Washing Sheets

Some day I'll write about my pregnancy experience with Archer. I'm not ready yet, but I think I'm close. I need to do it before the memories are too far away and I find myself starting to try to piece together what I need to get out on paper.

Tonight was laundry night. Because Alanna had a sleepover this past Friday night, I stripped the downstairs guest beds and washed the sheets. The bed is a Full-Size trundle which works very well for guests, but is nothing overly fancy. We replaced the sheets about 2 years ago after I came home from the hospital.

The sheets are the same ones that we bought to rotate during my hospital stay. They were easy to wash, fairly wrinkle free and comfortable. It seemed like an easy thing to do to make the long stay a little more like home rather than sleeping on hospital sheets. So we bought two sets in different but complimentary colors and J would take a set home weekly and bring me back a clean set.

As I washed the sheets tonight, I couldn't help but think about using them while I was in the hospital. It's funny how little items and actions that are so seemingly unnoticeable in daily life can trigger emotions and memories.

I also realized something interesting. I've not actually MADE the downstairs bed since we've gotten the new sheets. I launder them, but then I lay them on the beds and walk away. J has been the one to make the beds downstairs. Perhaps by not making them, I'm not giving myself long enough to ponder the emotions they stirred up.

The Vasa Previa Sophia's Walk weekend is coming up this next weekend, the first weekend in October. Maybe I'll try to get all of my thoughts in this week while it is most definitely on my mind.

I found a journal I had started shortly after our first ultrasound with Archer. It all seemed so very normal. I wrote notes to him telling him how excited his big sister was about getting to see him even before he was born. I'll need to find those and perhaps type them in here as part of this journey.

So much is buried on this topic that I'm a bit afraid to dredge it up and out, but I think I need to. A part of my relationship with my son seems like it's missing and that I'm in denial of his existence let alone the impact of him getting here.

More to come. I need to figure out how to start.

Hormones or Depression?

I think years ago one of my posts focused on my fears about passing on my anxiety and depression to my daughter, Alanna. At that time my therapist had told me that if Alanna did end up suffering from either or both that I was the best mom she could have because I'd been through it personally.

I still struggle with this. Am I the best mom she can have because I've been there and am doing that? Or am I the worst mom because I passed it on to her in the first place? Chicken or the egg?

Last night Alanna came up and told me, "Mom, I feel like crying but I'm not sad." I could literally feel my heart break in that moment. I went straight in my head to the worst case scenario. "Oh no, my daughter is exhibiting depression symptoms. Ok, how do I deal with this? What do I tell her?"

It turns out my husband, J, is probably the better mom in this instance. He remained cool and collected and sat down with her to write down what she was feeling. I suppose perhaps he's so good at it because he's been my sounding board for the past 16 years. Some of the things she came up with were:
Scared
Sad
Frustrated
She described it as a weird feeling that she'd never had before and that it "was like a wave splashing over me."

Honestly, I'm glad she feels like she can share her feelings and that we are the kind of parents that don't discount them out of hand. It's likely hormones. We're in for quite a ride if she experiences the hormonal shifts I did growing up.

I guess I should buckle up and get ready. Perhaps part of that will be blogging her symptoms and my responses. If nothing else it may help identify a pattern or point out if there end up being red flags.

Last Day of Summer

We survived the MN State Fair for another year. A had a wonderful time and we got in the things on our list including watching two pet surgeries and eating some chicken fried bacon. As promised, there are smiling photos posted on FB and on the family photo website. Tomorrow begins 4th Grade for Alanna and I can't help but wonder where the time has gone. This year we had to work out the drop off/pick up schedule in such a way that I won't be here in the mornings to see her off. I can't quite entirely let go of control though and I have a hanging clothes organizer in her room with her clothes laid out for the week. She can choose whichever outfits she wants on a daily basis, but at least I'll be able to go to work knowing that she's matching. I've given J strict instructions on making sure he reminds her to brush her teeth and comb her hair. We'll see how that works out. There were several days when I was in the hospital before Archer was born that Alanna came to visit with J and her hair was in disarray and her clothes mismatched. Once her pants were even on backwards. That was definitely an adventure in letting go. I'll need to draw a bit on lessons learned to let go as she continues to grow up. I keep thinking she's not ready, that she's too young to do X or Y. Turns out it's probably me who's not ready to let her.

Two Years

Third time's a charm. I believe this is at least the third time I've sat down after a long absence (although I think two years has been my longest hiatus yet) and tried blogging.

It's not that I haven't thought about blogging again. I've even written blog entries in my head and then just haven't committed to actually putting those thoughts out into cyberspace. I've contented myself with short snippets of fluffy life updates via Facebook.

My short snippet updates are easier. When I sit down and look at them they all seem happy and for the most part "normal". It reminds me a bit of when I look back at photographs of my childhood; it all looks truly picture perfect. There's the trips to the lake, the school plays, the family photo at Christmas. My Facebook life and the photos I post for family on Shutterfly are similar. There's the trips to the Renaissance Festival, the photos with grandparents, the afternoon luncheons with my daughter. Even the analytics tool for Facebook Wolfram Connection indicates that my top posted words include my children's names as well as: "family, gratitude, thankful, fun, love".

And truly, in general, I shouldn't have many complaints. I start most days with a mantra either before I get out of bed or while I'm standing in the shower, "I have a good job, a nice home, I can pay my bills, I have a wonderful family." Then rinse and repeat. At night it's similar, "Thank you, Lord, for this day. For my job, my home, my family, friends and support systems both near and far. Thank you for my children and please help me to keep them happy, healthy, safe and smart." Close my eyes, go to sleep and do it all over again the next day.

I hope that my children will look back and not only remember the things in the photographs, but also those little moments of watching Doctor Who together or wrestling on the living room floor. I try hard to remember those things from my childhood, but they're fleeting. I hope they won't remember the days Mommy didn't want to get out of bed or that she had tears behind her eyes and seemed like she wanted to run away from home.

It's been over two years as well since I had a therapy appointment with C. It's been two years of the same medication cocktail in the evenings to manage my sleep. It's been two years of managing the depression and anxiety on my own. There are days I think that's a victory and others it feels like a defeat. If I look at it from the victory standpoint, it's progress. It means I'm coping. If I look at it from defeat, it's settling for "good enough" and giving up on it ever getting better than it is right now.

It's almost been two years since my son was born and the story of his arrival are posts that some day I'll tackle, but for now they're in a safe shoebox in the closet of my brain. Somewhere that the emotions won't come bubbling out of until I'm ready to carefully handle them and then tuck them back away.

A lot can happen in two years, a lot stays the same.

Tomorrow on FB there will be pictures from the State Fair. They'll be full of smiles. For tomorrow I'll be ok with the picture perfect presentation of my life.