Mommy Roid Rage

Christmas at the Holloway house included a fairly intense crying / yelling match.  Emily sat on the potty with a puddle of ballet clothes at her ankles, shouting with all her might, "I am NOT going to go potty!"  The baby started crying because it's sooooo easy to sleep when there's yelling going on in the next room.  I threw a wad of toilet paper at my daughter (not kidding) and yelled, "Emily!  Go potty!!"  Jason came to the door and gave me a look that said, "What in the H is going on in here?!"  I stormed out in tears and locked myself in our bathroom.


It's a Norman Rockwell image, is it not?


Let's rewind....  Christmas morning actually began very smoothly.  We did all of the things parents are supposed to do (half-eaten cookies left on the plate, stockings overflowing, etc.) and opened presents together as a family while holiday tunes played in the background.  Jacob even stayed awake for about 10 minutes of it before needing to go down for his morning nap.  Then it was time to rush out the door for my last steroid infusion.  Boo.


I did this one solo.  I didn't want my mom to have to watch her daughter hooked up to an IV for 2 hours on Christmas.  I wanted our kids to be with Daddy if they couldn't be with me.  And I knew my all-time favorite nurse, Phyllis would be there to make me feel better.  What I hadn't anticipated was a scary allergic reaction that had me tomato-red from head to toe and itching.  Everywhere.  The sweetest old men were in the infusion room with me.  I went into a crazy-lady-itching-frenzy and one of them said, "I still think you're pretty even when your scalp itches."  Gross!  My head is actually sore today from the frantic brushing I resorted to.  They shut off the steroids and monitored me until my color returned to normal.  I walked shakily to my car and pouted for a few minutes before starting the engine.  No more steroids.  A wave of happy/sad/relieved/resentful feelings washed over me.  I know that I'm supposed to trust God's plan for me, but that doesn't mean I necessarily have to like it all of the time.  In fact, this week I've been more than a little angry with Him.  I need to be angry.  I get the feeling He understands.


I walked in the door to find Emily refusing to sit down for lunch.  Fine.  You need to use the potty first anyway.  Fast forward to our ultimate potty power struggle.  Happy, happy Christmas!  I cried in the shower while doing some more crazy-lady-scalp-scratching, spent some time thinking about how to fix the mess I had made then called for my little girl. 


"Emily, I owe you an apology.  Mommy had a bad morning at the hospital and it made me cranky.  I shouldn't have yelled at you."


"You kind of had a temper tantrum.  That was really rude."


Deep breath... Ignore the sassy-pants tone and stick with the apology plan.  "Yes, It was.  I'm sorry."


Emily then climbed into my lap, kissed my cheek, jumped down and danced away.  Just like that, everything was OK again.  If Emily can forgive me for losing it on Christmas, I suppose I can forgive God for this week.  I can learn a lot from my little girl.

Cooking with Jenny: A Multiple Sclerosis Relapse

My perfect recipe for a MS relapse:

 

1.  Have a baby.  Childbirth is amazing.  It’s also a fairly traumatic experience for your body.

2.  Put your house on the market.  Watch as the first offer falls through.  Then the second.  Jump up and down when the house sells and the buyer lets you rent while you finish building your new house across town.  Building a house is awesome.  It's also a little stressful with all of the appointments and decisions to be made. 

3.  Approach the holiday season with a large dose of excitement and a pinch of anxiety with all there is to do.  Send 80 Christmas cards.  Bake 10 dozen cookies and 2 trays of fudge.  Decorate the new house one week after moving.  Get a beast of a tree and take the kids on a few memory-making holiday outings.  Watch as your daughter has a panic attack when Santa calls the house.  Promise he’ll never call again.

4.  Get up with your infant son every 3 hours and swear you’ll get him sleeping through the night by 4 months.  OK, maybe 5 or 6.  7 months at the latest.  Continue to wake up with him each night then cake your face in the morning with products designed to help you fake the "awake" look.  Thank God for coffee.

5.  Visit the urologist’s office for your 8th UTI in 5 months.  Suggest a prize for having the most in the shortest amount of time.  Suggest that perhaps prescribing the same antibiotic every time isn't working. Notice for the 8th time in 5 months that you're the only person in the office who doesn't have white hair.  Awesome.

6.  Care for your two lovely children under the age of 4 and marvel at parents who decide to have more than 2… On purpose!  Try to be patient as they struggle with the adjustment of moving to a new house.  Remind yourself that it’s possible to love a child more than anything in the world yet have moments when you just don’t like them very much.   Google “explosive toddler tantrum” to read horror stories and make everything feel more normal.  Google “Bipolar disorder diagnostic criteria” to rule it out… Just in case.

Mix all of this together and see what happens…  MS is unpredictable and affects everyone differently.  For someone else, perhaps nothing would have happened.  In my case, my symptoms became worse.  Then I got some new ones.  I look goofy when I walk and have some trouble with balance these days.  On the upside, I have a handicapped parking permit now.  Finally a perk!

I had a 2.5 hour MRI on Monday.  An hour later, my neurologist called to tell me I have not one new lesion, but three; two in my brain and one in my thoracic spine that is apparently “active.”  In my post-MRI Ativan haze I pretended to understand what that meant and agreed to begin a 5-day course of IV steroid infusions the following day.  I called the next morning to have him explain what exactly I'd signed up for.  Apparently the steroids will reduce the inflammation around the newest lesion and hopefully keep my current symptoms from becoming permanent.  Unfortunately this means I can't breastfeed for an entire week. 

I have an amazing support system.  Friends and family are offering their prayers, dinners, childcare.…  I've told everyone I'm fine and really don't need anything.  My first dose was yesterday.  I stupidly went alone and suddenly felt very overwhelmed.  I can't breastfeed my baby for 7 days?  I've been storing milk, but not for this...  I'm actually very saddened by this.  I've never had an IV infusion and was more than a little scared.  The nurse came to the waiting room looking more like a loving grandmother than a nurse, held my hand and said, “Hello, Dear…  It’s time to come with me.  How are you today?”  I said, "Um...  Actually, not very good" and then I began sobbing!

I get it, of course.  She’s safe.  I can fall apart in front of her and it’s OK.  I just didn’t think it would be so hard to pull myself together again!  I was mortified when she asked what I do for a living…  “I’m a psychologist.  But I promise I’m not usually so mentally unstable!”  Phyllis is great.  I use humor to cope with stress and she kindly laughs when I joke inappropriately about putting someone else's name on the infusion bag (so that maybe someone else can get it today?)  "If you give the drugs away, you’ll also have to give that person the disease, too.”  Fine, Phyllis...  You're obviously a better person than I am.  Give me my drugs.  Today my loving husband came with me.  I confirmed my name and birthdate on the infusion bag again.  Jason noted, “An excellent vintage.”  Indeed.  It was easier today.  By Christmas morning I might even be OK with all of this.  On the 26th I can nurse my baby again. In retrospect, I really did cook the perfect recipe for a MS relapse!  I promise to be more careful in 2012. 

Thank you to my friends and family for all of your support! 

Have Yourself a Merry Little Argument

I saw an article recently that said moms and toddlers argue on average 20-25 times / hour.  I believe it!  Emily's new favorite thing to do is argue with me.  Over everything.  Yesterday we listened to the radio as Nat King Cole crooned O Holy Night.

"This is Santa Claus."
"Actually it's Nat King Cole."

"No, It's Santa."
"His name is Nat King Cole.  It says his name right here....  Nat....  King.... Cole."

"This is Santa!  It says Santa.... Claus."
"I'm not lying to you, Babe."

This argument was repeated with EVERY song on the radio.  Emily is convinced that Andy Williams, Johnny Mathis and Frank Sinatra are all Santa.  The back-up singers are sugar plum fairies.  White Christmas was no exception.

"This one is Santa, too."
"Raise your hand if you've seen White Christmas."

(Em and I both raise our hands)

"Emily, You have not!  Put your hand down!"
(Laughing) "Yes, I have.  This is Santa. You're a coo-coo!"

Is it any wonder?!

"Kids, This is my MS... MS, Meet my Kids."

Emily and I walked to the mailbox every day over the Summer. I made her put shoes on and I braved the hot sidewalk because a) I'm too lazy to get my own shoes and (b) I don't really see the point since I can't feel temperature in my feet. As it turned out, this provided my first opportunity to talk about Multiple Sclerosis with Emily. She wanted to know why I wasn't wearing shoes and I told her that Mommy's legs and feet are sick. Sometimes I can't feel things the same way everyone else does. She has asked a few times why we're moving and I explained that stairs are becoming a little tricky.  Our new house doesn't have stairs.  This is as far as these conversations go at this point. It's not like I'm going to start talking about myelin and lesions with a toddler!

I figure there are two ways that a parent can let their kids in on the presence of a chronic health condition... Either we have a dramatic family meeting at some point (think Lifetime Original movie) where everyone sits down with serious faces and tries NOT to scare the kids (ultimately terrifying them, of course) or it can just be a part of our everyday lives from the beginning.  I'd prefer that.  I'm happy I was diagnosed when Emily was just a baby -- This will never be new to her or to Jacob.

My neurologist is urging me to go back on my disease-modifying therapy (Rebif) sooner rather than later. He's pushing for me to stop breastfeeding at 6 months so I can return to giving myself injections 3x / week. For obvious reasons, I'm not super motivated to do that! Thankfully I'm a dairy cow and have a full freezer of breast milk already (Moo). My symptoms have returned with a vengeance since Jacob was born and I doubt I'll be able to hide my Tin Man walk when I see the doctor this month.  I still plan on arguing for at least another month or two, though.

Once I go back on Rebif I've decided I want to do my
HAMSTER DANCE in front of Emily on occasion.  My only worry is that this will be yet another thing she shares with teachers that just sounds bad. They're already going to hear "My Mommy and Daddy finished a WHOLE bottle of wine last night!" Now she may say, "My Mommy has a whole big box of used needles!" That should make parent-teacher conferences interesting!  We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Cry Me a River...

I was up five times last night between midnight and 5 a.m. Granted, a few of those times were with Emily (bathroom break and a nightmare that had to do with not having her arm in the right hole?!) This morning Jason and I knew it was time to start sleep training with Jacob.

We were waiting until he was over the croup he had last week. We were waiting for a stretch of days when I would be home with him, so we wouldn't have to worry about inconsistency. Apparently we were also waiting for the worst night of sleep yet because this was the one that told me without a doubt that IT IS TIME.

This time around I'm using the advice of a friend's sister who has had amazing results with her own two kids. We let Em cry it out one night back in the day and she was a fantastic sleeper from then on. It was the hardest 30 minutes of my life, but I learned two things...

1. Babies don't die after crying for 30 minutes.
2. I can finish an entire bottle of wine in a half hour on my own.

We're starting with days instead of nights. Jacob began getting cranky at 8:30 and had droopy eyes while I carried him to his crib. I set him down and he began wailing. I went in after 10 minutes to soothe him then set him down again once he was calm. I've repeated this several times and each time I keep thinking he will pass out. HE CAN'T STAY AWAKE FOREVER, RIGHT?!?

My internal dialogue isn't helping...

Heart: How could you do this to your baby!?
Head: I'm teaching him how to put himself to sleep.

Heart: CPS is going to knock on your door any moment now.
Head: I'm doing this because I love him. He needs this skill.

Heart: Do you feel that nagging urge to help your crying baby? That's a natural instinct. It's there for a reason.
Head: We'll all be happier. He'll be a happier baby if he's more rested. I'll be a better mommy.

Heart: You're a terrible mommy. Attachment parents across the globe are weeping for your child right now. He'll have abandonment issues his entire life.
Head: Bullshit. One morning of crying does not equal lifetime trauma... Wait... Does it?

Right about then I poured a shot of Pendleton Whiskey in my coffee. I'm not a huge whiskey fan, but we were out of Bailey's. So, now I'm a 9 a.m. drinker. Awesome.

He's still crying. We're going on almost TWO HOURS of this. I pick him up and he immediately calms and begins to fall asleep. I set him back down and he starts screaming before he hits the mattress. I set the timer for 10 minutes and try to distract myself while he loses his mind in there. I reset the clock if he calms even for a minute. I'm doing the right thing. I'm doing the right thing. I'm doing the right thing.

Emily wants to know why I won't help him. I explained how this works and why it's so important as if this is a developmentally appropriate conversation to have with a 3 year old. "Do you understand, Honey? Do you think this is a good idea?"

"Yes... And I think we need to get a cat." Right. I'm finding absurd things to do to fill 10-minute crying sessions. I polished my toe nails blue. I bleached the bathroom sinks. I'm blogging. Next I plan on looking at cats on the Humane Society website. We'll name him Ferber. Or Pendleton. He'll be fantastic and all he will do all day long is SLEEP. Good kitty.

I'm on a roll...

We move in 4 weeks and somehow I keep breaking things! Last week I broke a kitchen drawer. I managed to break a toe in the process and later the same evening spilled red wine in the nursery. Admittedly, I'm a little sidetracked lately by everything going on. Packing our things, going back to work, preparing to move... It's a bit much. I think everyone in this house is getting a little anxious about all of the changes taking place. The kids are more emotional than usual, I'm freakishly accident-prone, and even our Weimaraner is a whole new level of neurotic. Last night, for example...

Emily refuses to eat her chicken.
Jason and I promise M&M's and a bath for little girls who eat chicken.
No chicken. She'd rather scream and throw food.
Early bedtime.
Hungry baby.
Tired baby.
Wine, please.
Blue wants outside.
Blue wants inside.
Blue wants water.
Emily has rubbed her tears and runny nose all over her face.
Now we have to put a dirty, snotty kid to bed without a bath. Yuck.
Crying baby.
Blue is pacing, whining. Attention hungry?
"Take a number, Blue!"
More wine, please.

Blue takes a backseat to kid chaos most nights. This morning he found his revenge by peeing while walking ALL OVER upstairs. He left a squiggly trail around furniture and into every room upstairs as if he was trying to write something (swear words?) I was worried about whether my hands smelled like Resolve while driving to a psych meeting today. Then I saw the dried spit-up on my day planner. Things seemed to go downhill from there... I cleaned off my day planner and called Jason on the way to my meeting.

"So... Hypothetically speaking... If one were to clog a toilet this morning and could NOT get it unclogged.... What then?"

Go ahead and snicker AS IF YOU'VE NEVER CLOGGED A TOILET IN YOUR LIFE! I had to run to the store after my meeting anyway, so I picked up a new plunger while I was there (ours was about a decade old and getting a little funky). I came home to find that the toilet was brimming with water and had OVERFLOWED! I bagged the rugs and 8 dripping bath towels, plunged the Hell out of the toilet (success!) then laughed at how ridiculous my day had become. Em asked what I was doing. "Mommy just showed that toilet who's in charge!" Looking back, it's possible my aggressive plunging caused the next problem. There's water dripping from the ceiling downstairs as I type. A slow, steady puddle is seeping from the base of the toilet.

Maybe I should just not... touch... anything for a while.

Inquiring Toddler Mind Wants to Know

How long does the "Why?" phase last???

I love my daughter, but I could do without having to explain every little thing I say and do... repeatedly. Jason has figured out that he can stop the why train if he gives her a long, technical answer she's too young to understand. Tonight I overheard him explaining in great detail why it was raining outside. My problem is (a) I don't remember 6th grade science facts as accurately as he does and (b) I don't have that kind of patience.

I try to answer all of her questions, but there have been a few times when I've had to shut the whole thing down. She asked me the other day, "Why are bad guys bad?" I smugly thought to myself, I've got this...

"They don't have something called empathy. Empathy is understanding and caring about how other people feel. They don't have that."

"But why?"
"Um... Because God made them that way... I guess."

"Why did God make them that way?"
"I changed my mind... I don't think God made them that way. I think maybe life made them that way. Can we talk about something else now?"

"Why do you want to talk about something else?"
"Because you're 3 and this is getting a little weird."

"Why?"

At this point I went with a response designed to foster the development of her inquisitive nature. Wait... No, I didn't.

"Oh! I see an airplane! Where do you think that airplane is going?"

Confession: There was no airplane.