So...that happened

As many of you already know, I've taken some steps to improve my life.
Don't get me wrong, I lead a good life and I know it. What I've got going on just needs a minor adjustment.

So, here's what happened.

I hurt my back.

It doesn't seem like an immobilizing injury would be the catalyst for a complete life change, but it was. I hurt myself months ago. Molly started to get heavy over the summer and I found myself shlepping her around and tossing her on my hip willy-nilly. Also, my pre-pregnancy loosy-goosy tendons tightened up. Without the constant body-killing exercise to hold everything in place, my spine loosened into a twisted hour-long game of Jenga and then froze in place. Ouch!
I decided to go to the gym to get some relief and see if some core work would help alleviate the excruciating pain in my lower back. It kinda worked. Now ALL my muscles hurt but strangely, I feel better. I'm telling you, endorphins for a fitness enthusiast are better than crack.

With my new 'high' I felt like taking on the World; and the World I did take.

Alex and I had a previous conversation about finances in our house. I'm not going to go into details but with me out of work, we aren't bringing in the shekels we would like to to support the lifestyle to which we have grown accustomed. Without a fight, (which, you should all know, is pretty miraculous), I committed to finding a job. Other than feeling grumpy from exercise withdrawal, feeling poor is the WORST when you have too much time on your hands. These two feelings are MAJOR contributors to my misery.
More about the job:
Well, there is a governing body for all fitness professionals in Canada (Can-Fit-Pro) and I applied to work at the Mothership as an administrator for the Trainers who train the Personal Trainers and Fitness Instructors. That's really the job in a nutshell. Fingers crossed that I get the position. I'm desperate and I look forward to harassing the Human Resources Department tomorrow. "HIRE ME! HIRE ME! HIRE ME!"

I don't think that the job will make me fulfilled. I don't think that going to the gym periodically with 'fix' me and make me feel all better. I think that these two adjustments will improve my quality of life and help me to appreciate the time I can spend with Molly more and not make Motherhood a chore.

Molly is now ten and half months old. (I know. She's getting big). She and I have been stuck together like glue for almost every minute of those ten and a half months. Seriously. I haven't left her for more than two hours at a time since last December (when the cord was literally cut).

As you may have read in my previous posts, I am not of the school of judgement. I do not care to judge other Moms nor do I want to be judged for my decisions.
I have come to the point where I am so unhappy that I need to make a judgement call as to how I can make myself better. Therapy aside, I have decided to wean Molly by her first birthday. I'm not going to justify it by saying that she's ready; this decision is all about me.
The decision to get a job is all about me.
Going back to the gym is all about me.

I love Molly more than anything in the whole world (clearly, even more than my sanity); but there comes a time when Mom needs her happy back; and this time is now.

It's Complicated

When you openly admit to having a problem on a forum, such as this, people always ask you, "How are you doing?". I feel like this is a rhetorical question because everyone knows how I am doing. If you are reading this blog and have asked me "how are you doing?" in the last four months, I have probably lied to you. I'm only sort of sorry for it because, as previously mentioned, you should already know.

I admit, I haven't written in a while, and like anything human, my personal status of well-being is both circumstantial and unpredictable. How are you to know that I'm feeling awful today, when just yesterday I was doing great? You aren't. The easy answer is always to say, "I'm fine", and that's the answer I have given to almost all of you who have asked me how I am doing.
I should always be honest with all of you and so I'm going to answer you honestly now, "It's complicated".

There are two things we can do with an answer like that: I can return the question "How are YOU doing?" and we can talk about how you are excited about that thing you have, the trip you're taking, or the wonderful life you have. I'm totally cool with that! I like hearing good news. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a monster...rar! And, I'm genuinely interested in how everyone else spends their life.
The other option for my response is to go into detail about me.
If you are interested in what I have to say, please read on. If you don't give a shit (no hurt feelings here), this is where your section of the post ends for you. (Peace out!)

-Thanks for asking; it's complicated.

I'm not happy. There is no surprise there.
I don't feel like I'm missing anything major or that my life is incomplete. I am proud of the person and the Mom I have become. I don't have any life-long goals that I need to accomplish, nor do I feel like I'm destined for a greater purpose. Molly is my greater purpose and she is doing great. My business is my greater purpose and although it has been hard to train and be on-call 24/7 to a baby, I have still been working and I find it fulfilling.
I'm not happy for the same reason all new moms are unhappy; shifted focus from "ME" to "YOU", lack of sleep, bad advice from people who can't possibly understand, and the lack of predictability of the sweet little person I am caring for.

Before Molly was born, I was autonomous. I like doing things by myself; in fact, I'm the weirdo who goes to the movies alone and laughs alone in the dark. For obvious reasons, I don't spend any time by myself anymore. I don't sleep alone, I don't eat alone, and I definitely don't take a dump alone (yes, Molly comes with me to the bathroom. What else am I supposed to do with her?).
I am on-call 24/7 for someone else. I am always in mid-thought about what I am going to do next. I do all the maintenance work (like laundry and cleaning), and, during the week, all the playtime. Being with someone all the time (and up in the night when they are miserable) is exhausting. Although I could use some alone time (NOW!!!), Molly's care is a priority; thus Emma's care falls by the wayside. That would make anyone unhappy (especially if they look like a Yeti because they haven't waxed their eyebrows in about a year).

I know that as you read this, you want to offer me some advice. "Take some time for yourself", "Your baby is only as happy as you are", and "You should make yourself a goal". All of this sounds...well...no offence intended, but, ludicrous. First of all, I would love to take some time for myself. In fact, I'd love to take a whole day for myself! I don't care who comes to babysit but it ain't happening. I'm still nursing Molly and unless I pump myself dry, I'm not going anywhere. Sure, I can do that but she won't take a bottle from strangers (that is all of you, except Alex), and then I have to deal with the repercussions of her when I get her back. It is usually a shit-show and I don't want to deal with that either. It is honestly easier to just keep her near.
Secondly, Molly doesn't give a shit how happy I am. Really! She doesn't understand sympathy nor should she. She's a baby. Babies are driven by their needs and she tells me what she needs through crying. She cries a LOT! Not because she's necessary unhappy but because she wants to get out of her highchair or she wants to pet the cat. Listening to your baby express her discontent in almost every situation would drive anyone to madness.
Lastly, I'm not setting goals for myself at this juncture. I can barely handle the pressure of looking after a baby; why would I put more pressure on myself to achieve a goal when I lead an unpredictable life?

I have had Molly on a strict schedule for a few months now and it seemed to work great. She napped a total of three hours a day and was happy and slept (almost) through the night. She has decided that napping is for chumps and that she doesn't want to do that, or sleep through the night. This is change. I don't mind change but I'm currently at a crossroads as to what I am supposed to do with her now. What am I supposed to do with myself now? I got to nap. Now I don't. I'm still up in the night once or twice with a screaming baby.
Alex and I are currently reviewing the schedule and trying to work out something that works for all of us. No one mentions how difficult transitions are. All the 'Mommy books' tell you that THIS is how it is and that your baby will do THAT at the specified age. No.
This is one of the situations where I just have to feel it out and do my best to grab sleep where I can and hope that Molly settles into a routine at some point.

I know where my misery stems and I know that it is the result of Molly transitioning to do something and I am either not ready for, or ready for the next thing to happen. I can't just accept the transition and go with it. There are no tips or tricks for it. This a personal skill that comes with parental maturity. I'll let you know when I'm mature enough to handle it. In the meantime, I'm going to go play with my baby.

Wasted Energy

I apologize for not writing for the past two weeks. I've been busy...OKAY???!!!!! Geez!

Anyway, 

I've decided to take this blog in a new direction. 

I had the amazing pleasure of spending my past Wednesday with my long-time friend, Carly. She is (and has always been) someone I have always believed to be a super role model and amazing person. 

During her visit, we talked a lot about general themes around 'my' anger and frustration. (Carly, I'm sorry if it seemed like a one-sided discussion at times. I know we talked about how that irks us both and I'm totally guilty of it. I'm sorry!).

We talked about how, in our younger days, we wasted so much time and energy being unhappy with our bodies. Everyone is insecure about their body at pretty much any age and at any and all stages. There is a multibillion dollar industry (that I work for), that thrives off our physical insecurities. 

Note: I pride myself on being a picture of health and wellness rather than strive for an unrealistic body-type goal. 

That being said, Carly said that she could have refocused all the energy she wasted being unhappy with herself and put it towards something useful like learning a new language. I agree. 

Carly, you are so wise and I can't wait to chat with you in Ancient Greek. *wink wink*

So, what does this mean for my blog? Well, for starters, you all know that I'm miserable. I am. Can't argue with my feelings. They're mine. Instead of wasting my energy writing to you about how miserable I am, I'm going to talk about all the things I wish people (and books) had told me about the first year. I will do my best to recall all the strange things that happened in the beginning while trying to keep it as 'TMI'-free. You don't want to know about the real nitty gritty body stuff, do you? I was going to focus on the whole "baby" aspect of it all rather than the whole "You would not believe what your body does during and after childbirth"aspect. If you want to know about that, books outline it pretty well- except for the part where your partner is dying to get 'cuddly' with you after 6 weeks of recovery and you just want to throw them off a cliff for suggesting such blasphemy. 

In any case, this blog is going to start to look like my pregnancy blog only now I have the baby, and I have a real opinion about annoying things. Pregnancy- hated it. First time Mom- contempt for everything (and almost everyone). This should be a real knee-slapper. 

When is enough really enough?

As you all know, I spent the weekend hosting my good friends from Buffalo. We had a delightful time. 

There was the epic Bruce Springsteen concert and Zach's awesome 30th birthday party. Also, our babies were amazing all weekend long. 

(*Note: Carly- I passed on lots of love to Libby, Nathan, and their tiny human for you*).

Even though there was a lot of anxiety about the weekend, it turned out to be a riot and none of the worst-case-scenarios actually came into fruition. Now that the weekend is over, and the house has recovered, I've begun to reflect on the exact trigger that set me off.

I know I'm feeling blue. That is a constant; but at this juncture, I don't feel anxious or unpleasant about HAVING to do or prepare anything. Anticipating a major event with lots of tiny details that I have to facilitate is that exact trigger. 

So I ask, "When have I been asked to do too much?"

The answer is simple; when I accept too much.

In reality, I can do only as much as I want to. If I don't want to host another family in my tiny Toronto shack, I don't have to. Then it becomes a question of, "How badly do I want to see my friend?" and "To what lengths will I go to be able to have my friend stay here?". 

There are levels of accepting responsibility everyone has when they have guest. I'm honestly an 'all or nothing' kind of babe. Libby, Nathan, and Bryce were going to have a wonderful time here at 'Hotel Crandall'. 

As I've mentioned before, I love fun. Remember from my last blog; I jump out of planes, off cliffs, and I dive with sharks. That is fun. Being home in a monotonous routine with a teething baby and a nasty case of the blues is not fun. (Well, I definitely don't get my jollies from it. Others do, and that's cool). 

So, in the case of having Libby and Co. stay here, I went all out. My parents (thankfully) babysat both nights and both babies; my sister and I cleaned the basement and did mountains of laundry; and Alex and I bought and cooked lots of yummy food for our guests. Without the support, I wouldn't have been able to do any of this. I'm so thankful. 

But, I was still feeling anxious. 

Did I bite off more than I could chew? Sure did!

When you have major oral surgery, its hard to chew anything. You can chew, it just hurts and takes a little more effort. That sums up my anxiety over the weekend preparations. I can do everything, and I'll be damned if I don't, but it hurts and takes a lot of energy I don't currently possess. 

Along with hosting Libby and Co., I made a five layer rainbow 'The Watchmen' cake for Zach's birthday. It was gluten free, dairy free, and Kosher (yup, I made kosher fondant with parve kosher gelatine). It was a lot of work. It was even more work with everything going on over the weekend. I still managed to do that, get the house ready, go to the pool, have a nap, go to the Springsteen concert, walk to the beach, hit up David's Tea, and cook and clean. And, of course, Molly-duty was an around the clock necessity. 

I am super woman. I am even more super because I did all of this while feeling super anxious and blue. 

I'm not writing this to toot my own horn, even though I'm really F*cking great at it; I wrote this to help me sort out when I've taken on too much. I think I've found the answer to that.

This upcoming weekend is Labour Day weekend. School starts on Tuesday and so there are three glorious days of weekend left to celebrate summer. 

I asked Alex if he wanted to go to the cottage. He said, "YA! I would love to spend the weekend with my family!". 

I said, "Okay, are you willing to do ALL the laundry; ALL the shopping; ALL the packing; ALL the past weekend clean up, and looking after Molly?"

He said, "I will do half of it."<-- I know! I'm the only lunatic that accepts to do ALL this mishegas (BY MYSELF!)

I said, "No. ALL or NOTHING"<--Limit hit!

So, are we going to the cottage?

no. 

After not sleeping for a week because I was so anxious and miserable, I have learned that I am not super woman nor do I want to be. I love going to the cottage but this weekend, I've put in my labour and I'm going to strive for some relaxation. 

I can be super for one weekend, but like all humans, I've hit my limit. Two weekends of insane packing, shopping, laundry, and baby is a death wish. 

Enjoy Labour Day! I enjoyed many days of labour leading up to this weekend and I will do my best to put all labour on hold until another weekend. :)

Moms for Moms

I am so lucky to have the friends I do.
This weekend, I'm delighted to be hosting one my long-time best chums, Libby.
She came in from the U.S. with her wonderful husband, Nathan, and their beautiful baby, Bryce.

Libby and I met years ago through Youth Group (NFTY) and camp. She is originally from Buffalo, and just recently moved back there after years of living in Boston, Baltimore, and Ithaca. I'm so happy she is so much closer to me. Although we don't speak daily (or even monthly), we have still managed to kindle a special friendship built on shared adventures and the thirst for fun.
Libby's family is very similar to mine in the fact that she and Nathan were married two weeks after Alex and I were; and Bryce was born exactly four months after Molly.
Unfortunately we also share(d) the 'blues' that came with the pre/postpartum adventures we have been having. Lucky for Libby, she is feeling much better and I'm pleased to hear and see that this discomfort ends and that I can (and will) resume my life.

This post could be all about Libby and our wacky adventures we have together, but I'm going to follow up my thoughts from the last post.
*Note: If you want to hear about my Libby stories, just ask me. Michelle says that when I speak of Libby, my face lights up with pure delight.

In the previous post I discussed the notion that 'love' is not 'happiness'. I also tip-toed into the discussion about the social pressures of women (especially as mothers) from other women.
You are probably wondering, what does this have to do with your dear friend, Libby? I'm glad you asked!

When Molly was born, I was bombarded with advice. Most of it was crappy. I'm not going to point any fingers at the people who gave me the really shitty advice but you know who you are.
I am going to say that the brunt of the advice was from women. (Well duh! Men are delightful creatures but when it comes to dolling out the mother-related nonsense that a new mom doesn't want/need to hear, they take a backseat-THANK GOD!!!)
If the women are giving the advice, they are also the sensitive creatures who are offended when you don't take the advice; and return that offence in criticism and judgement.

In preparation for Libby's arrival, I spent much of the week in a deep puddle of anxiety. Knowing full-well that no two moms are alike, I was worried that I was going to be both the giver and receiver of advice and judgement.

WHAT? (I know. This sounds really stupid but please hear me out).

When Michelle and I became friends, she was (and still is) doing an amazing job at raising Eva. I wanted to emulate everything she did because her baby was (and still is) so happy and wonderful. So I took my lead from her. We followed the same advice from Dr. Sears; we did the same sleep routine; we fed the girls the same first foods; we both shared a brand of cloth diapers we love; and we even put the girls on the same nap schedule so we could play together.
There was no judgement.
We still do some things differently and there still is no judgement or crappy advice. When we have questions, we ask without condescension or ill-feelings. And, yes, I will say it, Michelle is pretty much ALWAYS right. --> Enjoy this Michelle.

With the 'blues', I never know how I am going to behave in a new situation so I feel anxious.
Before Libby's arrival, we spoke briefly about some of the necessities she was going to need to make her and her family comfortable. It riled me up (FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON!!!). Yes, I had so much work to do to get our guest quarters (the basement) clean and cozy, and I had to make a second epic surprise for my friend's 30th birthday party; but I was most worried about my ability to refrain from passing perceived judgement.

I live in an area where there are babies in every house on every street. Most of them are little shits. Of course, you would blame the parents. They are often shits too. (My street is blessed to be inhabited by angels so it must be the other shits on other streets). My day-to-day life makes it difficult to not pass judgement on the shitty parents who let their children splash in the faces of babies in the splash pad or refuse to watch as their kids push other kids off the playground equipment. I admit it; I spend a lot of my day passing judgement. This is fostered in the unspoken advice I would give to the parents; "Shouldn't you be watching your child?", "Are you sure you want to smoke around your baby?", and "Maybe if you were paying more attention, your child wouldn't have broken the other kid's arm after he pushed her off the slide."
I know this is bigger stuff than what Libby and I deal with with our babies, but the same ideas apply. "You co-sleep? Aren't you afraid you are going to crush your baby? How do you have sex with a baby in the bed? Is there ever a time you aren't physically attached to your child?" You can see how these questions have a tone of condescension considering that this is not how I raised Molly. My fear was that my curiosity would be perceived as judgement by my friend, and the last thing I want to do is offend her or make her uncomfortable, or even question her decisions for what she knows is best for her baby.

People are their own worst critics. We never relish in the positivity; instead we dwell on the negative feedback. Personally, I think this is an evolutionary trait to help us improve ourselves to become the best people we can be. Unfortunately, all the criticism we take from others and ourselves, really bums us out. It bummed me out this week because all I could see was the negative. I picked out all the worst-case scenarios and jumped to those conclusions rather than reminding myself about the positives.
The ultimate positive was a little, tiny voice screaming at me all week and I just stomped her out with my blues.
When Libby arrived, that tiny voice smacked me in the head with a 2x4 and screamed, "THIS IS ONE OF YOUR BEST FRIENDS! SHE WILL NEVER JUDGE YOU AND YOU WILL NEVER JUDGE HER! RELAX AND START ENJOYING EVERY MOMENT YOU TWO HAVE TOGETHER!"

If we look at other parents in the same ways we view our nearest and dearest, we probably won't judge them. We are moms for moms (No affiliation with Jews for Jesus). We are all doing the best we can for our children, and like stars in the sky, no two children are exactly alike, but they will all sparkle in their own way. Instead of judging or criticizing our fellow parents, we need to embrace their ways and become comrades rather than competition for 'who has the perfect child'. On a similar note, I will still judge you as a negligent ass-hole if your child pushes my baby down the slide. Don't think that you can escape the Emma Fox scowl (or verbal bitch-slap) is you mess with basic playground etiquette.

Feedback

Since I began this blog (a few days ago), I've been receiving a lot of wonderful feedback.
I want to take this moment to formally thank everyone who has taken the time to read my blog. The feedback is also welcomed. I'm so happy that so many of you are finding comfort and camaraderie in my journey. I knew this blog would be therapeutic; I had no idea it would be therapeutic for more than just me.
Thank you all for being with me and supporting me.

That being said, I want to discuss some feedback I had from a long-time friend.
In her response to me, she mentioned a stigma around women in moments where we are 'expected' to be happy.
After I gave birth to Molly, Alex went to a special seminar at the hospital about all this bizarre things we were going to encounter once we were discharged. They doted on how breastfeeding isn't a reliable method of birth control and that the baby's first poo was going to be black and scary. They also mentioned the 'baby blues' and symptoms of postpartum depression/psychosis. Alex was, (in his humble opinion), prepared to deal with whatever craziness was about to be thrown at him. I had the 'baby blues' but it wasn't anything major. I also had distractions like the holiday season to deal with.
Once all the excitement blew over, and I was left at home with Molly, I began to freak out. Molly cried and cried. Then she slept for 45 minutes and cried again. I fed her all the time, mostly just to shut her up. This cycle went on for four months. Luckily, I had my friend Michelle to help me out so I didn't leave the baby and drive to Montreal.
In between Molly's cries, I cried. Sometimes we cried at the same time. Once Molly stopped crying so much, I continued to cry. I cried until Molly cut her first tooth. Then I slept for three consecutive hours for the first time in six months.
The crying seemed to be a normal function of exhaustion and hormones. It wasn't until my birthday that I began to realize that I still wasn't quite right. The boredom and monotony of Molly's routine combined with the (still) lack of sleep made me question my mental health. Why was I so in love with this baby but so unhappy? It didn't make sense even after much more sleep.

When I look at my beautiful child, I am overcome with emotion. She is worth everything to me and there is no one on this planet I love more. Love is not the same as happiness. This is a common misconception in our society that if we are in love, we must be happy. The wedding industry is built on that principle. I know there are examples of being in love and not being happy, but this is circumstantial to moments where we would be perceived to be happy as a result of life-changing love; not 'Fifty Shades of Grey'.
As mentioned before, I'm writing this post in response to my friend's feedback about how women are 'expected' to be overcome with happiness in specific moments like an upcoming marriage or the birth of a new child. The common denominator is 'Love'.
I'm not going to go into the extensive nitty-gritty psychology of how our brain reacts chemically to our feelings of love but I believe that the psycho-social implications of this make many women scared and sad. Love does that. Some of the greatest literature, music, and art come from these feelings. (Not to toot my own horn, but this blog was also started because of these feelings...just sayin').
It's easy to dote on the science to help understand why our brains and bodies react the ways they do under certain circumstances but when it comes to presentation of the self, we have to look to the social. Social pressures for women are obscene and we all know that. This is one of the small items on the long list of female injustice that we have to face. You'd be surprised to learn that this feeling of inadequacy was probably not the single-handed result of male pressure. Women are judgemental (as is everyone) and when it comes to family-love, no one makes bigger stinks than the matriarchs. Trust me! Unfortunately, I have to go into that in a later post because "The Boss" is almost done her nap.

I wish I could pass along sage advice for dealing with feeling blue from a love-instigated life-changing event but I can't. I'm sorry. All I can say is that if anyone out there in Blog-land is feeling this way, know that you have sympathy and a friend in me. Keep responding to me (publicly or privately) and I will always do my best to write back.

Do you want to explode?

Has anyone out there in Blog-land seen Despicable Me? 

I love that movie. 

There is a scene where Dr. Nefario (Played by Russell Brand) is asked by one of the children if they can play with a ray-gun. Instead of answering 'NO', he asks, "Do you want to explode?". 

Every time I think of a potential scenario I have with Molly, I find myself asking, "Do I want to explode?". 

I'm not going to explode. I already did that and it resulted in prune-stained walls. It was a sticky mess to clean up and I won't do it again. 

This week, I am expecting company. 

For any new mom, this is seen as stressful. Not only is my house in shambles because I haven't cleaned it in the last nine months, but I am going to have more bodies in the house. 

As I'm sure you can tell, this causes me anxiety. I haven't been one to freak out under pressure but this set me over the edge and yes, I thought I was going to explode. 

As mentioned in my previous post, I have a hard time working out logistics now that my brain is the new home to a depressive parasite. The news of my company's arrival and plans for the weekend didn't excite me, it made my heart-rate spike, my palms sweat, and my poor husband stroke my hair while I talked to myself like a crazy-person. 

My mother always said that in this type of situation, I need to just focus on one thing at a time. Well, yesterday I did that. My amazing sister, Wendy, came over and we tidied the basement. Molly was asleep but probably not for the moment where I shrieked the house down when I found a dead mouse in the dehumidifier. 

*Editor's note- I'm terrified of DEAD mice. Don't know why. I know they aren't going to lunge at me or do anything for that matter (except carry the bubonic plague). I'm still terrified. Ick!

We scrubbed the bathroom and made the basement look really really cozy. Wendy is a lifesaver and she's coming over before my company comes on Friday, so we can scrub the evidence of my cat's nasty ways off the floor. 

In the past, I would have NEVER been so anxious about having company. Of course I would have wanted to make the house clean and fresh but I wouldn't have freaked out like I did. 

The good news is that as I tackle one thing at a time, I really do feel better. Also, knowing that I have the support of my sister and friends is really wonderful. They know that I ask myself if I want to explode and they don't want to come over to a baby-food splattered house (unless Molly is doing her best replications of Jackson Pollack). 

One final thought: As I reread this post, I've noticed a huge change in my tone in just one day. I know that everyday is going to be different, but I'm hoping that through the exercise of blogging, I can continue on an upswing and begin to feel better consistently.