14 Days

14 days ago I made a pact with myself that I was going to do something for myself without any one person’s opinion. I was going to take charge of what is valuable and precious beyond words, which I felt like was suffering for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on: my mental health. 14 days ago I made the difficult decision to begin taking anti-depressants. I struggled for months over this. This was the third time I had talk to my physician about it, and the third time I had received a prescription for them and the first time I went through with it and began taking them.

I think my reason for being reluctant was my own person history with anti-depressants, namely Paxil. At the tender age of 17 my doctor, who only spoke with me for about 5 minutes, decided to place me on Paxil and Xanax. I continued taking Paxil for nearly 5 years when one day I just thought to myself why am I still taking these? It had become more habit than anything. My life was in order by this time. I wasn’t partaking in activities and surrounding myself with people who added to the anxiety and depression I was suffering from, so I thought Why the hell not? So I decided to give it a go. I quit cold turkey*. What transpired from that pronouncement was a week long battle of detoxing from a substance I wasn’t even aware I was addicted to. I laid helplessly, crying, day in and day out, I was plagued with chills, vomiting and dizziness. I was stunned at what this drug had done to me. I swore then that I would never, ever take such a drug again.

Fast forward 2 ½ years. Throw in a marriage, then a baby, and I started to feel the way I used to. I wouldn’t necessarily define it as “depression”, but more my inability to cope with certain emotions, such as anger and irritability and feeling overwhelmed. Most of all I felt lost. I felt lost in a world where every mother was happy, had perfect little babies, except me. What was wrong with me?

Like I said before, I had consulted my physician two times previously and they agreed that my taking the anti-depressants would be the best scenario for all parties involved. But as soon as I left their office I would change my mind. I think part of it had to do with the fact that I breastfeed Vincent. I became paranoid that the drug would get to him through my milk and he would become dependent on a seritone booster and that I was paving the road for a life of depression for him. But I think, more than anything, it had to do with feeling defeated. I kept telling myself I could get through it, I could handle it. Everyone else does.

14 days ago I had enough. I knew something wasn’t right. I could feel it deep in my bones. This was something I could change. Something I could help. I can be better for my son. I can be better for myself.

I didn’t tell anyone in my family that I was beginning to take the pills, because I wanted to first see if they noticed a difference in me. No one has said anything but that probably stems from fear they may jinx it! But more important, I have noticed a difference. I smile more. I appreciate life more. I become less frustrated and overwhelmed. I am better for it. I am a better mom for it. I have taken other approaches to building up my mental health as I do not want to rely on a pill to “make me happy”. I have ditched the junk food and made it a point to exercise every day. And I quit those nasty cigs!

I cannot feel defeated over this. I am not weak because I started taking anti-depressants. I am strong for admitting to myself that maybe I could use some help. I am strong because I say fuck the judgment and fuck what people say. I am doing this for us. Us.

You and me, babe. Always and Forever.

* All medical professionals will strongly advise to not stop taking these types of medications abruptly. It can have serious complications. Do not stop taking anti-depressants without consulting your physician.

You can take that cookie and shove it up your....

This morning I made the decision to treat myself to a mocha and a pastry at the small hippie coffee shop down by the bay. Vincent has been a bit (I mean, a lot bit) fussy for whatever reason, and a toothache kept me awake last night, so I very much deserved a treat such as that, especially on a cold, gloomy day.

While I was waiting patiently for my mocha to be completed, Vincent was demonstrating a lesser form of patience. He was fussing and trying to wiggle out of my arms. I silently whispered in my head “hurry up, hurry up” but all the while kept a smile on my face and kinda eye rolled like “kids, whatcha gonna with do?” when she turned around to see what all the fuss was about (pun intended). Much to my surprise, the lady behind the counter said “ok, ok…here ya go” and put a cookie my son’s mouth! I had half a mind to pull the cookie out of his mouth and threaten to put it up her anal cavity, but I refrained. Instead I stood there, speechless. This may not seem like too big of deal to anyone, especially people who don’t have children, but let me tell you, it was a big deal to me for a few reasons a.) Vincent is only 11 months old, in my opinion he is not old enough for the type of treat he was offered, and when I say offered I mean forced upon by the hand of a stranger, b.) I do not give my child any unnecessary sugar because he is a hyperactive baby, and I do not need anything emphasizing his already rambunctious behavior and c.) I do not want my son to learn that if he throws a fit for no reason whatsoever, he will be rewarded with a tasty, sugary treat. Even before I had a baby, and I think I’ve made it quite clear how ignorant and stupid I was about the whole baby thing, I always asked the mother quietly if I could offer her child a bite of food. I couldn’t believe this lady took it upon herself to shove a cookie in my child's mouth without so much as gesturing to me if I would be okay with it.

I was disturbed. And I put my change right back in my jeans pocket instead of the glass tip jar on the counter.

I was reluctant to share what I’m about to spill, but here it goes! I am on day four of no cigarettes. My reasons for wanting to omit this information are because my family didn’t even know that I started smoking again, and they still don’t. I guess this will be a true test to see if they really read my blog! Also, I happen to be deeply ashamed about my smoking and I have never openly admitted to random strangers, even some friends, that I smoked. See, I use to be smoker. From the ages of about 13 to 23, I smoked about a pack a day. I know, I know, 13 years old? A little young, eh? Yes! Someday I will both impress and sadden you with my old bad girl antics, when I have 4 days straight to recall it all. You will feel very sorry for my mother, trust me. Anyways, since Vincent was planned pregnancy, I quit smoking about six months before I even started trying to get pregnant, to make sure my body was in tip top shape. And besides the occasional smoke with a cocktail (not while I was pregnant DUH!), I had been a non-smoker, and it felt great. I never ever ever ever thought I’d do back to it.

It’s a slippery fucking slope, that nicotine slope! The occasional cocktail smoke turned into the occasional smoke with my friends who smoked, which later turned into the “I’ve had such a crazy, busy day, I need a cigarette to unwind” smoke. The next thing I know, I am buying cigarettes and smoking just to smoke. I was embarrassed. I was washing my hands and brushing my teeth 7 times a day so no one would smell the smoke on me. I found myself watching the clock, waiting for Vincent to take his nap so I could go outside and smoke. I was too busy hoping he’d fall asleep that I wasn’t even enjoying him while he was awake. I got fed up with the bullshit and so last Thursday, I told myself NO MORE! YOU’RE DONE! YOU ARE NOT A SMOKER! YOU ARE A MOM! Not that you can’t be both, and be a perfectly nice mom, but not me. I become agitated and annoyed easily when I’m smoking. I don’t wear it well, plain and simple, and I was pissed off at myself for allowing myself to start down my old unhealthy path. So Friday morning I woke up with the flu. It couldn’t have worked out more perfectly!! I felt like such shit, I couldn’t even think about smoking a cigarette without running towards the toilet. So, on Saturday, I was feeling a little better, but still queasy so cigarettes weren’t really on my mind. Sunday, I felt 100% better but I had just gone two days with no nicotine. I told myself, if you can do two days, just keep going! I am nearing the completion of my fourth straight day of not smoking and I feel great. No, I feel fantasical!

I feel better getting that off my chest. Thank you blogosphere! And sorry Mom!

"Ew, cigs are, like, so gross!"

Who are you calling a wean-er?

Sunday Fun-day. Ok, so maybe we didn't get to do anything "fantasical" as I had originally hoped for, but we did have a good day. I felt expidetiously better today. Brand new. It's amazing, when you are getting over a horrible sickness, it just disappears as quickly as it surfaced and then it's like you can hardly remember how terrible you felt. I had my energy back, my spirits were high, and I was ready for some fresh air and sunshine. And I got both. However, I did get wind, very much unwelcomed wind that seems to be plaguing the central coast. But it barely put a damper on my mood. Anthony, Vincent and I ate clam chowder down by the water at our favorite local spot; he had beer and I had a root beer. In another post, that will be completed in a weeks time, I will explain the reason for my root beer, wait...what was I saying?

Oh ya! After our "beers" and chowder we strapped Vincent in his backpack and we walked the Embarcadero, window shopped, shop-shopped, and enjoyed looking out at the ocean, something that becomes so easy to take for granted, having lived next to it your whole life. But on certain days, days like this, you take it in, enjoy the moment, refresh yourself in its scent. Maybe it had to do with the fact that I had been on lockdown in my 2 bedroom house for over two days and any slight touch of the outside world would have made my insides tingle. Whatever it was, it was a nice day.

I have made a decision today as well. I am no longer planning on putting an immediate end to Vincent's breastfeeding extravaganza. Of course, I don't want a 2 year sucking away all night and day, I have decided that I will not abruptly deprive him of something he loves so much. I have thought long and hard about this. I am nearing his first birthday and I never really thought that I would get that sentimental and sad over his entering his toddler years, but I think I just might. There will come a time, probably much sooner than I realize, where Vincent won't even want to hug me in public or let me kiss those gorgeous Shiloh Jolie-Pitt lips. Right now is the only time for me to enjoy this closeness. Breastfeeding has brought us so close together and I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye just yet.

Check back in a few days. If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm ridiculously indecisive.

Good News Bears

What an awesome day! Seriously...

It started out as a so-so day. I woke up tired, ran out of coffee and I thought that very thing was to be a prelude to a bad day. But slowly, things began to look up. Vincent and I hopped in the car earlier this morning to bring my mom her birthday card and flowers (and I slurped a couple cups of coffee there...ha ha...the hidden agenda!). Afterwards, once we got home, we did our play thing for a little bit and then it was nap time. I put Vincent down at 9:00am (without nursing) and he moaned and groaned for no more than 5 minutes before he fell fast asleep. I scrambled to take my morning shower and do everything else that needs to be done around the house because once he's up, forget about it! Apparently there was no need for my mad scramble because Vincent slept for 2 1/2 hours! I almost got bored and looked forward to his waking so I could have some company!

We then took a short trip to the local park where I scoped out a potential location for Vincent's first birthday party. This was a success and I did, in fact, pick the location!! We laid lazily on the grass and Vincent kept his eyes glued on the kids skateboarding throughout the park, mesmerized by this ability to roll around so fast and effortlessly. I think I may have a future skateboarder on my hands! I snapped multiple photos of my young nugget and enjoyed the brief sunshine that shone down upon us.

After our ride home (a rather fussy one to say the least), we came home, grubbed some lunch and before I knew it, it was nap time again. This time Vincent nursed to sleep, but I didn't mind because when those tiny little eyes become lazy and slowly shut and his big lips begin to slow down on their once fast paced suckling, I am able to take in the loveliness of it all. I get to stare down at my young son and take in his silence...I mean beauty...ya, that's right, beauty.

I opted out of my performing my other wifely, motherly duties such as folding the clothes that were beginning to wrinkle in the dryer and attempting to prepare an adequate dinner. Instead I, too, curled up in my own bed where I entered a deep slumber for an hour until Vincent woke me up.

Once Anthony arrived home, I decided to ditch the clan and drive to my parents house where I could enjoy a relaxing and much needed soak in their hot tub. This is a treat I try to reward myself with from time to time when Anthony gets home from work. While at my parents I pulled out the scary, intimidating scale that never fails to make us feel like shit. I have never, and never will, have a scale at my home because if I were to have one, it would be become an unhealthy obsession. I have enough fucked up shit going on in my head, I don't need to add to the craziness. But I indulged the "woman" in me and hopped on. My jaw hit the floor and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. "There must be something wrong with this thing" I thought to myself. It's not that it was feeding me bad news. It was the exact opposite. It read 123 lbs. Let me tell you that before I got pregnant I was 128 lbs. This insane little machine thingy was telling me I was 5 lbs lighter than before I even got pregnant?? But let me also remind you that my body in no way shape or form resembles what it used to. How could I weigh less and look worse (in my own opinion)? My once small, perky boobs are now ridiculously uneven. This happened very early on in Vincent's life when he decided he only wanted to suck on one nipple. Apparently my right nipple just didn't blow his skirt up. I was eventually able to seek help through a lactation specialist and I am happy to say he began nursing on both sides; however, the damage was done. My right boob is noticably smaller than the left. I try to be body-obsessed but it's hard to say goodbye to our old selves and welcome with open arms these morphed bodies that may be hard to look at naked. I was happy to see the results on the scale though. It means I am getting somewhere. Now I just need to start working out so I can obtain the muscle I once had.

And then the real fun began tonight after dinner when I went to go put Vincent's pajamas on. To put it mildly, putting clothes on Vincent is like trying to tame a wild beast. He flails his body from side to side, screams in horror and does everything in his power to scoot away from you. In fact, it's normally a two person job. So, being the push over mommy I am, I always try to find him a toy that he's really not suppose to have in hopes to distract him long enough to put his diaper and his clothes on. Well, apparently Vincent somehow managed to call 911. Don't ask me how an 11 month old baby successfully dials those three particular numbers, but he did it! Within 5 minutes the sheriff arrived to "access the situation" at hand. I was mortified and apologized on Vincent's behalf. He was totally cool about it and even gave Vincent an honorary sheriff sticker. A sticker that will surely go into his baby book as a tangible memory of his very first 911 call. Something tells me it won't be the last....

It is now 8:45 pm and I am writing this in bed, capping my night with a blog and an episode of The Duel. What is with me and lame ass reality t.v? My guilty pleasure. I'm entitled to it, right?

Anyways...it's been a rad day. I am signing off now, cuddled up in my new micro-tech sheets, wishing you all a goodnight.

xoxox

Photo of the Day

A day in the park....

Happy Little Nuggett

The light is shining through...

I have found the light at the end of the tunnel.
This morning my beautiful son looked me straight in the eye and smiled at me for the first time. It felt as though my heart was going to explode. And through tear blurred eyes I got to see about 9 more smiles in a row!
He is the light at the end of the tunnel. He is so worth it.