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. 

Post-Partum

Well,
Molly was born almost nine months ago and in all honesty, I've been suffering on and off postpartum blues. How do I know this?
First of all, I'm having a really shitty time making any decisions. I can't decide whether or not I should go to the bathroom or start getting Molly ready for our next outing. Simple decisions (which would obviously be no brainers) are really difficult and I do actually end up holding my pee for way too long.
Secondly, I'm bummed past the point of tears. I don't feel like crying until after I feel better about something. One would think that if I was really upset, then the tears would just flow; no. For example, Alex and I didn't have to paint the house when we moved in. Our living room, dining room, and stairwell are all a lovely shade of taupe. At present, one of the walls in our dining room has a faint stain of pureed prune as a result of me throwing a bowl of prunes at it in a surprise fit of sadness. Funny enough, I didn't cry before or after that. I just needed a 'time-out'. I got one.
Lastly, I don't feel comfortable in my skin. I don't mean physically. I just don't feel like myself and that is the hardest part. I want to be excited and happy about the things that used to excite me but they just don't. Also, it makes it really hard to be around people because I don't want to bum them out when I'm not excited by anything. I've been feigning excitement through curiosity which is helpful but not genuine. That makes me feel even worse. I'm so sorry.
*Quick editors note: Erica and Michelle- if you are reading this, I am still super happy for your new house and your "new" house. I still wish you all the best and the warm fuzzies that go with it. I do love you both and want nothing but happiness for you guys. Just because I'm not excited doesn't mean that I'm not delighted by your good fortunes! And, Michelle, I'm hell-a jealous that you have such a swanky reno. I would love bamboo floors and pot lights in my slanty-shanty.


As a result of my blues, I've decided to blog again as to form of therapy. The written word is a much easier medium to express honesty. I hope that it doesn't bum everyone out. I still plan to write about my adventures in motherhood (which are pretty entertaining). I'll leave you with one now:

I'm nursing Molly. I still nurse around the clock and I nursed her exclusively for 5 and a half months.
A few months back, my best buddy Michelle and I decided to do one of our epic walks from our houses in Eastern Toronto to the Distillery (Wendy's house). It isn't such a far walk but it is with two babies!
Molly and Eva are best friends and they go on many adventures together. This was one of their more adventurous outings.
As lunchtime approached, Michelle mentioned that we should stop and feed the girls so they could nap. Cool with that; we stopped in Jimmy Simpson park (Leslieville) and found a completely empty picnic bench in a completely empty park. (I can't stress enough how EMPTY the park was). Eva ate her delicious lunch of mush and avocado (more mush) in her stroller. I had to pick up Molly and nurse her. Not a big deal!
Just as I reached in to grab Molly, we saw an elderly man with a bike come right towards our picnic bench. (There were other EMPTY benches in the park). Michelle and I thought nothing of it so I continued to position Molly for a feed. Just as Molly latched, and I was exposed, this man sat down on the opposite side of our bench and scratched his lotto tickets. Um...right.
After many months of exposing myself in public, I've grown to be pretty cool with the entire world looking at my boobs from a distance. This was too close for comfort.
He honestly didn't mind. When Molly was finished, he packed up and walked away.
I put Molly back in her stroller and we continued onwards.
In the eight and a half months I've been nursing Molly, that was the first (and only) time, I've been uncomfortable. Michelle agreed that that was very strange.
I'm going to add this occurrence to the long list of interactions with weirdos I have an just accept that Leslieville is a colourful and bizarre place to be when you nurse.
*Just a note- Michelle and I had to plop ourselves down in this park because the local Starbucks was full of internet-mooching, one drink sucking, dirty-ass, inconsiderate hipsters. I would rather have 100 elderly men sitting on a bench opposite me while I nurse than be in the presence of the soul draining aura of irony from a Starbucks packed with hipsters. At least they could be considerate enough to lend a seat to a new mom with a hungry baby.

I'm back!!!!!!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm here to announce my return to blogging. I needed a good creative outlet because this whole 'motherhood' thing was making me crazy. To put more simply, I've been on and off feeling blue for the last eight months and by expressing myself through the written word is not just cathartic, but entertainment.

To all my previous readers, thanks so much for coming back. I know you've been heckling me to finish my last blog but this is the beginning of a new chapter so it gets a new blogspot.

I last left everyone in a lurch because I wrote my last post when I was about twenty hours into my (what ended up being) 44 hour labour. I'm going to ruin the end for you; I had the baby. As for the details: yes, I pooped; yes, I took the drugs (they were great); and yes, I was the laughing stock of  the Four Seasons Sinai (meaning, I'm a hoot and made pretty much everyone laugh even though I was pushing a baby out of my "business"). When I look back on it, I don't think it was such a big deal. It causes everyone so much anxiety and fear. I went in with a que sera sera attitude and came out with Molly.

Eight and a half months later, I find myself confident in my mothering skills but bored in the monotony of the experience. This by no means harbors any resentment towards Molly; I simply miss aspects of my previous life. I miss going to the gym without the logistical mishegas (craziness) and I miss working.
I run my own personal training business. It is less than successful at the moment with only one client currently on my roster. I am still working but not to the degree I would like to be.
I know that once Molly  gets older, things like this get easier. I'm totally cool with that! But right now I'm a wee bit restless.

No one talks about the post-partum bummer. People discuss the depression and anxiety from lack of sleep but other than the mommies I've specifically spoken to, no one talks about how bored they are.

I don't care if you judge me. Until you've walked a mile in my shoes, you won't know. Simply put, I love Molly more than anything. I will do anything for her. Like all mommies, I've put my needs on the back burner and now I'm feeling sad. All of this will pass but I beg other mommies and mommies-to-be to talk about this. Just like when you are caring for your little one, silence cannot always be trusted.