Oh Baby, The Places You'll Go

Think we have a climber on our hands? That's the top of the couch and Sabine got up there all by herself yesterday morning. Today she actually hung from the window with her feet hanging in the air for a second. It only took her ten months of life to figure out that vertical is the way to go. And this is exactly the way Jacob was. This is the way he still is. Both our kids do things that are way too old for them. Jacob walks around like he owns the place. The other day a friend was saying that her five year old doesn't answer the phone yet. "I just haven't thought to have him do that yet," she explained.

It wasn't like we ever decided to start having Jacob answer the phone, he just took it upon himself. I wrote a while back about how Jacob and I sound alike on the phone. It's only gotten worse since then. Pretty much everyone who calls here is confused by whether or not it's me on the phone. Even my own mother has done it. My. Own. Mother.

Anyway, I realized that there is so much I left out of Sabine's monthly post, like the way she crawls around with something in her hands at all times. It's mostly socks. Usually her socks, but as time has gone on she's less discriminating. It can be someone else's socks. It can be a spoon, or a random toys, or the bottle of vanilla from the kitchen cupboard. Anything. But she just always has to have something in her hands when she's crawling around.

I also realized that the reason I started the monthly posts was because there was so much random stuff I was writing about Jacob, and I needed one place to put it all. I didn't want you all reading this to be bored out of your skull having to read a story about Jacob every other day which I thought was funny, but you probably couldn't care less about. Another thing though, Jacob was a few years old before I started writing those posts. If he was a baby when I was writing my blog then there would have (rightly so) been a story every day. So Sabine is just too young, changing too fast, to only write about her like that once a month. I'm just going to have to do it more often for the time being because otherwise I miss too much stuff. Plus this way, I have an excuse to post all those cute pictures.

So here's yesterday at a friend's house. It was funny to see Sabine crawl up to the slide and think she could climb up it like all the big kids. We were like, "Aw, isn't that cute, she wants to climb it too. Let's watch her try and fall on her face." And she was all, "Watch this suckers!" And made it on the first try.

And she just keeps getting cuter!

Dear Sabine: Month 10

Dear Sabine,

Today you are ten months old. You just woke up from an hour and 45 minute nap. In the cosleeper. By yourself. I am not lying. This is a new thing for us. I finally got up enough courage to decide you needed to be sleeping on your own for a nap at least once a day. I didn't pick the time or anything, it just sort of happened that 10:30 is the general nap time, on most days at least. I think what the main factor that allowed for the 'schedule' of sorts is that we had two weeks off from Playschool so we were around here more in the mornings. So you see, maybe you will make a routine person out of me after all.

I can't tell you how liberating it is to have you taking a somewhat regular nap. Today Jacob and I got some much-needed alone time to play and clean, among other things. And then when you woke up you made the little yell noise that you do, I came up the stairs and there you were on your knees is the cosleeper, with your hands on the edge, just waiting for me to get you. You knew I was coming, and you patiently waited for me. This is a new thing for me. I feel almost like a normal parent.

Anyway, it's been over two months since I've posted one of these. I jot down little notes about the things you're doing, but then the next week you're onto something new. It almost seems silly to write about the things you conquered a month or two ago because those things are old news as of this writing. But here's a partial list of the things I'd made notes about in the last two months:

~ started giving kisses, started standing alone, started imitating (you crawled up to me while I was cleaning the bathtub and with an old toothbrush in your hand, stuck it in and moved your hand back and forth in a scrubbing motion).

~ says hi and waves

~ you're practicing your "mamamama" sound, and did the mother sign tonight

~ pats her belly when you say "where's sabine's belly?"

~ loves her socks, carries them around, chews on them (she always has to have someone's socks in her hands when she's crawling around the house).

~ signs: more, nurse

~ stands alone for a few seconds

~acts like you are freaking killing her when you get her dressed or change her diaper

~ still not that into eating, can't figure out how to get her mouth open to let you put the spoon in.

~ loves to dance and shake music-makers

~ lately you've been falling asleep with an object - bottle of lotion, plastic spoon - we try to take it away after you are asleep but you have a death grip on it.

~ loves animals.

~ gives kisses.

~ points to things or people and calls them out, "eh, eh, eh!"

~ you have a word for dad, dogs, and Jacob

You have this deep sense of belonging. When one of your 'people' (that is anyone to whom you associate belonging to or with) is too far away you point to them and call out. You do this especially with Jacob, like if we're at a playground and he's all the way on the other side, you seem unsettled, "Eh, eh, eh, eh." you say. You've seemed to pick up on the idea that when we're in public or wide open spaces, we stick together. Pack mentality? I don't know, but we think it's cute. I joked around one day and called us your entourage. Daddy piped up and said, "No, her network." Yeah, we're your 3G network.

Then there's the stuff where you've been this flurry of activity that I wrote about yesterday. For some reason I can't quite put words to what it's like. To say the least, it is very, very difficult to keep up with you! Maybe next month I'll find the words because I have a feeling that the next time I write one of these you'll be walking.

Oh right, you finally popped some teeth! The date I put in your baby book for the first 'eruption' put you at 9 months and 4 days. That's 5 days sooner than Jacob's. You're hitting all your milestones within days of when Jacob did the same things as a baby. Last week was your second tooth.
And now I've run out of other things, I must put in the part about how friggin beautiful you are. Really, you are stunning. But you don't really look like a baby so much, you look like this little girl. You have a tiny head, with dainty features, and you're so skinny. But really, everyone says so. I can't even put words to it. Just see for yourself:

Sabine, when I was little I had one of those beta fish, the ones that are so pretty, but don't last long - Elizabeth, I named her. One day out of the blue she died and my mom explained that beautiful things don't last. This is how I feel when I'm holding you. I'm afraid that you're so perfect and beautiful that there's no way this can last. I feel the greatest happiness of my life and the most terrible fear all at once. And I feel like the only way to keep you safe is to just keep holding you because nothing can happen to you while you're in my arms, that maybe with all that love there, there's no room for anything bad to get in.

Love,

Mommy

Dear Not Sabine

I can't remember the last time I wrote a 'Dear Sabine' letter. Mostly it's because Sabine is so crazy, so it's her fault anyway. She's like this toddler trapped in a 10 month old body. Haha, I just thought of something, she's like Benjamin Button, although I didn't see the movie (yet).

Sabine is just like Jacob was at this age. She is so fast - she'll be halfway up the staircase before I even realize it. Yes, she's mastered crawling up the stairs already. She has impeccable fine motor skills, picking up something the size of a head of a pin at the first try. She crawls into a room, scans the scenery and decides instantly what she can go after. And she usually gets to it. Already most of the shelves are reachable. And if there's something she can't reach she gets high on her tippy toes and goes for it. I swear once or twice I've seen her lift her body off the floor chin-up style.

Don't get me started on the things she's been putting in her mouth. It's been a real picnic. Also, she grabs at things when you're carrying her around the house. I'll be washing her hands, scrubbing the right one and all of a sudden she waving the soap dish around in the air with her left hand. Nothing is safe. All of this is too early. I'm not ready for this.

Also, there's the thing where she follows me around non-stop. She wants me, only me, and me NOW. If someone else is holding her, that's not ok, whether I'm in the room or not. She crawls just as fast I as can walk, so she's there all the time, literally a little ankle biter. She grabs at my legs and trips me up. Needless to say, I've been pretty annoyed. But God Damn is she cute.

Then there's the thing that Jacob's been doing: He's been asking ass-dumb questions. Like completely obvious things. Or questions that I have no idea about the answer to. Today in a parking lot: Why is that man walking up that hill? I have no freaking idea. Does it look like I know that man? Why are you putting the glue in that drawer? Because that's they drawer it always gets stored in. I can't think of any good examples, but maybe your five year old is like this too? Over the weekend one of our little five year old friends, Emma, asked me if the marker she had in her hand worked, but she was already coloring with it, and it very obviously worked. "I don't know, silly, you tell me." I told her. I've noticed this about Emma before, and I'm going to have to pay attention to other five year olds because so far it appears that this is the equivalent of the two year old's constant WHY? line of questioning.

Well that's today in a nutshell, annoyance from every angle.

For Example (A short list of FAQs)

Kevin asked the other day what kinds of things I'm doing with Jacob to 'homeschool' him. I explained that my most basic definition of what homeschooling looks like to us these days is that we do all the normal things any other stay-at-home parent does with their children, but that it will continue when the other kids his age go off to school, and that it will get more sophisticated as time goes on.

Last night I was darning socks and Jacob asked if he could sew a little something up. I gave him a threaded needle and he went to town on a tiny piece of fabric that I had leftover from some other project. This isn't the first time he's 'sewed' with me, and even though I threaded the needle for him this time, he is capable of doing it himself. I think it's pretty cool for a five year old to have that kind of control and fine motor skills.

And that's what homeschooling is all about to me at this point: Having the time to follow your passions and desires in terms of learning. It was pretty late at night when Jacob started his little project. If he had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to go to school then I would have had to tell him no. Perhaps he could have started his little project later this afternoon, like when he would be getting home from 'school', chances are he wouldn't though, but even if he did, the moment would have been lost.

I didn't take Home Ec. until middle school. Jacob is getting all that kind of 'instruction' as a five year old, not because I'm deciding it, but because he's asking for it. He's going to get exposure to a lot of the same things as he would in school, he just gets to pick the order and decide how long he wants to spend on it. That's what I call self-initiated learning.

Beyond that kind of thing, I don't really don't where this is headed or what I'm doing. But I have faith that the universe will help us along our way as far as presenting opportunities, and I know that I'll figure it out as we go along. I also know that the time may come when he needs to be in school (for one reason or another), and that we'll accept that.

Some other stuff real quick: Jacob's been planting seedlings, transplanting them, getting him garden ready with Zach's mom. He's learned a ton from doing all this. He goes with Zach sometimes to 'jobs' and learns stuff there. He still loves baking, through which he learns measurements, chemistry, time, etc. And he goes everywhere with us, gets a ton of exposure to other people, other adults, who all have stories to tell and lessons to share. This is a big one for me, I want him to learn from a variety of people, and to learn how to get along with a diversity of people.

I stopped posting on here about homeschooling a long time ago because I didn't want to bore people. I started that other blog for those kind of posts, but it's too hard to update it, and home learning has become something that is so enmeshed in our daily lives that there's really no way to separate it anymore. So I think I'll just try to post little tid-bits here and there, you know, for the Curious People.

Susan Boyle

I just now got around to watching this video (and I'm posting a link as opposed to the actual video because I'm a moron and can't figure out how to embed a you tube video) of the 'Britain's Got Talent' contestant that everyone is talking about. I didn't think it was that big of a deal so I hadn't taken the time, but I'd say it was worth it. She's really good. It was kind of hard to hear her over the applause and the music, so I can't say it was the best performance I've ever heard, but what struck me (and what was so emotional) is the audience's reaction to her. It was moving to see everyone so touched by this woman. And also, the main reason I'm posting this is because I want to slap that girl at 1:25 and knock her around a bit when she makes that face. How rude of people to be like that. It's not necessary to be a bitch to someone just because they're ugly, or on the older side, or because they wear black stockings with white, open-toes shoes...

Husbands...

They just don't get it. Beckie left a message on the answering machine, but Zach was the one to get it so he paraphrased in a note to me.


And like the teacher in the Peanuts cartoons, that's exactly what I imagine he hears every time I talk to him.

17 ounces

133 to go.

I'm donating breastmilk to this milk bank that reformulates it into HMF, a product that is given to premature infants in the NICU. When I first read about this particular milk bank, part of the deal was that they provide you with a dual electric pump so you can provide them with the much-needed milk. You send the milk, in stock piles of at least 150 ounces, via Fed Ex.

Now that I'm mostly through the screening process, I went back to read up more about it and I couldn't find the part where they talk about the free pump they send you. When I questioned the woman on the phone the next day she told me that they'd actually just changed the rule on that. You must now first send 150 ounces of milk to them as a show of good faith and then they'll send you a pump. The woman explained that they had too many experiences with people applying to the bank, then getting the free pump and never being heard from again - a combination of that and the current economy, forced the new rule.

So that means I'm stuck pumping with the rinky dink hand-held that I purchases for $40 5 1/2 years ago in an emergency when Jacob was 4 days old. Do you know how long that might take a person?

Anyway, I'm going to do it anyway, because once I get a thought in my head, it's hard to get rid of it. So unless I luck out and find a used electric pump to borrow, my goal is to pump the 150 ounces by the end of April. This goal was established back on Tuesday. I think I figured if I could get 10 ounces a day with the little pump then that would make 150 by then end of the month. We'll see.

But that's why I'm posting here...It's my little challenge.

Classic

This picture matches nicely with the picture of Jacob as a baby when he first met Santa. By the way, that's Beckie in the costume. I think it was a little startling to have Sabine react to her that way, notice her hand - er, paw - up to her face in surprise.

Easter, Baby!

It's the Easter Baby, complete with bunny hat and bunny slippers. Oh, what we do to our kids in the name of cute pictures.



It was frrrreezing, but sunny, so I hid the eggs and baskets outside. Jacob had a good time finding everything, but it was too cold to really enjoy ourselves that much. I think the motivation behind finding the eggs was really to just get back inside.

Mango must have stepped on one of the eggs before Jacob got to it. Dumb a**.

Then we went to church, and a dinner on each side of the family after that, pictures of which have not been uploaded yet because I left my camera at my mom's house.

Mother Tongue

Ring....Ring...Ring....Beep:

"Hey Beckie, it's me. I'm just calling to let you know that...Jeanne put a garment in my trunk... which you'll be needing on the...19th of April. I wanted to call now so that I didn't forget because of it being in my trunk and all. So I'll either get it to you tomorrow, or next week."

Did you get that? Beckie volunteered to dress up as the Easter Bunny for the spring party our moms' group is having. I couldn't very well say on her answering machine that the Easter bunny costume for the party on the 19th is in my trunk because what if her boys heard the message? And basically everything I say in the presence of other parents has to be disguised like that. When they're Sabine's age, anything goes. But then they start to understand English and it puts a real kink in your ability to socialize. At first it's easy, you spell everything. But then they go and learn how to spell, or you over-use some of your favorite words and you have to come up with more creative ways to communicate with each other.

The most amusing technique of late is simply the 'find different words that mean the same thing' method, of which you saw above. This is actually very good for a mother's brain because when you've got small kids it turns to mush, so this is good practice using big vocabulary for when you're back in the professional world.

My mom sometimes employs the foreign language method. She say Pater or Mater (for father or mother) and direct you to follow her line of regard to indicate a certain child when she would normally say the name of that kid's mother.

Sign-language is an oft-used technique, although with some kids, mine included, the children are taught sign language by their parents.

Jacob is starting to spell now so I'm trying to get used to spelling backwards. The advantage of this technique is that you can spell right in front of them and don't even have to leave the room. You can actually indicated to the person, ok, I'm going to spell backwards, and your kid is just left in the dust because their brains aren't that fast enough yet to figure out that B-O-C-A-J is just their letters in a different order. Or maybe you start to spell, P-L-A, spot your kid tuning into what you're saying, shoot your friend a look that says, "hold that thought," pause for a minute, then continue Y-G-R, pause again just long enough for the child to forget the letters that came before, and then finish O-U-N-D-?.

My personal favorite is the first one. It's fun. Like one big game of Taboo. There's certain words you can't use because your kids know 'em. There's other's they don't know yet and that's fair game. It's just a metter of combining them in the right way to form a complete thought. The complete thought thing, well.... I forgot what I was going to say about that.

The hole in the wall

This is the hole Zach punched in the wall last weekend. He's not a violent person and as far as I know, he's never done anything like that before. But it just goes to show you that things in this house are insane lately and how stressed out we've been about the state of things.

We got back from our trip out of town late on Sunday (which I never got to write about - maybe I will this weekend) and the house was 81 degrees. Zach had run all the wires for the new thermostat before we left for the weekend and had set it up for an electrician friend of his to stop by while we were gone to do the final wiring stuff that he couldn't do. Zach was trying to get it shut off but he wasn't having any luck. Two hours later and no success, he punched the hole in the wall. I would have only lasted an hour, and my hole would have been from kicking it.

What really sucks is that's the wall that Zach just put in a few months ago. It's so new that only half the project was completed. I'm still waiting for the cubby part of the closet/cubby project to be finished. But I figure it's the same concept as when I wear shoes in the house (which no one is supposed to do). "It's ok for me to wear shoes in the house if I'm just running back into the house for something because I'm the one who cleans the floors!" I rationalize. So if Zach's the one building the walls, then I guess it's up to him if he wants to punch a hole them.

It's that whole one step forward, two steps back thing though. Spend all this time running the lines, have the electrician come over, but then you've got to start from the very beginning the next day anyway. Build a wall up, knock a hole in it, then spent the next three days applying many coats of tape, spackle, primer and paint. Nothing in our lives seems to be going smooth lately.

He's working a lot, I'm alone with the kids a lot, and it takes a toll on us. I wrote back in December (second paragraph) how to have children feels like one of your vital organs is walking around outside your body. I'd said when Jacob was born it was like my heart was no longer contained inside my chest cavity. I've decided that Sabine has taken my brain. That's how I'll refer to them now: "These are my kids, 5 and 9 months, this is Heart, the little one, well we like to refer to her as 'Mommy's Brain.'" I'm doing stupid things, forgetting easy information, and worst of all, I'm becoming an unreliable person. I forget things now. Important things. And I don't like it. I don't want to be that person. Two days in a row I told a friend that I would leave something my front porch for her, and two days in a row I've forgotten. I couldn't keep the thought in my brain long enough to hit 'send' on the e-mail, walk down to the basement, move the sheet rock out of the way, and carry it upstairs to the front steps. I feel like suck a jerk.

I called Zach to complain about a couple things and he said, "I don't know what your problem is, why you're so mad all the time..." I thought about it, but I didn't have to think long because just after we hung up the phone I had to put Sabine into the playstation so she'd be safe while I was running up and down the stairs with the table and chairs. She cried the whole time, which put my stress level to a certain undesirable amount. Then Jacob was hungry, so I got a some fruit ready for him and a drink, finished cutting the lotion container open so I could put some on my severly chapped hands, and by the time I was done with that Jacob was inquiring about Zach being home. When I told Jacob that it was going to be another late night for Zach, Jacob had a good cry over that. Which raised my stress level more. I eased him out of sadness by offering some canteloupe. I was going to cut it up but something happened with Sabine that I had to tend to. After that I was holding her and she didn't want to be put down. I was just about to sit down to feed her but had to tell Jacob the canteloupe was going to have to wait. He didn't like that and I felt torn between two different kids needing two different kinds of foods. I couldn't simultaneously provide for both their needs and that gave me a great deal of stress. So back to the kitchen I headed to cut up the cantenoupe. Of course I'd just put on lotion, but that figures, once I get a chance to do something for myself, it's usually undone because of something like that. It went back and forth like that for the next hour, ending in my dragging Jacob upstairs, screaming at him, "You're tired!" and, "Yes you are, you don't know what tired is!" And him screaming over me, "No I'm not! I'm not tired!" The two of us, repeatly screaming that in each other's faces. Hilarious. Now my stress level is so high I want to throw someone out the window. When the stress gets to be that much and that intense, you'd do things you never thought you'd be capable, and I guess in some situations that's how child abuse happens.

I don't really know what my point is in all this. The moral isn't Don't have kids, never in a million years would I wish my life was any different. I guess maybe if there has to be a point, then I am calling for some action: Someone please invent a remote control that will turn your kids off,or at least throw them into slow-motion mode. Or perhaps invent a time-stopper. Something along the lines of that. But what I'm really writing this for is so that when the kids are older and I have this vague recollection of of feeling up to my neck in that "I've had it" feeling, I can remember exactly what about the days were so trying. Or if Jacob ends up in school after only half a year of homeschooling, I can remind myself why I just couldn't take it anymore. And I'm writing for practiccality's sake, so when Zach gets home I can show him and say, that's what my problem is. Only, it's not a problem, it's my life, and I guess I wouldn't change it even if I could.

In need of some male time

Jacob was just listing off some of the planets he knows, "Jupiter, Mars, Saturn, Uterus..."

I think maybe he's been spending too much time with the estrogen crowd...

We should have named her "Other Calamity"

We were out of town for the weekend so the girls, the canine ones, spent a few days with my mom and Jamie. On Sunday morning they (the humans) left for church and my mother recalls leaving the outgoing mail neatly stacked on the center of the dining room table. She specifically remembers doing this because she didn't want to leave anything too near the edge, lest Mango get to it.

When they got back from church a few hours later, there was much evidence of tampering in the form of scratch marks on the table and papers scattered all about the floor. Clearly Mango had gotten right up on the table. When my mom was putting everything back into place, she found a small piece of an envelope, leftovers of Mango's feast we'll call it. By process of elimination, I believe, she was able to establish that the piece of mail which had been eaten was their tax returns. Thankfully she'd not eaten the entire thing, otherwise they might never have realized the taxes didn't go out in the next day's mail.

My mom was telling me this on Sunday night and she said that she'd have to call the next morning to request a new form. I was cracking up on the phone when she was telling me this and asked if she was going to tell them why she needed a new form. "Yes, I plan to," she informed me. I said that I expect to one day come across a website dedicated to the reasons people have given for submitting late tax returns and see, I"m sorry Judge, the dog failed to tell me she ate my tax mailing for lunch." Just for kicks I looked it up to see if such a thing exists. This link is the closest I could come up with and I wondering if "My dog ate my tax return" would fall under the third bullet where it reads, "Destruction...by flood, fire or other calamity."

As they were dropping the dogs off tonight, Jamie requested that I check Mango's poop for check number 3219. But believe me, that's not too far off from what our daily reality is with these dogs...

What she sees

It's a little like this...

We're here. We made it. Barely. What 9 month old baby stays awake in the car for 4 hours before finally falling asleep? Huh? But the point is that we're here and I've now been introduced to young Abraham, though not formally because I've yet to see him awake. There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow.

One of the first things Danielle asked me about, in between all my rambling on, was if I'd read this article she'd forwarded me. I had not yet read it, but once I got my family settled into bed (and just after I made Zach go out to the van, in the rain, for the laptop) I got onto the computer and read the article. I didn't make it halfway through before I started weeping.

So I said before that I have this unexplainable desire to donate breastmilk, I can't put into words why I feel that desire, but I can say that I got chills from reading that article and I want to be a part of something like that.

What it's like being me

You know that get-to-know-you game that you played at birthday parties and summer camp as a kid? The one where you go around the circle as each person says their name and an adjective beginning with the same letter as their name that also happens to describe them? Mine is easy, Sensitive Stacey. That is, hands down, the one word that describes me best. It encompasses the fact that I am attuned to other peoples' needs (external sensitivity), as well as my own internal sensitivity - most of my neuroses can be explained by attributing them to one or another of my sensitivities.

For the last year or so I've had a little bit of a break from myself in this 'sensitive' regard. I was taking Zoloft for depression and anxiety. I had thought I could make it through my pregnancy without it, but by the time February rolled around I was a mess. I can recall the moment on the kitchen floor - when I was having trouble getting up because the emotional energy that required was more than I could muster - that I decided what I really just needed was to be medicated. So I just stayed and cried in the little patch of sun that was shining on my resting place up against the cupboards and reconciled myself to the idea that the risks of taking antidepressants during pregnancy was nothing compared to the stress my little fetus probably felt living inside a cocoon of depression.

I've been on and off anti-depressants since I was 18. The off and on-ness of it is because there've been tougher times and not-as-tough times. And in my mind not being on drugs is a more natural, organic state of being, which is the way I aim to live my life. I sort of always felt like it was a contradiction to my being to live in a medicated state of mind. But this time around I think I finally found a way to rationalize it to myself: In a perfect world no one would need anti-depressants because us humans would be living the way our biological systems intended us to be living. We'd be eating wild game, living off of the land, and we wouldn't be in constant contact with pollutants and all the electrical devices (which I think have effected us on an energetic level).

We're not living in a perfect world, therefore, our brains and bodies are failing us. We have to make adjustments (that, unfortunately, are unnatural) to our lifestyles so we can live optimally. And as long as I understand this, and understand the why's and how's of my biological failings, then I think I can accept being medicated without feeling like a hypocrite. Thanks to on-and-off therapy since I was nine years old, and many friends who like to play therapy with me, I do understand myself.

With that said, I stopped taking Zoloft ten days ago. And the forthcoming reason will be completely random to some of you: I have this crazy desire to donate breastmilk. It was something I wanted to do when Jacob was younger and I was nursing him. There wasn't a place around here that it could be done, so I think I never looked further for information. A few months ago I read about a national milk bank in California that can accept milk from anywhere in the country. I do not know why I want so badly to donate breastmilk, but I very much so want to, and it's enough of a desire that I've been taking six weeks to carefully wean myself off of Zoloft (also going slowly for Sabine's safety, so that she doesn't experience withdrawal).

My plan is to continue to donate breastmilk for as long as I can tolerate not being on Zoloft. I definitely plan to go back on Zoloft (which is safe for breastfeeding mothers, but not safe enough for the milk bank because the human formula that is made from donated milk is very concentrated and is given to tube-fed preemies). And when I am done nursing Sabine I will consider switching back to Paxil - which is what I was taking just before I got pregnant with her.

Anyway, now that it has been almost two weeks without Zoloft, I finally remember the reasons why I was on it to begin with. In my most natural state I am a very scared person. I have a very thin skin. Actually, quite literally - I have sensitive skin; just got a sun burn last week (in March!), my knuckles and finger tips have been all chapped and bloody from the cold winter air, I have eczema, light-sensitive eyes, etc, etc, etc. I cry a lot. I obsess about things.

Basically the difference between un-medicated and medicated me is like this: More vs. Less. When I am not on an anti-depressant I am more emotional, scared, clingy, fearful, more sleepless, compulsive. I had a better analogy that I thought of earlier, which I can't recall at the moment. When I am medicated I just feel so much more comfortable in my own skin.

Coming off of medication is a whole different way of being, but I hope it's temporary. For the first week I was incredibly dizzy, vertigo levels of dizzy, as well as nausea with headaches. Now I'm just incredibly irritable and flustered. My brain is foggy and I don't feel like myself. Up until a couple weeks ago, I can say that I had never left anything on the roof of the car and driven off. Well, since I've stopped the Zoloft, I've done that three times. Three times I've set something on the top of the car (three different places) and told myself not to forget it, knew that would be so cliche to actually forget it, yet all three times I drove away only to watch the dish/glass bottle/cup of coffee slide off the car and shatter in the road. My short-term memory is shot, but of course that could just be from the kids.

I'm not the kind of depressed that requires medication to ensure your own safety or the safety of those under your care, I'm the kind that gets so scared driving over a bridge for fear of it collapsing under me that I might possibly drive over the edge because I'm clutching the steering wheel so tightly, thus creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. And this is what I saw, in my mind, happening coming home from gymnastics two weeks ago.

It started when I saw one of those big trucks, like a delivery truck, with all white panels and a beautiful picture on the side as that company's logo. It was a picture of the Earth from space, with a beautiful pink, orange and yellow sunrise coming up over the side of the Earth. My eyes shifted to the front of the truck to read the company's name. I can't remember what the name was (so I'll guess), it was what was underneath that which made me shudder. Haskell Brothers: Casket Division. I passed the truck as I was turning onto the entrance ramp for the highway.

Not more than half a mile down the road I had to swerve to avoid an object laying in the middle of my lane. Just as I was about to pass the object the words on it came into focus. Funeral. It was one of those little signs that goes on the lead car in a funeral procession. It had fallen off and was laying directly in my path. I'm the kind of person who believes in signs, as in signs from the universe, so what the hell did that mean?! I wanted to get on the phone and at least tell someone, speak the words aloud so it didn't feel so much like I'd just drawn the death card. I thought better of it because I decided that would be just my luck to get on the phone for moral support, only to cause a car crash by being on the phone. Which would that be, a self-fulfilling or self-defeating prophecy? (Kevin, you will tell me, right?)

But there's more to the story: This past week, coming home from gymnastics, on that very same stretch of road, I came up to a car going slowly with its flashers on. I passed it. And don't you know there was a car in front of that one doing the very same thing (flashers on, driving slowly), and then another, and another, until there were 25 of them stretched in a row with a big black car in front, two little purple flags atop it. Um...

Maybe the hearse was back on that same road looking for the funeral sign it dropped last week? Either that or someone is trying to tell me something. What is going on? I don't know, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. I'm kind of nervous to go back to gymnastics next week. Frankly, I'm kind of nervous all the time now. And this is the thing I can't let go of.

I dropped Jacob off with Jamie this morning so that I could finish packing for the weekend (we are going to visit Danielle and Co. - woohoo!). I was in a hurry so I quickly said goodbye and I ushered him inside then I jetted back out to the car where Sabine was waiting. As I was backing out, Jacob was back at the door to say goodbye again. I rolled down my window, blew him a kiss, said I love you. I rolled Sabine's window down so he could yell goodbye to her. And all the while I'm looking at him, taking it all in as if it might be the last time I see him. I'm giving him the perfect goodbye, incase that's the last one he ever gets from me. I want a smile to be on my face in that last image of me he carries around with him for the rest of his life. Because where he is standing is the very spot where I last saw my father alive; I watched him from the house, saw him going down the steps though blurred shades and that was it.

Life changes that quickly and I walk through my days anticipating, almost expecting, something bad to happen. I'm sure of it. The part I'm not sure about it when or how it's going to happen. And so what does an overactive imagination have to do with that knowledge but constantly make up death scenarios?

I continued to drive home with our perfect goodbye in my mind and tears in my eyes - but then thought, wouldn't it be ironic if the thing I'm fearing is the exact opposite. Like the book we just read for book club, My Sister's Keeper (spoiler alert). The whole book is a battle to save one sister from dying because she needs a kidney. Everyone is afraid of that certainty, but don't you know, in the very end, it's the other sister, the healthy one, who's killed in a car accident. So should I really be worrying about Jacob losing me, or me losing Jacob? How cryptic it is to have those thoughts at the forefront of your mind all day long.

And that's what the drugs do - they push back the fear so it's a more normal, rational kind of fear. The fear is still there protecting me from feeling immortal. I'm still me with all the same thoughts as before. The thoughts just don't take over. I have the same feelings, they just aren't as crippling. And my skin gets the benefit of one more layer of protection. I'm me, but a little less.

Dear Jacob: January - March 2009

Dear Jacob,

I just realized I have not written one of these for you yet this year! I mean I haven't finished one. I started, and I've tried so hard, but none of that has gotten me anywhere. Below you will see my first attempts at this post. I'll leave them in, unfinished, because if I keep trying to start over I'll never get there. Actually, the first half of this paragraph was early in March. I swore it was going to be done before April, and now it's April 1st. It will be done today.

Part of the reason why I haven't gotten it done yet is because you've been so darn difficult lately. I didn't want to finish this post while I was mad at you for say, hitting me or screaming like a banshee at something I wouldn't let you do. I wanted to be in a good mood. Other reasons are that I don't really ever get 'guilt-free' time on the computer, unless I stay up till 2am, but then the next day I am ruined. In any line of work there is a certain amount of paper work. I'm coming to think of my time on the computer as my paperwork of mothering. I schedule our days via e-mail, find out about cool things we can do together by surfing the internet, learn about crafts to make a Playschool, and all kinds of things. So I shouldn't really feel guilty, but I do. There's also the fact that you never really stop talking to me and it's hard to concentrate.


---------------------------------------

February 21st: We are running out of high shelves in this house. Last night after finding huge globs of sticky blue stuff on the sink, I put the tooth paste in the most high, hidden place I could find in the bathroom. Right now I've just come from the kitchen where I was forced to hide all the coffee behind the bread on a high shelf in the cupboard. I didn't want to do it because it is very cute when you make me coffee. It's getting out of control though. One day recently you made a really great pot of coffee that tasted very good - the only problem was it was 9 o'clock at night. Just now you made a pot of coffee while I was napping with Sabine. Even though I'd already had two cups of coffee before you were out of bed, I acted happy because you were so proud. One taste, however, and I decided this has got to stop. You'd loaded it with sugar, and I don't even take sugar in my coffee.

Coming home from somewhere the other day you asked if we could fold laundry before you had to go to bed. At times when you're bored you'll beg for something to clean. I send you off with a rag and the bottle of the water/vinegar mixture and hope for the best. When you want to vacuum I figure the worst that can happen is the trim work might get banged up, but as long as the vacuum is working properly, stuff is going to get collected off the floor. We clean together a lot. You're favorite is still folding laundry. Cleaning the floor, doing dishes, helping me cook - in your book, they're all a privilege.

This post is coming quite early this month because I find myself in a good mood and not screaming at you. I need to take advantage of those moments because they don't come all that often these days.

February 28th: Oh, here's a good one. Part of the reason I'm so tired today is that I woke up in bed around 10pm and someone was trying to run a comb through my tangled hair. Actually, I think you'd been at it for a while and I can't believe I hadn't woken up right away.

I inserted the date above to show that that was one week ago, today being the 28th of February. And wouldn't you know, that was the end of any sort of blogging for a full week. Anyway, things have been hectic, to say the least. You've taken this 'getting into things' to a whole new level. If
Present Time (being early March): If, if...If I could only remember where I was going with that If. Two kids is like, well, feels like way more than two kids. With the both of you going in different directions, it's all I can do to survive the day. That's most of the reason I'm so late with this, and the rest is because I have to wait for a time when I'm not totally pissed at you for doing something so completely FIVE. You are the exact same kid you were when you were two, only you've become magnified, or multiplied. I'm pretty sure you came out that way and it just took us a couple years to catch on to who you are.

Back to present time - April 1st:

About a month ago the internet was not working at all so I had to spend an hour on the phone with the Verizon guy as he talked me through fixing the problem. It turns out someone had disabled the internet and he had to set up a whole new network. Whatever that means. But what he said was that the way to disable the internet was t press the F7 key and the Windows key simultaneously. You had been the last one using the computer. At one point you got frustrated when your Caillou game stopped responded and you started pressing random buttons. That is just so completely you. One little chance instance completely disabled our internet.

Sometimes you do stuff that is so responsible and so mature that it's almost like you have to balance it out with such juvenile behavior. You make such annoying noises for long parts of the day, scream at the top of your lungs for no reason and just completely whacked out stuff. For instance, I might walk in to the bathroom only to find you half naked, standing on the counter unrolling toilet paper roll after toilet paper roll and hanging them from the towel bar with the paper running down the length of the wall. If I were to write a book about you, surely I'd have to title a chapter: WTF?

Despite all the crazy stuff, you are so good to Sabine. You and she are clearly each other's favorite people in the world. You take very good care of her, and I can almost completely trust you with her. That's saying a lot because I remember when she was a newborn I was afraid to leave you alone in a room with her. I thought you might 'experiment' with her. And that's not to say that you haven't tried stuff like that, but you're getting better at resisting the urges to put plastic bags over her head, and stuff like that. However, you did just put a plastic bag over your head least week. I don't get it.

You make me so proud. One time recently we were playing hide and seek. I declared you the new Hide & Seek champ that night because you found this awesome spot all on your own and you stayed there, without laughing, while Daddy took multiple trips around the house looking for you. He could not find you. it was great. I made you sneak out of your spot while Daddy was out of the room because I told you a Hide and Seek champ never gives away his best hiding spots. This is an especially important rule when you live in a small house with limited hiding spots, such as we do.

Speaking of pride, just last night you rode a bike without training wheels. This is an appropriate age for that, but the thing is, it was your first time without training wheels. It just hadn't occured to us to take the training wheels off sooner. You probably would have been riding around without training wheels all last summer. Oh well.

T-ball is coming up. You registered back in February, and we've been waiting to get the call with details. We just got the call last night and the excitement in our house was pretty intense. We're all very excited about this.

Anyway, I'm not very happy with the organization of this post, and what I've written hear is only a fraction of our lives lately, but it will have to do. I've got to get this posted or it might never happen.

I love you,

Mommy

When you say something stupid...

chances are it's going to end up on my blog.

Zach's home early today. He wants to do some yard work. I'm just happy there's another human being in the house who can hold the baby because her constant crying about not being in my arms all day long is really getting to me. I'm taking the opportunity to get some stuff done. Zach is mumbling about not being able to go out and do yard work.

"Oh, why? Is it because of the rain?"

"No. It's because I'm holding Sabine."

"So put her in the pack and go rake the yard."

"I'm not doing that. I'm not raking the yard with her in the pack."

"Why not?"

"Because what am I gonna do, rake a few leaves around in a circle?"

"Yeah. Exactly. But at least you'll be getting something done."

"No, I'm not gonna do that."

"I really resent that. I feel insulted that I'm expected to make-do, to figure out how to get all the things done that I have to do in a day while I'm holding the baby. And that you're not. As if my work isn't important enough to expect for it to be prioritized, but yours is."

"Oh you've just got that motherhood chip on your shoulder just like all the other mothers."


And then I murdered him.