Double Digits

Everyone's road to motherhood is different. To understand mine, you'd have to go back to my teens. When I was 16, I was diagnosed with thyroid disease. My endocrinologist at the time was one of the best people I've had the privilege to know. Not only did he treat my disease, but he took the time to help me and my parents (mostly my mother, who generally brought me to my appointments) to truly understand the disease, and the many and varying impacts it would have on my health and life. Not least among those impacts was the likelihood that conceiving and carrying a child would likely be difficult for me.

This message was echoed by my next endo, when I graduated from pediatric to adult. Again, I was lucky to have an amazing doctor who spent more time than he really had talking with us about what life was going to look like for me after the radioactive iodine treatment that neutralized my thyroid at age 20. Natural conception was not very likely.

Having known this about myself for such a long time, you can imagine my surprise, then, when, two months into marriage at age 30, I found myself unexpectedly pregnant. In fact, when I had an appointment with my endo at seven months pregnant, he was literally dumbfounded when he walked in to find me sporting my healthy bump. And I spent a lot of that pregnancy feeling rather dumbfounded myself. I had mentally and emotionally prepared for something so different. This is not to say I wasn't grateful, because I have always felt immeasurably grateful. It was just so...surprising.

And then ten years ago tonight, I went into labor two weeks early. And at 3:58 am on October 25, 2007, Benjamin Thomas made his entrance. He came SCREAMING into the world, and has been making himself more than heard ever since.

I started this blog largely to chronicle my journey mothering him. He was just 2.5 months old when I started blogging here. So, particularly the early part of our journey together is well covered in this space. It has been an adventure every day. He was a relatively easy baby, but has not been an easy child. He is extremely emotional, has ADHD, and is neurotic.

But he's also kind, friendly, and hilarious. He makes me proud during all the moments he isn't making me crazy. His love for others takes my breath away on the regular. Simply put, he has made the past decade of my life full of color. He changed everything about my life, and about my identity to the world and to myself, and there really aren't even words for that. He has my heart.

I can still so easily concur the way I felt when the nurse placed him on my chest ten years ago. Thrilled, terrified, full of awe. I still feel those things frequently. And love. Always love. So much love.

Memory

This is such a great picture of E, isn't it? I know. It's amazing. She was and is so damn cute.

I remember so vividly taking and uploading this photo. She was eight months old, and she pulled herself up to stand in front of me on the sofa. You can see the edge of the boppy pillow still on my lap from nursing her. It was toward the end of our nursing career together. Eight months was not as long as I'd planned to go. But there is something else I remember vividly about this day.

I remember the absolute terror I felt about everything in my life. There was nothing wrong, mind you. This was, in reality, perhaps as idyllic as my life has ever been. But I. Was. TERRIFIED. Of everything. Of everyone. ALL OF THE TIME.

When E was born, I had postpartum hypertension. Not, in itself, a big deal. But when added to my existing anxiety, it became an obsession. I was convinced that I was going to die and leave my (now) two children motherless. I imagined all kinds of ailments. I'm still alive six years later. That's my evidence that they were imagined. I'm a work in progress, y'all.

When I went for my six week postpartum appointment, I was finally (after years of anxiety) desperate enough to ask for meds. I tried Paxil and Prozac, both of which allowed me to still nurse, without much success. Soon after I posted this pic on Insta, I stopped nursing so that I could start Celexa, which finally gave me some relief.

Getting to that point took a lot longer than it probably should've. I went on Celexa in 2012. That was a solid seven years from the time that my anxiety started to get out of control. Why did it take seven years? Well, a lot of reasons.

First, I've always been kind of a nervous, panicky person. So, to some extent, when my anxiety started to really ramp up, it just seemed like...me. Sure, it was worse than usual, but...it happened incrementally at first, so it wasn't super pronounced, some of the time.

Additionally, at that time in my life, I had a doctor who wanted me to try other avenues to alleviate my anxiety before pursuing medication. In retrospect, I should've sought a different doctor a lot sooner. While I do think there is some truth to the notion that we are an overmedicated nation, I also think that when someone is having regular panic attacks that are continuous sleep interruptions (he also refused to prescribe any sort of sleep aid, ever) and also require a lot of time and energy to manage...well, that's kind of the recipe anxiety meds were created to deal with. So.

I guess, what I'm getting at is this. Listen to yourself. When things don't feel right, speak up. If your doctor isn't listening, find one who will. It took me longer than it should've to learn these lessons. Don't be like me.

For me, it took until a point when I couldn't enjoy my life, including this precious baby girl, because I was too busy being terrified. It took until I got to the point where I thought about the rest of my life and felt dread at not knowing how I was going to get through it feeling so afraid. That's not a way to live.

I'm at a point now where I sometimes consider weaning off the anxiety meds. I might, at some point. But I'll never go back to living in that kind of abject terror. Life should be enjoyed. Learn from my mistakes, people.

Four

Most of you know the story well by now. Four years ago tonight, my parents, along with my brother and his family, boarded a flight to France. But, instead, the flight landed in Shannon, Ireland, because my Dad died of a massive heart attack in flight. It was in the wee hours of August 3, 2013. I will probably always struggle to sleep on this night of the year.

It seems at once unfathomable and yet completely reasonable that that was four years ago. A moment and a lifetime, simultaneously. The days without him sometimes seem to drag on endlessly, yet the years he's been gone have passed in a flash. That's how it goes with life, right?

It's been four years since the night my kids and I told my parents we loved them and to have a good flight. Four years since I've been known as "Dasnay." Four years since I've heard my Dad's hearty guffaws at my brothers' antics, since he referred to my sister and I as "my girls."

Soon after he passed away, I started work. I had a coworker turned friend who had lost her Dad four years previously at the time, and I remember thinking how four years seemed like such a long time, compared to my mere weeks at the time. But here I am, four years in, and it doesn't seem distant. Not at all.

I miss a million little things. I miss the way my Dad got me. I miss his faith in me. I miss the way he could bring smiles to people's faces with ease, and could offer the most spot on advice imaginable, even just minutes after meeting them.

I ache with missing you, Dad. And I'll ache until we meet again.

Love forever,
Dasnay xoxo

Passing Time

If you've been around here a long time, you already know some of this story, but bear with me.

From the time I was a teenager, my endocrinologists told me and my mother than pregnancy would be a difficult thing for me. That conceiving a child naturally would be difficult and maybe even unlikely. That I should be ready to face fertility challenges. So, I was.

Then, just over 10 years ago, just over two months into my marriage, I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant. It's funny, isn't it, how the challenges you actually face in life are so often NOT the ones you expect to face?

In October, 2007, my first born made his SCREAMING entrance into the world. How, exactly, my husband and I (both of whom tend toward extra weight and have dark brown hair) had produced a skinny, long limbed, BLONDE child was a mystery to us, but we were obviously immediately in love.

When I started this blog, he was only several weeks old. He was chunking up rapidly (he went from 6.9 lbs at birth to 12 lbs at six weeks), and was an avid snuggler. 

The nine plus years since his birth have been a rollercoaster ride that's been heavily documented here. 

Now, he is a third grader who is up to my chin and wears the same size shoes I wear. He is an athletic, energetic, sensitive and empathetic kid who still drives me nuts and then melts my heart in the span of seconds. 

It's been on my mind a lot lately how he's growing up. He is still an avid snuggler. One of his favorite things is to snuggle on mornings (like today, a snow day) when he doesn't have anywhere to rush to. And because he's 9, I think I am relishing his snuggles more than ever, if that's possible. Because, in my heart of hearts, I know we're getting toward the end of this part of our mother son relationship. 

At some point, snuggling with your son becomes 1) something he's no longer interested in and 2) something that isn't really societally appropriate or accepted. And that's fine. It is what it is. I'm not railing against societal norms at the moment. But it does make these snuggles bittersweet, knowing that at some point, sooner than later, they're going to taper off. 

I remember when B was 9 months old and in a Baby Bjorn on the LI Ferry. (I think I may have recounted this here before so again, forgive me), and a gentleman said to me, "Don't blink." He told me about his grown children and how it seemed like yesterday that they were babies. One of those things that conceptually, you get, but you don't maybe REALLY get until your child is suddenly an enormous human and you think, "When did that happen?" 

Stuff and Nonsense

Crap. I said I was gonna write more, didn't I? Ok. Here's me, writing more.

Yesterday was  E1's birthday. Thirteen years to the day since we met at Harpoonfest. I was overcome with mushiness at one point yesterday, thinking how grateful I am that I decided to go to Harpoonfest that day, and how grateful I am for the love of my life, who is the best partner I could've hoped for. I so love that guy, y'all.

One  of the interesting things about no longer working my office job is that I have had more time to re-focus on myself. I'm still crazily busy, but I have pockets of time by myself during the day. And in those pockets, I'm starting to remember to be aware of some of my patterns.

I overthink things. Everything, really. I get in my own head and make myself anxious and angsty and it's annoying AF and I really need to get back to working on NOT doing that anymore.

I am definitely in a better, more self assured headspace than I was the last time I left a job (when my self confidence had been stripped awfully bare). But still, I question myself more than I probably need to. I don't trust myself and my own judgment sometimes when I should. I am by far my own worst critic. One would think that knowing that would be beneficial, right? Not that simple, though.

On the other hand, the new workout regimen I'm on has me feeling better physically than I have in ages. I'm enjoying challenging myself in new ways, and I'm beginning to see some positive results. I'm beginning to feel a bit more like the me I couldn't find in the mirror, and that's a great feeling.

Most importantly, I feel more present for my kids. My precious angel assholes* who are my whole world and the bane of my existence all wrapped up in cherubic packages. They drive my absolutely bananas more days than not, but I'm happier than I can adequately express to be able to focus more fully on them again. Some women can successfully and happily work full time and be rockstar moms, but I've made peace with the fact that I'm not one of them. At least not right now.

*If you somehow stumbled upon this blog and are someone who is offended by my using this word for my precious babes, then you're going to want to move along. Kids are assholes sometimes. Mine included. If we can't laugh about it, then what's it even all about?

Muscles: Literal and Metaphoric

I've been really blocked (writing-wise) for a long while. I think that the only way to combat that is to make more of a concerted effort to write regularly. I once heard writing described thusly: "It's like  a muscle. You have to exercise it or it atrophies." I find that to be true. We'll see how it goes, though, since we all know I've said this before.

I recently quit my job. It wasn't anything so dramatically miserable as the last time I left a long-term job. It was just time. It had gotten to the point that I felt like I'd completely lost myself to my commitments. Between work and parenthood, I was just on autopilot. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't know who I was looking at. I needed to find me again. And leaving the job felt like an important step.

I've started working out regularly, for the first time since moving back to MA. When I say that I didn't recognize myself in the mirror, I mean that literally, to some extent. I'd struggled to find any sort of work out routine when working full time, and it showed, both in my appearance and in my mental state. Luckily, I have a friend who is helping me stay accountable and get my butt to the gym on the regular.

There is still work to be done. I'm falling prey to a lot of the being overly hard on myself that I've struggled with most of my life. But that's another reason that writing here is so important. It's one of the most therapeutic things I can do, and it helps me not to beat myself up as much. I'm not sure that even makes much sense, but it's true. I process through writing, and it keeps my anxiety and negative self talk from getting the best of me.

2017 is my year for self care. I've been lost in day to day for too long. This year, I get myself back. The physical muscles, the writing muscles, they're all coming back in 2017.