Yes, I Listened, Because She did First

If you're here visiting from Diana's place, welcome, but let me quickly tell you that she is a rock. Not me.

I was pretty out of it when we started talking -- my husband has known her since before she was born and we are good friends with her parents-- and I was still in the grips of a deep depression. She just accepted me as I was. She encouraged me to start blogging about my journey up to that point and what I was trying to do in order to get healthy.

She could have run screaming into the night. I might have.

She is a rock.

She would have done the exact same thing for me - and she has. So many times.

So my listening wasn't such a big deal. It was just me loving her the way she has always loved me.

 

 

Where I've Been

Things have been a little . . . rough. And I haven't shared this with anybody except my husband and brother and sister in law.  (Sorry mom :/) It's not the depression so much as a new med I tired for my anxiety and mood swings.

Oh, the anxiety.

So we tried a new med.

Bad, bad idea.

I have been so sick. Nauseous like pregnant nauseous only I'm not. (It's not possible, husband has had the little snip snip). The nausea started out just as a minor annoyance that was manageable, then turned into a giant monster that left me a sobbing mess in my psychiatrists office. We'd tried a time release tablet already and zofran. Still no relief.

People, I lost almost 10 pounds in two weeks. That's how bad the nausea was. So when I say I was a sobbing mess? I was hot, sobbing mess.

Needless to say, I'm off the med and we're trying a different approach. The nausea is gone and life is resuming at lightening speed - thank God.

So I haven't had the energy or want to blog or read anything in the past few weeks. As I feel better I'll get back in the swing of things.

Thankfully I had my brother and sister in law to cry to and help me - and help me they did.

And let's not forget Diana :) She understands nausea just a *little*.

Kickin' Depressions' Butt: At Diana's Place

Today I am a lucky girl and guest posting over at Diana's: Hormonal Imbalances. I adore her, have I mentioned this before? Have you read her? You must. Hers is the first blog I ever read and she inspired me to start blogging. So, today, being at her place, even if I've been there before, is huge for me. Always. I get all nervous and shaky and take forever and a day to write my post. Then I stress about if it's blog-worthy enough for her site. Because I want to do her proud, as well as me and all of you. Click on over HERE and see what I have to say about kicking depressions butt and what I want for my blog.

The Old Switcher-ooo

So, I'm making some changes behind the scenes with my blog. And this is what I've learned:

I am not tech savy.

Diana at Hormonal Imbalances  is very tech savy.

I think that techie people (not Diana) are laughing at me. Loudly.

Http/FTP code makes my tiny little brain explode  into a million gazillion pieces (and yes, that is accurate).

I am not tech savy. It's actually quite amusing at how not tech savy I am. To me.

This is how some of that behind the scenes action went, on Wednesday night, between myself, Diana and a techie agent:

Diana: I'm going to change the ftp code.

Me: Huh? Ok. Do I need to ask a question?

Diana: No.

Me: OK. Do I hear Bella? Hi Bella!

Diana: I'm inputing a new pass key, changing the username.

Me: Okaaaay.

Diana: You need to chat the tech guy. Ask him, "mumbo jumbo? Code code html ftp code"

Me: *typing* what was that word?? You.are.a.farking.genius.

tech guy: Can I help you?

Me: *typing* can you? Here's what I need to know: mumbo jumbo. Alakazam. Open sesame.

tech guy: why don't I just go in and do that for you?

Me: I.love.you. Here is all my information and my social security number and possibly my first born child. Just make it stop. Or make it work. Whichever.

At the two hour mark Diana had worked some magic. I now have some magic to work. And I'm so not the magical type. So that's why the comments aren't working. I have some stuff to do behind the scenes that I'm clueless about and I seem to have royally messed up. Hopefully it will all be resolved in a day. Or five. Or when I grow a tech brain.

 

 

Hormonal Imbalances: On My Blog!

I have a guest blogger here today. She's not blogging at her own place today because (wait for it) she is here.at.my.house. Diana from Hormonal Imbalances is having a little vacation down memory lane, coming to see me, (and my husband, he's known her family since before she was born) and then hitting the BlogHer writing conference in NYC. What could be more perfect than that? You all know I adore and respect Diana - she's the reason I started blogging. She's the first blog I ever read. She's my 'Heir to Blair,' my 'Dooce.' And she's right here. Probably in my van as you read this. (that noise you hear? Me. Losing my mind.)

I Want To Be A Cowboy . . .

And you can be my cowgirl . .

Right.

In October my husband and I took a week vaction to Colorado (where I met Diana. Awesome-sauce.). It was an incredible week.

We went on a three hour trail ride through  the mountains of Salida, and oh Lord, the sights. Also? Oh LORD my rear end.

They asked if I'd ridden before, and well, I have. (Never mind it was like 9 years prior.) They gave me a horse name Bealzabub Jake. My husband was yelling that he'd never ridden a horse in his life and wanted a lame one. So they gave him Elmer Suzie.

 After Chuckie Jake ran me into the fence, feeding station, mounting platform (that's what she said), and Suzie, our guide said, "You ever ridden?" At which point my husband laughed so hard he almost fell off his horse. The John Wayne look- a -like in the coral with us was, by this time, annoyed with me because at various points I had too hard of hands and too soft of hands. I was asking Diablo Jake to go left then when I really wanted him to go right. And then surprised. Only I swear to you I was following their directions. And I swear to you by all that is holy and good in my life that Damien Jake was rolling his eye back at me before we even left that dusty coral and laughing at me. (And YES, horses can laugh.)

The first hour was glorious. Our guide, Jesse, chatted with my husband and our horses followed each other without a problem. We picked our way up the mountain through pine trees and tumbled rocks. We were in a very small valley of sorts and all shadowed by the trees. It was the kind of place where you knew God exists. You could see His hand tossing stones and lighting the ground just so. We came out on the edge of a cliff and looked out over a huge valley at the Collegiate Peaks: Mt. Princeton, Harvard and Yale. There's also a funny formation in them that looks like an alien.

[caption id="attachment_1010" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Do you see it?"][/caption]

We rested at a the edge of cliff, where we could get off our horses and take pictures. It was at this point that I realized there was a problem. A very, very serious problem. I knew that if I dismounted from my horse, whom I was sure was plotting my demise by throwing me over the edge of that cliff, I would never be getting back on.

We took pictures while still sitting on our horses. Then started back down the trail. Back down into the depths of hell. The dark, dank, depths of hell.

As Jesse and my husband chatted on about their carreers, my body reached levels of pain that child birth had never inflicted upon me. The demon I was sitting upon ceased to listen even a tiny bit. Jesse and my husband prattled on about Jesse's thisclose to 'I'm a Navy Seal' days in the service.  Since my husband was also in the service they talked shop about that for awhile while the heinous Jake kept breaking into a down hill trot.  Which caused my tender rear to slam against the saddle numerous times.

Slam. Slam. Slam.

While Jesse and my husband discussed Jesse's new carreer as a professional rodeo cowboy.

Really?

Lucifer Jake continued to break into a trot, knowing we were headed home. And that I could do little about it. I was also behind our '8 Second' guide and my husband, so what were they going to do?

Nothing, that's what.

Eventually, Jesse would hear my grunts and turn around. He'd say something to Belial Jake in a demonic tongue and he'd slow to a walk, his eye rolling back to look at me, closing in a wink that said, "You just wait. I'ma gonna git you." (Have you seen the movie 'Fallen'? Because I could totally hear someone nearby singing 'Time Is On Your Side' by this point. Not even kidding.)

Slam. Slam. Slam.

I practiced my natural breathing on the way down the trail. For real. When I was in front of the men, my husband kept calling out encouraging words. "You look great on that horse, babe."  and, "How do you say it? You sure know how to sit a horse."  (whatever.) and his favorite, "Your hair looks amazing, flowing in the wind." I snorted so hard at this that the ogre beneath me jumped.

As Jesse told us that his big toe was broken and he'd had a 'slight' problem putting on his boots that morning, The Prince Of Darkness Jake broke into a full on run. Because he'd seen the Promised Land. His barn. I watched my teeth fly out of my mouth and bounce along the dirt trail. And I heard Jesse and my husband laugh.

When we got back to the coral, I attmpted to steer (yes, steer. I was done 'guiding') Satan Jake to that awesome  mounting platform (that's what she said) so I could dismount. From the distance I heard John Wayne holler, "We don't use that for dismounting, ma'am." And I know he was laughing. And lying. He was so lying.

My eyes welled up with tears, but I took some deep, cleansing, natural child birth breaths, visualized my cervix opening like a flower, and heaved my right leg over that saddle.

It moved about an inch.

Jesse took it out of the stirrup and helped me lift it over. The Fallen Angel danced below me, increasing my agongy, and yes, laughing at me. With tears streaming down my face I heard a distinctive sound from behind me.

Click.

Bwwwahhhaaa.

The sound of picture being taken. And my husbands laughter.

Awe.some.

Here, captured for all eternity, and your viewing pleasure: my pain.

[caption id="attachment_1014" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Unbearable pain."][/caption]

Sunday Confessions:I'm Going To Miss Her

I'm linking up with the always awesome-sauce Diana over at Hormonal Imbalances today for her weekly hop, Sunday Confessions. Make sure you visit her all.the.time. Because I said so.

Sunday Confession: I'm Going To Miss Her.

Because she's moving. And if she lived here, as in the state I live in, well then it would make perfect sense that I would be missing her. Right? Right.

Only she lives in Colorado right now and is moving to Texas. So how much sense does it make that I'm going to miss her?

That would be zero, zilch, none.

I haven't seen her in person since October and uhm, that was the first time we actually met. But we talk on the phone every day. Sometimes for hours. (Dear husbands, you did not just read that. Really? We are totally working our butts off.)

What started out as a phone call about reflux and her daughter has turned into so much more. First it was questions about blogging. Hers is the first blog I ever read. Ever. And what made me want to do this.  She has the most incredible sense of humor. We started laughing and haven't stopped.

She has become one of my closest friends. I've told her some things I haven't shared with a whole lot of people. She didn't judge. She's become a role model for me in many ways. She is one of the most intelligent women I've ever met.  Her texts are witty and hilarious. I snort and laugh out loud at them, making my husband and random strangers give me the side eye. My kids, although they haven't met her, call her 'Auntie' and know when I'm on the phone with her. (It's not all the time. Really.)

And it makes no sense that I'm crying as I write this.

But she's moving and I'm sad.

Maybe I think she's going to start a new life in Texas and it will be so cool, fun and busy that she won't have time for me and my questions. My insanity of thoughts and ideas. That she'll meet a bunch of girls her age (I'm 10 years older.) and realize I'm no fun, really. 

Because I think she's cooler than Josh Groban. *gasp* *dies* ::headexplosion::

I giggle every time I pick up the phone and I hear, "Soooo, here's the thing." Or she answers the phone, "Hola."

So, she's moving and I'm going to miss her. And we don't live in the same state. And never have.

Because that makes sense.

Sometimes Relief Comes In The Oddest Ways

This little blog and I are back on track.  I've made some changes, I'm updating some pages (you'll soon find many new blogs on my blog list and under 'more bloggage').  I've got some exciting things in the works as far as guest posts go -- with some women who blow my mind.  And will blow yours as well. One I've guest posted with before, the other I haven't. Both are amaze-balls. I can't wait to see what we do.

In other news . . . Sarah's sleeping issues have not resolved themselves. She is sleeping through the night -- not because of a savvy book or some intelligent parenting gem on my part. But because I lost it one night. She'd been up, screaming, about 6 times, the night before, and was starting  in again. I was exhausted. The windows were open and that was a trigger for me to coddle her because holy crap, what would the neighbors think if  they heard me yell at her? But I'd had enough. So I yelled. And told her that she wasn't in control, I was. That she was not going to disrupt the entire family any more, it wasn't fair, etc. That I didn't care if the neighbors heard. I may have yelled some neighbors names, as in, "Michelle? Do you hear me? Sarah cannot keep waking us all up at night!" And told Sarah that if Michelle heard me she'd agree with me. Sarah was very, very not happy with me. I was very, very not happy with her. And loud. But she slept all night, and has since then.

Going to bed? Hell. I'm not going to get into the cycle we've gotten into. It's horrible. I've called the pediatrician three times. I've taken her to see the pediatrician. Talked to and listened to every.single.mom I know. Hid my head as she screams. Cried. Yelled. Ignored. Tuesday night she screamed for three hours. Three solid hours. No breaks. No lulls. And? No tears. She's not actually crying. Just screaming. Screaming things like, "You will come up here right this minute!"  (Uhmmm, have you met me?? Do you really think that is going to work?) Wednesday morning she very sweetly informed me, "My panties and bed are wet. Because I peed them. Because I was mad at you."

Special words were used. Yes. Very many. Said at my child. Yes. I swore at her. Then I put her in the van, drove to swim practice and cried.

I called the pediatrician and cried some more.  He told me to give her melatonin at bedtime and to get some books on, and I quote, "the defiant child."

Then I had to tell my husband, at eight o'clock that evening, why Sarah was sleeping so soundly, and that I'd sworn at her. Good times, people, good times.

Today I talked to my sister in law, Kerry (who is so smart about these things) about getting some therapy for Sarah. Again, good times.

Then I had a discussion with a friend about her daughter and a possible speech delay. I was able to offer some help, possibly, given my background. But honestly, given the massive failures I've been exhibiting lately I didn't think I'd hear a whole lot back. Instead I just recieved the most uplifting text: And just like that she signs and says more. You rock.

And just like that I felt a huge sigh of relief.  Maybe, just maybe we're OK. We'll give Sarah the melatonin for a week or so. My therapist is also an amazing child/play therapist. So I don't have to search and worry. And my picky, picky Sarah is taking the melatonin crushed up in grape jelly like a champ.

So.

Deep yoga breaths.

Also? Diana? You rock. And I expect a full wing in El Paso. Corrugated, high end, got it?

Stop The Madness!

I used to have a MySpace.

Now I Facebook.

And blog.

And read a thousand a couple blogs a day.

And Facebook for my blog. (You're not on it? Like it!)

And tweet.

And tweet for my blog.

And I love it all.

And then, yesterday, I see this thing, Pinterest come across my Facebook feed.

Have you seen this? It's a virtual bulletin board, divied into smaller boards, that you can label with things like "Knitting Crack" or "Blog Love," or "Cutest.Thing.Evah."  And then as you are surfing the net and come across items you like, you just 'pin' them onto your board. Click and pin. You can share your pins, follow people, tweet your pins, Facebook your pins. Instead of 'favoriting' things and then having a list of favorited things you click back and forth between, you see your favorites all at once, I guess. Technology making our life easier.

Really? Do I need another social networking tool?

Yes, yes I DO!!

Stop the madness because I need to get on!

Diana invited me, after I blew off the idea for one entire day, and you guys, I'm warning you now.

Don't do it. Just . . .don't.

But if you do? I'm Kim @ Baby Feet and we so need to follow each other and share pins!! I already pinned Diana three times tonight when I found adorable craft projects for kids.  Look!

[caption id="attachment_837" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="A new time suck"][/caption]

Now, I really have to go because I need to find furniture for the kids rooms and hey, guess what? I can pin things I like right on Pinterest! And then that new dining room table we've been talking about for 10 years? I'm going to find some tables and pin them! A sideboard! Patio furniture! Baby shower ideas! Recipies!

Guest Blogger: Hormonal Imbalances

Have you ever read someones blog and thought, "I must be friends with this woman."? I totally thought that when I started reading Diana's blog, Hormonal Imbalances. She's intelligent, witty, humble and wise. She looks at life with such a unique view point that I was captured instantly. She also has a wicked sense of humor and makes the keenest observations. The more I read her blog the more I wanted to meet her. I knew we would be fast friends. I knew we'd laugh and giggle like teenagers. That we'd share jokes about our husbands, trade parenting advice. And I was right. How did I convince someone from the blogosphere to actually meet me?? Well, you see, my husband has actually known Diana since she was just a wee bump in her mama's belly :)  So when I went all kinds of crazy for Diana and her blog, I kind of had an 'in' with her already. At the beginning of November my husband and I went to Colorado and Diana and I finally got to meet. Oh, the fun we had! She is beyond awesome. So funny. So fun!  Diana taught me all sorts of bloggy things. And we really talked. I'm healing from depression, and meeting people who know that is hard. She knows. She also knew my story before we 'met.' So I was scared. But she wrapped me in a big hug and said, "So, do we look like you expected?" Then plopped her baby in my arms. Did I mention it was awesome? And now she's agreed to be my first ever guest blogger! After you read her post here, hop on over to her blog,  Hormonal Imbalances. It's all about navigating life as a first time stay at home mom, triumphing over reflux and making friends in  a new city (they just moved). All mixed in with her wicked eye for observation and self examination. You won't be disappointed.

When I met me.

There are many times in my life I wished for a different personality. One that was calmer, more in touch with themselves, a gentle spirit that was always volunteering or giving back to the community. Someone who attended charity balls, dinner parties and cared about looking put together.

I’ve often wished I didn’t blurt out things so quickly without thinking first, or find really childish things still funny. Like someone named Charles Poos on Facebook. (I’m sorry buddy.) I can quote lines from The Office like nobody‘s business, I’ve never thrown a dinner party. I own 1 pair of high heels. I have no idea if they fit anymore.

I’ve had people tell me they think I‘m great, or lately since I’ve been blogging - wished they could meet me in person. My first thought is always, “Why?” I’m afraid people I do get to know initially that like me will tire of me soon enough.

It seems as if at times I embarrass some of my friends - I’m not one to pretend to have it all together or be a great wife and mother, and that may irk people in certain situations. Feeling that way has made it so that I walk on eggshells to avoid truly being me.

For years, I’d hear of Kim - yep, Kim from this blog. My mom talked about her a lot, always ending with, “And she’s just so much fun Diana. You’ll love her.”

So when I finally did get to meet her, it was with great anticipation of someone I’d heard about, then talked to, and then read about. I already liked her, but wasn’t sure what to expect from IRL Kim.

We spent the evening chatting on blogging (I was in heaven), babies, cloth diapers, and sharing reflux stories. I sat at the table and listened to her crack up at things and voice her opinion on topics she cared about. She was quick witted, easy going, frank and practical. Had I come in and pretended to be someone else, I have no doubt she would have figured it out and squashed the fakeness like a bug.

I thought to myself, “I really like her. A lot. You just feel like you know her and she knows you as soon as you meet.”

It was then a realization hit me - what if that’s how some people felt about me? Not that I’m Kim, or she’s me - but maybe the feeling of really and truly liking someone for who they were; no pretense, no airs, no fakeness in Kim. I liked her because she was simply herself and you could tell that.

I began to see my personality in a different light after meeting her. I was proud that I had an opinion, ok with the fact that sometimes I blurt out something everyone else thinks should be kept private. My life isn’t perfect, I’m a little porky, my kid used to barf 120x a day, my husband is a recovering alcoholic, and we have no money. But I’m happy, in love, content with life, and learning to not have to control everything. And all of that makes up me.

Meeting her made me realize I can be me - and some people will like me and some people won’t. And that’s ok. I have to stop caring about or pretending to fit in a certain mold that I’ve placed myself into in hopes everyone will like me. Only not me.

After all, I blog that way - why shouldn’t I live like it too?