Depressed? Nah.

I’ve had some questions about how I’ve been feeling since Jessica arrived, and I thought it warranted a blog post.  The long story short is that I’ve suffered from bouts of major depression and anxiety since I was in high school, was diagnosed in college, and had a major episode during our stint overseas.  However, when we moved home from England last April and I found out I was pregnant, I quit my medication cold turkey (which, for the record, I don’t recommend…ever).

So here we are now, almost a year later.

I won’t lie and say it was always pretty.  Once I made it through the withdrawal, I suffered from a condition known as “first trimester.”  It wasn’t pretty.  But I don’t know if it was uglier for me than it was for any other women with two active children and a husband still overseas for seven more weeks.

Then, I suffered from a terrible bout of “it’s getting dark earlier.”  It did have me craving a Celexa, but I survived thanks to my fabulous husband and family.

Towards the end of my pregnancy I ran into “the end of pregnancy blues” that are often accompanied by a lack of sleep and severe exhaustion because you’re the size of a house.  But I actually think I managed to handle them pretty well.

Of course, after Jessica was born I was visited by “the baby blues.”  Been there, done that, wrote the book.

So that brings us to where we are today.  And I won’t lie and say that being a mother to three children (five and under) is easy.  There are days I starting counting down to bedtime (usually on my fingers, because my kids have sucked all the intelligence right out of me) shortly after we get up in the morning.  But overall, I’m feeling pretty good about life.

I’m loving every second of Jessica, and I know that’s helping.  The thought that she *might* be our last (my husband is feeling pretty “done” after three girls…I’m not convinced) gives me plenty of cause to cherish every second.  And I’m not sure if it’s because this is my third and Marcus and I have this parenting thing down, or if it’s because Jessica is such a good baby…but I feel pretty on top of things.

For the first time in a long time (ever?) I feel like I’ve got things under control.  I’m a good mom.  Not perfect, but good.  Some days I’m great.

So depressed?   Nah.

It hibernates.  Will it rear its ugly head again?  Perhaps.  Probably.  Maybe. One day.

And I’ll be ready.

Changing Times?

I can remember, quite vividly, the day we got an Internet connection at our house.  We set up our Prodigy accounts, my father doing the work and me assisting.  Fascinated, even then, with the idea of connections with people around the world via the Internet, I specifically remember the guidelines he and my mother set down.  I should never give out my real name, never give my address or other personal information, and certainly never agree to meet in real life anyone that I met on the Internet. Though it was full of information, the message was clear–the Internet could be a scary place.

Today, I think about my Facebook and Twitter accounts.  I contemplate my blog and my Ravelry groups.  I ponder the online parenting forums I’ve frequented.  I think about the writing I’ve done for Associated Content and other online venues.  I think about the women I’ve met through the Internet, social networking, and through email/forums/blogs–some in person, some only online.

From a simple Prodigy account, where even the email address was a combination of letters and numbers so you weren’t identifiable, I’ve gone to having a presence on the Internet.  Much of that presence is associated with my real name.

It’s amazing how the times have changed, isn’t it?  And it’s gotten me wondering about what they’ll be like when the girls grow up.

Because, though I’ve gone against my parents early Internet rules and met people, offered my name, and shared the personal details, I’ve always retained that underlying concern–the Internet is scary.  So if I meet someone for the first time, I meet in a public place.  I leave details of where I’m going and who I’m supposed to be meeting.  I leave my login access behind, so if something happens, my husband has details.

I worry that the girls won’t feel that way and won’t take the precautions I do, because more and more, the Internet isn’t seen as that scary place.  It’s seen as fun.  It’s social.  It’s networking.

My husband and I will try to instill a bit of that fear of the Internet into the girls, the way my parents did in me.  Maybe it’s overprotective…but maybe it will keep them just a little bit safer.  I care about that more than anything else.

Thankful

I’m sure I’m one of many blog posts today that will start this way, and probably not even the only one you’ll read.  But actually, this post has little to do with Thanksgiving, and more to do with life.

I was in bed with the girls the other night, with both of them cuddled up right next to me.  Of course, it made it rather hard for me, at 34 weeks pregnant, to get a good night’s sleep, so I was “blessed” with lots of time to think.  Like most people, I suspect that I do my best thinking in the middle of the night.

Mostly, my thoughts centered on the girls, and the impending arrival of baby Jessica.  Some days I feel like 34 weeks has dragged on indefinitely, and others I cannot believe how quickly they’ve flown, especially when I realize that my once babies are now 5 and 3.  How did that time pass so quickly?  Will it go faster, even, the third time?  I wonder…

I remember when the girls were little.  Some of Marcus’ and my favorite memories were the early days, when we’d be up later into the evening with them, before routines arrived.  We’d be watching tv, and Sam or Erica would be curled up (because they were always curled up) and resting on our chests, or sitting on the couch next to us.  We couldn’t resist staring, touching, holding, and picking up, even if it meant waking up the baby (which is pretty hard to do with a newborn).  With Samantha, we imagined it was the novelty, and that it would wear off.  We’d surely be different with Erica.  But we weren’t.  Those early times were the same.  Hectic during the day, of course, but calm in the evenings…our evenings.

There was something about those early days and nights–where you could survive on little sleep, where you seemed powered by some sort of adrenaline machine, and where nothing seemed more precious than that little baby.

I suppose most of that never goes away.  I’m thankful for that.  For the girls.  For the baby on the way.  For my family and friends. For all of it.

Mothers and Daughters

A dear friend recently blogged about Mothers and Daughters.  I was quick to respond, commenting that though my relationship with my own mother is excellent, I spend most of my days now worrying about my relationship with my daughters.

I wonder if they’ll remember the days I was depressed and couldn’t get out of bed, or the days I took them to McDonald’s as a special treat and we ran around the playground.  Will they remember the mistakes that I made as a mother, or that I tried so hard to be the mother I wanted for them?

My girls are my life.  But I’m quick to accept that there are days where I want nothing more than to be selfish.  For someone to help me with them.  For them to just play quietly and let me knit one more round.

Add in, of course, the struggles that I’ve had as a mother.  Should I discipline more, or less?  Should I spank or not?  Will one more lollipop really hurt them?  I don’t want them talking back…but how do I handle it?  Should we let them sleep in our bed?

Parenting is no easy task, that’s for sure.

Mostly, I hope that the girls know how much I loved them. That even with all of my shortcomings, they’ll remember that.

I flash back to a fight I had with my mother once when I was in high school.  Driving home after school still mad at her, and finding a note that she, my quiet and reserved mother, had placed on the seat next to me.  Reading it and hearing her say that she knew that she wasn’t perfect but that she tried her best.  And when I sit her trying to remember the bad, I can’t.  All I remember is this.

I pray that when my girls sit down to remember me one day, they’ll have the same realization.  That I wasn’t perfect, but that I tried my best.

My Girls

My Mother, My Girls, and Me

Empowered

I just spent 13 hours traveling alone with two small children (there were also 3 hours to the airport with my mom and 2 hours driving home after Marcus grabbed us!). We waited in an airport, flew across an ocean and experienced boarding and runway delays, made it through customs and immigration, and finally met up with my husband, whom we haven’t seen in almost 4 weeks.

I feel empowered.

I kept my cool with the the girls–I was calm, patient, and together.  I was organized.  I was in charge.

I am proud of myself.

I am home.

Undivided Attention

The girls and I have been awake for more than three hours now.  In that time we have:

• had bowls of oatmeal, milk, and fruit for breakfast
• watched Handy Manny
• played on the swingset
• gone to 7’11 for slurpees and powdered doughnuts
• played with the farm and doll toys that my mother saved from when my sisters and I were kids
• written an article for Associated Content
• transferred money from my Paypal account to my checking account

And it’s only 9:24 AM.  Whew.

But while I was pushing the girls on the swings this morning, it struck me that my mind was wondering.  I was thinking about the socks I am knitting, the article I needed to write, the things I needed to buy for the open house on Saturday, and the emails that I wanted to return and the post I wanted to write here. 

And I felt guilty.  Guilty that I wasn’t giving the girls my undivided attention while they were swinging.  I was anxious for that to be over so I could move on to the next thing.  I felt badly about that.

The truth is, there’s no reason for the guilt.  My girls are good girls.  I love them.  I play with them.  I feed them, clothe them, clean up after them, and do my best with them.  I am not perfect, but they are certainly loved and cared for every day.

And still the guilt lingers.  I feel that I should be giving them my undivided attention 24/7, and enjoying every second of the day that I get with them. 

I know I am not the only mother to do this to herself.  My friend Anne is always telling me that I am too hard on myself.  She’s right.  But I can’t be the only one.  I know there are other women out there feeling it, living it, too. 

At any rate, the girls and I are off to cuddle on the couch and watch another episode of Handy Manny.  I’ll probably feel guilty about that later, too…

Ah well…

Home at Last.

We’re here…thank goodness!

The weather is beautiful, we’re surrounded by family and friends, the food is yummy (we’ve already had Ledo’s Pizza, wings, and crab pretzel), and the jetlag is finally gone.  What more can you ask for?

There’s nothing quite as wonderful as coming home again.  Even though this isn’t the house that I grew up in, it’s still my family’s home.  Something about walking through the front door, sitting down on the couch, poking through the pantry, walking around outside…something about it all screams “home” to me.

Of course, it’s not always easy coming home.  One of the hardest things that I always find is striking a balance between being a daughter and a mother when I walk through the front door.  I want to ignore the laundry, read a book, revert back into that lazy teenager that let her mother wait on her hand and foot.  But instead, I bring my children home with me.  Of course, everyone helps out when they see the girls, taking much of the burden off of Marcus and I.  But they’re still our girls, and that changes the dynamic of things when we come home.

In any event, we truly find ourselves blessed to be here.  There really is no place like home.

A Busy Day

Today is going to be a busy day.  I could write a to-do list here, but it would just bore you and stress me out.  So, I won’t.

Instead, I’ll talk about the things I am excited about doing today, because even in the midst of all that needs to be done, there are still happy things going on.

My Catholic Moms and Tots Group meets today at noon.  Father Apollo will do a brief mass, and then we’ll eat lunch, chat, and let the kids play.  This has grown to be one of the highlights of my week, in all honesty.  After another disastrous attempt at Sunday mass this week, I am especially looking forward to this.  I will miss it while I am gone.

I also want to knit some more of my February Lady Sweater.  I am about halfway through the body now, and just love it.  I want to put a lifeline in, just in case when I get to the airport tomorrow they won’t let me on the plane with my needles.  Fingers crossed.

Speaking of knitting, I am planning on going through my stash some tonight to decide what to bring with me to my mom’s house.  I’m really excited to sort through and find the perfect yarns for the perfect projects and pack them away.  I wonder what 5 weeks worth of wool looks like?  Hmmm…

Otherwise, there are the hum-drum last minute details that will make my day a crazy one.

But they’re all worth it.  Because tomorrow, I’ll be home.

Home.

What a wonderful word it is.

There’s More to Life than Knitting

This post is courtesy of my mother, who informed me yesterday that my blog has had to much knitting speak in it!  Of course, there is more to life than knitting (well, some days). 

My youngest daughter Kicka, 23 months old, has learned the Lord’s Prayer.  Rolling your eyes at the thought of yet another parent who believes that their child is some sort of genius?  I can prove it. 

Kicka Prays the Our Father

One of these days I’ll figure out how to stick that video right in here.  In the meantime, you’ll have to watch it at Photobucket.

She only further proved her genius level by last night (or more appropriately, this morning) figuring out how to climb out of her crib.  Oh joy.

She’ll either be a nun or a rock climber.

I’ll love her either way.

My beautiful baby girl on the day she was born

ETA:  I thought I should mention–Erica asks for a special treat at the end because I had to bribe her to get her to say it for the camera.  I don’t usually bribe her for praying!