File Under "Huh"

Apparently the ping-pong-ball size lump on my throat isn't normal. It's likely a thyroid problem but I'll know for sure in a few weeks time after the blood test and ultrasound results come in.

In the meantime, the only image in my head is the episode of Seinfeld where Elaine is visiting the "goiter lady."

Grotesque...and yet she can't look away from it in the same way I can't stop touching it!

Obsessed or Possessed?

I've been debating in my head for some time on whether I have the courage to write it down here, in this unknown but public space, my struggle with food. Struggle may be too light a description. It's more or less an obsession - and not the good kind.

I think about food ALL THE TIME. It is a mostly hate relationship. As in, it's behind every single thought I have throughout the day, it's the first thing that pops into my head when I wake up and it's the last thing I think about when trying to go to sleep. As in, I can't believe I ate that, why didn't I push myself harder during my workout, why didn't you work out yesterday too, why didn't I eat an apple instead of 6 cookies...why? Why? Why? I understand on an intellectual level that eating good, healthy food puts proper fuel in my body so that I have energy for everything.

The problem is that I am addicted to sugar and cannot seem to shake it. I cannot get through a single day without it. I start off with all good intentions in the morning by eating a good healthy breakfast (usually old-fashioned oatmeal with a few walnuts, blueberries and cinnamon thrown in), and of course a cup or two of coffee with 1/2 and 1/2 and tiny bit of SUGAR mixed in. And by tiny bit, I do mean so little that really I could do without it at all, which I'm working towards. Then, mid-morning that little white devil in my ear starts thinking about anything and everything sweet that might be in the house and the nibbling starts. I have read everywhere that when cravings start the best thing to do is do something else. Except in my case? Trying to focus on something else (the laundry, cleaning the bathroom, oh, right, the BABY) only intensfies the cravings.

Willpower, willpower, where art thou?

Think "Tootie" from the "Facts of Life"

Ooooo, there's gonna be troub-b-l-l-e!

P.S. The dress is hers. The rest was her big brother's idea.

It Still Gives Me A Giggle...

...after hanging on my stove for the past 4 years!

Difficult Days

It's been tougher than I ever imagined in my wildest dreams to come to an acceptance that the time has come to say goodbye to my little boy and hello to the stubborn, hellish pre-teen and teen years.

We fought this week with a ferociousness I did not think was possible and it wasn't pretty. It didn't end with a funny-Cosby-show-lesson-learned moment either. There was an enormous amount of frustration with each other that led to confrontation on my part, as in me telling my son that he will not treat me like something he's trying to scrape off the bottom of his shoe, that he will talk to me with the respect and courtesy he shows his teachers and his step-father and father.

He looked at me like he hated me. Then he stalked (he stalked!) to his room, slammed the door shut while hollering "Why can't you just leave me ALONE?"

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. When his bedtime rolled around that night things were calmer and I got my usual hug and kiss goodnight but for the life of me I could not stop tears from falling, full-stream, down my face. This moment, this one here and now, we'd talked about a few times before - we knew the day was coming that we would start arguing, that he would feel pissed off at me for a variety of reasons, but my god - I had no idea how much it was going to hurt. It took my breath away.

And it got worse because as I smelled that little spot on the back of his neck mothers always sniff because the essence, the spirit, of your child is found there....my heart broke even more because his little-boy-smell...was gone.

It's. It's just...gone. And I know it's never coming back.

An Interesting Thing Happened On The Way to The Grocery Store...

I never made it. I drove to the grocery store, parked the car, baby sound asleep in her carseat...and my legs went numb, familiar panic choked my lungs and throat and I started to feel dizzy. Yeah! Anxiety attack! Two thumbs up to the older couple tossing odd looks to the crazy lady crying in her station wagon, clutching at the steering wheel and trying to dial a cell phone.
Did I mention how much I'm enjoying being sleep deprived? No? IT'S FUCKING AWESOME.

On another note but a definitely related topic, to Anonymous who comments on my blog: Thank you for your encouraging words and electronic hug - it's very much appreciated. This is my third go-round with post-partum depression and you'd think it'd get easier, but it doesn't. The good news is that because I'm not having any more babies, this will be the last bout and I can go back to dealing with and trying to manage the regular-drag-my-ass-out-of-bed-day-to-day-depression instead! You know, until peri-menopause and menopause begins.

Honestly though, hubby knows what's going on and he's been incredibly supportive and doing what he can to help and that includes talking to the kids and asking them to "help Mummy a bit more". (The 4-year-old's vicious temper tantrums are a huge energy drain and when you're running on empty but trying to squeeze out a touch more patience it is frustrating. Sort of like when you knock a glass over, stand it back up, only to immediately knock it over again. And again. And again. And then you grab the glass and throw it against the wall to teach it a lesson. Except that, obviously, my daughter isn't a glass and I would never do anything to physically harm her, so in this particular situation, she's temporarily lost the brand new toys Santa brought her and she will get them back one at a time for each day she behaves like a tiny human being instead of Satan's evil-doer frothing at the mouth.)

My mum and dad also know because I've told them, but I haven't specifically told my sisters, brother or any friends - I sort of think they've all got enough of their own stuff going on and I don't want to bother them - not that my parents also don't, but it's just different - they're my parents.

As I look over at the beautiful sleeping girl (who as of yesterday, by the way, weighs 12 lbs, 8.5 oz.) I realize that now just might be an opportune time to try and have a nap. Not an easy task for someone who is, admittedly, not a napper, but I'm going to try.

And that's the word for today.

A New Year on Familiar Ground

The holidays are over and I have been utterly exhausted for quite some time. It's been building up for a while - between having given birth a few short weeks ago, preparing for Christmas and family visiting, which also meant trying to figure out meals to feed a minium of 8-10 people regularly, not to mention the middle-of-the-night breastfeeding which turns into me not sleeping for more than 2-3 hours a night.

Let me just say that sleep deprivation is not a fun trip. (Not like that time I smoked some Mary J. and laughed my ass off through likely my 32nd viewing of Bridget Jones' Diary. I'm pretty sure I passed out because I remember talking to my sister Melissa at the beginning of the movie and I kid you not, ONE MINUTE later the movie credits were rolling and I was still laughing...now that was a trip.)

I am constantly worrying about something bad happening to Olivia. Mostly that she's going to choke on her own spit and I won't hear her and be able to save her. The first night in the hospital, she did start choking on amniotic fluid she'd swallowed and that was very scary and I haven't been able to get that awful sound or vision out of my head. She was turning red, then purple right before my eyes as the night nurse was pounding her back trying to make her puke it up. Which she did. She settled down quite nicely in fact. My heart, however, has not stopped racing every single time I put her down to nap and it's accompanied by abject fear where my fists are clenched, my chest heavy with pressure because I can't breathe, my whole body shakes from nauseousness and tears. Enough tears that my eyes are puffy and a special shade of red that only comes from such little sleep and crying 3 hours a day.

I am yelling at my other two children too. A disrespectful attitude from my son, temper tantrums from my daughter is enough to send me off - their unacceptable behaviour has become mine because I swore AT them this morning (as in, "I AM FUCKING DONE WITH THIS CRAP IN THE MORNING, DO YOU HEAR ME? GET YOUR FLIPPIN' SNOW PANTS ON AND GET OUTSIDE BEFORE YOUR BUS GETS HERE! N-O-WWWWWWW!!!!!")

I'm more than familiar with depression , as you know, from a lifetime of trying to manage it, but right now, I feel like I'm drowning in this shit.