the nutters

31 August 2014

Here We Go...

WARNING: I will be using this (as of late, untouched) blog to air a lot of my postpartum depression grievances, hoping it will help. Whether or not you continue to read is now up to you.

Wow. I got here FAST this time. I think after CC was born, the ugly monster with a capital D didn't really show up for at least 6 weeks or so. And with Daphne, there was a lot of apprehension... but I don't think it really hit until about 5 weeks.

JD isn't even 3 weeks old until Tuesday.

But this morning, while my entire family attended church, I relaxed on the couch with a sleeping baby boy, laying sedentary on my chest. He had recently puked all of the contents of his breakfast all over me, yet, miraculously, had slept through both the vomiting and the cleaning. Then not even an hour later, without warning, he woke, suddenly, with a scream.

Usually I can get him right back to sleep, but that wasn't going to happen this morning for some reason. He just fought me, fought the pacifier, kicking me right where my fresh incision is still tender.

And instead of being the mother I know I CAN be; instead of being the loving, patient mother I work daily at being with my older, more "controllable" children - I just lost it. I put him in his swing, which he protested, and I yelled at him. I yelled at a helpless, newborn, dependent-upon-me-for-survival-and-love, tiny baby. I yelled at him to "deal for 5 minutes so I can take a bloody shower since I smell like a sour dairy farm!"

I cried in the shower. HARD. I literally sat on the floor of my shower, water pouring all over me like some sort of campy after-school special, and sobbed. They were angry tears, and sad tears, and tears of self-pity & self-loathing. Oh, and you can trust that there was some definite yelling at God, as there is every time I go through this. I'm sure He can take it... not sure He deserves it. But He's plenty used to it, undoubtedly.

I got out of the shower, nearly hyperventilating, and wondering what good my drama was doing me if no one was even around to witness the spectacle. I could hear JD, strapped safely in his swing, screaming like he was being tortured. So dramatic. Like his father.

Obviously.

I quickly got dressed and ran down to him just in time to catch him mid-red-faced, breathless silence. I picked him up just as the tension officially broke and the piercing cry nearly deafened me. I felt bad.

I guess.

I love him. I do. I really do love him, as I love all of my children. But I don't like him yet, and that sickens me, literally, physically to my core. It takes longer each time for me to actually "like" my babies. It took 6 months with Malia, 8 with CC, and almost 10 with Daphne.

I have my 1st appointment on Wednesday with a therapist. I didn't go to therapy after Daphne. I definitely should have. I went after CC and it worked wonders. I also have a prescription for something called "Wellbutrin" pinned up in my kitchen. The nurse gave it to me last week after dubbing me a little "more weepy" than her average postpartum patients. I didn't want Prozac. It did weird things to me. It took away my sad, but it also took my happy.

Looks like I may need to visit the pharmacy today.

This is going to be a long year.....

29 August 2013

My Letter to MY Children About Miley Cyrus

WARNING - religious "innuendo" (Oh NO!)

To my 3 beautiful daughters,

Right now, there is a lot of hubbub going on in our pop and news cultures about a young girl by the name of Miley Cyrus. She is a 20-year-old singer who garnered fame and fortune by being the daughter of a country singer and then a teen idol on a Disney show about a pop star with an identity crisis. She recently did a performance that has thrown the social networking world into a frenzy. It was vulgar and repulsive and displayed not even an ounce of talent. Also, there was a grown man, nearly twice her age, engaging in the same vulgarity and repulsion, who isn't getting as much heat from the naysayers (although he should be).

By the time you read this, however, I fear that Miley Cyrus will be to you what Madonna was to me. What that means is that, in her prime, she throws all mothers, religious leaders, and conservatives into a judgmental frenzy, but by the time you grow up, she'll be nothing compared to what you're witnessing.

This terrifies me.

There have been letters and articles written to the children of the world about how to avoid being like her: the "what not to do"s and such. And as I read these, I agree with them and respond to them and re-post them so that others can read them and do the same. But it's got me thinking. I escaped my adolescence (fairly) unscathed regarding some of the more tempting moral issues that plague hormonal and misguided youth. How did I do that? Was I just so repulsive to the opposite sex that the opportunity to be lewd and senseless with my dress, speech, and actions just never presented itself? I like to think not. I mean, back then I didn't think I was so cute, but new-found wisdom, maturity, and hindsight tell me I actually wasn't so bad.

A while back, a young man I know was expressing frustration about how some of his church-going female associates were walking the walk regarding modest dress on Sundays, but that encounters with them throughout the rest of the week showed them in shorts that could double as panties and midriff-baring tops. He commented on how difficult it was for him, as someone preparing to serve an LDS mission, to look at these girls and not think inappropriate thoughts. He explained that boys absolutely notice them, and that, if they wanted to be supportive of their male acquaintances who were preparing for missions, they needed to tone it down. I couldn't help but mention to him that the LAST thing you say to a girl when you want her to change a behavior is that said behavior draws attention... especially male attention. "Oh, you mean boys NOTICE me when I dress this way? I'd better stop then!"

So, I wondered to myself, how does one successfully reach out to young girls about the way they dress and behave? And it came to me rather quickly. The only way a young girl will truly be able to avoid the pressure and desire to be a hot mess is if she knows 3 things: 1) who God is, 2) how He feels about her, and 3) that true happiness only comes from developing a relationship with Him.

In light of the recent events with Miley Cyrus and her rubber underwear and "twerking," instead of telling you what not to do, and just how much grounding you will get if you do it, I've decided to take the proactive approach. My one semester in psychology needs to be good for something, right?

When you find yourself surrounded by peers who think it's ok to talk openly about recreational drug abuse, or dress in clothes that are so revealing that complete nudity would likely make people less uncomfortable, or feel the desire to bend over and shake their butts in the air with their tongues hanging out of their mouths, or run around disrespecting other races and cultures by putting them on display and slapping their behinds, or frolicking up to a man twice your age who's dressed like something out of Tim Burton's worst nightmare and then rubbing up against his special places, or using sports' event memorabilia to do things that would not only spread diseases but also make Grandma pass out, I need you to think about asking yourself these questions:

Do I know who my Heavenly Father is?

Do I know how much He loves me?

Do I want happiness in the long term?

I think, more than anything else, instead of wasting your time on the above-mentioned idiotic activities (and, maybe, sort of, oh, I don't know, don't do them on stage and TV in front of millions of viewers?), if you take the time to truly discover the answer to such questions, then you'll be just fine.

And, then BONUS!: I won't have to be holed up in a nursing home for crazies because of my delinquent children.

Because, let's be honest, if that happens to me, guess who gets to foot the bill....?

28 June 2013

6/28/2013 (Daphne)

Dear Daffodil -

I've decided to start today's letters with you so as to be sure you get this. Being the baby, you may often feel like you are being forgotten and dragged along to keep up with the busier lives of your 2 sisters. And since my time to sit and write is limited, I may not get a letter to all 3 of you today. So, this way, I can guarantee you hear my thoughts about you in this stage of your life.

"Kisses"

1st Birthday @ Goofy's Kitchen

You are an absolute delight. And I'm not just saying this as your mother. As you get older, you will learn I am not one to say things just to say them, so appreciate the truth for what it is. I can tell that you have an incredibly sweet and charming disposition. It is very easy to get you to smile and laugh. You are also silly. I didn't realize how silly until others mentioned it to me, because we have a house full of attention-starved personalities constantly trying to be noticed and amusing. But you are definitely learning to keep up. You love to do things to get a laugh out of your sisters. They often remark that you are "the cutest baby in the world." I do not disagree. And you are generally easy to please...

... as long as you are in my arms or within a 5 foot radius.

You are my "clinger." I should've seen it coming, as you were the only one of my babies to absolutely refuse anything other than my breast for nearly the entirety of the 1st year of your life. You were the hardest one to sleep train, despite all of my knowledge on the subject. You are also the most difficult of my children to hand over to people; even if it's your father. People are so absolutely sure I'm exaggerating as you smile and flirt with them from my arms. "No. I don't believe you. She's so sweet! Here. Let me hold her."

Thanks...? for proving I'm not a liar.

The intensity of your charming grins juxtaposed by the piercing shrieks that are comparable to a banshee have alarmed more people than I imagine I could count. And then when they quickly and with apology hand you back to me, the waterworks shut off immediately, you bury your nose in my shoulder, and then you look back at the offender, coyly beaming as if no one is worse for the wear. I'd say you have the makings of a passive aggressive future villain if it wasn't for the fact that I know you are actually incredibly sweet and endearing. You just love me. And that's more than ok. Everyone loves to be loved. And if I'm loved by you? Well, I really couldn't do any better.

I could put 100 toys in your path, and you'd still head straight for destroying the DVDs

You are still, as you have always been, incredibly beautiful. You're skin is so dark, I wonder if people look at us and think I'm you're nanny. I have exposed your belly to far too many people in my efforts to prove it's all natural and not just too much sun. You are very lucky. And your eyelashes are seriously unfair. My dad, your Grandpa, comments on you whenever he sees you that you look just like an actual doll with your enormous eyes. And there is such a spark in them. Even though you are definitely your father's daughter in appearance, something about you reminds me of my mom's mom; your Great Grandma Swenson. She would've been very happy to meet you. She always wanted a dark grand baby, someone who looked more like her with her dark features. She would've definitely loved you. Every time we go anywhere, your charm and good looks are commented on. I literally see people glance in your direction and then double take to get a better look at "such a beautiful baby!" As with your sisters, I will have to be sure you grow up into someone who is gracious and humble, as you are too darn pretty, almost for your own good.

You have been late to crawl and are still a little hesitant with your walking. I worried at first, and then someone suggested that maybe your sisters are too quick to get for you what you need and so you've never felt the necessity to get things yourself. Also, being the 3rd, you get carried a lot and carted around in order to keep up with our increasingly busy lifestyle. I'm not worried now. As with most of your milestones, I'm learning that you'll do it when you want to, and to just sit back and enjoy watching you become you. You take about a dozen steps before you often default into a crawl. I imagine it's mainly because it is still a faster mode of transportation for you. And, even though you are generally sweet and pleasant, you definitely have an impatient side; an impatient side that is often accompanied by your loud, soprano side.

You are almost 16 months old, and while your physical milestones are taking some time, you are more verbal and social than average. You are definitely enjoying the ability to actually be able to communicate beyond screams and grunts. Here are many (but not all) of the things you say:

Hi
Bye
Uh Oh
Dada
Mama
Ow
Up
Eat
Weeeee!
"Eeesth" - please
"Pvvvph" - poop
"Mmmmmm!" - yum
"all duh" - all done
"Dat" - that
"puh puh" - purple
"bvvvph" - blue
"Theeeeeth" - cheese (smiling for pictures)
*panting - dog

You love to sing and dance. When I sit at the piano, you will come over and play the keys you can reach and "belt" along with me. I think your sisters don't like it because, when they try to do the same, I usually ask them not to. They forget it was once cute when they were smaller like you. Although, I do think I tolerate it more with you, as having 3 children has taught me to care less about certain past annoyances. You've officially worn me out, I guess. I suppose that's why babies of families are reputably spoiled.

You are such a joy and amazing addition to our family, Daphne. Even though the first year of your life was hard for me, it was, in no account, because of you. And I am so grateful that now that I am out of my postpartum haze, I am able to more enjoy your sweet spirit. You have just recently begun to come to me on your own accord and just give me a hug for no reason other than to hug, and I have to restrain myself from squeezing back too hard. I was so anxious to reach this point in your life, when things would get "easier," and now I regret it as I feel I wished it away too quickly.

Slow down.

Love,
Mommy