thing though, when someone is having a lot of anxiety, the look just about the same as you and I, only maybe sometimes a little sweatier.Fight or flight reaction
There is something called a fight or flight reaction, and when I'm having anxiety, I'm all for flight. I have this overwhelming urge to just go. Go where? I haven't the slightest clue, I just feel like I need to get the hell out of this place. Often times that's not possible, like say if I'm at work, or in the middle of taking a leak when the anxiety strikes. If I'm in a situation where I can get up and leave the room I still feel exactly the same from three rooms away. Anxious, and still feeling the need to run.There is a difference between getting anxiety and having anxiety
When I finally tell people I have anxiety their first question is usually what that means. When I try (because even as a writer, I often struggle to find the perfect words to explain how I feel) to explain what my anxiety means and does to me, I usually get people say "Oh yeah, I get like that sometimes too." It is actually frustrating, I know that people are usually trying to be supportive and all of that. But what it really feels like is that you are belittling the seriousness of anxiety. I don't "get like that sometimes" I don't "Get nervous for important days" I get like that all the time, most of the time for no reason. And 'big days' for me? Usually result in me getting physically ill along with of course the anxiety attacks. I never get nervous, I have a constant feeling of impending doom for no reason.Playing twenty questions
Which brings me to my second point. When I'm having anxiety the question I always get is "Why?"WELL IDFK. I know, that seems like a fairly reasonable question doesn't it? When someone is upset you want to know why, and how you can help? My anxiety doesn't often come with an explaniation, a formal warning. It just happens. I have certain triggers, but a lot of the time I don't understand anymore than you do.
When I tell you I don't know. I just don't know. Bombarding me with other questions isn't going to make me know any sooner, I probably won't ever figure it out. "Well are you stressed at work?" "Did you and Travis have a fight?" "Did I do soemthing." I. DO NOT. EFFING. KNOW! I love that you are invested in my life right now that you want to help but I don't know.
Touching through anxiety
Wanting to help. That brings me right up to my very next point. Now I have another friend who agrees with me on this one but otherwise I'm not sure if it's a typical anxiety issue or if we are both just weird. I do not like to be touched when I'm having a bad spell. I'm not depressed, I don't need a hug. I'm not puking (although that happens sometimes) you don't need to wipe my hair from my face and rub my back. This isn't a romantic stroll down the boardwalk, I don't want my hand held. I hate to sound so downright bitchy but the quickest way to turn my "bad spell" into a "freak out." If you touch me I'm likely going to shrink away or jerk backwards like you've burned me or something. I can't help it. Don't get offended. It's nothing personal, and I might appreciate it later, but not now. If my anxiety is bad enough that I don't want to be touched I'm already struggling, because I almost always have anxiety and I still love hugs and holding hands and cuddling, but when I get to that point where I will openly admit that I'm having anxiety, it's not just a little nervousness. I think one of the big reason I don't like to be touched goes back to the fight or flight reaction. Maybe being touched makes me feel more trapped, bogged down, I don't know. All I know is if I pull my hand away or ask you to please not touch me, I mean that I can't be touched right now.Turning my anxiety problem around for you
I love Travis, but he is the worst person in the world to have anxiety around. When I tell him I'm having anxiety it's automatically "Well I don't know what I did this time" when I don't want to be touched it's "I don't know what the fuck you want me to do" and when I can't talk or calm down or tell him I need a minute it's usually a threat to just leave completely. Don't turn someone's anxiety issues into something about you. Anxiety is a really serious thing, it's a very scary thing, and it's a very personal thing. My anxiety attacks, even when brought on by someone else (common examples: someone saying "We need to talk" someone not texting back, a phone call from a private number, running into someone you know unexpectedly, someone telling me they've got a surprise for me etc etc) it is still a very personal thing. It's something that no one can solve for you, it's something that I really need to work through myself. Turning my anxiety problems around to making them your problem, or God forbid threatening me and forcing me to do the things that make me more anxious when I'm having a meltdown are really just going to make me want to not be open with you about my anxiety.People with anxiety have odd coping mechanisms
Just like I said I don't like being touched, some people are the opposite. Some people breathe into bags, some people scream at the top of their lungs, a lot of people turn to music or deep breathing techniques, I like to get into small places. Don't knock someone's anxiety solutions. If it helps them, that's all the matters. I don't even like small places that much, I don't really mind them, unless they are crowded or dark, but I don't really like them either. But for some reason when I'm having really, really, bad anxiety I'll hide in the shower or the closet. Yes, I find it a horribly embarrassing feat, and I try to avoid it at all costs, but it's one of the few things I've found that can center me.Here's a special segment just for you lovely readers on things not to say to someone with anxiety.
"Calm down/Relax"
Number one worst thing to say to someone with anxiety. My best friend has anxiety as well and we refer to 'relax' as "the R word" because it's a word we hate to even use. If we simply could relax don't you think we would? Our brains are literally wired in such a way that we aren't capable of just relaxing. Because trust me when I say if there was a magic shut down button on our brains, we would all be hitting it! It's frustrating when someone tells you to do something you can't do. I wouldn't shoot you in the foot and tell you to stop bleeding on my carpet! If you want to get punched in the nose, by all means, tell someone mid panic attack to calm down."It's all in your head."
Oh my God, I've been living with anxiety all these years, how did I never figure that out! Oh wait. I did. Yes, we know it's all in our heads. And somehow, we still can't stop it?"You're just doing this for attention"
Okay, I'm a writer. Not a blogger, but a writer. I've finished (though not published yet) two novels and got a good three other works over 40k in. The whole reason I even got this laptop is to work on my novels. Seriously, if I needed attention, I could think of a heck of a lot better things than "I have anxiety." Creating fictional stories to draw emotions out of other people is literally what I do! And also, if I were doing this for attention I wouldn't run away and hide in the shower. I would go ahead and have my panic attack right in your annoying judgemental face. It wouldn't have taken me years before admitting to a single person that I have this problem. It wouldn't be something I only even bring up to certain people if I'm having an off day. I certainly wouldn't devote enough of my"You're over reacting."
Uhm, yeah, I probably am. That doesn't make me reaction feel any less traumatic though. So I'm over reacting in your eyes? That's cool. In my eyes I still can't even see straight from this."You don't have anxiety."
This is actually something I've only heard twice. Once from my mom and once from my grandma. I'd been open with my anxiety for years with my significant other but not my own family. When I finally broke my silence and voice my problems, they were denied. "A panic attack feels like a heart attack. You'd know if you were having a panic attack." Uhm, first of, yes, I do know when I'm having a panic attack, second off different people can actually experience different reactions with their anxiety. Third off, you don't have to have an anxiety attack to have an anxiety disorder. I have impending world doom anxiety feeling on an almost daily basis, have had many many really bad anxiety spells, but have only hand a handful of actual anxiety attacks. AND LASTLY. You should never try to tell anyone how they feel. Looking on the outside in, you don't know a single thing about that person. Looking at someone, you know their eye color, their hair color, a rough height and weight guesstimate, and you know what they tell you. Unless you can walk on water, or read minds, you don't know how someone is feeling inside. I've had plenty of people tell me before that they had anxiety or were depressed that I did seriously doubt, but guess what? I don't fucking know for sure! I can't take a pair of forceps, force open the ear, and climb in to examine their brain. I've got no clue what goes on in their mind, the happiest and most well put together people may be the biggest train wreck inside that you'd ever see. You don't ever get to question someone else's feelings because you don't know. It's bullshit, and I don't think my mom and grandma have ever pissed me off more than they did that day."Just take a pill."
The expression "take a chill pill" means something totally different for people who struggle with anxiety or depression. People like me? I am pretty sure I should go to a doctor about my anxiety because it sometimes feels crippling, definitely passed the point of interfering with my every day life, but I can't bring myself to go to a doctor. Doctors are a huge trigger for me. I don't know why, I've never liked going to the doctors. I think part of it is I always thought my pediatrician was perverted, maybe it's just another random irrational trigger of mine. I don't know. But I haven't gone to the eye doctor in probably six years and I can hardly read the screen a foot away from my face, I haven't seen a regular doctor in I don't even know how long. I had an OB while I was pregnant, and I've taken the kids to see their doctor with only mild panic, but otherwise no way. There have been times I've thought I was dying (thank you anxiety for turning my leg cramp into a blood clot and my headache into a brain tumor) but still didn't go. Figuring if it didn't go away I would in a few days. When I finally do go to the doctor I'm going to end up taking a notebook full of problems with me and he's going to be baffled at what the heck is wrong with me. And I just don't like medicines. It's not that I don't trust them, I think I might be afraid of getting addicted or something, who knows. But I don't even take tylenol unless I really think my brain is going to explode. I just don't want to be dependent on some sort of drug just to be normal. I've seen the giant pill organizer my mom and my grandma and my aunt have used and I just don't want any part of it.Remember folks, us anxiety filled people are human too. We tend to feel things stronger and definitely overreact, but you'd probably be surprised how hard we try not to.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Anxiety struggles
I'm not dead!
I'm still here!
A little MIA. But I'm still here. Lot's of things I could write about, a lot of weight related things I could drag on and on about, lot's of life events and such. But today I've decided not to do any of that.
Today, I'm going to discuss anxiety.
Again.
I once shared one of the worst anxiety attacks of my life on here. And today I'm just going to talk about anxiety in general. It's taken me quite some time to become open about my anxiety. I mean, a large part of me thought it was normal to lay in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about that one time I was rude to little Susie on the swingset eight years ago, gosh, does she still remember that? Did I apologize to her? I should send her a card, or a cake. That's it, I'll bake her a cake, that wouldn't be coming on too strong would it? What if she has an allergy and I kill her. Susie must hate me.
It wasn't until one night when I was explaining to Travis why I needed to sleep with the door locked, with my jeans still on, and why there had to be a lamp beside my bed and that my messy room was a strategic protection mechanism that I realized I had a problem. See, I figured if someone broke into the house obviously my room needed to be locked to hopefully deter them. If they somehow did break in they would struggle getting to me through all the mess. When they reached me and, of course attempted to rape me I would slow them down by still wearing my jeans and while they tried to take my jeans off I could just hit them over the head with the lamp and promptly escape. I was I believe 16 at the time. And yes, I thought I was normal, brilliant even. For years I had pretended to be asleep in my bed when I was absolutely positive there was someone in the house hoping they would leave me alone if I didn't see their face.
When Travis pointed out, with a laugh of course, that I was crazy I was confused. I was crazy? It wasn't normal to be preparing for the world to explode at every moment? The sinking feeling in my stomach all the time wasn't 'normal.' I didn't just dislike the doctors because they sucked, it's because I'm crazy? I don't just have stage fright, it's part of my anxiety too?
Before I never talked about it because I figured that's just how everyone was. Everyone 'reflected' on their day as they laid in bed. Everyone had fears. Etc. Once I realized I had a legitimate problem and it wasn't okay, well that's just when it got even worse. I talked to a few friends, very few friends, about my anxiety. And had a very hard time putting it into words what it was like. I was asked once what it felt like. And they only thing I could think to say was that my stomach felt really funny, my chest was tight, and above all else I felt like I needed to run.
I still don't know exactly how to put my anxiety into words. So rather than try to explain what it feels like, I'm going to explain a few things that have set me off, just this past few days.
A few years back I had my first and only one night stand. Revenge sex actually. Travis had been cheating on me for like two years, I confronted him with the other woman, and when I left he yelled that he didn't care and I would just go home and cry alone all night anyway. So I said fuck. that. I called a friend and said "Hey, come over and have sex with me tonight." I know. What a hoebag. But he came over saying we would just 'hang out.' We were still friends after but eventually because travis and I had gotten back together and I told Travis what had happened I wasn't allowed to talk to him anymore.
We talked a few months back but after hanging out once and it not going so well we haven't talked since. Well he sent me a snapchat the other night. Immediately I'm filled with anxiety. Why is he messaging me? What does he want? Did I do something? Is he only messaging me because we're both single? He's hanging out with someone who was my best friend in highschool, are they talking about me? Did I get fatter since the last time we saw each other? What are they saying about me? What do I say back to him? He said he's drinking, is this my cue to ask if I can join? What if he asks me to join?! I don't want to join but I don't want to be rude. Gosh I just need an excuse to not hangout without seeming rude. What if he thinks I'm rude and never talks to me again?
And then it got even worse when I replied and he didn't reply back. Did I say something stupid? Are they laughing even more about me now. Omg, I called him an alcoholic maybe he hates me now. Omg, what if he knew I was joking and he thinks I came on too strong and thinks I like him now. Oh God, what have I done!
^This is a typical reaction of mine.
I'm talking to the guy I like and he doesn't text back until like three hours later. Now a very large part of my brain figures he is probably at work, The anxiety part of my is again, flipping the fuck out. He hates me. I'm annoying. I shouldn't have texted him, I should have waited for him to text me first. That was such a stupid text too. Omg, he's never going to want to talk again. When I see him at work I'm going to have to hide my face, maybe I should put my head on my desk and pretend to sleep, fuck, I can't sleep at work, I'll get fired. Omg, I'm getting fired. I'm getting fired and I'm going to lose my house! Omg...I'm losing my house and I'm going to have to live with my mom again. Omg, I can't live with my mom again, I already work with her, I need a breakkkkk from my mom.
Did I lock my door before I came up to bed? I locked my door...did I? I know I did...I checked three times...locked the screen door too....but....did I really?
Yesterday was one of the manager's birthday, big five-oh. We order lunch every Friday, and I've been rehearsing since last night how to tell him I was buying his lunch today. I was here for two hours before I finally called and said what I'd rehearsed in my mind for 16 hours, "What do you want and from where, I'm buying your birthday lunch today!"To which he declined anyway because he's making six figures and I'm definitely not. But literally, 16 hours planning to say I wanted to buy him lunch.
Police sirens, ambulance sirens, fire truck sirens, all make me panicked. I have this irrational fear that no matter what the circumstances are they're coming to me. I live on a very busy street and usually get police sirens drive by at least twice a day.
Getting dressed in the morning is a big task for me. It only takes me five minutes to do my make up and everything but deciding what to wear that doesn't look like shit is a huge struggle,
Am I sure I locked the door? Really sure? Absolutely positive. Fuck, I'd better go check...but uh, if someone's in here I don't want them to catch me...I locked the door.............but, I mean....did I?
I gave one of the guys a hug today, as I do everyday, and he was sitting down and he said I "buried his face in my boobs" and I've wanted to crawl under my desk ever since. It's been seven hours, and I'm still freaking out about the comment.
I have to wear shoes or slippers at night now because I have an irrational fear the mouse is going to run out and run over my feet and scratch my feet with his tiny claws and I'm going to get all kinds or horrible mouse diseases and die.
Speaking of diseases, I have skin cancer, a blood clot in my leg, a tumor in my brain, and I'm pretty sure I'm having a stroke right now. (All undiagnosed of course)
Six years ago on one of my first days at work I accidentally muttered 'shit' as I was hanging up the intercom and I still break out in the sweats whenever I think about, and I used an intercom all.the.time at this job so I think about it alot.
Did I lock the door? Did I really lock it.
I usually go to the grocery store with my mom. Today I'm going alone. Everyone is going to look at me and think I'm a loser. I hate going places alone. I hate being in big crowds. When people whisper or laugh I feel like it's always about me.
Literally about to have a conniption about football. Die hard Eagles fan and the game on Sunday was a nail biter. So much so that I took a variety of pictures through out the game demonstrating my many horrified, hysterical, over dramatic, and furious faces. Oh yes, I threw a broom too. And afterwards the stress gave me the biggest headache and a case of the shits (I shit you not) and then I was too wound up to sleep.
One of our salesguys had back surgery a few months ago and I ask on an almost daily basis when he's coming back. I want to make him a cake for when he gets back but I'm terrified that no one will tell me when he's coming back and I won't know until I get to work and boom, too late to make a cake.
Running into people in public. Like I can sit and talk with one of the salesmen here for an hour, but if we run into eachother at the grocery store....internal screaming.
Is the window locked too?
Wyatt's van was 8 minutes late dropping him off from school and I was literally shaking, I was two minutes away from calling the police because it was 8 minutes late. 8 minutes. It was only the second day of school, they're three years olds, probably still not on schedule yet with the van, I knew I was being crazy, but I was still ready to call the police.
Every night, and I do mean every night, I'm convinced someone is in my house. And every night, and I do mean every night, I can't sleep because I can't shut my mind off. The first day Wyatt learned how to open the door I didn't know he'd opened it. I just came into the kitchen and saw the door open. I then proceeded to stalk around my house with the biggest knife I owned trying to sneak up on the intruder before he could sneak up on me.
I overreact to simple things, over analyze other things, obsess over things, if someone says something rude to someone else I spend a large portion of my day feeling embarrassed for that person even if they don't even care. One of the things that helps with my anxiety is small places. Which is odd because cramped places set me off if I'm in them with other people or in them alone, but for some reason they center me when I'm having a really bad anxiety spell. So yes, I can sometimes be caught hiding in the bathtub with the curtain pulled closed, cramped into the kid's closet (as I don't have a closet I have a dresser.
I'm still here!
A little MIA. But I'm still here. Lot's of things I could write about, a lot of weight related things I could drag on and on about, lot's of life events and such. But today I've decided not to do any of that.
Today, I'm going to discuss anxiety.
Again.
I once shared one of the worst anxiety attacks of my life on here. And today I'm just going to talk about anxiety in general. It's taken me quite some time to become open about my anxiety. I mean, a large part of me thought it was normal to lay in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about that one time I was rude to little Susie on the swingset eight years ago, gosh, does she still remember that? Did I apologize to her? I should send her a card, or a cake. That's it, I'll bake her a cake, that wouldn't be coming on too strong would it? What if she has an allergy and I kill her. Susie must hate me.
It wasn't until one night when I was explaining to Travis why I needed to sleep with the door locked, with my jeans still on, and why there had to be a lamp beside my bed and that my messy room was a strategic protection mechanism that I realized I had a problem. See, I figured if someone broke into the house obviously my room needed to be locked to hopefully deter them. If they somehow did break in they would struggle getting to me through all the mess. When they reached me and, of course attempted to rape me I would slow them down by still wearing my jeans and while they tried to take my jeans off I could just hit them over the head with the lamp and promptly escape. I was I believe 16 at the time. And yes, I thought I was normal, brilliant even. For years I had pretended to be asleep in my bed when I was absolutely positive there was someone in the house hoping they would leave me alone if I didn't see their face.
When Travis pointed out, with a laugh of course, that I was crazy I was confused. I was crazy? It wasn't normal to be preparing for the world to explode at every moment? The sinking feeling in my stomach all the time wasn't 'normal.' I didn't just dislike the doctors because they sucked, it's because I'm crazy? I don't just have stage fright, it's part of my anxiety too?
Before I never talked about it because I figured that's just how everyone was. Everyone 'reflected' on their day as they laid in bed. Everyone had fears. Etc. Once I realized I had a legitimate problem and it wasn't okay, well that's just when it got even worse. I talked to a few friends, very few friends, about my anxiety. And had a very hard time putting it into words what it was like. I was asked once what it felt like. And they only thing I could think to say was that my stomach felt really funny, my chest was tight, and above all else I felt like I needed to run.
I still don't know exactly how to put my anxiety into words. So rather than try to explain what it feels like, I'm going to explain a few things that have set me off, just this past few days.
A few years back I had my first and only one night stand. Revenge sex actually. Travis had been cheating on me for like two years, I confronted him with the other woman, and when I left he yelled that he didn't care and I would just go home and cry alone all night anyway. So I said fuck. that. I called a friend and said "Hey, come over and have sex with me tonight." I know. What a hoebag. But he came over saying we would just 'hang out.' We were still friends after but eventually because travis and I had gotten back together and I told Travis what had happened I wasn't allowed to talk to him anymore.
We talked a few months back but after hanging out once and it not going so well we haven't talked since. Well he sent me a snapchat the other night. Immediately I'm filled with anxiety. Why is he messaging me? What does he want? Did I do something? Is he only messaging me because we're both single? He's hanging out with someone who was my best friend in highschool, are they talking about me? Did I get fatter since the last time we saw each other? What are they saying about me? What do I say back to him? He said he's drinking, is this my cue to ask if I can join? What if he asks me to join?! I don't want to join but I don't want to be rude. Gosh I just need an excuse to not hangout without seeming rude. What if he thinks I'm rude and never talks to me again?
And then it got even worse when I replied and he didn't reply back. Did I say something stupid? Are they laughing even more about me now. Omg, I called him an alcoholic maybe he hates me now. Omg, what if he knew I was joking and he thinks I came on too strong and thinks I like him now. Oh God, what have I done!
^This is a typical reaction of mine.
I'm talking to the guy I like and he doesn't text back until like three hours later. Now a very large part of my brain figures he is probably at work, The anxiety part of my is again, flipping the fuck out. He hates me. I'm annoying. I shouldn't have texted him, I should have waited for him to text me first. That was such a stupid text too. Omg, he's never going to want to talk again. When I see him at work I'm going to have to hide my face, maybe I should put my head on my desk and pretend to sleep, fuck, I can't sleep at work, I'll get fired. Omg, I'm getting fired. I'm getting fired and I'm going to lose my house! Omg...I'm losing my house and I'm going to have to live with my mom again. Omg, I can't live with my mom again, I already work with her, I need a breakkkkk from my mom.
Did I lock my door before I came up to bed? I locked my door...did I? I know I did...I checked three times...locked the screen door too....but....did I really?
Yesterday was one of the manager's birthday, big five-oh. We order lunch every Friday, and I've been rehearsing since last night how to tell him I was buying his lunch today. I was here for two hours before I finally called and said what I'd rehearsed in my mind for 16 hours, "What do you want and from where, I'm buying your birthday lunch today!"To which he declined anyway because he's making six figures and I'm definitely not. But literally, 16 hours planning to say I wanted to buy him lunch.
Police sirens, ambulance sirens, fire truck sirens, all make me panicked. I have this irrational fear that no matter what the circumstances are they're coming to me. I live on a very busy street and usually get police sirens drive by at least twice a day.
Getting dressed in the morning is a big task for me. It only takes me five minutes to do my make up and everything but deciding what to wear that doesn't look like shit is a huge struggle,
Am I sure I locked the door? Really sure? Absolutely positive. Fuck, I'd better go check...but uh, if someone's in here I don't want them to catch me...I locked the door.............but, I mean....did I?
I gave one of the guys a hug today, as I do everyday, and he was sitting down and he said I "buried his face in my boobs" and I've wanted to crawl under my desk ever since. It's been seven hours, and I'm still freaking out about the comment.
I have to wear shoes or slippers at night now because I have an irrational fear the mouse is going to run out and run over my feet and scratch my feet with his tiny claws and I'm going to get all kinds or horrible mouse diseases and die.
Speaking of diseases, I have skin cancer, a blood clot in my leg, a tumor in my brain, and I'm pretty sure I'm having a stroke right now. (All undiagnosed of course)
Six years ago on one of my first days at work I accidentally muttered 'shit' as I was hanging up the intercom and I still break out in the sweats whenever I think about, and I used an intercom all.the.time at this job so I think about it alot.
Did I lock the door? Did I really lock it.
I usually go to the grocery store with my mom. Today I'm going alone. Everyone is going to look at me and think I'm a loser. I hate going places alone. I hate being in big crowds. When people whisper or laugh I feel like it's always about me.
Literally about to have a conniption about football. Die hard Eagles fan and the game on Sunday was a nail biter. So much so that I took a variety of pictures through out the game demonstrating my many horrified, hysterical, over dramatic, and furious faces. Oh yes, I threw a broom too. And afterwards the stress gave me the biggest headache and a case of the shits (I shit you not) and then I was too wound up to sleep.
One of our salesguys had back surgery a few months ago and I ask on an almost daily basis when he's coming back. I want to make him a cake for when he gets back but I'm terrified that no one will tell me when he's coming back and I won't know until I get to work and boom, too late to make a cake.
Running into people in public. Like I can sit and talk with one of the salesmen here for an hour, but if we run into eachother at the grocery store....internal screaming.
Is the window locked too?
Wyatt's van was 8 minutes late dropping him off from school and I was literally shaking, I was two minutes away from calling the police because it was 8 minutes late. 8 minutes. It was only the second day of school, they're three years olds, probably still not on schedule yet with the van, I knew I was being crazy, but I was still ready to call the police.
Every night, and I do mean every night, I'm convinced someone is in my house. And every night, and I do mean every night, I can't sleep because I can't shut my mind off. The first day Wyatt learned how to open the door I didn't know he'd opened it. I just came into the kitchen and saw the door open. I then proceeded to stalk around my house with the biggest knife I owned trying to sneak up on the intruder before he could sneak up on me.
I overreact to simple things, over analyze other things, obsess over things, if someone says something rude to someone else I spend a large portion of my day feeling embarrassed for that person even if they don't even care. One of the things that helps with my anxiety is small places. Which is odd because cramped places set me off if I'm in them with other people or in them alone, but for some reason they center me when I'm having a really bad anxiety spell. So yes, I can sometimes be caught hiding in the bathtub with the curtain pulled closed, cramped into the kid's closet (as I don't have a closet I have a dresser.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Update and cleft strong
I'm back!
First I guess I'll give a brief update on my grandfather. He made a miraculous recovery. And I do mean miraculous. As in, we were picking out what to put in the obituary and what to wear to the funeral and the next day he's requesting pudding. We were initially very cautious, we are aware of something called "the surge" before death and thought surely that's what it was. But three days of sitting up talking and sugars being about normal, they've discharged him. Yep. He's home now.
Wyatt starts his first full year of preschool tomorrow, three days a week for two and a half hours. He went a few times at the end of the year last year and since he got his new peppa pig back pack he is super excited.
As far as my healthy living and dieting is going? I practically ate myself into a food coma this past week. But, I'm feeling much better now. Mentally that is. Physically I'm a jag-off for wasting the past three weeks pretty much. I feel better now though and I'm ready to get rolling...again. I mean, the past few weeks I'd done okay eating, but not a whole lot of working out other than my horrible dance parties with myself while I try to clean.
My sister just bought the kids a mini trampoline, because I don't really have enough shit laying around my house already, but I like to jump on it a few times every time I walk past it and I was looking into some rebounding exercises today. I love new toys.
I'd actually like to share something else I'm working on though. Non-weight related.
My eldest son was born with a cleft lip, and I recently took to the web and designed a shirt for cleft awareness. his cleft lip was actually a really big part of my life. I know it's not like it's fatal, or really horrible or anything like that, but it's still a big part of ME. I don't even think it will be a big deal to him growing up, but it played a huge role in shaping my life. I'm feeling kind of lazy, so I'm just going to copy and paste exactly what I did on my facebook. I'm selling these shirts, not for profit, I guess not really even selling then, I'm ordering them for my family and friends who are interested. And this is what I had to say whenever I shared the design.
Now I'm sure the first thing you've noticed is "But isn't that a breast cancer ribbon?" No. Cleft awareness ribbons were granted "hot pink" as their color, breast cancer was to be "pale pink." Breast cancer has sort of taken over the entire pink spectrum because of how many it affects and how catastrophic the illness can be. Hot pink is however still supposed to represent clefts, while that rarely happens, that is the reasoning behind the color choice and the ribbon to this shirt. This is a great opportunity to educate others when they ask you the same question when you're wearing this shirt (;
The front would be the Cleft strong, and the back would be the "let your smile change the world" cleft smiles are often referred to as 'wide smiles.'
As far as pricing goes. I won't know the actual price until I know how many are ordered. The way the website works is that the price per shirt goes down depending on the quantity ordered. Just to be clear, I am NOT making a profit from these shirts. At all. I will ask you to pay the same price the website charges me, and I will post pictures of the final quote when I make the order just for verification. I'm doing this because I decided I wanted these shirts for ME, but then realized it could be a nice opportunity to spread awareness. I will not order your shirt without payment first, preferably in full. I'm not trying to buy a bunch of shirts with my money and have a lot of people change their minds after I've already paid and then I'm screwed.
I will leave this up for probably a week or so to give everyone who wants a chance to order. You can comment, message, or text me sizes you want. Feel free to share this status or ask others around too.
Oral clefts are one of the most common birth defects in the country, affecting around 1 in every 1000 children born. Cleft lips are more common in boys, cleft lips and palates are more common in girls. Although it is often hereditary, or caused by environmental factors such as prescription medicines, they can also be spontaneous as well (as was Wyatt's case.) Although it is one of the most common birth defects it's also still widely believed that it is a rarity in our country in healthy pregnancies with no family history. Many had told me they only thought it happened very often in third world countries.
I realize a cleft isn't a life threatening illness, it does not require immediate surgery to sustain life, it does not even affect the general health of the affected child. Many believe after its "fixed" it's not really a big deal. So I'm going to do something I've never really fully done here. I'm going to share my story. The important part is already above, so whether or not you choose to read further is at your digression. But this is our story, and why I believe our family is cleft strong. This is a story my family is family with, and I have discussed to an extent with certain friends. But I believe now I will share the whole thing.
When you get pregnant it's supposed to be an exciting time. My people, especially not 17 year olds, ever really consider the possibility that something could be WRONG with their baby. There's this beautiful bliss cloud that floats around your head that says "That would never happen to me. I'm healthy." My fears in my pregnancy were "how will I support this child?" "What if I have a miscarriage or a stillborn?" The extent of my worries were focused around how terrible child birth would be, would I have a boy or a girl, and oh my gosh what color should we paint the room?
I told only a small select few people about his cleft. No matter how anyone reacted their reaction didn't seem to satisfy me. If they were horrified I was offended, if they carried on like I'd said the weather was calling for rain, I was furious. No one seemed to understand. Despite the fact that I had told so few, that still didn't stop others from finding out. I'll never forget someone I hardly ever talked to stopping me in the hallway to say "she'd heard" she was "sorry" how "you never here about that around here" and how she would "MAKE the doctors fix it." Like no, I thought I'd just leave it like that? That was the first day I let myself cry like a baby in front of my boyfriend.
As if it wasn't bad enough I was the pregnant 17 year old, now I was the pregnant 17 year old with something wrong with her kid. Ironically, our school was having a cookie sale to raise funds for a little boy to get a cleft repaired. I was mortified. Everyone knew my baby was going to be "messed up" like the little boy in the pictures on the posters for the sale.
The extent of my depression in my pregnancy is something almost no one really knew. I was bitchy, but still, I never talked about being scared for my son, I talked about being scared for labor, or how bad my back hurt. I was terrified and confused. Your entire purpose in life when you have a child is to keep that child safe, here I was, not even having given birth yet and I had already failed. I couldn't protect him, or keep him safe, I couldn't even create him without screwing up.
I was scared I wouldn't be able to love him. When babies are born and parents have that "ah ha" moment as they count all of his little fingers and toes and wail through tears of happiness "hes perfect!" I would never have that moment. I would never get my "ah ha" moment. I wouldn't cry "he's perfect" I would simply have to state "he's here" and inquire as to whether the extent of his deformity was isolated to only his lip or if the palate was affected as well. I thought I would never want to take his picture or to take him in public. I thought I was be embarrassed with him, I worried I couldn't love him enough.
Can you imagine? Being only halfway through your pregnancy. Just now finding out it was a boy, for another 4 months I would have to pretend to be excited, pretend to be interested as we picked out cribs, and bedding and names. I had to pretend that I was excited to meet my precious prince or everyone would think I was a horrible person. I loved my son, don't get me wrong. I have never not loved my son. But I wanted to think he was perfect, to love him more. And these were things I felt I wouldn't be able to do. Which made me feel GUILTY. Guilt, on top of crippling depression? My pregnancy was worse than my post partum depression, even now I recognize that my pregnancy was one of the most depressing times of my life. I always felt sad, depressed, embarrassed, or even bitter.
I gave up caffeine, I walked all the time, I took care of myself, made sure to eat, to take my vitamins, I did EVERYTHING right. And yet MY baby was the one with the deformity. It seemed unfair. I looked at other babies and stared at the perfect lips, I would be a better parent, I was a better person than so many of these moms and still...THEY had perfect babies. And after I would think this, I
That perfect moment where the world seems to slow down and you aren't aware of anything or anyone else in the world. Not the doctor pushing on your stomach or the snot running down your face. I wasn't looking at Wyatt and looking at his cleft, I was looking at his huge dark eyes just staring at me. Completely aware, as they left him lay on my stomach and it struck me. I wanted to touched him. Almost as if to make sure he was really there. And I'll never forget the rest of my entire life my first words to Wyatt, even though I had my 'ah ha' moment I didn't shout he's perfect, I didn't sigh, I didn't gasp he's here..I touched him, and he was slimy and gooey, and the first thing Wyatt ever heard from my mouth was "he's so gross!" It wasn't that I actually thought he was gross. It wasn't that I expected anything less than that after given birth, it's just...the cold hard truth. He was gross. Gross and perfect.
I took more pictures than my phone could even hold just in those five months I was blessed to see his cleft each morning. He gave his cleft a big EFF YOU and nursed like a champ despite it. While I never heard Wyatt coo, or babble, I did get to watch him fit BOTH of his fists in his mouth, I did get to marvel at his not getting a single ear infection (as we were warned cleft babies usually have to get tubes in their ears from), I got to watch a smile that took up his entire face. I loved Wyatt's cleft. I gave his cleft kisses, I mused how he made friends EVERY WHERE he went, no grandma left untouched by his beauty. I didn't mind when anyone stared at him because I stared at him all the time too. Little kids were the only ones to ask "what's wrong with him?" or "what happened to his face?" and I didn't mind that either. We took pride in educating them, though as soon as we would start to explain their eyes usually dulled with boredom.
I will say it again. I loved Wyatt's cleft. I was not only nervous for his surgery, but I also mourned the loss of his perfect face, the face God shaped with his own hands to make wonderful just for me. Because he knew, even before I did, that I was a mom who would love him, show him off, have my ah ha moment. He knew I could handle this, and he knew that Wyatt could too. God doesn't make mistakes, he sculpted Wyatt's wonderful face with the utmost certainty that it was perfect.
We were again blessed beyond our expectations when his teeth came in, he has a notch in his gums and were were expecting a lot of dental problems but the teeth even came through where his notch was. He teeth were late, especially late on the side of his cleft, but they were healthy and boy does he like brushing them. He started talking well after his second birthday and hasn't stopped since. I don't believe Wyatt's cleft defines him. His lip is beautiful, even with out the little indent under the nose that I gazed longingly at while I was pregnant. His cleft lip is not the biggest part of who he is, his big kisses, his 'lovins' and how much he loves being 'a nice big brother' the way he plays pirate and his obsession with peppa pig, that is who Wyatt is. But his cleft? That is a very large part of who I am. It is an experience that humbled me, something that I believe made me grow up a lot, something that I believe not only made me appreciate Wyatt but also bonded me much closer to him. I got so many more bragging rights about how strong and amazing Wyatt is from this, and instead of continuing to cry about it after it was all over and done I decided that I was blessed. Blessed to appreciate the little milestones other parents might not, like the first time he was able to blow raspberries, or his ear infections (a lot of other parents might only think about it if they DID get them), I was blessed with two beautiful faces, and two first smiles, and that's something only a select few are blessed with. The experience made us all a little braver, and a little stronger, and maybe I annoy everyone with posting every year on the anniversary of his surgery (november 9th!) but it is one of the biggest days of the year to me. Even more so than my own birthday, it's a big part of who I am and I still miss his cleft.
First I guess I'll give a brief update on my grandfather. He made a miraculous recovery. And I do mean miraculous. As in, we were picking out what to put in the obituary and what to wear to the funeral and the next day he's requesting pudding. We were initially very cautious, we are aware of something called "the surge" before death and thought surely that's what it was. But three days of sitting up talking and sugars being about normal, they've discharged him. Yep. He's home now.
Wyatt starts his first full year of preschool tomorrow, three days a week for two and a half hours. He went a few times at the end of the year last year and since he got his new peppa pig back pack he is super excited.
As far as my healthy living and dieting is going? I practically ate myself into a food coma this past week. But, I'm feeling much better now. Mentally that is. Physically I'm a jag-off for wasting the past three weeks pretty much. I feel better now though and I'm ready to get rolling...again. I mean, the past few weeks I'd done okay eating, but not a whole lot of working out other than my horrible dance parties with myself while I try to clean.
My sister just bought the kids a mini trampoline, because I don't really have enough shit laying around my house already, but I like to jump on it a few times every time I walk past it and I was looking into some rebounding exercises today. I love new toys.
I'd actually like to share something else I'm working on though. Non-weight related.
My eldest son was born with a cleft lip, and I recently took to the web and designed a shirt for cleft awareness. his cleft lip was actually a really big part of my life. I know it's not like it's fatal, or really horrible or anything like that, but it's still a big part of ME. I don't even think it will be a big deal to him growing up, but it played a huge role in shaping my life. I'm feeling kind of lazy, so I'm just going to copy and paste exactly what I did on my facebook. I'm selling these shirts, not for profit, I guess not really even selling then, I'm ordering them for my family and friends who are interested. And this is what I had to say whenever I shared the design.
"I had had a few people interested when I posted about getting cleft shirts made up. For those of you who were interested this will be the design (99% sure anyway...I keep playing with it still lol).
Now I'm sure the first thing you've noticed is "But isn't that a breast cancer ribbon?" No. Cleft awareness ribbons were granted "hot pink" as their color, breast cancer was to be "pale pink." Breast cancer has sort of taken over the entire pink spectrum because of how many it affects and how catastrophic the illness can be. Hot pink is however still supposed to represent clefts, while that rarely happens, that is the reasoning behind the color choice and the ribbon to this shirt. This is a great opportunity to educate others when they ask you the same question when you're wearing this shirt (;
The front would be the Cleft strong, and the back would be the "let your smile change the world" cleft smiles are often referred to as 'wide smiles.'
As far as pricing goes. I won't know the actual price until I know how many are ordered. The way the website works is that the price per shirt goes down depending on the quantity ordered. Just to be clear, I am NOT making a profit from these shirts. At all. I will ask you to pay the same price the website charges me, and I will post pictures of the final quote when I make the order just for verification. I'm doing this because I decided I wanted these shirts for ME, but then realized it could be a nice opportunity to spread awareness. I will not order your shirt without payment first, preferably in full. I'm not trying to buy a bunch of shirts with my money and have a lot of people change their minds after I've already paid and then I'm screwed.
I will leave this up for probably a week or so to give everyone who wants a chance to order. You can comment, message, or text me sizes you want. Feel free to share this status or ask others around too.
Oral clefts are one of the most common birth defects in the country, affecting around 1 in every 1000 children born. Cleft lips are more common in boys, cleft lips and palates are more common in girls. Although it is often hereditary, or caused by environmental factors such as prescription medicines, they can also be spontaneous as well (as was Wyatt's case.) Although it is one of the most common birth defects it's also still widely believed that it is a rarity in our country in healthy pregnancies with no family history. Many had told me they only thought it happened very often in third world countries.
I realize a cleft isn't a life threatening illness, it does not require immediate surgery to sustain life, it does not even affect the general health of the affected child. Many believe after its "fixed" it's not really a big deal. So I'm going to do something I've never really fully done here. I'm going to share my story. The important part is already above, so whether or not you choose to read further is at your digression. But this is our story, and why I believe our family is cleft strong. This is a story my family is family with, and I have discussed to an extent with certain friends. But I believe now I will share the whole thing.
When you get pregnant it's supposed to be an exciting time. My people, especially not 17 year olds, ever really consider the possibility that something could be WRONG with their baby. There's this beautiful bliss cloud that floats around your head that says "That would never happen to me. I'm healthy." My fears in my pregnancy were "how will I support this child?" "What if I have a miscarriage or a stillborn?" The extent of my worries were focused around how terrible child birth would be, would I have a boy or a girl, and oh my gosh what color should we paint the room?
The ultrasound where they saw Wyatt's cleft was a happy one. He was so flexible in there he was sucking on his toes! They revealed that he was a boy, something I had secretly wished for, my boyfriend, mother and I were all just so tickled to see my perfect son. It was some time in the following week that I got a message on my phone from a midwife about the ultrasound "something they saw." Naturally, I panicked, I remember specifically my phone wasn't working right. I kept trying to call her back and it kept hanging up, as a naturally anxious person to begin with I thought the world was ending. I remember thinking "it's his heart, it's his heart" because my own mother had had a heart murmur. When the sweet old midwfie explained it was a cleft lip and what a cleft lip was I remember saying "okay?" and waiting for more. Why was this such a big deal, why had she scared me to death like that? What's WRONG with her? I think it took me approximately four hours to really let the cleft sink in. But it wasn't his heart.
I told only a small select few people about his cleft. No matter how anyone reacted their reaction didn't seem to satisfy me. If they were horrified I was offended, if they carried on like I'd said the weather was calling for rain, I was furious. No one seemed to understand. Despite the fact that I had told so few, that still didn't stop others from finding out. I'll never forget someone I hardly ever talked to stopping me in the hallway to say "she'd heard" she was "sorry" how "you never here about that around here" and how she would "MAKE the doctors fix it." Like no, I thought I'd just leave it like that? That was the first day I let myself cry like a baby in front of my boyfriend.
As if it wasn't bad enough I was the pregnant 17 year old, now I was the pregnant 17 year old with something wrong with her kid. Ironically, our school was having a cookie sale to raise funds for a little boy to get a cleft repaired. I was mortified. Everyone knew my baby was going to be "messed up" like the little boy in the pictures on the posters for the sale.
The extent of my depression in my pregnancy is something almost no one really knew. I was bitchy, but still, I never talked about being scared for my son, I talked about being scared for labor, or how bad my back hurt. I was terrified and confused. Your entire purpose in life when you have a child is to keep that child safe, here I was, not even having given birth yet and I had already failed. I couldn't protect him, or keep him safe, I couldn't even create him without screwing up.
I was scared I wouldn't be able to love him. When babies are born and parents have that "ah ha" moment as they count all of his little fingers and toes and wail through tears of happiness "hes perfect!" I would never have that moment. I would never get my "ah ha" moment. I wouldn't cry "he's perfect" I would simply have to state "he's here" and inquire as to whether the extent of his deformity was isolated to only his lip or if the palate was affected as well. I thought I would never want to take his picture or to take him in public. I thought I was be embarrassed with him, I worried I couldn't love him enough.
Can you imagine? Being only halfway through your pregnancy. Just now finding out it was a boy, for another 4 months I would have to pretend to be excited, pretend to be interested as we picked out cribs, and bedding and names. I had to pretend that I was excited to meet my precious prince or everyone would think I was a horrible person. I loved my son, don't get me wrong. I have never not loved my son. But I wanted to think he was perfect, to love him more. And these were things I felt I wouldn't be able to do. Which made me feel GUILTY. Guilt, on top of crippling depression? My pregnancy was worse than my post partum depression, even now I recognize that my pregnancy was one of the most depressing times of my life. I always felt sad, depressed, embarrassed, or even bitter.
I gave up caffeine, I walked all the time, I took care of myself, made sure to eat, to take my vitamins, I did EVERYTHING right. And yet MY baby was the one with the deformity. It seemed unfair. I looked at other babies and stared at the perfect lips, I would be a better parent, I was a better person than so many of these moms and still...THEY had perfect babies. And after I would think this, I
would again go back to the horribly feeling of guilt again.
May 25th 2011 I went in for a scheduled induction at already 5cm dialated and 90% effaced. I had a pretty easy labor, filled with playing 'scoops' on my phone and complaining insessively about my IV hurting. On May 26th Wyatt Michael Patterson was born, weighing in at a perfect 6 lbs 12.5 ounces and 20 inches long. I had my ah ha moment.
That perfect moment where the world seems to slow down and you aren't aware of anything or anyone else in the world. Not the doctor pushing on your stomach or the snot running down your face. I wasn't looking at Wyatt and looking at his cleft, I was looking at his huge dark eyes just staring at me. Completely aware, as they left him lay on my stomach and it struck me. I wanted to touched him. Almost as if to make sure he was really there. And I'll never forget the rest of my entire life my first words to Wyatt, even though I had my 'ah ha' moment I didn't shout he's perfect, I didn't sigh, I didn't gasp he's here..I touched him, and he was slimy and gooey, and the first thing Wyatt ever heard from my mouth was "he's so gross!" It wasn't that I actually thought he was gross. It wasn't that I expected anything less than that after given birth, it's just...the cold hard truth. He was gross. Gross and perfect.
And he was here.
I took more pictures than my phone could even hold just in those five months I was blessed to see his cleft each morning. He gave his cleft a big EFF YOU and nursed like a champ despite it. While I never heard Wyatt coo, or babble, I did get to watch him fit BOTH of his fists in his mouth, I did get to marvel at his not getting a single ear infection (as we were warned cleft babies usually have to get tubes in their ears from), I got to watch a smile that took up his entire face. I loved Wyatt's cleft. I gave his cleft kisses, I mused how he made friends EVERY WHERE he went, no grandma left untouched by his beauty. I didn't mind when anyone stared at him because I stared at him all the time too. Little kids were the only ones to ask "what's wrong with him?" or "what happened to his face?" and I didn't mind that either. We took pride in educating them, though as soon as we would start to explain their eyes usually dulled with boredom.
I will say it again. I loved Wyatt's cleft. I was not only nervous for his surgery, but I also mourned the loss of his perfect face, the face God shaped with his own hands to make wonderful just for me. Because he knew, even before I did, that I was a mom who would love him, show him off, have my ah ha moment. He knew I could handle this, and he knew that Wyatt could too. God doesn't make mistakes, he sculpted Wyatt's wonderful face with the utmost certainty that it was perfect.
And then the time came. The time to 'fix' or 'repair' his cleft. I don't like either term, because I didn't see it as something broken or damaged. I didn't want to have his lip done. I didn't want to put him under, and I didn't want to change him. As someone who has anxiety 98% of the time, I remember while Wyatt was back in surgery for a number of hours that I honestly don't recall exactly how many, I felt completely numb. I felt like I should be freaking out, or hysterical, but I felt just empty.
I would of course cry like a big baby again when I saw him. And I remember again, my first thought being unconventional. "He looks like a monkey." My first thought when I saw my son post surgery was that he looked like a monkey. Something else I would lie about of course and tell everyone he looked great. I carried him crying the entire way to our room where we would stay for the next three days.
I remember crying as I held him, with my mother and grandma wiping their eyes behind me, as our nurse joked about how a lot of moms insist "that's not my baby" after their cleft surgery or are just 'crazy' and wanting to hit her. I remember it took about 70 washes to finally get the blood out of my neon green shirt I'd bought at Michaels. I remember them not letting us leave until he pooped and one of the only things that would make him happy was to walk around the halls and pull him in the wagon. I remember it being so hard because I had been breast feeding and cosleeping and could do neither now and I remember asking politely for him to be put back on the strong painkillers twice before snapping at the nurses and demanding it NOW while fighting back my own helpless tears. But more than anything from the entire experience I remember the next day.
He smiled.
It was a sort of unsure smile, it seemed tight, probably felt wrong to him, but I'll never in my entire life forget it. His second, first smile. The following weeks with the arm restraints and the tape over his lip were not a whole lot of fun. I liked to draw mustaches on the tape before I would put it on him and that made me a little bit happier. I remember it wasn't as hard as we thought it would be, I had taken off I think two weeks from work to be with him and he seemed up to spirits far before I had to go back. I was glad to be with him though.
We were again blessed beyond our expectations when his teeth came in, he has a notch in his gums and were were expecting a lot of dental problems but the teeth even came through where his notch was. He teeth were late, especially late on the side of his cleft, but they were healthy and boy does he like brushing them. He started talking well after his second birthday and hasn't stopped since. I don't believe Wyatt's cleft defines him. His lip is beautiful, even with out the little indent under the nose that I gazed longingly at while I was pregnant. His cleft lip is not the biggest part of who he is, his big kisses, his 'lovins' and how much he loves being 'a nice big brother' the way he plays pirate and his obsession with peppa pig, that is who Wyatt is. But his cleft? That is a very large part of who I am. It is an experience that humbled me, something that I believe made me grow up a lot, something that I believe not only made me appreciate Wyatt but also bonded me much closer to him. I got so many more bragging rights about how strong and amazing Wyatt is from this, and instead of continuing to cry about it after it was all over and done I decided that I was blessed. Blessed to appreciate the little milestones other parents might not, like the first time he was able to blow raspberries, or his ear infections (a lot of other parents might only think about it if they DID get them), I was blessed with two beautiful faces, and two first smiles, and that's something only a select few are blessed with. The experience made us all a little braver, and a little stronger, and maybe I annoy everyone with posting every year on the anniversary of his surgery (november 9th!) but it is one of the biggest days of the year to me. Even more so than my own birthday, it's a big part of who I am and I still miss his cleft.
Don't think just because the cleft is repaired the struggle is over. Naturally, a cleft smile doesn't like the same as that as someone who was born cleft free. They used to call it a "hare lip" because, like a hare there is the separation of the lips. It's not so much a term used anymore, but still. The medical world has had so many more advanced, cleft repairs are looking better and better as the years go on, but you are still seeing a scar, a 'tight' looking smile, often times the lips actually are different, one side usually pulls up a little. Those with clefts may have dental problems, speech problems, self confidence issues. Those born with a cleft palate are looking at multiple surgeries throughout their entire life. Even with just the lip, often times they go back in to reshape the nose, to trim the scar tissue in the lip, in Wyatt's case the notch in his gum there is a question of whether or not we will want to put him but under for that as well. Once you have a cleft in the family you are also at an increased risk for another cleft baby. Meaning not only was Sawyer at a higher risk, but when Wyatt and Sawyer have children they will pass the gene onto their kids, and their kids to theirs, and so on and so forth. I was at peace with it when I was pregnant with Sawyer, honestly, because it had made me stronger, it had made me more aware, I wasn't naive enough to think "nothing would happen to my kids" I had a better idea of what we were getting into and I wasn't scared. The whole ultrasound with our high risk doctor and I was admittedly hopeful he would be cleft free I just kept thinking in my head of that first smile after Wyatt's surgery and how I knew we could get through anything. Wyatt's cleft will forever be in our family now, and it will always be a very big part of who I am. Not in a bad way really though. I consider our family cleft strong."
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Family emergency and a blogger break...
Will probably be MIA or at least short in the coming days.
Grandfather is having a lot of medical problems. I mean, he has been for a long time, he's been in and out of the hospital literally dozens of times this year for sugar problems but it's different this time.
I weighed myself today instead of tomorrow because I'll be In the hospital tomorrow. 174.0 so I've essentially maintained the last two weeks but I haven't really tried much either...right now all I want to do is drink booze and eat. A combination that would surely make me barf. So I wont. I'll have to choose one or the other.
But last night his sugar was really high. It read "high" the machines don't go over 700, your sugar should run between 120-180, but normal for him is around 200. He has been on hospice care for about a week and a half, the hospice nurses are supposed to make him as comfortable as they can at home rather than ending their life in a hospital. His doctor told the hospice nurse he wanted them to take him to the ER, the hospice nurse said her job was to keep him OUT of the hospital and she would have to talk to her supervisor first. Because of his high sugar, which ended up being 1001, he had a heart attack. Now I'm stuck with the "what if" they would have taken him to the hospital right away and not pussy footed around.
But now he's in icu. He's had a heart attack. His kidneys are shutting down. I didn't get to see him today but his knees were apparently turning purple/blue from lack of oxygen.
He thought he was fishing a lot. He used to fish in all of his free time. He used to take us fishing all the time. He thought he was fishing and he talked of seeing angels. I'm honestly really surprised he made it through the night.
Grandma said he looked really peaceful. He was sleeping and she said practically all of his wrinkles are gone. She think he's at peace and he's going tonight. Hopefully in his sleep if he does goes.
But anyway I'm probably not going to be very concerned with blogging for the next few days, I have no plans on working out, I don't have plans of doing much of anything at all.
I feel like shit. Because he's been in the hospital so many times it always doesn't even scare us anymore. Like before when he first starting going downhill he'd have maybe two hospital trips a year and everyone ran around like a chicken with their head cut off. Now it's just part of the daily...it's scary being around him sometimes.
Less than two years ago I had five grandparents, and before the week is over (a generous estimation) I will probably be down to one. I don't handle death well, I mean, I don't think anyone really does.
I go to my mom's every sunday, my grandparents live two doors down from my mom, we lived with my grandparents for the first nine years of my life, I take the kids down to visit every sunday. Wyatt loves his pap pap. Death blows and my anxiety makes me seriously disgruntled over doctors and hospitals.
I was supposed to be taking the kids to a birthday party tomorrow but now I'm dropping them off at dad's and spending the whole day in the icu.
Grandfather is having a lot of medical problems. I mean, he has been for a long time, he's been in and out of the hospital literally dozens of times this year for sugar problems but it's different this time.
I weighed myself today instead of tomorrow because I'll be In the hospital tomorrow. 174.0 so I've essentially maintained the last two weeks but I haven't really tried much either...right now all I want to do is drink booze and eat. A combination that would surely make me barf. So I wont. I'll have to choose one or the other.
But last night his sugar was really high. It read "high" the machines don't go over 700, your sugar should run between 120-180, but normal for him is around 200. He has been on hospice care for about a week and a half, the hospice nurses are supposed to make him as comfortable as they can at home rather than ending their life in a hospital. His doctor told the hospice nurse he wanted them to take him to the ER, the hospice nurse said her job was to keep him OUT of the hospital and she would have to talk to her supervisor first. Because of his high sugar, which ended up being 1001, he had a heart attack. Now I'm stuck with the "what if" they would have taken him to the hospital right away and not pussy footed around.
But now he's in icu. He's had a heart attack. His kidneys are shutting down. I didn't get to see him today but his knees were apparently turning purple/blue from lack of oxygen.
He thought he was fishing a lot. He used to fish in all of his free time. He used to take us fishing all the time. He thought he was fishing and he talked of seeing angels. I'm honestly really surprised he made it through the night.
Grandma said he looked really peaceful. He was sleeping and she said practically all of his wrinkles are gone. She think he's at peace and he's going tonight. Hopefully in his sleep if he does goes.
But anyway I'm probably not going to be very concerned with blogging for the next few days, I have no plans on working out, I don't have plans of doing much of anything at all.
I feel like shit. Because he's been in the hospital so many times it always doesn't even scare us anymore. Like before when he first starting going downhill he'd have maybe two hospital trips a year and everyone ran around like a chicken with their head cut off. Now it's just part of the daily...it's scary being around him sometimes.
Less than two years ago I had five grandparents, and before the week is over (a generous estimation) I will probably be down to one. I don't handle death well, I mean, I don't think anyone really does.
I go to my mom's every sunday, my grandparents live two doors down from my mom, we lived with my grandparents for the first nine years of my life, I take the kids down to visit every sunday. Wyatt loves his pap pap. Death blows and my anxiety makes me seriously disgruntled over doctors and hospitals.
I was supposed to be taking the kids to a birthday party tomorrow but now I'm dropping them off at dad's and spending the whole day in the icu.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Skinny shaming and fat bashing
Skinny shaming and fat bashing.
Let's just get one thing straight, both of those are fudged up, knock that shit off. You ladies especially!
When you see someone horribly over weight you immediately think they're gross. You don't consider the possibility that they have a medical condition that prevents them from losing weight, maybe they were recently in an accident and bed ridden for some time, or possibly that they've already lost a great deal of weight? Or how about the fact that maybe they're just the nicest person you'll ever meet. The person you're mocking might volunteer with seniors, they might donate oodles of money, maybe they foster children from bad lives.
But all you see is someone who is fat. Someone who because they are fat must be unhealthy? If they are over weight they must just have no self control.
I have sat and watched someone chow down on a bag of doritos while exclaiming how fat people don't take care of their bodies. I've watched someone add m&ms and peanut butter to an entire box of mac and cheese and eat it (don't even get me started on how gross that is!) And later in life talk about how over weight individuals have "no self control." I've heard that working out is so great why don't fat people just do it?
And then I've also heard the snickering as someone heavier jogs around the block. I've watched someone over weight buy a diet soda and heard the comment "if she wanted a diet she should have skipped the big mac!"
It's seriously disturbing that a heavy set woman in a bathing suit is referred to a whale sighting! If you put on a "fatkini" you are being disrespectful because "no one wants to see that."
People who fat bash are usually people who think they are the bees knees, usually who think they'll never get fat, or really insecure people.
And then there is skinny shaming.
Far less talked about, but just as bad. There are some who try desperately to gain weight. Some who really just cant. There are medical conditions that cause people to be underweight too.
My cousin for example. His throat was too small to ear a lot of foods. He thought he had allergies to practically everything because it felt like his throat closed up when he ate, especially meats. Come to find out (almost in his 30s) that his throat was just really narrow! They stretched it out and he put on a good deal of weight in a small chunk of time because for God's sake he could actually EAT!
Calling someone a "skinny bitch" or telling them to "eat a sandwich" is just as immature as calling someone a whale and suggesting they order a salad. It's rude, and it hurts.
There are a lot of people who are skinny and like their body, there are a lot of people who are fit and work hard for their body, and then there are people who get to hear all the time how boys like something to grab onto, how stick figures are disgusting, how curvy girls are best.
People who skinny shame are usually bigger people who are jealous and insecure of their own weight. Sometimes these people are even people who were fat bashers forty pounds ago.
Here's the thing. I don't care if you're skinny, curvy, fat, or fucking shaped like a square. You are a person first. Your weight? It's just a number that pops up on a scale. It. Does. Not. Define. You. Confidence is beautiful, putting others down is ugly. I think healthy is sexy. Does that sound condescending? No because there are plus sized people with more endurance in their pinky fucking toe than I have in my whole body. There are plus sized models who work out daily, dancers who shake their size 11 asses off, and a man pushing 300 pounds in his 60s with a heart as strong as a 20 year olds. That shit is sexy to me. Healthy is sexy.
Quit being a judgemental, inconsider, jealous, or just down right rude person. Next time you are judging someone I dare you to just say hello to them. Introduce yourself, shake their hand maybe, if for one second you can take a walk in their shoes, and THEN form an opinion of them.
Nobody wins when everyone's losing.
Let's just get one thing straight, both of those are fudged up, knock that shit off. You ladies especially!
When you see someone horribly over weight you immediately think they're gross. You don't consider the possibility that they have a medical condition that prevents them from losing weight, maybe they were recently in an accident and bed ridden for some time, or possibly that they've already lost a great deal of weight? Or how about the fact that maybe they're just the nicest person you'll ever meet. The person you're mocking might volunteer with seniors, they might donate oodles of money, maybe they foster children from bad lives.
But all you see is someone who is fat. Someone who because they are fat must be unhealthy? If they are over weight they must just have no self control.
I have sat and watched someone chow down on a bag of doritos while exclaiming how fat people don't take care of their bodies. I've watched someone add m&ms and peanut butter to an entire box of mac and cheese and eat it (don't even get me started on how gross that is!) And later in life talk about how over weight individuals have "no self control." I've heard that working out is so great why don't fat people just do it?
And then I've also heard the snickering as someone heavier jogs around the block. I've watched someone over weight buy a diet soda and heard the comment "if she wanted a diet she should have skipped the big mac!"
It's seriously disturbing that a heavy set woman in a bathing suit is referred to a whale sighting! If you put on a "fatkini" you are being disrespectful because "no one wants to see that."
People who fat bash are usually people who think they are the bees knees, usually who think they'll never get fat, or really insecure people.
And then there is skinny shaming.
Far less talked about, but just as bad. There are some who try desperately to gain weight. Some who really just cant. There are medical conditions that cause people to be underweight too.
My cousin for example. His throat was too small to ear a lot of foods. He thought he had allergies to practically everything because it felt like his throat closed up when he ate, especially meats. Come to find out (almost in his 30s) that his throat was just really narrow! They stretched it out and he put on a good deal of weight in a small chunk of time because for God's sake he could actually EAT!
Calling someone a "skinny bitch" or telling them to "eat a sandwich" is just as immature as calling someone a whale and suggesting they order a salad. It's rude, and it hurts.
There are a lot of people who are skinny and like their body, there are a lot of people who are fit and work hard for their body, and then there are people who get to hear all the time how boys like something to grab onto, how stick figures are disgusting, how curvy girls are best.
People who skinny shame are usually bigger people who are jealous and insecure of their own weight. Sometimes these people are even people who were fat bashers forty pounds ago.
Here's the thing. I don't care if you're skinny, curvy, fat, or fucking shaped like a square. You are a person first. Your weight? It's just a number that pops up on a scale. It. Does. Not. Define. You. Confidence is beautiful, putting others down is ugly. I think healthy is sexy. Does that sound condescending? No because there are plus sized people with more endurance in their pinky fucking toe than I have in my whole body. There are plus sized models who work out daily, dancers who shake their size 11 asses off, and a man pushing 300 pounds in his 60s with a heart as strong as a 20 year olds. That shit is sexy to me. Healthy is sexy.
Quit being a judgemental, inconsider, jealous, or just down right rude person. Next time you are judging someone I dare you to just say hello to them. Introduce yourself, shake their hand maybe, if for one second you can take a walk in their shoes, and THEN form an opinion of them.
Nobody wins when everyone's losing.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
ALS ice bucket challenge
I typically make it a point to not follow trends. I've never had a man crush monday or throw back thursday, I don't post "truth is" statuses or do a whole lot to garter towards the typical social scene, a lot of times I think the social scenes are stupid.
This is different.
I was nominated to do the ALS ice bucket challenge, as I'm sure many others have been. This is a "trend" I happily accepted.
No, it's not that I was particularly excited to throw freezing cold water on my head. Though, just throwing it out there, you do burn more calories when you're in the cold because your body has to work harder to keep it's regular temperature up, so uh, I probably burned a few extra calories this way.
But anyway, if you're unfamiliar with amoyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), also known as Lou Gehrigs disease, it is a disease which affects nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord. It is fatal. It is progressive, as the disease progresses those suffering from it will eventually become paralyzed, losing even the ability to talk or breathe on their own.
Here is my ALS ice bucket challenge.
Now I've seen a lot of people complaining about the ice bucket challenge, if you're one of those people who think it is stupid, well this one is for you.
Since July 29th over 40 million has been raised for ALS research. This is a horribly underfunded cause, last year in the same span of time they had raised only around 2 million, they had only raise 19.4 million in an entire year last year! There have been over 760,000 new donors in just these past few weeks.
The ice bucket challenge is about more than just raising money though. It is about awareness. And let me tell ya, you would have had to have your head stuck in the sand for quite a while to be missing this one. Before this challenge even started a lot of people didn't even know what ALS was! Myself included, I had heard of Lou Gehrig's disease before, but like so many others my focus was on breast cancer, autism, and causes like the march of dimes. Don't get me wrong, these are all charities we should be funding, if you catch wind of a MS walk or gay rights parade by all means, march away. These are the things everyone knows about though. ALS is something terribly horrifying that so many people in our world are oblivious to! The ALS ice bucket challenge has for the first time since 1939 that the disease has really been front and center in our faces.
I've seen a few post about how "if you feel so bad for people with ALS why not do something about it!" I've seen "It's so sad that so many people would rather dump water on their head than donate to ALS" I even saw "For all you people posting how awesome you are on a social website for dumping water on your head and how much you actually care about ALS me and my boyfriend actually care about the people with ALS and are making cards for them!" First off, we are doing something about it! We're raising awareness! Second off, just because we dumped doesn't mean we didn't donate. I'll admit I didn't donate the full $100, but I'm barely scraping by as it is with two kids a minimum wage job and zero financial help from dad, most of the people who dump also donate. The average ALS donation is ranging around $46, so if that's the average and they've made 40 million, obviously every dollar counts. And third off, to the couple who is so much better than everyone else for not publicly doing something for attention, your nasty post and bragging about what you're doing is no better than are dumping...actually, it's just about the same...AND IT'S STILL A GOOD THING!
I've seen quite a few videos featuring someone who knows or even has ALS, but this particular one here is one that made me the most emotional. It's a very powerful video, and it really is something everyone who hates the ALS ice bucket challenge should watch.
Here are some facts about ALS, some of them might even surprise you.
And now, just for grins and giggles here is my post-icebucketchallenge selfie, a picture of my battle wounds (ice cut me!) And just because a photo grid with only two pictures is lame here's one of my best friend after she accepted my nomination.
Now I challenge YOU.
This is different.
I was nominated to do the ALS ice bucket challenge, as I'm sure many others have been. This is a "trend" I happily accepted.
No, it's not that I was particularly excited to throw freezing cold water on my head. Though, just throwing it out there, you do burn more calories when you're in the cold because your body has to work harder to keep it's regular temperature up, so uh, I probably burned a few extra calories this way.
But anyway, if you're unfamiliar with amoyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), also known as Lou Gehrigs disease, it is a disease which affects nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord. It is fatal. It is progressive, as the disease progresses those suffering from it will eventually become paralyzed, losing even the ability to talk or breathe on their own.
Here is my ALS ice bucket challenge.
Now I've seen a lot of people complaining about the ice bucket challenge, if you're one of those people who think it is stupid, well this one is for you.
Since July 29th over 40 million has been raised for ALS research. This is a horribly underfunded cause, last year in the same span of time they had raised only around 2 million, they had only raise 19.4 million in an entire year last year! There have been over 760,000 new donors in just these past few weeks.
The ice bucket challenge is about more than just raising money though. It is about awareness. And let me tell ya, you would have had to have your head stuck in the sand for quite a while to be missing this one. Before this challenge even started a lot of people didn't even know what ALS was! Myself included, I had heard of Lou Gehrig's disease before, but like so many others my focus was on breast cancer, autism, and causes like the march of dimes. Don't get me wrong, these are all charities we should be funding, if you catch wind of a MS walk or gay rights parade by all means, march away. These are the things everyone knows about though. ALS is something terribly horrifying that so many people in our world are oblivious to! The ALS ice bucket challenge has for the first time since 1939 that the disease has really been front and center in our faces.
I've seen a few post about how "if you feel so bad for people with ALS why not do something about it!" I've seen "It's so sad that so many people would rather dump water on their head than donate to ALS" I even saw "For all you people posting how awesome you are on a social website for dumping water on your head and how much you actually care about ALS me and my boyfriend actually care about the people with ALS and are making cards for them!" First off, we are doing something about it! We're raising awareness! Second off, just because we dumped doesn't mean we didn't donate. I'll admit I didn't donate the full $100, but I'm barely scraping by as it is with two kids a minimum wage job and zero financial help from dad, most of the people who dump also donate. The average ALS donation is ranging around $46, so if that's the average and they've made 40 million, obviously every dollar counts. And third off, to the couple who is so much better than everyone else for not publicly doing something for attention, your nasty post and bragging about what you're doing is no better than are dumping...actually, it's just about the same...AND IT'S STILL A GOOD THING!
I've seen quite a few videos featuring someone who knows or even has ALS, but this particular one here is one that made me the most emotional. It's a very powerful video, and it really is something everyone who hates the ALS ice bucket challenge should watch.
Here are some facts about ALS, some of them might even surprise you.
- 30,000 Americans currently have the disease.
- Is usually diagnosed between 40-70 years of age but can start much later.
- The 29 year old who started the trend was diagnosed in 2012
- Men are 20% more likely to be affected
- 93% of people diagnosed are white
- Military veterans are one of the most affected group.
- Only about 10% of cases are hereditary.
- Most live only 2-5 years to live
- Most ALS deaths are from respiratory distress.
- There is no known cure for ALS
- Lou Gehrig lived only two years after being diagnosed
And now, just for grins and giggles here is my post-icebucketchallenge selfie, a picture of my battle wounds (ice cut me!) And just because a photo grid with only two pictures is lame here's one of my best friend after she accepted my nomination.
Now I challenge YOU.
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