Little Bits of Pixie Dust

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thourougly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, what a ride!!"

Saturday, November 29, 2008


The sight of the back of my baby's head, with its swirls of hair and his ears just visible, makes my heart melt and I never knew I could love something this much.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Things that Make Me Feel Guilty, Volume I

Is it wrong...
  • that on some days, I cannot WAIT for the time that the Peanut goes to bed?
  • that sometimes, I just wish I could take a nap and be uninterrupted?
  • that I miss the time that my husband and I used to have together?
  • that I really would have a tantrum if we didn't have cable?
  • that I probably wouldn't be able to make it through the days if we didn't have cable?
  • that I made brownies for Thanksgiving and let people believe that I made them from scratch, when I really didn't?
  • that I'm two glasses in to a bottle of white zinfandel and I am feeling pretty good?
  • that sometimes I let the Peanut watch TV, even though he is only four months old?
  • that I just ate some brownies directly out of the pan with my fingers?

Tuesday, November 25, 2008


Yay, we went to the doctor yesterday and he said that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the Peanuts eyes. Interesting Fact: he said that at least twenty percent of the population has one pupil larger than the other. Other interesting fact... the doctor was wearing high heeled cowboy boots. Leather, with a fancy design. With dress pants. My MIL was with me and she was standing behind him gesturing to the shoes (boots) and laughing. Also, the doctor was kind of a dick. I mean, you are a pediatrician... pediatric opthamologist. So that means that you should be used to working with kids. And I know he's only four months old but you could talk to him, couldn't you? He just bustled all into the room and started barking orders... "Hold him straight on your lap. Hold his head still. Put your hand right there and hold him still."

Also, I hate when they ask you if this is your first kid. Like I am just one of those hysterical mothers who runs her kid to the doctor everyday because I am a first time mom and worry too much. No, I honestly had a concern about my son so I'm going to look into it. I don't think that is a first time mom thing, I think it is an anything mom thing, because something is wrong with my kid! Oh, and they kept telling me that he wasn't really four months old, because he was premature. So next August will we say, nope sorry, you're really only eleven months old so no birthday party for you! I think as soon as he was out of my body he was out, and that's how old he is.

So I'm really looking forward to tonight. After we put the baby to bed we are going to have a nice steak dinner and some wine. I guess that's what it comes down to when you are parents... we don't go out on the night before Thanksgiving "the biggest bar night of the year", instead we stay in and will probably be in bed by 11. At the latest. Oh well, it will still be nice to have some QT with my husband.

And then tomorrow- the great drive of the holidays. We have to go to my aunt's house first and then come back to my MIL's. And the Peanut will be passed around and around and he'll be so irritated by the time we get home. But I plan on giving him just a tiny bite of mashed potatoes. So he'll feel some holiday spirit.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Dark Days

I hadn't talked about this yet, because I didn't know the words to express how I feel, but I was struck by the bravery of CP as she opened up about her problems. I have also poured over the archives over at Heather's, and found it such a comfort that at least someone else knew how I felt. And I want to be completely honest, no matter how painful, because I think a lot of women are scared to admit how they really feel.

I'm talking about post-partum depression. And it totally kicked my ass when I had the Peanut. I was scared of it, of course. I was already diagnosed with major depressive disorder, so I knew there was a good chance of getting it. But I think a little part of my mind didn't really believe it was as bad as all that. I may have even scoffed, I've been through worse times, I can make it. I didn't want to be another one of "those" women. After all, I was thrilled to be having a baby, couldn't wait till he was born. I stayed on my medication, but chose to drop the dosage significantly due to my pregnancy. And I felt okay. I mean, I was sick everyday, so I would have been depressed no matter what. I wasn't unable to get out of bed, and I was still showering, so I figured I was doing okay.

Two days after I gave birth, I sat up in my hospital bed sobbing hysterically with a breast pump attached to each breast. I was trying SO HARD to breastfeed, and it just wasn't working. A* gently turned the pump off and told me that it was okay, just let it go. I did, but that night as we were walking the Peanut down to the nursery I couldn't hold the tears back anymore and cried all the way down the hallway. I felt like a horrible mother, and that I had let my son down. But A* and I chalked it up to the baby blues and figured that it would go away soon.

It didn't. We got home with the baby and I felt so helpless, so overwhelmed. He would cry and my stomach would just twist into knots of anxiety, and I would feel like there was nothing I could do. At night, I wasn't able to sleep even when he was, because I was so nervous that I couldn't turn it off. I would listen and listen, dreading the moment when I would hear a sound from the basinet. I sat in the rocking chair with my beautiful baby and christened his head with tears. I don't even want to admit to some of the thoughts that went through my head... that I didn't want him, that I had made the biggest mistake of my life, that this would never get better, that he and I would both be better off if I wasn't around. That last one was the one I kept coming back to. I figured that he would have the memory of me, and he would imagine that I would have been a good mom, so that would be better than the sobbing mass of nothing that was really there for him. But even this seemed to take too much energy. I went days without showering. I sobbed into A*'s arms every night when he got home from work, and he didn't know what to do. Gradually he took over everything, diapers and feedings and bottle washings and laundry and just everything. I sat and cried.

Finally I crept out of my hole long enough to realize that something had to be done. I made an appointment with my therapist, someone who I had been avoiding because I couldn't summon the energy to go to her office. I made an appointment with my doctor, to see about a medication change. And slowly, things began to get better. I started enjoying those little moments with the Peanut. I wasn't afraid to be alone anymore. I started to take back over some of the household stuff. My medication was adjusted. I had the support of a fantastic husband and wonderful family and friends. I got better.

Now it hurts to look back on those dark nights when I didn't want my baby. When I was ready to end it all. I don't want to admit how close I came to the edge. But I wanted to let other mothers out there know that there IS a light at the end of the tunnel, and if you can just ask for help something will finally work. Because my Peanut is a lot happier now that I'm a lot happier.

Hang in there.

Saturday, November 22, 2008


I took my son to meet some people today that I said he would never meet, and that I swore he would never be exposed to.

These people are my grandparents.

My parents have been divorced since I was two, so I never really knew them as married. I know from things that my mom has told me that she was never welcomed into the family and was always made to feel like an outsider. When I came along, for some reason they couldn't get past the fact that I was half my mom, and I wasn't treated very well either.

No, I was never abused, and I had stuff to play with and was fed and all that stuff. Sometimes my grandpa would read me a story. But I never, not once, felt comfortable there. There are pictures of all the other grandchildren displayed in frames... but not me. They never called me, never asked about me, were never interested in anything that I did. They didn't know my interests, they didn't know what grade I was in or who was my best friend. I never did anything with them that didn't involve my dad picking me up and taking me to their house.

One year for Christmas, I got a gift certificate that had the original name blacked out and mine written above it. I had to sit at the kids table until I was seventeen years old. My mom was nice enough to invite them to my graduation party, but they never came or even RSVPed. I was constantly reminded, in subtle ways, how I was somehow less of a person than they were, that my mom was raising me in the complete wrong way, and basically I just wouldn't amount to anything. When I was eighteen, it was no longer required by law that I go over there with my dad, and I finally told him that I wouldn't do it anymore. I asked him if he would want to go to a strangers house on Thanksgiving, because that is essentially what it was like.

The next time I saw my grandparents was the day that I got married. Of course I invited them because that is the "right" thing to do. They had never even met A*. They didn't go to the reception.

But my dad, oh my dad. He wants everyone to get along so badly, and he doesn't understand the way that I've felt over the years. He wants to believe more than anything that everyone likes each other and we'll all be a big happy family. I know that this will never happen. And I told myself that the Peanut would never have to feel the way that I felt, as they sat there and judged me.

My dad asked me if my grandparents could meet their great-grandchild, the first for them. I don't know how else to tell my dad that there is no point, I will never be a part of that fictional family. But it means so much to him. It means so much, and he means so much to me, that I told him I would go. I told him I would only stay for an hour at the longest, but I would go.

So we did. And I hate to admit it, but I dressed Peanut all up for the occasion, like I have something to prove to these people. And he was cute and well behaved and I was so proud of him. They took pictures that I know will never grace the walls or even the refridgerator. They made stupid small talk. They never looked me in the eye.

And I realized something, as I sat there and watched my son drool all over her shoulder. I didn't care. These people couldn't hurt me anymore. I don't care what they think about me, or my son, or my family. I get to go home with my beautiful boy to my loving husband, and they can't touch that. It was an awesome feeling, something that has been twenty-eight years in the making.

We stayed an hour, and then I took my son and we drove away. I remember the relief I used to feel, pulling out of the driveway and knowing I didn't have to go back until the next holiday. I breathed a sigh of relief, turned the music up loud, and drove home.

Friday, November 21, 2008

For the Love of Socks

When I was younger, my grandma started a tradition of getting me holiday themed socks for every occasion. I had every major holiday, and then some extra with butterflies or cats on them for good measure. I wore them with pride.

Of course, as I got older theme socks weren't really the "cool" things to be wearing. I pushed them all to the corner of my drawer and forgot about them. In college, I would occasionally wear some Christmas socks in July because I hadn't done my laundry, but other than that I wouldn't be caught dead in them.

Now I am twenty-eight years old, and have a son of my own. But to Grandma, I am still her baby girl. Last night the family went out to dinner for a birthday. I sat down at my place and there was a puffy envelope sitting on my plate. It was a pair of black socks with snowmen on them, and "Let it Snow" printed in neon blue around the top. My dad actually asked me if they were for Peanut. They are ugly, and wouldn't go with anything save one of those reindeer sweaters or something.

I got up from the table and gave Grandma a kiss. She told me how she had searched for the socks and found just the right ones. I suddenly had a vivid picture of her in the store, pouring over socks and trying to find the perfect pair. All for me.

The next holiday is New Year's, and I'm sure I'll get a snazzy sparkly pair. And I will love them, because it means that my Grandma is thinking of me. If anyone asks me if I am loved, I will tell them yes...

and direct them to my sock drawer.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

"Eye" See

I wonder if anyone else out there worries as much as I do. I waste so much time worrying about things that may never happen, and I just don't know how to stop myself. It's like I feed off worry. And I have a very healthy appetite.

Of course, since the Peanut has been around I just worry a hundred times more. If I set him in his bouncy seat or swing, I worry that I'm not spending enough time with him. If I am playing with him, I worry that he will get too spoiled or won't be independant because I never put him down. I worry about how much he sleeps, how much he eats, if he is okay alone in his room at night, am I giving him enough baths, is he happy.... the list could go on and on. I am trying to be the elusive "perfect" mother, even though there is no such thing.

That being said, Peanut has an eye doctor appointment next Monday and I'm very worried. I wake up at night and think about it. I noticed when he was about a month old that he had one pupil that was bigger than the other. At the time, he also had an infected tear duct and the doctor told me that it was probably due to that. Well, the infection cleared up but the pupil never got smaller. And now he is at the age where he is supposed to be looking at stuff more closely, and it just seems to me that he isn't looking at anything closely. If I hold something up in front of his face, he never focuses on that object, but rather will crane his head around to try and NOT look at it. He doesn't respond to rattles being shaken in his face, or fingers wiggling. I know that he can see the light, because he is always staring in that direction. I just don't know. Sometimes it seems like he IS looking at me, but as soon as I think about it he isn't anymore.

A* tells me not to worry, and really we're going to the doctor on Monday so what can I do in the meantime? But I just can't help it, I don't know how to turn off that part of my brain. And I know, if God forbid something was wrong, we will get through it. The anticipation is almost worse than whatever the outcome may be.

I just can't stand the thought of something being wrong with my precious little boy and there is nothing I can do about it. I can keep him fed and warm and dry and clean, but my magic wand does not extend to eye issues.

I need a new magic wand.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

One of Those Days

I was bolted from sleep this morning at 4:30 a.m. by a screaming baby... and the day just never seemed to get better after that.

The Peanut threw up the entire contents of his morning bottle all over the front of himself and me. The puke even soaked in my underwear, and thankfully it also got on the front of the glider in his room, therefore necessitating both clothes changing AND chair scrubbing when all the reasonable people are still in bed.

The cool thing is that then I welcomed my monthly "Aunt Flo" (or whatever cutesy name you want to use so that we might forget what it actually is). Sweet.

I am a home health aide for a woman that lives in the same apartment complex as we do, so I bundled up the Peanut and we went down there for a little while, where I discovered that she had almost cut off the circulation in her wrist by wearing a rubber band overnight and then she fought me about taking her shower. That was fun, too.

The Peanut and I braved the cold once more to come home and realize surprise! I had locked the door behind me and didn't have the keys! House keys, car keys... and it was snowing and I didn't have a coat on. Thank God my MIL lives very close by, so we tromped back there and I borrowed her car to go and get some spare keys from A*.

Of course Peanut didn't want his afternoon nap, and of course I dropped a greasy slice of pizza on the floor that I had just cleaned. And then of course I was sitting on the toilet when I realized that we were out of toilet paper.

Just one of those days. What happened on your last one?

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Peanut's Birth Story

Of course, you knew that the obligatory birth post would have to come soon, didn't you? I mean, I couldn't just let the opportunity to talk about my miracle and my experience pass me by. So here goes, the miracle birth of my Peanut.

After about eight months of a miserable pregnancy where I threw up every single thing that I put in my mouth and had the tendancy to pass out a lot, I went to my weekly doctor's appointment and was told there was "some concern" about my blood pressure. I was sent home with a huge brown jug to collect my urine for twenty four hours, and within a couple of days the results were back from the lab and I was sitting in a hospital bed with IV's hooked to various points on my arm. My blood pressure had skyrocketed and there was protein in my urine and my potassium levels were all wacked out... we were trying to wait until I was at least 35 weeks to take the baby. Of course I was completely stressed out and worried about my baby, and in the meantime I was getting sicker and sicker. I was light headed all the time, still barfing every five seconds, and in general just feeling like I had gotten run over by a truck.

I was floating in a haze of sickness and IV medication when the results from my latest lab work came back. I remember my doctor sitting on the edge of my bed and telling me that it was time, we needed to get the baby out. I wasn't even that freaked out at that point, because I was so over being sick. I was actually grateful to see a light at the end of the tunnel. The doctor told A* and I that he was going to try and induce me first, and a c-section would be the last resort. A nurse came in and administered a dose of Cirvadil, something that was supposed to soften my cervix and start contractions. I kept getting the Cirvadil once every four hours, and though I was feeling some tiny contractions I wasn't dialating at all. After twenty four hours I was only a centimeter and a half. Some of the medication they were giving me made me ungodly hot, and I was lying there with a cool cloth on my head sweating and cursing EVERYONE I COULD THINK OF and wondering if Hell maybe would be just a tad bit cooler than I was feeling right then, and my doctor reentered the room and said the magic words... "How about we stop fooling around and go ahead and do the c-section?" Yes, yes, please!!! "How about in 45 minutes?"

We had to make a million phone calls and I had to cry a little and with all that I hardly had time at all to be nervous. A crowd of family members crowded around my hospital bed and made ridiculous small talk. I had a moment to reflect that my father, my stepfather, my mother, my mother-in-law that doesn't get along with my mother... all of them were in the same room and all of them were at least attempting to smile. Made me feel loved, for everyone to be all uncomfortable for me.

In no time at all, my mom was crying on my face and kissing me farewell, and everyone was touching my feet and calling out good wishes, and they wheeled me away to the operation room. I was concerned about A*, and where he would be, but the nurse assured me that as soon as I had my spinal he could join me in the operating room.

It was freeee--eee-zing in that stark white room, and I tried not to shake too hard as they sat me up and began to swab my back with something. I was worried that I might make them miss their mark or something, so I clenched my muscles as tightly as I could. I was thinking about not moving so much that the shot barely registered. The nurse told me that I would start feeling numb and oh! all of a sudden my left leg just collapsed over to the side and I started feeling warm again, traveling from my legs up my chest. They laid me down and started busily getting out insturments and setting up the sheet and oh God, where was A*?? They didn't forget about him... and then I started feeling nauseous. I glanced back and caught the eye of some man and told him that I was going to throw up, and he put one of those basin things on the side of my face. It is weird, throwing up when you can't feel anything below your chest. I vomitted pathetically into the pale pink basin and then had throw up all over the side of my face and couldn't summon the strength to lift my arm and wipe it away. I cried a little. And then, like a miracle, A* was by my side. He smiled lovingly at me and I looked at him and said,

"I barfed."

He nodded and stroked the hair from my forehead. I asked him to scratch my nose for me, and he did. Things are a little fuzzy here, but I do remember the smell of (sorry) burnt flesh and the sound of some of the insturments, and I remember hearing a gush and A* saying in wonderment, "That was your water!" and then I don't remember anything except hearing that tiny little cry. The cry! And I was so worried about his lungs because he was early, and that made my heart just sing to know that he had enough power to make that lusty screechy sound.

I called out weakly, "Is he okay? Is he okay?" but there was no one around to answer me. A* had abandoned me on the table as he went to marvel at his new son and there was a flurry of activity as nurses and doctors finished up their jobs. Finally he came back to my side and I could only see his eyes above the surgical mask, but they were glowing with something I had never seen in them before. His cheeks were a little wet and I could tell that he had the hugest smile ever, and he told me that we had a son, we had a son and he was perfect. He brought me a tiny bundle wrapped in white, and I folded down a corner of the blanket and gazed at this amazing little person, and for the first time in eight months I felt myself relax, because here was my son. Here was my son, and he was perfect.

Saturday, November 15, 2008


I was looking back over this blog because I was going to delete it. I hadn't written anything in forever, I thought that no one read it anyway, and what was the point? But I wanted to see what I had wasted all my time on for those couple of years, so I decided to go over the archives. And lo and behold, I thought some of it wasn't half bad. And I thought some of it may even be good. And then I thought that a lot of it sucked, but that's okay too. I thought that it may be a shame to just delete all that came before.

Plus, I'm lazy, and I would have to reintroduce myself all over again.

So now here we are, some years later. A* and I are happily married, and have been for over a year now. If I could do it all over again, I totally would, but I would take all the money that we spent and elope to Vegas. I could have avoided a whole crapload of problems and stress and sucking money down the drain. But the important thing is that we are married, finally. And a couple months into the marriage, I took the infamous pee on the stick and saw two lines peeking back at me. I was so shocked that I literally fell down the stairs! What followed was an extrememly tough pregnancy, and also tough after he was born, but that is for the next post. What you need to know is that now there is a little Peanut in our family, and he is the most perfect little boy in the whole world. He is now about three and a half months old, and is just the greatest thing that could have ever happened to A* and I. Not to gush, but he is just so smooshy and cuddly and has the most perfect chubby cheeks to kiss and squeeze. We think he is pretty great.

A*, Peanut and I are living in a little two bedroom apartment, and A* is still at his job and I am working part time as a home health aide. So, only two major life events in my absence! I hope that you all will go back over my archives, but forgive some of the writing and some of the drivel that accidentally came out. I'm sure it won't be the last. And yes, I guess now I'll have to be one of those "Mommyblogger" people, but that's okay with me. I hope that the Internet will welcome me back with open arms.

I'm sure opening mine back to you.