growinghumans


An Open Letter to the Universe:
September 27, 2014, 11:05 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

HEY. 

Listen.

I am trying really  hard down here.

I am back on the pills. I am taking the damn pills. 

I am reengaging in my life.

I am doing community theater.

I dyed my hair PURPLE.

I am trying to claw my way out of the dark place I have been for the last few months. I am trying so very hard that you up there must surely see; you must hear my efforts.

So, that mom at the birthday party I was at this afternoon? The one that asked me when I was due?

That wasn’t necessary. 

I’m not pregnant.
I may actually never be pregnant again, so when I gain 5 pounds from the medication I am taking to help me out of the dark place …that’s not helping.

That’s making me break out into hives; that’s making me recede back into myself.

I read so many blogs about women who are fighting this battle. We call ourselves warriors. We believe that we are stronger than what is going on inside of us.

But I cannot fight the inside and the outside. I do not believe I am that strong.

And I know this mother did not mean it in a bullying way. I know that she is probably still thinking about how she said that to me and how mortified she must be and that’s all well and good…

but it’s still not helping.

I know everything I will put into my body will give me side effects. That’s mostly why I stopped taking medication months ago but then the bottom of the world fell out from underneath me and I discovered that I am just going to have to deal if I want to maybe stay sane.

So, universe, I am dealing.

I take my medication every evening. On an empty stomach. 4 hours before I need to be asleep and 12 hours before I need to be awake. I was an English major–that’s like math I can’t even do. 

But I take them. I deal with the grogginess, the absentmindedness, the cotton mouth, the other unpleasant side effects.

Hell, I even deal with the weight gain. It’s fall now; I can layer.

But I can’t deal with double edged situations in which I am reminded that I am actually gaining the weight and that I should be pregnant again.

Do you hear me?

I am turning 30 in two weeks and I know that statistically I should be having more babies by now, but I’m not.

And that’s my business.

One tiny human is fulfilling me; us. I have my family.

So, no, other mother of a Tiny Human, I am not due. Not ever. It’s just the weight I’ve been putting on from the anti-psychotics I’m on right now. Can you pass me a piece of birthday cake?

And as for you, universe, I expect better.

I am a damn good soul.

Give me a hand down here, please?

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I see your Terrible Two’s and raise you THREE.
September 7, 2014, 11:06 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

As we draw closer to Tiny Human’s fourth birthday, I feel that I am close enough to the finish line to declare,

“WHAT THE MOTHER OF CRAP IS UP WITH THREE?” 

 

 

Seriously. 

This is a TERRIBLE FREAKING AGE. 

I feel like I have been living in a hostage negotiation situation for the last 10 months. 

I’m all like, 

Ma’am, please put down the full cup of milk. I can see you’re upset. Let’s not do anything irrational here. 

And Tiny Human is all like,

BUT I HAVE DEMANDS. I HAVE SEVERAL DEMANDS. MOST OF THESE DEMANDS ARE CENTERED AROUND NETFLIX AND VANILLA PUDDING. 

So then I say,

Okay ma’am, I hear you. I know you are upset about the embargo that has been placed on Jake and the Neverland Pirates, but really you’ve been watching it for 7 hours straight and your eyes are dilated differently and I’m no expert but I think that’s probably enough tv for now. Here’s a pudding cup. Go read a book. Okay?

Which, you know, should cover the issues. 

BUT THEN BEDTIME HAPPENS. 

Oh, bedtime. 

Tiny Human reaches a new level of critical mass, 

I HAVE NEW DEMANDS.

Jesus, it’s 8:30 pm…I don’t have time for new demands. I need to be entering my OWN bedtime routine, and I am still coaxing her into her bed. 

There was a time where the escalation of hostility was so severe at bedtime, that every night I would find myself holding her bedroom door closed, while she raged inside of her room, throwing her body against the door and cursing the day she ever met me.

I may have made up that last part, but you all know what I mean, right?

Right.

Because every mother I have talked to these last 10 months has absolutely understood what I was going through. 

Which is super adorable except that NO ONE EVER WARNED ME ABOUT THREE. 

Terrible two’s! Oh, those two’s! Watch out for those two’s! 

Atleast my two  year old STAYED IN HER CRIB WHEN I PUT HER TO BED.

Atleast my two year old HAD A LIMITED VOCABULARY AND THUS COULD NOT EMOTIONAL TERRORIZE ME. 

Atleast my two year old WAS STILL SMALL ENOUGH FOR ME TO PHYSICALLY HANDLE WHILE THROWING A FIT.

Now listen, it’s not all bad. It’s super awesome that my Tiny Human is now at the age where she is recognizing words, drawing recognizable things, and NOT WEARING DIAPERS PRAISE THE LORD. 

But holy freaking crap was this a rough year. 

 

So, LET THIS SERVE AS YOUR WARNING, PARENTS OF TINY HUMANS UNDER THREE. 

You may think you have it rough now. You may think that at 2 1/2 you are almost to the end of the tunnel.

You are wrong. There is no light. 

 

Only three. 

God speed.