3 tips for beating stress in the moment

Even though my antidepressant keeps me from falling over a cliff of emotions, I still experience very stressful moments. Sometimes this happens when my son is acting up or defying me, other times he's not even around and I'm just making dinner. My pulse races along with my mind and I can't seem to catch up with myself.

My therapist (who happens to specialize in anxiety) gave me some tips for beating stress in the moment; things I can try to stop a stressful feeling in its tracks and cool down right away. After a few weeks, I've had several chances to try them out. Here are the three tips she gave me:

1. Practice paradoxical intent. Developed by Dr. Viktor Frankl, the crazy idea behind this is to focus as hard as you can on an emotion in order to sort of confront it and break it down. In this case, when I feel stress I focus on being as stressed out as I possibly can: I can clench my fists, shut my eyes tight, and think "Stress! Stress!" It's so silly it actually works.
2. Change the temperature. This is another technique that interrupts the cycle of stress or anxiety. Options include stepping outside to breathe cold air, running cold water over the wrists, or in extreme cases dunking an elbow in a bowl of ice water. Case in point: A few days ago, my son was clamoring at me begging for gummy candies and generally falling apart for several minutes. I wasn't going to give in just to make him quiet. So there I stood, with cold water running over my wrists, looking out the window and breathing deeply while he continued to cry at my feet. It really helped. After about ten seconds, the tense feeling in my gut eased and I felt more in control. My son? He got over it eventually.
3. Do something intentionally. Even though I can feel stress just cooking, I actually enjoy doing it. It's the closest I can get to a creative hobby right now, and when I have time I really dig in. So sometimes I bake bread intentionally. I focus on the process -- weighing the flour, smelling the yeast in the dough, watching the mixer knead it into a smooth pattern in the bowl, feeling the texture on my fingers as I lay it out to rise. Using intention in doing something small makes me feel calm and centered so I'm less fluttered by the crazy moments that come later.

I'm not sure I have a preference for one tactic. I'm just not that organized. And sometimes I forget that I have these tools, but I can look at my son and remember that he's in a lot of pain when he can't communicate and doesn't know how to handle such big emotions. So I focus on softening myself instead and just stay near until the storm passes.

random thoughts on being thankful

I have learned that it is okay to be thankful and stressed out. It is normal to feel depressed and hopeful. It is beautiful to cry.

antidepressants are helping

It's a funny thing, antidepressants (ADs). On the one hand, I see them as beneficial for so many people. On the other, I tend to consider them the very last option for myself. I'm not really anti-medication, I just prefer to find natural ways to nurture myself first.

The first time I took ADs was a severe (to me) depression that followed my infertility diagnosis. Now is the second, and this time I don't feel depressed so much as I am anxious, stressed, feeling guilty, and suffering sleep disorders. Well, it turns out that anxiety and depression are like fraternal twins. I also have learned that, sometimes, regardless of the healing that follows depression, it can come back through a simple chemical imbalance.

So I shouldn't feel guilty about needing help. I cannot deny a conflict in my heart because I will always be profoundly grateful to God for his gift of my son, but for now I'm moving forward with medication. After only two weeks on the AD I can honestly say that I feel like a new woman. I'm not crazy-happy-unicorns-and-rainbows happy, but the ball of tension I have carried around in my gut has subsided. I'm much more patient and joyful with my family, and my son has been doing better because of it. Case in point: the other day my son was making ugly faces at me in defiance for gently telling him to take off his shoes. I made a similar face and genuinely laughed out loud, and he reacted by also laughing hysterically. It was awesome.

I guess this is my season for getting practical help while continuing to seek closeness with God, family, and friends.

working mother guilt

I sat in the chair in my therapist's office the other day, filling out a brief questionnaire to guage my level of depression. The answers had numbered scores next to them:  0, 1, 2, 3. I ticked each one off -- 0, 1, 1, 0, then came across the one asking me how guity I feel. 3. Guilty as charged.

So here's a not-so-brief confession and list for my typical week's full of working mother guilt. I feel guilty for:

1. Working part-time
2. Working at all
3. Considering working full-time
4. Wanting to work and not having the desire (capability?) to stay home
5. Having my child in daycare
6. Considering having my child in daycare full-time
7. Having my child in therapy someday for all the daycare he endures now (if some parenting experts are to be believed)
8. Not fixing healthier meals more often
9. Feeding my child a steady diet of mac & cheese instead of kale (no wait -- I don't feel guilty about that)
10. Weight gain
11. Spending money on clothes as a result of weight gain
12. Imperfect parenting
13. Judging my husband's parenting
14. Not potty training my child before he's 3
15. Inconsistent potty instruction
16. Not using sticker charts for potty or chores or whatever the hell else they're used for
17. Letting my son swallow gum instead of fishing it out of his mouth (or giving it to him in the first place)
18. Praying and reading my Bible inconsistently
19. Forgetting to pray or read
20. Blowing off prayer or reading
21. Not volunteering more
22. Not wanting to volunteer at all
23. Wondering whether I should volunteer

I should do this, I should do that... pretty soon I'm shoulding all over myself.

Why in the world am I beating myself up? No wonder I'm halfway to being a basket case every time my son has an unstoppable, stratospheric temper tantrum. On some level I'm busy blaming myself and, yes, feeling guilty for not preventing it.

I realized something recently. It's not just the guilt of a working mother. Because of the living hell I endured through my two miscarriages and infertility diagnosis followed by God's gift of my son, I have this tendency to think of my gift of motherhood as “happily ever after.” As in, I should spend every day being grateful and not blown apart by the challenges every other mother on the planet experiences especially if she's working outside the home. Some might call this survivor guilt.

Not that I'm not grateful every day, but that’s just not realistic. Tomorrow has its own set of challenges. My biggest challenge right now isn't finding my next job (although that does take a lot of mental energy). It's accepting the reality that parenting is hard emotional work regardless of the journey to get here, and that I'm as human as the next mom with a mind and heart and needs of my own. The fact that my needs generally come dead last on any given day is, I suppose, beside the point.

I don't think antidepressants are going to absolve me or otherwise erase these guilty feelings, so I'd better look elsewhere. I'll explore that more in an upcoming post.

losing his last nap and my sanity with it

My son's life is a series of transitions, and currently he is transitioning away from his midday nap. I'm not sure, but I think this transition is supposed to last a couple of months decades. Some days, he naps. Others, only if he's strapped into a carseat and forced to sit still for an hour. Still others, like this past weekend, he skips the nap and slips into a coma right before dinnertime.

Friday we let him nap since we couldn't reasonably wake him, then he was a major crankybutt until bedtime. Sunday we just gave in and put him to bed. Predictably, he was awake at 5 this morning. Argh!!!

Meanwhile, I've started seeing my therapist again, and my next appointment is tomorrow. I’m thinking of going back on antidepressants for a while. My insomnia is just an absolute plague, and when I can’t sleep I can’t handle my son very well (let alone the rest of my life). Case in point: Yesterday was day 6 of terrible sleep for me. The day went okay, but of course the boy didn’t nap. Late in the afternoon he just got more and more upset, throwing tantrums over next to nothing. I knew it was because he was exhausted, but every episode just ratcheted up my stress level. I was trying to put lotion on him after his shower and he got all fussy, yelling etc., then he full-on hit me in the face (not hard, of course). I grabbed his arms and rather yelled “I know you’re upset but I won’t let you hit me!” This shocked him enough that he burst into tears, so I held him and he continued fighting me. My husband took over and I just sat in the chair in our son's room sobbing, helpless to the situation.

In a way, it was a blessing that he crashed at 5 and my husband and I had a quiet evening together (we even got to eat dinner in front of the TV!), but then of course I couldn’t sleep and then he was up at 5 this morning… Whatever "it" is, I’m starting to lose it.

As my therapist reminded me last week, a happy mom is a good mom. What's a stressed-out, depressed, overweight, insomniac mom??

The most productive thing I did last night, since I was awake, was go into the living room in the dark and talk to God. Actually, I argued with him. As I poured out my frustration, I said I felt like I was talking to a brick wall, and asked Him to let me know He was actually listening. After a while, I turned on a light and started reading my Bible -- a Good News Translation version that my dad gave to me on my 13th birthday. I randomly flipped over to the middle section, wordlessly asking for a Psalm. Up in the left hand corner was a drawing of a person leaning over another one who was lying in bed, and the caption was from Psalm 23:4. "Even if I go through the deepest darkness, I will not be afraid, Lord, for you are with me." Tears in my eyes, I turned off the light and went back to bed.

transitions

In a book about mothering, I read recently that the average woman goes through some kind of life transition about every 3 years. Looking at my life, I know the author is right. Apparently it’s time for me to brace myself for the winds of change again.

Last month, I blogged about experiencing what must be the onset of perimenopause (or the coming apocalypse of my reproductive system). Yesterday I learned that my position will more than likely be phased out due to budget cuts, and my boss is very kindly giving me a heads up to start looking.

Stress? Me?

At first I didn’t want to tell my husband for fear of worrying him before I had some kind of good news to go with it, like I Have a Plan! or Guess Where I’m Going to Start Working? But I confessed my situation early this morning and he was grateful for it.

As usual, I want to be wildly optimistic about my choices given my level of experience and strong networking ties. But I also don’t want to make any choices out of fear, jumping to a rock just because it gets me out of the creek. In other words, I’m scared. Which makes me angry. But I don’t have any person to be angry with, including myself, so it just frustrates me.

The hardest part about being in any tough situation is to just be in it. To not jump for safety or solve the problem as fast as possible, but to reach for God’s hand and be quiet and wait. And so I am. Kind of.

The Lord has brought me through the hell of infertility, through multiple layoffs, through bad relationships, and toward peace in every situation. In short, he gives me what I need most: Himself. And that is certainly what I need now.

My biggest question isn’t where I should work, but how. Full time? Part time? Contract? Ugh.

I’m putting out feelers and inquiries in a few key places today, and trusting God to lead me where he wants me to go. To me, that’s what waiting on the Lord means – doing what’s in front of me and looking for his guidance along the way, knowing that by putting my life in his hands I can rest knowing that he will lead me toward peace.

The irony of my daily devotional never ceases to amaze me.

Hebrews 13:6
So we say with confidence,
“The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?”

the coming apocalypse -- or perimenopause and the closing door of fertility

Since my body is no longer compatible with the pill, I started tracking my cycle and have observed that it has shortened to every 3 weeks. Since my recent exam came back normal, I am concluding that this is a symptom of perimenopause -- or as I like to call it, The Coming Apocalypse of My Reproductive System. Ha!

All hilarity aside, this means I suffer from anxiety, sleep disorders, mood swings, and other hormone-related side effects more often -- to my dear family's detriment as well as mine. It could possibly explain my inability to concentrate and remember things too, like grocery shopping and locking my keys in my car (which I did just the other day).

 

It's making me increasingly frustrated.

 

Reckogning that perimenopause is a signpost of aging and subsequent infertility is kind of depressing in its own right. Oh yes, all women go through it unless they skip this stage by surgical necessity. But that doesn't make this part of the journey more enjoyable.

 

I am all the more confronted with the reality that our childbearing time is over as quick as it began, even though it's as much choice as circumstance.

 

Yes, I'm 45 and as strong as I feel some days, I know this is a precarious time at best to consider another pregnancy. As I recently told someone, I don't expect lightning to strike twice. It would seem foolhardy to put the Lord my God to the test (Matthew 4:7). But like the end of a lifelong frienship, feeling the door slowly close behind me still makes me melancholy.

 

In the meantime, I'm booking a consultation with an herbal specialist to see what I can add to my diet to help balance things out in the mood and stress department. I owe that much to me and my family.

potty training fail and random success

Last week I talked about the top 5 signs my son is ready for potty training, and I geared up by reading a highly-rated and seriously detailed book. I honestly thought training the trainer was the way to go. Then reality slapped me back to the ground.

I had the book and the potty training doll and the treats. Then I forgot my precious book at work. In a panic, I downloaded it on Kindle Saturday morning (training day). Then my mind started flooding with endless questions: In what order do I perform all the steps? Do I warn him that we’re starting the half-day marathon called potty training? What if he doesn’t do anything – do I still reward him? What if there are interruptions, or he just keeps asking for treats? My mind was reeling.

By mid-morning I called it quits. Yep, I chickened out of potty training. I felt ill-prepared to take on this momentous task. Monday morning I polled my friends to see what method worked best. And you know what? Most of them had an unorganized, downright lackadaisical way of going about the whole thing. I began to wonder if it was possible that I was overthinking this. Who, me? The one who analyzes processes like a chef hunting down the Perfect Recipe?

Based on my friends’ input, I decided there was one small step I could take: I would begin with one small ritual with rewards. So last night, I excitedly told my son that we would start learning how to use the potty before bathtime. If he went, he could get a special potty treat as a reward. He sat on there for maybe 10 seconds before deciding he needed that treat. My reaction? “Oh well, that’s okay. We’ll try again next time. Let’s take a bath.” I didn’t give him the treat, which he wasn’t happy about, but we moved on.

This morning as I was in the bathroom putting on makeup, he came in and I asked if he’d like to use the potty. He said “Yeah.” I took him through the steps of pulling down his shorts, helped him get into position, and reminded him to point his thingy down so that when pee comes out it will go straight into the toilet (no guard on this seat).

What did he do? He farted. Ha! He looked up at me in surprise, and I exclaimed “Good job! Mommy’s so proud of you.” He decided he was done, and we moved on. There was no mention of a treat.

When I dropped him off at daycare, I mentioned how ready he is and they said that no, he hasn’t gone there yet either. Not 10 minutes later, one of the teachers called me to announce that he pulled off his shorts, marched right into the bathroom, and peed in the toilet. I told her it was okay to give him a gummy bear as a special potty treat.

Can I just tell you how much that made my day?!

I know, this is just the beginning. And complete success could be months away. One small step for (little) man…

So, for now, I think I’ll take my hands off the reins and follow his lead a bit more. I will encourage and praise him for every tiny effort. Maybe, like a fellow mommy blogger, I’ll just say no to potty training.

anxiety and the search for peace: part 4 (hormones, baby!)

In my continuing effort to find out what it takes to get my sleep patterns back to non-dependence-on-drugs, I checked with my doc. Sure enough, she agreed that the week-long increase in progesterone could easily be a source for insomnia. So she switched me to a mono-phasic cycle (the same level for 3 weeks).

I started it last Sunday. I'm giving it up altogether today.

I'm so tired of being tired and wondering whether I'll have another hellish sleepless night every time I hit the pillow. It's ruining me bit by bit.

So, I will try going pill-free to see if this is what I need to do. I'm also doing so prayerfully, asking God to guide me through this.

The search for peace goes on.

forgive and move on

I mentioned last time that our would-be condo buyers backed out. I did not mention that we decided not to let them have their earnest money back. Why? Because they cost us thousands of dollars in extra mortgage payments, not to mention the few hundred we spent completing unnecessary repairs that they asked for as conditions of the sale. Later we found out that recent laws have tilted the real estate game almost completely in favor of the buyers. Short story is, we had no legal way to keep it. We could, however, deny sending it back right away until it is returned automatically after 120 days.

Time passed. They threatened mitigation, to which we scoffed that they may as well since they get to pay for it. Then we asked if they'd at least pay for the items we completed, and at first they agreed only to flip-flop later and deny it. I was hurt and angry and I wanted them to suffer a little for the grief their carelessness has caused us (and in case I seem narrow-minded about that, consider the fact that their realtor has refused to keep working with them and fired them as his client). I was unforgiving, and eventually started to wonder what God would have me do.

Then early this week, I talked with my husband about it. I said "Maybe it's a test." I wondered if we won't be able to sell until we just decide to forgive them and send back the money.

So we did.

And what do you know, the next day I went to an interview and got a job offer the day after that. Not just any job, but one that (unadvertised) is 20 hours a week to start and is ideally suited to me right now, and the commute puts my son's daycare right in my path so I can drop him off easily on the way in while having enough time to be a mommy in the afternoons and Fridays just like before I was laid off. In other words, perfect.

Did God orchestrate the timing of all this just to prove a point? It's hard not to think so -- it's exactly the way I've seen God work in my life before. I'm seriously grateful no matter what.

Haven't gotten another offer on the condo yet, but we still haven't reached our informal deadline either. I'm just gonna be patient and wait it out.

of toddler fits and starts and teeth and beauty

Yesterday we went to a potluck. It was probably great, but we spent our time shoveling food down our throats while taking turns keeping our son from destroying the world at large. I think there was plenty of table conversation going on -- or maybe they were politely talking over our drama? Not sure. Doesn't matter.

I had thought I could sit at the table with him and give him some bites off my plate. Oh, the hilarity! "HA," my naivety laughed, "You have no idea who you're dealing with!"

Two more screaming fits later, we decided to cut our losses and exit before they served dessert. We weren't furious or humiliated, we just had no idea what to do other than remove him from the situation.

Then this evening, I served him some rice with a bit of sauce in it which he barely tasted and then threw on the table and on the floor. After throwing whatever else was in the radius of his flailing arms, my husband calmly put him in his room and shut the door. Where in the world did this screaming fit come from? I was nearly beside myself with frustration.

He calmed down. We moved on.

I was getting him ready for bed, and then I saw it -- the emergence of the tiniest white nub that is known in the parental world (well, my world anyway) as The Great Nemesis, or the Two Year Molars. Suddenly, the blinding fits of rage make sense (hell, even his dentist didn't see this three days ago so it's brand new).

I'm having flashbacks to when he was breaking the canines. That was horrendous as well, and lasted too long. This? I have no idea. I'm just bracing myself.

Of course, it's not all fits and starts. I have to admit that this age brings blessings that weren't possible even six months ago -- not only is he walking and running and curious about everything, but he's memorizing words and even two-word phrases at an amazing rate. When I walked in the door from the grocery store this afternoon, he came to me and gave me a hug. He's also capable of giving me the biggest, most beautiful smile that shines like a rainbow and melts my heart, and he's starting to try to return the phrase "I love you."

Yes, it's worth it.

is house hunting more stressful than an infertility battle?

Yesterday morning we got the news that our bid on a really cute house in a great neighborhood with lots of upgrades fell through. We were back at square one. Does that sound stressful? Not really. Except that we had already sold our condo and are on a deadline to find a house according to the contract.

My husband said that this whole shitbag is more stressful than our miscarriages, visits with the infertility clinic, and waiting for the results of those early ultrasounds. It's not for me to argue with him -- those are his feelings, after all. But it sure made me think.

Disclaimer: I would never EVER judge anyone else's journey -- this is only about ours.

I'm not sure whether it's the constant scrutiny of possible homes, seeing a bunch that are either great but expensive or affordable but scary, jumping through insurance and closing date hoops to see if everything can align properly, or what, but holy shit this is the most stress I've been under since I can remember. Yes, even compared to the long, dark valley of death known as our journey through infertility. Even compared to my weakest days as a middle-aged mother to a toddler. I have had moments when I've been crying and trembling, not knowing what to do next, and desperately crying to God to give me peace and wisdom.

Why is God letting us go through this the hard way? Why can't he just make it easy for us? Why am I letting it get to me so intensely?

Ridiculous questions, right? But questions we ask in just about every really difficult situation. I suppose it's because the stress is tightly compressed into a looming deadline that makes it harder. I know in my heart we'll find a house that's right for us. I know it will happen sooner than later. But I can't control it -- I can pick a house I like and want to make an offer in good faith, but the rest is completely out of my hands and I seriously hate it because I have to wait until the next day to find out what comes next. The dichotomy of immediacy and drawn-out waiting is agonizing. Our journey to parenthood, by contrast, was made up of days and months and years where we could completely lose ourselves in other things or spend time exploring issues. Not so with house hunting. It's hurry up and wait, be wise and make a good investment but don't fall in love with a house and start decorating it in your mind because you could lose it the next day. The search for a house could be over this week, or it could take another month. There's no way of knowing.

In this process, I'm trying to lean completely on God. I'm pretty sure there is a lesson in this to draw closer to Him, to really listen for his voice. The other day I was at the end of my rope, at the end of myself, and I asked Him to carry me. 

I have actually slept really well the last two nights and have found other things to think about (which is really handy). 

I am learning that when I hold on tighter to God, I can start to let go of everything else. 

To be continued.

anxiety and the search for a house

The good news is we sold our condo. The great news is we're shopping for a house. The bad news (if you can call it that) is we have 9 shopping days to do it. We looked at 5 houses yesterday and they ranged from mildly disappointing to holy-shit-this-basement-looks-like-a-scene-from-a-horror-movie.
So we decided to up the ante a little and look for a slightly higher price point. The photos look far more promising, so I'll be doing some exploring this morning while my husband is at work.

Meanwhile, said husband is in the middle of a very difficult negotiation with a potential employer. Talk about anxious.

Last night, despite my exhaustion, I drank my hot milk and took a melatonin that's mixed with some mineral that promises to provide stress relief. I wasn't taking any chances. I slept fairly well, but early this morning I had a nightmare that my computer started scanning and downloading people in the room -- kidnapping them into another dimension where I ganged up with members of my church, no less, to rescue them. LOL Maybe I've been watching Dr. Who a little too much.

anxiety and the search for peace: part 3

In part 1, I admitted my battle with insomnia and identified how I would search for an exit route. In part 2, I talked about various Bible verses that I'm allowing to speak to me about experiencing God's peace. Today is an update on sleep and awareness of anxiety.

After a good couple of weeks reducing my normal 2-3 cups of coffee to just 1, I have to say that this is definitely helping. I love coffee but it's time to admit that the hormone changes brought on by pregnancy have probably made me more sensitive to caffeine. Some days we make half-caff at home so I can enjoy two cups, and occasionally I just have to have another half cup of regular. If I go over this limit I notice a difference at night.

Meanwhile, I am trying to get up before my husband and son to spend just a few minutes in prayer. Before the coffee is made, before the lights are on and the sun is up, I sit at the table or on the couch and pray. I am also trying to empty my thoughts and give God space to speak to me -- to listen for His voice and accept His grace. This is actually pretty hard, because like every mom my brain is multi-tasking on multiple levels and time zones and dimensions, and sitting quietly with God takes effort. But it's worth it. Because I come away with a renewed sense of God's peace in my bones, knowing that today is a new day.

Even on the days when I don't think I can last until bedtime because my son has been screaming about nothing I can identify for the last 10 minutes, I remember that I can do all this through him who gives me strength. (Phil 4:13)

One other thing I'm becoming more aware of is the sources of anxiety in my life. It's not hard to name a lot of them, but I'm starting to notice little things too and trying to do things to make them not so. Like using better communication with my husband, leaving the laundry in the dryer, or letting go of who buys our condo and waiting to see God work in that. The expression Let go and let God seems trite sometimes but doing so truly brings peace.

Have I had times in the last couple weeks when I wake up and my brain starts churning anyway? Unfortunately yes. When that happens, I'm acknowledging that I'm awake and I tell myself it's no big deal, that I can go back to sleep. One night I woke up and didn't realize that I'd already been asleep so I took NyQuil. As soon as I went back to bed I realized what I'd done. Ha! Pretty silly. Oh well. I also still wake up about four times a night, but I'm trying not to worry about that either.

The truth is that I will never run out of things to worry about. I will never have every need settled, every desire met, everything I want, every problem solved. That's just reality. That is also why Jesus invites us to let him do the heavy lifting and learn from him instead. It take conscious effort but it's worth it.

anxiety and the search for peace: part 2

I'm looking for "peace" and "rest" in the Bible and am finding things I've seen plenty of times before, but am giving them a chance to sink in. I need rest for my soul.

Matthew 11: 28-30 NIV says 28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

I really like The Message version too though.

Matthew 11: 28-30 “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

Shortly after 6:00 this morning I got up, showered and dressed for the day, and started the coffee pot. Before turning on any other lights, I sat in the dark living room and prayed. Then remembered to be quiet and invite the Lord to speak to me. I wasn't sure how long I should wait, and I knew that was a sign of impatience so I waited a bit longer. The only thing I felt the Holy Spirit say to me was "Don't work."

Today? Next week? For a few years? I have no idea, but today is all I need. One day at a time.

anxiety and the search for peace: part 1

I am one anxious woman. From the time I get up until I go to sleep... well, assuming I get to sleep, I have a little rock of tension in my gut. It's the never-ending list of shit that has to be done, walking away from temper tantrums (literally), weighing a new top against a shrinking budget, cleaning the dickens out of the condo to sell it, blah blah blah. Not only that, but there is constant tension in my home from various sources.

Meanwhile, my sleep issues continue to escalate. If I fall asleep fast, I wake up about 5 times a night. Sometimes I am awake for an hour. Sometimes it takes over an hour to get to sleep. I try to do all the right things to get a good night's sleep: restrict alcohol and caffeine, exercise earlier in the day, have a bedtime routine, cut off nighttime electronics, and a few other things that have become my way of living. It feels like a lot of things I do during the day are to try to ensure a decent night's sleep, and I'm getting tired of being preoccupied with that stuff.

I usually drink half a cup of hot milk before bed. Depending on my anxiety level I mix it with a strong small cup of nighttime tea. On rare occasions I take NyQuil or ZQuil or whatever. Sometimes I take melatonin, but I hate it because it disrupts my REM sleep so I feel like a zombie the next day.

Once, I went to a general practitioner. His immediate response was a prescription. I tried it. It failed. I stopped. I thought -- is that his only answer for me? I know at least two women for whom a prescription is the answer. That's cool. I just have a feeling that God wants me to do something else. To dig deeper and search for Him in this.

So far, all I know is that I want to sleep well and I believe this begins with peace.

So that's what I'm doing (while I'm brewing tea and heating milk and whatnot): searching for peace and rest. I know that anxiety among women -- especially moms -- is pretty common if not assumed. So I'm documenting my journey in hopes that someone else might benefit from it and shorten their own.

My first baby step: cut back to one cup of coffee per day. This, my friends, is no easy thing. Exhaustion is usually beating down my door and threatening to take over. Caffeine is my morning crutch and it's hard to imagine having fewer than 2-3 cups a day. But I have done it before -- granted I was pregnant and didn't have much choice for the health of my baby, but still.

Here's to a good night's sleep. Stay tuned.

oh fuuuuudge...

... as the immortalized A Christmas Story little boy says.

I got laid off today. No severance, no nothing. Just dropped off a cliff. It was a very positive conversation, and they've offered to give me letters of recommendation, but that's that. So I stopped at the grocery store on the way home ('cuz what else am I gonna do?) and what songs do I hear on the speakers? "Here Comes that Rainy Day Feelin' Again" and "It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want to." Really? Really?... LOL 

Mostly I'm fine. My head is kind of spinning (no really, it is - I have a little stomach bug) and I'm in that nowhere zone. But you know what?

I've been through the hell of infertility, other layoffs, ruined relationships, and a handful of careers, and survived. This is a disappointment compared to that.

I'm not the director of my own life - that's God's job and he's way better at it than I am.

I have great friends, great praying friends, and great connections. After all, I have 15 years of communications experience to offer. I'm a great catch haha!

It's hard not to project, what with us getting ready to put the condo on the market and buy a house, the incredibly steep fee of daycare, blah blah.. Meh. It'll work out. It always does.

See? I'm already giving myself a pep talk, and I've barely sipped a glass of wine.

the soldier

Yesterday my mom told/reminded me that "sometimes you just need a good cry." I don't think I listened, but I ended up crying in my bathroom about 10 minutes before I left to meet her and a friend for a beer.

This morning, I cried again at the table while my husband fed our son some oatmeal and my coffee sat in its cup getting cold. My frustration, anxiety, stress, and loneliness caught up with me this morning. Silently, I went to lay on the bed and cry it out a bit. I started praying in my mind, and just said "Lord help me."

Moments later, He gave me a hint of a picture of a soldier. I thought for a moment, and the words that gelled together were "A soldier never abandons his post, no matter how hard the battle gets."

A small idea, but it was enough to set me on my feet again and carry on.

Right now, hours later, I'm watching the boy while my husband runs to the hardware store. I just now watched him holding a toy and took his first real steps across the living room floor. Right in front of me. As if he meant it just for me.

I burst out in tears. Good ones.

I just took this photo to commemorate the day, since he was sitting next to me.

Thank you, Lord.

moving out for a week sucks

A month or so ago, our water heater went out in spectacular fashion. Today, we checked into a hotel for six nights while the contractor replaces all of the flooring except the kitchen and bathrooms.

If you've ever moved, you know it sucks.

If you've ever moved out temporarily, you know it sucks all the more because you'll have to move back in to put your enormous amount of crap back into the same cramped little space and live with it some more.

For someone who's getting most of this paid for by insurance, you'd think I would be giddy with gratitude. Don't get me wrong - I'm definitely grateful. We'd never be able to shuck out the bucks for this otherwise (well, we wouldn't want to anyway). But holy crap, this has been hard.

We've been living in this condo for 10 full years. That's plenty of time to accumulate stuff no matter who you are. Insert a new family member, and suddenly you get clever and creative about repurposing or storing the things you really don't want to part with until you forget just how much you have.

Until the day you have to make the space ready for carpet replacement.

We gotta move. BAD.

Over the weekend, we boxed up stuff from bookshelves, end tables, and other surfaces so the workers can just shuffle them around. Then we had to pack up our own clothes and whatnot for a week's vacation. Only it's not a vacation.

By the end of today, I was drop-dead exhausted. The boy has been on pretty good behavior, thankfully, and was tired enough to go down at 6:30. I can only hope he sleeps well, as the hotel could only supply us with a pack and play - which would be fine if he weren't the size of your average two-year-old. So I rented a crib online and it'll get here tomorrow. Oh well. You gotta do what you gotta do.

When it's all over, the place will look really nice and it will take us one step closer to finally, FINALLY  putting the place on the market this fall (more on that later). So the effort is definitely worth it. Could they not have scheduled it the week of my cycle though? That would have been nice, but they didn't consult me.

My dear husband got takeout for us tonight, which we ate after the boy ate his "dinner" - cheese, crunchies, mandarin oranges, and milk (he wasn't interested in the pouch or it might have been a complete meal). Once all that was done, I realized something. We have a tub. A big, wonderful tub just waiting to be filled with hot water for soaking my tired old ass. And so I did. And it was fabulous.

I love soaking my head, and our water heater  at home craps out before I can fill the tub so I don't bother. I haven't had a tub soak since early December, which is a crying shame because it's one of the few truly relaxing activities that I love dearly. I used to head to the local hot springs for a good soak, but that was years ago, before the pregnancies, and I haven't made the journey since. I think they require bathing suits now because somebody violated the no-romancing rule, so it's a bit less appealing. I prefer to soak without such encumbrances.

I will not let tonight be the last night I soak in this hotel tub. It is one more big thing to be grateful for.

what a long, wonderful trip it was

We just spent five days and nights in southern California, visiting friends and family (I grew up there). I think this was an excellent study in reality vs. fear of the unknown. I’m always afraid the worst will happen when we travel or do something out of the ordinary, and I’m almost always pleasantly surprised and feel a bit silly for worrying so much. Almost.

I booked our trip months in advance – at first it was seven nights, but after a couple of months I had a crisis of conscience (I knew we’d be sleeping in a double bed and sharing the small bedroom with the boy), and reduced our stay to five nights. Boy am I glad I did – my son came down with an ear infection and we were in the doctor’s office on the day when we were originally scheduled to leave.

Then I worried about where my son would sleep. I found a service online that rents everything you can think of to make your baby or toddler comfortable – so I booked a crib and a changing table (since Junior is fond of flipping around like a fish out of water during changing times). I booked a rental car and a car seat so we wouldn’t be burdened with carrying it around the airport.

All I can say is, holy shit it’s expensive to travel with a little one. But they aren’t little for long. Next time I think I’ll bite the bullet and haul the car seat with us to save $65. That thing was definitely road-tested and I don’t think he was very comfortable in it.

Teething was another issue. He’s breaking in the last lower canine, and I had forgotten to pack teething gel or something to chew on. I did, however, have plenty of baby ibuprofen on hand which saved our sanity. Good thing they have stores in CA.

Despite the teething, expenses, and ear infection we had to deal with, we had a wonderful time. The boy slept great for the most part (we kind of ignored him when he started babbling at 5 a.m.), and we spent our days watching him soak up the generous affection of grandparents, cousins, and other relatives that took to him as quickly as he took to them. It was a beautiful thing, really.

One of the highlights was introducing him to his cousin who was born through the miracle of IUI about 12 hours before him. Seeing those boys together felt like a dream, like God was just beaming a big smile on our whole family and laughing at their antics along with us. (Until I told my aunt and uncle we were pregnant, we had no idea their son and his wife had endured infertility issues - imagine our shock in realizing our somewhat parallel journeys to parenthood!)

Like all trips, we were grateful to get home and everyone went to bed early that evening. And, like all time spent with family, we felt the pang that comes with the understanding that we all live so scattered from each other (except for my mom, and we thank God every day she’s here). The good thing is, we’re all about a two-hour plane ride from each other so it’s not too hard to book a visit.

Now we just need a big enough house to give them an incentive to come see us.

The day before we left, my stepmom gently asked if we’d be having another baby (can’t blame her for hoping). I affectionately looked my dad in the eye and said “There isn’t enough wine or coffee in the world, Dad. Sorry.” We honestly think we’re just too freaking old – starting a family after 40 is really, really, REALLY tiring – instead, we’re packing our son’s life (and ours) with playdates, church friends, and a really great daycare that we hope will become his school later on.  And, when he’s potty trained, probably a dog.

Here's one of my favorite photos taken on the trip. We went for a walk in a park surrounded by old oak trees, and he's wearing a t-shirt with a cape that the grandfolks bought him - it's so cute I can't stand it! There's something so adorable about this shot, something about boyhood and fatherhood that I can't quite put my finger on. I love it.