Barking Mad

Birthin' Babies the Old School Way

Just the mere act of writing the title to this post makes me feel…well, ancient! However, the fact remains that I gave birth to my first child a little more than twenty two years ago. Yes, I said TWENTY TWO YEARS!

In the span of more than two decades since that child made his way into the world, the things that used to be par for the course back then, during labor, are now just a blur in the annals of childbirth.

Reading Rachael’s posts makes me wince sometimes when I think about what an ignorant, uninformed, undereducated (when it came to my body and the process of giving birth), teenager I was.

I was 19 when I gave birth to my first child, Joshua. I was so very excited about this growing baby inside of me and becoming a mommy…until my water broke (“Ewwww! This is sooo, like totally GROSS! Like, I’m going to gag!” were the words I uttered when something that sounded like a balloon popped, between my legs.), and labor began. I was sitting in the car, perched on a pile of towels, as my former husband drove like a bat out of Hell to the hospital, when that first real contraction hit me. I grabbed the handle of the door with one hand, dug my nails into my ex’s arm and...

Continue reading all about my first childbirth experience over at Rachael's blog, where I am guest posting as she has just given birth to baby Daniel...on her bathroom floor!!!! Go on, go over, read my post and show her some MAJOR LOVE!!!!! Congratulations Rachael and welcome to the world, Daniel!

 

Jumping on the "Stream of Consciouness" Bandwagon

  

image credit

I had a post about breastfeeding (I am very passionate about this issue and after a couple of recent really heated breastfeeding-related topics in Bloggywood, I finally got pissed off enough to just say, "the hell with it!" and write my own!), but I was overcome with an overwhelming urge, after reading this post, by the gorgeous, funny, and oh-so-very-talented Marcy, to just go with what was rumbling around in my head.

I've seen a lot of posts lately that are written in the stream-of-consciousness mode, and whilst I'm not exactly sure I get what that really means, I'm just going to run with whatever my own interpretation is and follow the words that are in my heart and mind. 

I'll preface this by saying that what I'm about to toss out there might be rambly and at times, incoherent.  A lot of that is due to almost debilitating insomnia I have been dealing with lately.  For the last couple of months I have been unable to sleep...well, unable to fall asleep.  I usually don't crash until almost 3, sometimes 4AM.  I'm to the point now where I am going to go and see someone about it. I've put it off out of fear of being put on Ambien or something similar.  I had an absolutely awful experience with Ambien when I was hugely pregnant with Gaby and unable to sleep.  I can't risk any Ambien-hangovers in the morning either.  Being present, really and truly present for Gaby, is just too important. One of my biggest hurdles right now, in trying to take care of myself, is to stop drinking so much soda, especially Coke.  Especially in the evenings and I'm sure that doesn't help the insomnia either...although even on the evenings when I drink no soda, sleep still evades me. 

I'm ashamed to admit this, but I think I'd almost rather have a drug problem right now.  I know the soda isn't helping the insomnia, but it's a sonofabitch to get rid of.  It's literally the first thing I think of in the morning and if I could survive on Coca Cola and nothing else, I probably would.  The more stressed I get about trying to cut back on soda and eliminate it altogether, the worse my addiction becomes.  A few weeks ago I was down to one 16oz bottle a day...if even that much.  Often times I'd open one and get 2/3 through it and just forget about the rest of it and slam as much water as I could the rest of the day.  Now I'm back to 2-3 bottles of Coke a day.

See, I told you it was a 'stream of consciousness' type of thing.  Everything is just coming out of my head and through my finger tips.

One of the things that struck a chord with me in Marcy's post was when she mentioned "...Need to stop running in circles trying to make friendships with people who clearly have no time or space in their life for anything other than acquaintance level friendships."  I am so guilty of doing exactly that!  Especially when it comes to Bloggywood and the psuedo-friendships I've been forming over the past three years that haven't really been friendships at all, yet something akin to a mere acquaintance.  I think I've been too focused on trying to befriend the people that everyone else tells me I need to know, in order to get ahead out here.  You know what?  I don't really give a damn!  That's right, I DON'T GIVE A DAMN! 

I'm tired of living my life based on what everyone else says I should be doing, especially people who don't really know me, or don't want to take the time to get to know me!   I want real, lasting friendships with the people I respect, who make me laugh, who I can relate to and who share a piece of themselves that draws me in and makes me genuinely want to get to know them on a deeper level.  I'm tired of having people in my life (and this probably extends to those in my everyday, offline life as well!), who are only interested in being here when it benefits them and not because they truly crave anything deeper than that.  This includes the people who don't think I know that they've stabbed me in the back, shared my personal emails to them with others who in turn have gone and said some of the most heinous things about me to others...I know about it but for some reason I just haven't been able to cut you out of my life.  Well, that's going to change!

I know some of you might think this has to do with me applying to be on The Biggest Loser...but it doesn't, not really.  When I was able to finally get to the point where I could put the video together and accept the help that one of the most wonderful, funny, and beautiful women in the entire world offered, that's when I knew I'd turned the corner and that eventually, I'll be OK...actually, I'll be better than OK, I'll be damned awesome!  When I realized that I was able to accept Jessica's offer of help without obsessing about what she thought about me, and that I honestly wanted the help, that's when I knew I had gotten past living under this self-imposed rock I've been curled up under for nearly three years! In the bargain, I ended up making a wonderful, genuine friend!  OK, so our late-night phone conversations are probably not helping my insomnia, but what the hell!  Women like Jessica are worth a mine full of the rarest diamonds and to be able to call her a friend means the world to me! Sleep be damned.  Besides, I can sleep when I'm dead!

Even if I don't make it onto The Biggest Loser (and from here on out, I'm not going to talk about it any more, because I won't be able to, if I'm chosen), I know that I'm capable of so much more and I'm worthy of so much better...and that includes friends.  Being open about TBL really and truly showed me who my friends are.  These are the kind of people I want to draw near to me and get to know...not someone who someone else told me I need to read and comment on just because it's going to boost my own popularity! I don't want to be that kind of writer, and I don't want to be that kind of friend either.  

I want to focus on the real, substantial, tangible things in my life and not waste time on going after things that don't add joy, happiness and a real sense of friendship and camaraderie.  I want to be able to look back and smile on my life and not spend any more time regretting the things I chased that didn't really exist to begin with.

"Integrity is telling myself the truth. And honesty is telling the truth to other people." ~Spencer Johnson~

 

This is the Last Time I Take The Pioneer Woman's Advice!

This morning, whilst perusing my blogroll, I stopped over at The Pioneer Woman's place and remembered that she had earlier Tweeted about some sort of cathartic exercise she highly recommended.  I read, I laughed, and then I thought to myself that if I tried anything like that with my family, they'd have me committed, instantly! 

Seeing as how I already live in an insane asylum, I considered the fact that an involuntary commitment might net me some time to relax.   I left a comment on her site, (which I rarely do because lets face it, Ree gets eleventy billion comments a day, and now there's  a film being made based on her blog and her [upcoming] book that chronicles her transition from city girl to country wife with none other than Reese Witherspoon being considered for the part of Ree herself.  Um- I love Reese, but c'mon, this is a role perfect for Sandra Bullock or Julianne Moore!...OK what was I saying?) saying something to same effect.

I'm not the brightest bulb in the box and after spying my flip camera on the counter, I decided to start a conversation with Gaby about what we were doing today, namely cleaning her bedroom.   Gaby's reply opened up the chance for me to try out Ree's suggestion.  Oh and you really MUST go read PW's cathartic exercise post before watching the video.  Go ahead, I'll wait. 

This is what happens when I take free advice given over the interwebs!

So, what have we learned from our cathartic little exercise today?  Two things.

1.) My 4 year old thinks I am a joke, wonders if I'm OK,  and then pulls her own Jack Nicholson 'tude on me!

2.) When you want a wake-up call as to how much of a nobody you are in the blogosphere, just go read The Pioneer Woman, or even Dooce.  Books...movies, HGTV gigs.  Kinda makes me feel like a tadpole in the ocean that is Bloggywood.  However, I can at least name almost everyone who reads this blog.  Ree or Heather being able to pull that off would be monumental and damned near impossible!

 

I'm Not Angry...I'm Just a Bitch

 

The last several days have been a monumental clusterfuck of attitude, ignorance, lack of respect, lack of internet (thanks Comcast! You are on my SUCKIT list too!), shit (both literal and figurative - Geronimo had a rotten tummy - crapped all over himself and got a bath; as a result of said bath, I am now sporting some nifty slices and dices along my arms.), and yelling and screaming with a few threats to kick a certain teenager out of the asylum...it all adds up to one big heaping plate of stress. All of this with only 6 days left until Meg leaves for boot camp.

I'd really love nothing more than to just flush the last six or seven days down the toilet!

Oh and did I mention that I stopped taking my anti-depressant?  No? Well, guess what, I did.  I was beginning to feel better, emotionally anyhow, and I thought to myself, "Self, lets stop taking this expensive little pill, because you're feeling better and we don't need it any more!"  My head-shrinker was on holiday and I'd mention it to her when she got back...surely it wouldn't be that big a deal?  So, voila, just like that I stopped taking them and away went my feelings of well being and with it, the last remaining shards of my sanity.  Oh wait, one of the resident teenagers ran off with some of that as well.

Then we come to The Pumpkin.  How can a pumpkin possibly be construed as something stressful?  It is, after all, just a pumpkin.

After you read this, you're going to think I've completely lost it.  Maybe.

So, when is a pumpkin, carved into a Jack O' Lantern and given to a three-year-old, much more than just a nice gesture?  When it's given to said three year old by a person whom the three year old's mother wants nothing to do with and wants her influence clearly out of reach of the three year old.   Did that make any sense?

Remember this post?  Yeah the same one that's now made me one of the most hated mom's in Maine? The one that's gotten one of our cars vandalized, been the impetus for numerous threatening and harassing phone calls as well as emails (some of you imbeciles out there need to learn how to use an onion router and not try and cover your IP with hidemyass.com!), and caused me to laugh hysterically as teenagers drive by my house and flip me off...Well, the "Young Lady" I referred to in that post, carved a Jack O' Lantern for Gaby yesterday and Meg brought it home with her when "Young Lady" dropped her off after spending some time with her in order to say goodbye before Meg leaves for boot camp.  Before I had a chance to protest, Meg had whisked Gaby outside to show it to her and make sure she knew exactly who it was from. 

Needless to say, Gareth was pissed.   He expressed his displeasure with Meg who, in reply told him that the Young Lady was probably pulled over crying somewhere because she couldn't say hello to Gaby and give it to her personally.  My own reply to that is something along the lines of, "Because your mother is a big fat bitch and wants to limit your little sister's exposure to people she has issues with, a fact you are well aware of, I really don't care if the Young Lady was parked at the end of our street crying her eyes out!"  Yes gentle readers, I am as heartless and cruel as it appears and ya know what, I don't give a shit what anyone thinks.  The gesture was completely inappropriate and Gareth and I will not have Gaby used as a pawn in anyone's game. 

If you are sitting there with your mouth agape and in shock that I could be pissed off over something as innocent as a Jack O'Lantern, well, that's OK.  You might be cool with a gesture like that, to your toddler, from someone who you want your child to have absolutely nothing to do with.  Me?  Not so much.  If the shoes were switched, I'd have steered clear of doing anything like that, especially knowing how the toddler's mother feels.  What's the point in doing it, other than to play games and try and ingratiate yourself in the eyes of a three year old? Whilst I don't begrudge Meg her friends, especially those she is very close to, as she is to the Young Lady; Meg is an adult and will do what she will do. However I still have say in who comes and goes, in any manner, in the life of my three year old.

Of course, Meg made it painfully clear to Gaby who the pumpkin was from and now I've got a three year old who is upset with me that she can't see the Young Lady and say thank you.

Now, this little issue of not acknowledging a gift has, I admit, rankled me since last night.  I have always impressed upon my kids that you say thank you...period.  Despite the intent behind the pumpkin, it was still, in the end, a gift, and should be acknowledged.  Gareth and I disagree on this one point. He believes that the intent negates acknowledgment.   We've discussed the issue back and forth and whilst there is still some residual anger over the gesture and aforementioned intent, we have come to an agreement of sorts.  It's more important for us to encourage Gaby to express gratitude over any gift, large or small and to attempt to let go of the anger at the purpose surrounding it.  And, Gaby genuinely loves the pumpkin.  She knows that her mumma hates to gut the damn things and had been planning on bedazzling one this year and calling it good.  Oh yes I was!

So this is our compromise. 

Given that Gaby is learning French in Montessori, we have been asked by her teachers at school to encourage her to use it here at home...so we did.

P.S.  Gareth says this comes across as very angry.  Whilst I'm not as angry as I was last night, I'm still fairly perturbed.  It will pass though.  If I had still been well and truly angry at this point?  Monsieur Pumpkin would have been so much meat for the pumpkin cookies I'm baking tonight.  But now that would have been childish and immature (like a certain segment of you are no doubt thinking this post is...), non?

Words From My Heart, To You

So many times over the last several months, as I have sat in my dark hole and counted the hours until I could crawl back into bed and ignore the world and all the bright, shiny, happy people in it, I have often sought out the words of others to lift me up, make me laugh, remove the focus from the blackness in my own soul, or simply distract me.  Those words have been your words, your thoughts, and most of all, your time.  You've poured so much time and thought into the words you put on your blogs, or the words you leave for me in your comments.  If you take away nothing else from this post, please know that I am eternally grateful for the time you spend leaving me comments or emailing, or even sending a tweet to say hello.  Your words find a place deep within my soul that encourages me to keep reaching and hanging onto and pulling myself back over the edge.

A lot of you have emailed me, wanting to know how the new antidepressant has been working out and how I'm feeling.  Since starting the Lexapro a few weeks ago I've not had any of the nasty side effects I experienced with the others, especially the Zoloft.  I was a tad scared to start it, because once you've had thoughts of sitting in a bathtub, slitting your wrists, watching all of your lifeblood drain away and thinking that your family and friends would be better off without you, and you manage to come back from that perilous edge...you never want to go back there again. 

I also fired my psychiatrist with the help of my psychologist.  We've decided that seeing as how so many of the issues that I have that were precipitated by the Very Bad Thing, and now, as a result have trouble dealing with men, it would be better to not only find someone who had their heads out of their ass, but someone I could trust and felt comfortable with, which leads me to believe that perhaps a female provider might be a better fit for me.  Frankly, Dr. Sweeney Todd/Comb-Over needs to go back to Medical School and study up on MODERN pharmacology! Me bitter? Not at all.  Well, perhaps just a tiny bit.

As far as whether or not the Lexapro is helping?  Well, it's hard to say.  Whilst I'm not sleeping the 16-18 hours a day like I was, I still think I sleep too much.  I'm not as irritable as I was nor am I nearly as weepy and inconsolable.  However, I still don't feel like socially reintegrating myself with the rest of the world. 

The hubby and Little Imp begged me to go apple and pumpkin picking with them this past Sunday, and for an hour, I humoured them until the panic had risen to a point where the hubby said it was like a palpable air around me and he knew it was time to leave.  In a funny sort of way, that was probably a good thing.  A year ago I probably would have picked close to 100lbs of apples instead of the merciful 25lbs we came home with.  I did enjoy seeing the smiles on the Little Imp's face and loved watching her run through the rows and rows of apple trees, who's branches were bending with the weight of their bright red bounty, and listening to her giggle as she pried apple after apple off it's perch on a limb.  Seeing her come running back towards me, blond curls bouncing along with her, and showing me her prizes; lifted a part of my spirit that hasn't been quite so buoyed in a long time.  When we got home though, I broke down in tears and then slept for nearly two hours.  It just came out of nowhere.  It was as confusing to the Little Imp and my hubby as it was to me.

Sunday night I came back out here, after feeling a bit like I was suffering from an emotional hangover and read some of your comments and emails and was once again reassured that whilst it might not be tomorrow, or even next month, or even two months from now, but eventually, I will get through this.  The thing that scares me about then, is that I won't have changed enough into the kind of person that I need to be in order to overcome this.  I'm afraid that if I don't change, I will always see myself as the worthless person I've been led to believe I am.  Deep inside I want to be the strong woman again, who, before all this nastiness happened, could have cared less about what people said or thought about her, the one who pretty much told people to "fuck off" if they didn't like her.

Part of getting back to that woman, is admitting some of my shortcomings, and that's where you, my wonderful and brilliant friends come in. 

I have been remiss in reciprocating the kindness and time you all have shown me over the last several months.  Please know that if you've left a comment, or sent an email, it hasn't gone unnoticed or unappreciated.  More often than not, I come back to those words and am grateful for the feeling and emotion, care and concern behind them.   I'm thankful for those words...words which build up and strengthen and fortify a battered soul.   It's those same words that bring me back out here, day after day, especially when I have come very close these last few days to bringing the blog to an end.  To be honest, it has gotten to be a bit overwhelming and it leaves me feeling a bit unbalanced...trying to recover from everything, complete edits to my book that's coming out, do the laundry, and be whole enough to care for my family.   There are days when I just can't keep up and I can't find the time to read all of the blogs I love and leave comments as thoughtful and heartfelt as the ones you leave me.  I end up feeling like I just want to throw in the towel.   But then, I don't.  And I probably won't because this community of women (and men too!) I've discovered through blogging mean a lot to me, or as Megawatt refers to you all; "mom's little friends in her computer."

You're all much more though, than my "little friends in her computer."  You are real men and women, with real lives and children, spouses and loved ones, jobs, with troubles of your own, complications of your own; yet you find the time to uplift others and share your lives with the rest of us.  Hopefully in time, I'll get around to each and every one of you to let you know how much I enjoy your own words...be it those you leave here at Barking Mad, or those on your own page.  Your contributions to the blogosphere and the people in it don't go unnoticed or unappreciated.  The value you add to our world is immeasurable at times.

Eventually I'll find the balance I'm seeking, to get it all done, and the laundry too!