Today’s guest post was written by the lovely Bridget, from The Ivey League. Also known on Twitter as Queenofhaddock. I am lucky, because I was able to meet and spend some time with Bridget at BlogHer this summer. Not enough time, as we have both told each other a couple of times. However we did have a lot of fun, the times we were together. Want a good laugh? Ask Bridget about my sense of direction. Or about our waitress at the burger place in the hotel. She’s as sweet and wonderful as she appears on the Internet. She has a crazy full life; three kids, just like me, although she’s got two boys and one girl; a doctor husband; a seemingly million volunteer projects and she is a phenomenal photographer. I am thankful to call her my friend.
It all started with Twitter. I’d log on, watch conversations fly by me. Consider joining in, and then…well…just not say anything.
I got tired of trying to be witty in 140 characters.
I got tired of trying so hard, weighing every word.
That’s not how it’s supposed to be between friends.
I know I’m not the only one.
And really folks? Enough with the #socialmedia #hashtags. I get it. You want a #laptop or #anewpairofcrocs. I wouldn’t mind having those, too. But is it worth it? Not to me.
And then one day…I just didn’t log on. I didn’t check Twitter on my phone. I wondered what some of my friends were up to, but those friends hadn’t been on Twitter much lately either.
And I realized that those same friends hadn’t been posting as much.
Or posting shorter, obligatory posts.
Just to keep the traffic coming.
Must.keep.traffic.up.
And I realized that I’ve been doing the same thing.
And I wondered…hmmm…are these blogging highs and lows just like the whole period sync situation. We’re not around each other to be exposed to pheromones, so it can’t be just that.
But it seems like more of us are down than up right now.
And words are escaping us all.
And it’s easier to post crap than admit that something is wrong.
But something is wrong.
With me.
With Issa.
With several of my friends.
Hell, even Jenny the Bloggess admitted that she was in a funk.
It’s too early for SAD to be creeping in. I’m not ready.
One more sweet summer day, please.
And could someone please tell me a joke. A good one.
I need a good long laugh-until-you-happy-cry joke.
It sounds like a lot of us do.
Six months. Maddie has been gone six months. It doesn’t seem possible. Every single day, I see something, whether on the Internet or out in the world that makes me think of Maddie. Sometimes a purple balloon floating to the clouds, sometimes a bright yellow flower in a store window. Yesterday, it was a little girl at my daughter’s school, playing with a wig. It made me think of Maddie and this picture. Click that link if you have a chance, it’s the cutest picture of Maddie. For some reason it’s one of my favorites.
I’ll never ever forget her.
Today, if you get a moment, please go tell Heather and Mike that you are thinking about them and Maddie.
Friends of Maddie was created in memory of the beautiful, amazing Madeline Alice Spohr. If you have anything to give, please, please think of donating to Friends of Maddie.
There are moments where breathing in and out seems like a lot of work. I hyperventilate sometimes until I remember that I do know how to breath deeply. In an out, in and out. Two, three, four times before I feel like I will make it.
I have to be constantly reminded that I am doing okay. That I’ve come far in two weeks. That I’ve continued to move forward. That baby steps are better than no steps at all. I sometimes have to be reminded to breath.
This weekend was good. Fun even. Family time, spent in the mountains. Time spent watching silly movies and playing Wii championship games of bowling.
I can’t seem to hang onto it. I can’t seem to stay positive.
This is an improvement, I know. After two solid weeks of barely making it each day. Of crying more than one should cry, of falling more than I thought I could fall. I know two days of peace and fun, was good. An improvement. For two days straight I didn’t think about the things in my face. Two days of eating entire meals, of not throwing away 98% of it; is good. Three solid nights of sleep is good. Thank you Ambien.
But I can’t hold onto it.
Am I doing better than I was last week? Yes. Last week was….the only words I can come up with are soul crushing. Not sure that is right. But that’s how it felt then.
I know I am doing better. I feel a little better than I did. I will continue going to therapy twice a week, until I don’t have to be reminded to breath. To eat. To sleep.
However, it doesn’t feel like enough. I should feel better. I know that is silly, but it’s how I feel. I feel like an over dramatic spaz. I know I’m not. I know what I’m going through, even the feeling like I should get over it, is completely normal.
Problem is, my brain knows it; my heart just isn’t so sure.
I feel broken. I feel unfixable. I feel battered. This feels too big. Too hard. Too much for me to deal with.
I’m scared.
A few weeks ago, Liz sent me a guest post, titled Mommy Myths. This weekend, she sent me volume two. Really, I think if I keep her going, I may one day get her too post on her blog again. Ha. Or give her a day a week here? hmmm, idea.
There are going to be more guest posts around here, than mine, for the next couple weeks. I hope you guys will still visit. I just need some time. I’m not going anywhere, I just haven’t found my words yet. But these people, my friends who are going to send me guest posts, they are awesome. Much more entertaining than I am right now, that is for sure.
MOMMY MYTHS #2 by Liz.
Since the first time around was so much fun… (And it’s possible that I really really really really liked getting the comments.) Or maybe it’s just because I realized I have more to say. I was laying awake in the middle of the night several days ago and this began to take shape in my head. We’ll see just how much I can recall…
1) Potty Trained does NOT equal freedom. I’m sorry. But it’s true. All of you out there in a big rush to potty train? Stop and consider this for a moment. When your two year old in a diaper pipes up and says, “Mommy, pee-pee!” or, “Mommy, new diap?”, what do you do? Drop everything and race with every ounce of strength you have to get them a fresh diaper? Um. NO. You murmur “Yes sweetie, just a moment.” and then finish the bejeweled game you are in the middle of, check email, maybe get a drink and perhaps even play another game or two. And THEN you get them the requested new diaper. Strictly hypothetical. Ahem. Now, when your small child in underwear says the same thing? You are out of your chair, racing towards the bathroom with said child under your arm before another second ticks off the bejeweled timer. Yeah… Basically, you have some control over the timing of a toddler in diapers. When they are out of diapers? THEY are in control. I’m not trying to say don’t do it. I just think you should go in with your eyes open. I have a 2 year old still very much in diapers. And an almost 5 year old who is FINALLY to the stage where he can go completely by himself–but, um… I might still have to wipe his little tush. And that’s a whole other post.
2) The Terrible Twos are NOTHING compared to Threes. I think “terrible twos” is a misnomer. Just like “morning sickness”. Morning? BWAHAHAHAHAhahaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Er. Um… Right. Where was I? Oh yeah. I think it should be “terrific twos” and “terrible threes”. Or maybe at times, “trying twos” or “testing twos”, but terrible belongs to the three’s. My summer job in high school and college was working at a day care. With toddlers. And I never knew this about the two’s vs. three’s until December of 2007. (That would be when Thomas turned three.) In my (limited) experience, two is all about cute but sometimes challenging attitude. Three? Three for us was more like, “Mommy needs a break before my heads spins all the way around” level attitude. Just because you possess the logic and verbal skills to debate every point, does that really mean you have to use it? All the time? Caroline at two gets a glint in her eye, and sets her jaw just so and then stares us down. I’m a little scared for next July.
3) The cheesy cliches are true. REALLY. When checking into a hotel recently, the young woman at the registration desk was intrigued by the fact that we were on a “Mom’s Getaway” weekend. She was… Wow. Different, eh Issa?*** Anyway, she had like a million questions about having kids such as, “So, would you like, recommend having kids?” (Feel free to imagine the head bob/tilt and the twirling of the hair as you read that.) “Does it like, um, change your life and stuff?” Oh, and of course, “Was like, having a baby the most intense thing like, evah?” And as Issa and looked at each other and tried not to laugh out loud at her, we had to answer truthfully. A million times yes, I would recommend having kids. It changes your life in the both the most mundane and unexpected ways. And, becoming a parent (no matter how it happens) is without a doubt the most intense thing ever–er, excuse me. I mean evah! Is it all sunshine and roses and puppies? Goodness no. Not even close. It’s a lot of sweat and tears. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
***Issa’s note: That woman….err adult girl, shouldn’t have kids for another 15 years at least. I’d fear for her children’s lives. She’d be the woman who’d leave them in a cab, because she got in a conversation on her phone about a magazine article. Or she saw something shiny. Scary, truly. A few minutes after we left registration, which by the way took FOREVER, Liz and I considered that we should have told her having kids was horrible, just so she wouldn’t do it.
Thank you for all the kind words. I appreciate it more than I could begin to tell you right now. Look, I “made” some cookies for each of you. Enjoy.
Love, Issa
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