Thunderstorms and Fireworks... Who'da Thunk the Kids Would be WorseThan the Dog

Once upon a time, I had the most wonderful German Shepherd Dog named Max. He was my puppy, my Maxi-foots and terrified of fireworks. Didn't care much for thunderstorms either and would have never made a good service or police dog cause he didn't do stairs either. He was born in January on Elvis' birthday and come July 4th, he was still just a pup. I'd say little thing but that's one thing he never was. I went outside to make sure he was okay and I didn't think a fifty pound dog could get any more burrowed into my armpit and chest than that dog was that night. Licking my face, whining, climbing on my head, sticking his head in my shirt, the whole nine. Max grew to be a 115lb bohemoth and sadly jumped the fence defending our property and never made it home. Evidently, as far as big booming noises are concerned, kids are much worse.

I kept hearing rumbles as I was getting the kids ready for bed. They were low, constant and far away. Thanks to recent cannon fire fireworks between 9:00pm and 10:00pm, the monkeys were pretty much terrified of going to bed. The police told my husband they'd received calls over the week about these heathens setting of what seriously sounds like cannon fire. I managed to get Monkey #2 asleep after much cajoling and 'it's gonna be okays', 'Mommy's right here', 'all your doggies are here to protect you', etc. So she was out by 8:15. Then came Monkey #1, who I'm still trying to get to fall asleep by herself. She's never fallen asleep without me in her bed or room. At least I've made it to the door while she falls asleep. I hope to soon be in the hallway. I leave her room as soon as she crashes and come check the weather. Oh greaaaat. Severe thunderstorm warning and I see lightning. My husband was crashed outside on the 'chaise' and we get the first major lightning and thunder crashes. I run outside, shake him awake and tell him to get in the house NOW. He falls back to sleep. I come in and Monkey #1 is sobbing on the upstairs landing wondering where the hell I am. So she comes into bed with me. Then the actual storm hits, the wind and rain and really nasty stuff. (I'm waiting to hear the back door open, which it does, hehehe) Miraculously, Monkey #2 is still asleep. My husband gets in the bed and then Monkey #2 wakes up. Queen sized bed, 2 toddlers, 1 tall man and a woman who's 6 months pregnant. SO COMFY. My husband gives up and goes down to the basement so I tend to a 2 and 3 year old trying to crawl INTO me they're so scared. Finally the storm dies down and I get everyone back in their beds and as I'm walking out of Monkey #1's room, "BOOM". Yay, another round of storms. The three of us get back in my bed and wait the storm out. At about 11:30 Iturn out the lights. It's still rumbling and lightning but Monkey #1 is beat and just can't keep those eyes open. The little one on the other hand in rolling like a rock in a rock tumbler against my back. I've slept with her once, once. She doesn't sleep with other people in a bed. By 12:37am, I'd had enough. I put her back in her bed and the second her head hit the crib sheet... done, eyes closed and bunny on the nose. So that was my night. At one point is was so windy, my blinds were being sucked toward the window. That's when Monkey #1 asked if this was a mean storm. I told her mean storms come with sirens, it was not a mean storm, just windy. I heard something slide across the patio and thought it was a little side table... woke up this morning with our metal table and unbrella smack dab in the middle of the yard. Monkey #1 stayed in bed with me and woke me up once or twice with a knee to the belly and then she had some yucky dreams. I was useless today. Though I did get Monkey #2's bedroom a little more 'done'. As in decorated. We're gettin' there.

Forgive Me...

I am 100% sucked in to a mystery novel series at the moment and I just can't stop. By the way... coconut oil is VERY expensive (you Pinterest people know I'm talkin' to you)

Damn Cheesecake. Weight Loss After Pregnancy

When I delivered Monkey #1, I wighed 223lbs. The most I had ever weighed was 165ish, my lowest was 128lbs. Weight has always been an issue for me and I tend to fluctuate 10-15lbs year to year. I had finally found my stride and was settled at a very healthy 138lbs with an athlete's body fat percentage. When I got pregnant the first time, I gained weight quickly. You're just always so damn hungry. After we lost the baby I worked tirelessly to get back into shape and wouldn't you know it, I weighed 153lbs when I found out I was pregnant with Monkey #1. And I couldn't give two flips about what I ate, so I was huge. My waist was a whopping 50" around the week I gave birth. I couldn't fit into the booth at Waffle House, that was my 'oh shit' moment. I dropped thirty pounds in the first two weeks, all water weight. Then I really amped it up. I did zumba at least 4 times a week. I had quit smoking the day I first found out I was pregnant, I did some very strenuous weight workouts and nine months after Monkey #1 was born, I was back to 153lbs. I went to WalMart one day after Zumba class and seemed to have a really hard time recovering, I blamed the heat. I bent down to grab something from a bottom shelf and I almost fainted. Well, that was wierd. That night I made one of my favorite meals and felt totally sick afterwards, nauseated. Mind you, I had zero expectation that I'd get pregnant again. I woke up the next morning and couldn't drink my coffee. I was really nauseous. I had recalled a skype conversation with my sister the previous month when she asked me if I was pregnant because she had a feeling. I found out the next day I wasn't but really wasn't keeping track of things. So my husband's getting ready for work and I'm frantically searching for this conversation to find the date. It had been six weeks previous. SIX WEEKS! Oh crap. Hubby comes downstairs, gives us a kiss and I say, "I think I'm pregnant." "What?? You say this as I walk out the door." Me, "Yeah, I'll call you after work." He left, stunned. I hauled it to Walgreens before work and that stick turned blue before I even opened the package. I was pregnant. Again. Oh my Gah. Monkey #1 is only nine months old. They're gonna be seventeen months apart. We were stunned to say the least. I had no doubt this was a viable pregnancy. My symptoms were way worse but I was determined to not hit 200lbs. I hit 199. Fine, I'll deal. So next comes being pregnant with a 9 month old and all the things I never would have done had I known then what I know now.

On a closing note: I suffered 2 panic attacks today... and then we had two sweet little bunnies frolicking in the backyard with fireflies and a bright red cardinal. That was nice. Thanks God.

The Lactation Consultant With Too Many Ideas

So there I was, pumped full of saline and antibiotics for the dehydration and the fever. My husband had our sweet little girl who looked exactly like him, cuddled to his chest and, in walks Ms. Lactation Consultant. I'm all for breastfeeding and I think it's the best thing for a baby but it's not as easy as it sounds. First of all, I'd had a reduction when I was 17 so I didn't really know if I'd be able to do this or not. Secondly, Monkey #1 had a little receding chin and had an incredibly difficult time latching on. So I was shown all these different apparatus that were to aid in her ability to learn how to latch on. Yeah, that didn't work. So then she brought the little tube and syringe to supplement while she was trying to latch on. The lactation consultant said she saw this in all babies who had had their little mouths sucked out at birth. I was getting antsy for her to get out. So she sends for the hospital grade cow pump and the shows me how I might teach her to latch using my thumb, a syringe and sugar water. That was my undoing. I didn't know it then but at that moment, my ability to feed my daughter by bottle was completely screwed. I tried for 2 months to breastfeed this kid. We rented the cow pump which felt like I was at some turn of the century sanitarium. I never could manage more than four ounces and it was constant brutal chesty punishment. Monkey #1 would not take a single bottle. We tried probably 20 different brands, from the obscenely expensive French imports to the one dollar jobbies from the dollar store. Nothin'. We probably spent $200 on bottles. You're probably wondering how the hell I fed her. Let me tell you... I had these 1 ounce syringes the hospital gave me, a feeding tube and bottles of both breast milk and formula. I'd load up four syringes, stick my thumb in her mouth, which she'd suck on, slide the little feeding tube into her mouth and depress the plunger reloading syringes until she was full. It was not all that bad until she started eating eight ounces at a time. I did this for FIVE months. My Mom and Sister had to do it for a week too while I was out after my final surgery #5.

November 6, 2008, Monkey #1 was just 2 months old when I went in for "THE SURGERY". The pain leading up to the surgery during the month of October was brutal. You know those giant spears the Spartans used. I felt like three were stabbing me in the back, right around my kidney, every time I took a step with my left foot. Out of all the pain I've ever felt over the past decade, this was the most brutal, most nauseating, most untouchable by narcotics. At first we thought it was a kidney infection, negative. Kidney stones, negative. My doctor was troubled because he'd never seen me this way. They had never seen me cry from pain until then. I had even been told that my pain tolerance was so high I didn't get fevers when I should. This was the kind of pain that if you didn't know there were an end... who knows what would happen. The days before my surgery, they didn't want to prescribe anything stronger because they were worried about pain control after the surgery. They were to perform a laparatomy to have better access to my internal shenanigans than laparoscopic surgery. He had a urological surgeon and vascular surgeon on hand and was ready for anything. My Mom, husband, sister and baby were all there with me and keeping me company while I waited, and waited. I had bought these fuzzy white socks with the little plastic knobbies on the bottom and Mom was rubbing my feet... white fuzz everywhere. Mom insisted I remove them at once and attacked me with a sticky lint roller. Of course my husband goes out to smoke and they come take me away and explain everything to Mom. I was wheeled into pre-op and sure enough, as they were wheeling me into the OR, they asked me if I had been given a sedative, which I had, so they shot me up again because I was so coherent for having been given God only knows what. I awoke in recovery and for the first time, I wasn't crying. I had full confidence in my Doctor's abilities to take care of me. The news was a relief: my left ureter had been pulled beyond the mid line of my body, he removed what he expected to be my left ovary but had to send it to testing to be sure, the urologist did his part and they clipped the adhesion and everything just sprung back to where it was supposed to be. My right ovary and fallopian tube were perfectly fine. Once again they had done a ton of work and I stayed overnight. They brought me a pump but I just said forget it, just give me the drugs. It was the most painful surgery to date. I got home and it took two weeks before I could even climb the stairs. I held my baby as much as I could but was seriously heavily medicated the whole time. And I hated what they gave me, can't even remember what it was but it had to have been a really strong opiate. Six weeks later, I was given the okay to resume all my activities. It had been traumatic but we got through it again. And Monkey #1 learned how to sleep in her crib while I was incapacitated. (That didn't last long though, damn summer vacations) I had no pain. For once in over a decade, I felt absolutely zero pain. I still didn't think I'd have another but I was pain free. I can't tell you what a relief that is! Coming next... my little surprise when Monkey #1 was only 9 months old.

**The lactation consultant had also given me a horrible cold and I suffered for almost three weeks with it. Great fun with a newborn, luckily my baby didn't get it. She admitted to me that she had exposed us when I had a second consultation. I was pissed. And after five months, I said to hell with it, you are going to take a bottle whether you want to or not. And after three different nipples on a Dr. Brown's bottle, we had it. No more syringes. EVER AGAIN!!!

Then Comes Baby

My husband and I had an amazing wedding. It was outside on the top of a slope that was filled with rows and rows of lavender in full bloom. One of the greenest Junes in the Texas Hill Country I can remember. It was perfect. Amazingly, I wound up pregnant just over a month later. Well that was easy, but I was uneasy. I just didn't feel like everything was okay. I was measuring behind and my doctor ordered several ultrasounds. We found out at thirteen weeks that what we were experiencing was a blighted ovum. The fetal pole we had seen early on never developed and I was going to miscarry. My doctor gave me the choice to miscarry naturally or have a D&C, a procedure where they go in and remove the tissue. I opted to go the natural route. It was an uneasy week or so, I didn't know when it would happen, just that it would. I was alone because my husband was at work and it was over before he could get home. I had called my doctor to ask him how much percocet I could take because it hurt like hell and then I wouldn't stop bleeding. My husband took me to the hospital and they managed to get the bleeding under control and I opted to be transported to my Doctor's hospital because he wanted me to stay over night. Five hundred dollars later, I was at the hospital I'd had my surgery in and much less anxious. They put me on pitocin and saline and gave me plenty of drugs and my Doctor saw me in the morning and let me go. He told us to start trying as soon as we felt like it. I conceived 5 weeks later and was terrified.

This time we kept our mouths shut. I didn't want to tell anyone about the pregnancy until we had seen that little heart pounding away at 12 weeks. Of course everyone knew from my behavior and kept trying to ply it out of me which was exceedingly painful. I'd had a miscarriage at 13 weeks, just a couple of months ago for God's sake, if it's obvious I don't want to discuss it then leave it alone. The pregnancy was normal. I did experience a lot of pain now and then from the adhesions stretching but otherwise... it was fine. I ate cheesecake everyday and blew up like a balloon, gained almost 70lbs. And I also went through my last trimester in June, July and August in the hot, hot South, which made me swell even more. But I made it. I hated every minute of the pregnancy, your body does really strange things when you're pregnant, except for feeling her move and I couldn't wait to see her. When I got stuck in the recliner, I knew she'd be there soon but hopefully not while I was stuck in the recliner. The women in my family labor very quickly, my brother was born in the car, my sister had no clue she was in labor, and I was terrified. We made two unnecessary trips to labor and delivery (which was another three hundred dollars) And then one Sunday morning as I ate my oatmeal, my stomach hurt. So I went upstairs and watched Space Cowboys and started getting more uncomfortable. I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions for two weeks so I was not as worried as I probably should have been. I opted for skipping the end of the movie to take a shower and these stomach pains just kept comin'. I yelled down to my husband, "If you want a shower, you better get one NOW." His response, "Oh shit." I also told him to bring me some water. While he was in the shower, I drank the water, laid on my left side, switched to the right side, back to the left side and then I got the watch. They were coming every for minutes and getting stronger. Me, "Let's go, let's go, let's go!!!!" And OH MY GOD did it hurt. The first half of the drive I was okay. I kept telling my husband, "We're okay, don't run any lights yet." Then my contractions were coming every two minutes and becoming really, really strong. "Run it. RUN THE LIGHT!" I had him drop me of at the entrance to the Hospital and told him to meet me upstairs. The receptionist took one look at me and said, "Honey, do you need a wheelchair?". My reply, "I don't have time for a wheelchair." Her frantic plea, "Don't be havin' no baby in my lobby." "Yes Ma'am", as I leaned on the wall to breathe through another whopper. I get upstairs and get all hooked up to the baby monitors and an IV and all that crap. My husband had arrived by then thank God. Originally, I had planned to try this au natural, then I realized "why?" and asked for an epidural. I had one of those nurses you just want to slap, she told me I was ill prepared for natural childbirth and when I asked for water she gave me apple juice. I just wanted some water, I'll never drink apple juice again. I was dehydrated and I had a fever. I also had the crazy chills and shakes, which is perfectly normal but annoying as hell. And in 45 minutes I want from 3cm to 8cm. My contractions were one on top of the other and exceptionally hard to deal with. They were wheeling me down to delivery and that foul apple juice decided it didn't like me either. The only reprieve I had from the pain was when I stood up and just held on to hubs. I had a contraction and it was manageable. But I had a fever and they gave me the epidural I had asked for out of necessity. Had I been hydrated with no fever, there isn't a hospital in the Country that would have given me an epi at 9cm.  The anaesthesiologist was awesome and had the epidural in within minutes and a couple of minutes later, I couldn't feel a damn thing. He did make fun of the way my skin looked, it was all mottled like when I'm really cold, it was bizarre. So the nurse comes in and says to me, we don't like how baby's heartbeat is reacting to your labor so if this baby isn't born in 15 minutes, we're going to have to do a c-section. C-section my ass. That baby was in this world fifteen minutes later. The OB walked in and told me to stop pushing, which I wasn't, and basically caught her. My little Monkey #1 was here! And they had to suck out her nose and mouth with the skinny little tube that I wouldn't want shoved down my throat, and she started crying. They put me on massive amounts of antibiotics and took us to recovery. I had my little one in my arms at last and I was in Heaven. Then the lactation consultant gave me a massive cold and ruined my ability to feed my baby for the the next five months. That tomorrow, until then....

It's the Weekend...

I'll see y'all tomorrow. For once my kids are asleep before 8:00PM and I'm taking full advantage.

Well Hell, My Day Was Shot; Why Not the Night Too

Monkey #1 managed to stay in her bed all night, almost all night, just one intervention. Monkey #2 slept way beyond her usual 5:30am to 7:00. Hmm, nice. Then Monkey #1 decided to wake up pissed at the world and unwilling to speak to or even look at anyone. This was accompanied by non-stop yelling, whining and general animal like screeching for about thirty minutes. Lovely! The day just descended from there into the lowest depths of toddler hell. A trip to Arby's, which had been begged for the day before, was unwanted. I really just wanted to go to Joann's. Monkey #2 decided to follow suit with the prehistoric screeching when encountered with anything requested by yours truly or anything to which she replies, "NO, I do it." I need to clean the kitchen, "CAWWWW". I need to make the beds, "CAAAWWWWW". Time to get dressed, "NO, I do it." You need a fresh diaper (which she's already removed and is now running in naked circles around the coffee table waiting for me to catch her but when I do... "CAWWWW").  I need to use the ladies, "CAWWW CAWWW (accompanied by clothing being pulled to keep me from going). Monkey #1 was suddenly interested in a show she abhors just as we're ready to go. Monkey #2, displeased by this development, "CAWWWWW SISSY CAWWWW". Then we're in the car, not in our seats, but in the car. Fifteen minutes later we're buckled in the car. Bicker, bicker, bicker. Monkey #2 screaming. I get to the gas station and turn around to find Miss Screechy Pants asleep, Amen. We make it to Arby's in silence and I plow into Jane Eyre as if my life depended on it as Monkey #1 eats her mac & cheese and curly fries, "Can I have Monkey #2's mac & cheese too?". "No." Said Monkey wakes up screeching. I pull over again so she can eat her mac & cheese too. Finally, we make it to Joann's. I find some of the stuff I'm looking for when Monkey #2 starts screaming, "Geeeeh Ouuuuh, caillly meee. CAWWW." We check out, I buy them chocolate and snag myself a snickers. I give them the chocolate as we walk down to Burlington to keep them entertained. We need fresh diapers. That takes another fifteen minutes and a lady actually waited to see if I was torturing my child. *sigh. I find a couple things. Monkey #1 runs away towards the toys maybe 15 times in spite of me threatening to take all her evening privileges from her (she lost two). We leave, but not without a little toy for each and a Godiva chocolate bar for me. Monkey #2?... take a wild guess. Finally we get to the car and the girls are content with their newly acquired Dora junk. The little one now has a camera that uses 35mm film. (GO MOM) I spent a lot of time in the darkroom way back when and someday, these girls will learn too. As we all head home Monkey #1 says, "Mommy, I'm just exhausted!". Join the club honey! We get home, I wanna pass out. Every time I sit on the couch, Mommy can I have? Mommy I need? Mommy will you? Somehow bedtime rolls around and guess what? My good sleeper refuses to sleep. She now must wait until Sissy's bedtime. And when she's accompanied by the three of us, she happily gets in her crib, rolls on her side and crashes. Then Monkey #1 puts all her dollies to bed making sure they have blankies, something to cuddle and an LED lantern. I lay down with her, calm her of her fears, get a big squeezy hug and she says the words that make it all worth it. "I love you Mommy." Now, I'm gonna go sit in my secret squirrel hidey attic space and eat that Godiva chocolate bar and mentally recall every cognac I've ever drunk.  Until tomorrow....

Out of the Ashes the Phoenix Rises. (Not That it's Not Going to Burn Right Back Someday)

Ohhhh, where were we. Yes, Nashville. I really liked Nashville. It was kindred to a small Austin, beautifully situated and within ten hours of all kinds of places. Everyone was nice and I met more people from out of state than born and raised. I settled into my job selling concrete resurfacing businesses. Horror of horrors there. Summers were great and over the course of the year, I made decent money but as it was 100% commission, the winter months were frightening. And the owner of the company was a micromanaging whackadoo. I eventually married the delusion, what the hell was I thinking. He never wanted to be with me, he was habitually drunk and began to gamble away my own money. I had met my husband already and we were just friends. He would listen to my woes and one night, he grabbed my hand and told me I was a beautiful woman with a compassionate heart and deserved only the best in life. Not to be treated like some object of nuisance. Not be treated without respect. And with that, I found my self-respect. Amazingly, I don't think I ever had much of it. On my way home that night, I called my sister bawling and told her how stupid of a thing I'd done. My brother in law was almost about to jump on a plane and get me the hell out but I just asked for their help with a lawyer, which he is, a very good one at that. (God bless him, he's such a good man! And Godfather to my first born) So my sister, who is also a lawyer, found one for me. They even paid for my divorce which was uncontested and signed by my ex with a flourish. Between the time of securing a lawyer, filing the paper work and receiving it back from the court, my husband was in pursuit. And I was still married so I wouldn't let him near me no matter what sweet nothings he whispered in my ear. I canceled our first date because I was terrified. But the next week, he took me to Mass as we had planned the week earlier. It dawned on me that the only people I'd ever attended Mass with were family and friends from Catholic School. As soon as those court documents came back, I kissed him and I knew. We became fairly seriously quickly and then he broke up with me. I was completely ruined. He didn't think that someone could be so wholesomely genuine. I was too optimistic, too nice, too courteous, well what the hell's wrong with that. I was raised that way and I genuinely feel that way. What do I have to be unthankful for? I'm still here and made it through my own hell and back? He was worried about my stability; my car, my job, my life. I managed to acquire a new car with the aid of my father, I found a new job in retail with a steady and fairly hefty paycheck for selling tee shirts, great benefits too, and I looked into some volunteering, anything to keep me busy. He called me back a week later to explain himself as stated before, and I told him, that's just the way I am. I can't be like some girl from NY, which is where he's from, it's just not in me. We continued our relationship a bit more slowly this time and my Mom and Sister came up to help me move into my new apartment . We went to Matt's house to cook dinner and it hit him, we're all like that. It's a family trait and he was mildly stunned. That's when he knew. And we were engaged a year and a half later. He had a general idea of my struggle with endo so when it came back full force, he wasn't unprepared, he was worried. I found the most amazing doctor, my favorite to this day, who had continued my provera. When the pain slowly came back, it was different, worse somehow. I was prescribed stronger painkillers and put on an equivalent to Lupron. It was an implant, about the size of a grain of rice, loaded by a huge needle in your abdomen. I offered to be a guinea pig and after one of the nurses did it one day, she said, "This is medieval torture, I will never do this again." Oh thank God. At any rate... surgery day had come and so had Mom. I was living with my fiance, unbeknownst to my Dad (in theory). So I was in a happy place. My surgery was four months before our wedding and I felt safe and well cared for under the care of Dr. Trabue, my fiance and my Mom. When I awoke from surgery, once again, I sobbed silently and the doctor came to tell me the bad news. Apparently, I had had endometriosis on my left ureter because it was firmly adhered to a rather large blood vessel and my left ovary, which was hardly recognizable. He had removed a massive amount of adhesions and endometrial lesions from all over, especially the lower left. My left fallopian tube had literally tied itself off by twisting like a twisty tie. He told me he wanted me to stay the night because of all the work he'd done. He also said he could not undo the ureter/ovary/blood vessel adhesion because he didn't want to damage the ureter or be in fear of me bleeding out. Which meant another surgery in the not too distant future. He said the best thing to do would be to try to get pregnant and hope the babies growth would pull the adhesions apart. He also said I was a perfect candidate for IVF. So I steeled myself once again for a difficult road. Mom stayed with me in the hospital, my fiance was beside himself with worry and I requested to get up and walk the halls to recover as quickly as possible, in between massive shots of pain killers of course. They must have stuck me 20 times in each hip. And I came rising out of the ashes again, knowing we WOULD have children. And in four months, we'd start trying.

We've been relatively calm around here. Barring the backfired sleep training, the 'I DO IT-itis', the screaming screeching temper tantrums in stereo, the total lack of interest in potty training by both, the I'm not gonna eat that's, and the vise like hold milk has over my children. Six gallons a week mind you. I have a new nut lady I see every week and I like her... a lot. We have a lot to discuss. She recorded this last session instead of feverishly taking notes and I'll see her again on Wednesday. My husband in the meantime has taken up a renewed interest in running and bought a weight bench for the basement. Can I get a Yip-Yip!

Hell Hath No Fury as a City Girl in Arkansas

For any of you who live in, hail from or have family in Arkansas, forgive me. I've concluded that that state has it out for me. It's a gorgeous place, west of Little Rock. Hot Springs was really beautiful and the northwest was lovely. The 'wrong' guy I was dating, yeahp, followed him to Little Rock. I must have been derranged. Completely delusional and in such wretched denial to follow him anywhere. But I was running, from everything. If I had just confided in my family... Then of course, I would not be where I am today. I was the proud owner of a 1987 Black Honda Prelude which could be heard from at least two miles away until I fixed that damn muffler. It also had a kink somewhere so when it was REALLY hot, I had to kick it under the dashboard to get it started. Oh, and it had no air conditioning. I was driving a death-trap. So I set out east and had to find a job. I worked in a restaurant for about three days. I was so used to my beautifully cleaned well run place in Houston, this place had actual piles of wet flour in the corners, it was disgusting. I went to a temp agency, which I probably could have run and ended up walking out. Then I went to the mall. Retail it shall be. I went to Bath &  Body Works because I loved their stuff, and ended up at Victoria's Secret where I was promoted from lead to 'Co-Manager' fairly quickly. I'm a no nonsense worker, but I'm empathetic towards my employees. Though I know when I'm being played, with the horrible exception of almost all the guys I ever dated. I've been to a lot of places and done a lot of things in my life, it seemed that everyone I worked with had never left the state of Arkansas and just didn't believe things I interjected into conversation. Like how awesome Vietnemese food is, or how beautiful the Champs Elysee is at Christmas, or how there was a banana tree growing in our hotel restaurant in Ambregris-Cay. I was born in Mexico City, raised in the 4th largest city in the country, and I felt like a pariah. Then my car broke, needed a new engine broke. And instead of the man who was supposed to be looking out for me and taking care of me, getting me to and from work safely... I walked, 5 miles to work. If I got off in the afternoon, I'd walk back. If I got off at night, he'd either pick me up so drunk he couldn't see or send me a cab. I spent $2500 on that stupid car with the measly money I made and he didn't help with one cent. Did I mention he's the one who found the car for me? I made one friend, one really good friend and I love her to this day. She saved my life while I was there. My General Manager ended up leaving VS to open a Coldwater Creek and I begged her to take me with her, which she did. Finally, a company with mature employees and mature clientelle and really cute homegoods. I was the Assistant Manager over logistics and inventory and we had another Assistant Manager over Customer Service who HATED me, with a passion, for reasons completely unbeknownst to me. She's the main reason I did what I had to do to get out of that state. During the time I was working with the devil, my ex was up to some seriously no good shennanigans. I was also having pain again. I found a doctor and he kept me on provera and had me get a bone density scan to check if the Lupron caused any decrease in bone density (minimal). I ended up facing surgery again and Mom flew up for it.

I ommitted something exceptionally important in my previous post. In the post-operative report from my previous surgery, it stated that they had found an endometrial lesion on my left ureter but were not able to remove it in fear of damaging the ureter which would have cause much bigger problems.

I had my surgery. The doctor used the same incision sites where he could, but instead of using sutures, he used glue. Seriously? Glue, right where my waist bands go? Where I've had two previous incisions? So now I have a HUGE scar on my belly button which was once hardly noticeable, it also took three weeks to heal instead of one. After surgery, he told me they removed some stuff and there was no evidence of endo on my left ureter. Well, that's good news!! Mom was only able to stay until the day after surgery and then my bonehead ex went to Chile with his best friend a day later. Leaving me alone to take care of myself. I didn't even tell Mom.

I began having panic attacks again. I had my car back (almost three months later) but everytime I got in it I began to panic. I panicked at work, while I was eating, it was scary. One day, I went to my doctor mid-attack and they took my blood pressure, the nurse looked at me and said, "This cuff must be broken, let me get another one." So she did, "Let me go get the head nurse." The head nurse came in and took my blood pressure, 190 over 110. They almost flipped. I felt like I was having a heart attack. My doctor, who was awesome, prescribed klonopin and celexa and told me to get next door to the pharmacy and take two klonopin and not to leave until I felt calm. They kept me at the office and helped me calm down before they let me go to the pharmacy next door and one of the nurses delivered my prescriptions. My pharmacist was awesome too. They had the second best tomato basil soup and they had big train chai, my favorite. I went to work the next day and let my GM know how high my BP had been the day before and she was shocked. I told her I just needed to stay in the stockroom as much as possible. Meanwhile, I was stealing a sales job out from under my ex because he just couldn't get it. I drive into Nashville for my interview and get a blowout on the highway. I aced my interview and the little math test my ex failed and had to get four new tires. Wonderful. I got the hell outta' dodge. I told my ex I was moving ASAP. Found an apartment in Nashville and went to work. 100% commission in the construction industry and I felt the worst pressure to succeed as I was the only female account executive. At least I could dish out as much as I could take and became a worthy adversary. I was happy in Nashville, completely miserable in my relationship and my job pretty much sucked. At least I found a Church to attend. I'm worn out talking about this time in my life so I'll continue tomorrow with the fall of my measly little cottage. Until then....

I'm 22 and Having Major Hot Flashes. What the Hell.

To continue my journey with endometriosis, you'll need to hang in there because it's been over a decade long struggle, let's talk Lupron and constant pelvic pain. Sometimes, things that work for others just don't work for you. My last doctor told me I was the the most amazing medical anomaly, he didn't mean it in a 'that's really good for you' way. He was very apologetic when he said this to me after I'd had my fifth and last surgery (so far). So back to me living in Vail, CO, of all places, on a drug that induces menopause at the age of 22 so that I might be able to have children someday. I was just a kid, you never think how young you are when you're young. I'm a very go with the flow kinda' gal and things don't phase me for long. In retrospect, I internalized a lot of the emotional pain and went with the flow of just about every bar in town. I had a blast, I made some really great friends, and the locals quaked when I walked up to the Foosball table. (snicker) But your brain can only handle so much before it begins to change, not that you notice it happening. I had my first hot flash at Walmart in Avon. I was wearing jean shorts and a big comfy navy sweater and I'll never forget it. All of a sudden, I was on FIRE. I thought to myself, "Oh God, no." Five minutes later, it was gone and I felt like I'd just worked out for an hour. Lucky for me, my family's a big bunch of jokesters, speech laden with sarcasm and dry wit, which helped me make light of it all. Thanks Pa! Then the pain began to creep back. It has always been in the same place, lower left quadrant of my pelvis. Dull at the beginning, but almost constant. Then it turns to sharp stabbing pain interspersed with the dull. Then it just hurts like hell all the time. When you suffer from chronic pain, you begin to question whether or not it's even there. You make light of it, even hide it from everyone so they don't think you're looking for sympathy. Because you're not, you're looking for relief. My doctor had me on percocet 5s to begin with. He decided to continue the injections and try to minimize my pain. During this time, I would also get huge cysts on my ovaries, which are painful in their own rite. Before long I was taking 2 percocet 10s as often as I could, this was about a year and a half later. I ended up moving back to Texas due to unforeseeable circumstances and sought out a new MD. I searched for a doctor who's specialty was endometriosis and made the wrong choice. He was too young, still working under the tutelage of a more experienced doctor and I let him operate on me. This time, they put me on Lupron for three months before the surgery, which didn't make any sense to me. I mean, I'd been on the damn drug for 7 months when the pain returned. My doctor was in Houston and I was living in Austin. Mom came down from Colorado to take care of me and we stayed in a corporate apartment for the week. I awoke from surgery sobbing again and my too young doctor told me they removed some lesions from the same area as before, lower left area of my abdomen. I remember seeing a movie and then sushi at my favorite restaurant with some friends two days later. And I was depressed. I wasn't fully aware of it, but I was becoming depressed again. The injections were no longer covered by my insurance and cost $350... in Canada. So I used a Canadian pharmacy and continued the injections for three more months. I moved back to Houston eventually and then the pain returned about a year and a half later. It was then that I heard from my 'endometriosis specialist' the ONE thing no woman in pain with a condition not fully understood wants to hear, "I can't do anything else for you." Now THAT'S depressing. I had been told, as far as I was concerned, I was making it up, I was just after pain meds, I didn't need help. And this came from a doctor at one of the largest Fertility Specialist Clinics in Houston, TX. They had at least forty doctors on staff. I was flabbergasted. And then I began taking zoloft and ambien. I hated the ambien, I really only took it once or twice. I didn't care for the zoloft either and to be honest, I've blocked a lot of that time period out. Oh, I'd also been in a massive car accident and herniated a disc in my neck which rendered me unable to perform my fairly lucrative job as a professional antique restorer. Yay for me! Injured, hurting and unemployed. My Dad found a reproductive endocrinologist for me to see and the light came back on. He prescribed Provera, which is used to treat prostate cancer, and continuous birth control pills to see if it would offer some relief. And it did. I was finally relieved. The pain came back of course. I got a job as an office manager for a restaurant, something I'd always wanted to explore, but I was lost. Drinking a lot, making friends with the wrong people, dating the WRONG guy,  I was being self-destructive without realizing it. I threw myself into work. I'd get to the restaurant at 6 or 7 in the morning and stay until 11 or so at night. I was trying to run from life. And then I really ran, for all the wrong reasons. How I ended up in Arkansas next...

Jeez, How Will-full Can a Three Year Old Be?

I had a rough night. Beyond rough. My husband had to work late and I got the girls to bed. Monkey #1 tried her best to stay up until he got home but just didn't make it. I carried her up to her bed and tried to go to sleep but some... neighbor had a live band playing 'Sweet Child of Mine' at 10:30. The drummer was actually really good but COME ON. Thanks. Then at 3:13 on the dot, Monkey #1 came into my bedroom and said, no whined to me, "I want milkieeees." over and over and over until 4:38AM. Screaming at me, crying, pushing me, shaking me until Four-Thirty-Eight in the damn morning. I started sobbing around 4:15ish. But I didn't cave. Nope. I DID NOT CAVE.

Today's battle against PPD was lost before it even started. And I don't want to talk about it.

I did however get to go see the end of Snow White. So that was something.

Mental Health Evaluation? Like, at the Hospital?!?! The Event That Built This Blog

Postpartum Depression and what it tends to evolve into in subsequent pregnancies is nothing to be trifled with. The characteristics that predispose you to PPD are pretty common IE: life. But some need special consideration; those of us who have experienced depression and anxiety pre-babies are obviously more likely to experience this because, let's face it, our nuts have already been cracked. Doesn't take much to deepen that crack. Also depends on what kind of nut you have. I'm more of a pecan, definitely not a walnut, thankfully not a pistachio though sometimes I feel a bit peanutty.

One thing I was told over and over after Monkey#2 was, "Beware the next pregnancy". I've been taking celexa, wellbutrin, klonopin and xanax since Monkey #2. I was actually able to quit with the xanax because, quite frankly, it did nothing for me. These are not medications that you just stop taking. I weaned off of the xanax and was beginning to let up on the klonopin to see how I'd do with just the anti-depressants. I had been on them for two years and was beginning to feel some semblance of self coming back and in a heartbeat, I'm pregnant with Monkey #3. I weaned myself off of klonopin in a pretty short period to avoid the very remote possibility that my baby would be born with a cleft-pallet. And then I stayed off of it. Also, I began forgetting to take my other meds. If you forget to take celexa for four or five days, your body lets you know it. Not fun. Not that it made my memory any better. I blame the brain-cell thieving baby in my belly. Forgetting to take your meds while pregnant, after experiencing severe, and I mean severe postpartum depression is really stupid. Monumentally stupid. All of a sudden I found myself falling. It's like being at the top of a tornado and spiralling down thinking, "What the hell's gonna happen when I hit the bottom? I CANNOT hit the bottom." It's terrifying and you can't get back to the top without a rope, there aren't many ropes in a tornado. I found myself in this place for the second time in my life three Fridays ago. Absolute despair. My husband was freaking out and asked me if he needed to stay home. I cannot imagine that my small children were not unnerved by Mommy's behavior. So I called the nut lady my psychiatrist has been wanting me to see for over a year, and left her a message. I eventually asked my husband to come home early if he could and steeled myself for the rest of the day. That massive panic attack eventually came and I took two klonopin. I then emailed my OB to let her know I was experiencing a sudden onset of severe depression/anxiety and let them know of the two appointments the following week with both the pill giving nut lady and the regular nut lady. They emailed back immediately and also left a message for me to call them first thing Saturday morning. So, as soon as their office was open the next morning I called. I am NOT suicidal. I value my life too much and my children and husband need me. I would never do that to my parents, my brother, my sister, my nieces or any other family or friend in my life. My girls are my entire life and I would die for them in an instant if I had to. It is my job, my responsibility to make sure they are happy, healthy and well cared for. But you can still have dark thoughts without the intention of anything ever happening to yourself. I'm not talking suicide, I'm talking about the need to just feel because you're so numb and lost, you just don't know if you can feel anything. So what's a small nick on the arm to allow yourself to feel? It's a warning sign. A sign you need more help than you think you do. It was a sign that I needed to go to the hospital for a mental health evaluation. I never thought it would ever come to that. The nurse said they knew I was coming and to call her later to let her know how I was doing.

My husband pulls up to the oldest Catholic hospital I've ever seen and I tell him to just drop me off and take the kids to do something fun and I'll keep him posted. The rest of my day was utterly surreal. I was placed in a room with absolutely nothing but a bed and a chair. There was a closet with medical supplies, a sink and all other things ERish which they kept locked. About two hours later, after having been told it would probably be awhile, I realized why the room was so barren. They thought I was suicidal. Thank God I had brought my Kindle. They wouldn't shut my door so I could hear everything going on in this understaffed, underfunded Emergency Room. The guy caddy-corner was so drunk he was seizing every time he tried to stand which was often and with a flourish of extremely colorful language. The lady next door was experiencing an allergic reaction to medication they had given her and was laughing because her tongue was so swollen. A young family had been in a car accident and the drunk guy kept yelling, "I gotta go pee goddammit. Let me up.". So entertaining on such a depressive level. Then they have to wheel me up to Labor and Delivery just to make sure the baby was fine and I hadn't done anything idiotic. That was calming, three young women in labor at the desk and yelling nurses. All three of the women were Hispanic and only one of them spoke English, on the flip side, of the three nurses only one of them spoke Spanish. As a Mexican-American, I wanted to help but was in no shape to. They checked babies heartbeat... beautiful, and wheeled me back down to the white unpadded room. Sigh. I kept texting my husband to make sure they were okay and letting him know about my entertainment and being of the lowest priority since they figured, finally, she's not suicidal. Go ahead and hook her up to a heart rate monitor with wires (just the one that goes on the finger, no biggie). FINALLY, the hospital nut lady comes to talk to me and we discuss for about forty-five minutes what's been going on in my head. After which she began to wonder why I was there. I had mentioned I had an unnatural fear of getting hurt: what if I pass out in the tub, what if that kitchen knife slips, what if I fall down the stairs, what if I fall and nail my head on the hearth. Then there was the whole numbness and the idea of wanting to feel something, usually translated as 'cutting' though I'm more of a scratch with a fingernail kind of gal, which is still considered a form of self injury even though I've only actually done it once. I texted Matt to call my psychiatrist to let her know what was going on and then I waited for the hospital nut lady to confer with the hospital psychiatrist. She came back to discuss intensive outpatient treatment, inpatient treatment and just sticking to whatever my personal doctors wanted to do. As I scream in my head, "LET ME OUT!!!!!". So I tell her I'll think about outpatient treatment if I think I need it and that I'd really like to go home and love on my girls. I am discharged and sit outside in the beautiful breezy midwestern sunshine eating a pop-tart and waiting for my husband. Monkey #3 is awakened by the pop-tart and I let her know that everything is going to be okay. I've had my wake up call thank you very much. So I now have three alarms on my phone to make sure I take my meds everyday, a standing appointment with the psychologist and more frequent appointments with my psychiatrist. I also have my OB and her staff up in arms and they are treating me with kid gloves and my baby with mittens. I will be having three more ultrasounds to check on baby before I deliver and I am beginning to feel the ground firm up beneath my feet. Last week, I was in the ocean holding driftwood paddling to the boat. Thank God I've made to shore. Still have a long journey ahead though. More of my history tomorrow. As far as today was concerned: had a good workout, battled the 'don't brush my hair it'll kill me-itis', have one monkey in bed and the other is determined to wait for her Papi, who had a massive inventory in his warehouse today, to get home. She has a remarkable I-Will-NOT-sleep skill set. Until tomorrow...

Endo-WHAT? Surgery? But the Nurse is Our Bartender!

I had the distinct privilege of living 20 miles outside of Vail, CO, with my parents. I adore my parents! My welcome home gift was my own stocked section of the bar, just for me. My family is like a tribe, or a clan... there is a current that connects us and it can't be broken. My family is everything to me. When I moved, I was still taking celexa and was very careful to take it everyday but trying to wean myself off of it. I was happy and unpanicky. I was just 22, thought I knew everything I wanted and thought I was emotionally invincible. Ironic, I know. Then one day, I was in pain. A LOT of pain. It was all over my lower abdomen but mostly on the left side. DISCLAIMER: I shall now speak of womanly things having to do with female anatomy and other female ickies. And  I was bleeding, a lot. My mom, God bless her, had been through a whole host of womanly type ickies herself and immediately suggested a trip to the Gyno. Yippee. I went to see a doctor who would change my life and most likely save my fertility at the Vail Valley Medical Center. He and his nurses were a Godsend and he instantly knew I had endometriosis, a fibroid tumor, a cyst on one of my ovaries and God knows what else. He then said, "I can schedule for surgery in three days." Well shit, okay, what the hell is wrong with me? He gave me the lowdown on endo, a slippery little condition which affects so many women and is silent and persistent in its assault on a woman's reproductive and abdominal organs. A condition EVERY woman should know about. It terrifies me that my girls may be plagued by this condition.

I went into surgery with my Dad by my side as Mom was on a trip she couldn't cancel. Funnily enough, we don't ever talk girl stuff with my Dad, never. They shot me up with my little demerol cocktail and Pop asked if they could put one of those in a martini glass for him while he waited. Unfortunately for him, they declined. I went into surgery afraid and nervous not knowing what to expect. I woke up in recovery silently crying, wondering if I could still have children, looking at my doctor who was explaining all he did. It was a blur but I got, "Stage III Endometriosis, something-or-othered fibroid, big mess, try to lay flat for 24 hours..." Then I felt really nauseous and remember sitting in the bathroom, getting a shot of phenergan and trying like hell not to throw up because I had stitches in my belly button and three other places on my abdomen. Then the RN checked my sutures and got me ready to be on my merry little way. I would later run into said RN  at my parent's ski club. He was our bartender. He'd seen me in the buff, how embarrassing. They decided to start me on a nine month course of Lupron injections, medically induced menopause, sounds like fun huh? I was so terrified of gaining weight, I lost 25 lbs in three months. I looked great but the hot flashes were a bitch. The thing that really sucks is when the pain comes back when you're only 7 months into your injections. It's also really hard because you don't want to talk to anyone about it. No one.

There's a Shih-tzu Stuck in my Fence

It's been that kind of day. Monkey #1 decided to climb into bed with me around 11:30 last night and we both slept soundly until her nightmares interrupted us around 3:00ish. I'd try to touch her and she'd flip so I settled for the, "Shh, shh, Mommy's right here." She eventually calmed and then had nightmares again around 5:30. My poor sweet baby girl. She woke up telling me she doesn't like the sneaky forest and I don't blame her. She visits this place often and it kills me. She can be exceptionally emotional and very difficult to manage. It requires a ton of patience, which thankfully, I have. (I wonder if that shih-tzu is trying to make a break for it.)  So I decided to go see a movie all by myself today. Getting there would have been easier if Monkey #2 hadn't decided that NOW is the time for, "NO, I do it."  It would have been even more awesome if the Y hadn't changed their Kiddie Country hours which required me to pick them up 20 minutes before the end of the damn movie. $14 for Godiva yum-yums, diet coke and M&Ms for gestating Monkey #3 and me, $5 for a matinee ticket and $34 frickin' dollars to have my kids watched long enough for me to be yanked out of a theatre right at the climax of the movie. Yippy. The girls have been very good for me today. And I only felt moderately depressed on my way home. We laid on the couch and napped a bit. I feel so tired all the time, I don't know if it's just from being pregnant or from the meds or of this weirdness of being that is this evolved and grandiose post-partum depression. Almost supper time and let's pray for an easy night of eat, bathe, sleep. Perhaps later, I'll have a chance to write some more.

The First Precipitating Event: Ephedra- Before the Ban

My weight has yo-yo'd most of my life but going off to college actually made that yo-yo plummet and I lost a lot of weight. No doubt as a result of my extra curricular activities with a group of friends who were very, very wrong for me. I eventually dropped out of that particular college as she and I were not particularly well suited for each other. Having attended small schools my whole life, the sheer size (30,000 students) was exceptionally difficult for me to handle. I mean really, 300 students in my History of Rock and Roll Class? No thank you. I experienced my first bout of depression in Austin, and began seeing a psychotherapist with whom I was not entirely open and didn't really trust so it didn't really help much. This is not related to the ephedra but shows I am predisposed to depressive moments. Assuredly brought on by said extracurricular activities and some of the relationships I had. I am also exceptionally guarded. I moved back to Houston within a year and a half and began working for one of our family businesses. I then began attending U of H, another mistake, soon after. Every summer I was home from Austin, and then when I moved back, I would go to the gym almost every day. I would also take one or two tablets, which were sold commercially as 'diet pills', to increase my stamina and boost my workouts. They contained huge amounts of ephedra, ma huang, guarana root etc. Ephedra was banned by the FDA eight years later and I really wish I'd never taken the damn things. The bottle said to take two, three times a day, which probably would have made me stroke out or have a heart attack. As it was, taking this crap for a year or so brought on my anxiety in a big way. My first panic attack was scary. I was at the gym on the bike, riding my 22 miles when I got dizzy. I got off, sat down by the water fountain and put my head between my knees trying not to pass out. I thought I hadn't eaten enough or that my blood sugar was low. On my way home, I had to pull over 3 times. I nursed some OJ and ate a little chocolate, (chocolate cures everything in my experience) and I recovered. The next day, I went back and began my workout. This one was an epic fail and I left immediately thinking my body was telling me to take a break. Then a true 100%, no holds barred panic attack set in. I made it to a place where I knew a bunch of people, and I was freaking out. I thought I was having a heart attack: heart racing, blurry vision, tingling and sweaty hands, feeling like I was dying. I called my brother to ask him to come get me and take me to the hospital, his exact words, "Dude, you're havin' a panic attack. Just relax, you'll be fine." What? That's it? But I'm dying. I drank some orange juice and ate something more substantial (thinking I'd choke on it) and eventually calmed down enough to go home. I think I sat there for about four hours. I made a doctor's appointment immediately and was seen the next day. I went through a barrage of prods, pokes and an EKG, and I was fine. The doctor then asked me if I was taking any supplements... uh, yup. "OH, well there you go, the ephedra has kick started anxiety and you need to stop taking them immediately. Is there a history of anxiety in your family? There is? Sucks for you. I'll prescribe celexa which is an anti-depressant and helps with anxiety." WHAT? So he shared with me a little research about ephedra that I probably wouldn't have found online as the Internet was practically an infant at the time. Side Effects: a whole lot of really uncomfortable and terribly frightening things that will make you stop taking this crap in a heartbeat. My doctor was from India and was very knowledgeable on the uses of ephedra in holistic medicine, so I threw it out immediately and started taking celexa.

Well isn't this fun! My first week on celexa and I feel totally stoned, have eye tremors and have tunnel vision. (that goes away eventually) So I go to my sister's house to love on my baby niece, one of the best therapies. Soon, I'll be off to live with my parents to run their antique store in paradise... The Rocky Mountains of Colorado. That's where the real fun begins when I'm diagnosed with severe endometriosis and get to go through medically induced menopause... at the ripe old age of 22. Stay tuned...

Depression: So Fickle

You wake up and the world's about to end. Your heart's beating out of your chest, your muscles are all tense. But your sweet little 3 year old is cuddled up next to you in complete and utter blissful slumber. It's 5:30 in the morning. You try to go back to sleep and somehow succeed only to be woken up at 6:30 by your 2 year old calling, "Mommyyyyy, Mommyyyyy. My doddie need mookiiiies." Translation: "Hey, come get me out of this crib so my stuffed doggie (meaning, I) can get some yummy cold milk". You feel okay and you hear your husband climbing the stairs (thank you). Then your heart starts going again and the little one is crying for Mommy. Begrudgingly, you get out of bed and head downstairs to snuggle with monkey #2. As time progresses, and your husband's departure for work becomes imminent, the panic gets worse. After all the hugs and kisses, he tells you to try to have a good day, to relax, and you start crying as he leaves the house. He comes back in the front door and you have a conversation you quickly forget because it involves all the hows and whys and what do we dos. All the while, your 2 year old is rubbing your back and asking you, "you cwying?". Mommy's okay. That's become a well used response around here in the last few days, "Mommy's okay, Mommy's fine."

I manage to get my ass in whatever gear I find available, and go to the YMCA. I need to work out. I do it for a living. I teach people how to Zumba and I love it. Not so easy when you're 22 weeks pregnant though and I haven't worked out in 2, 3 weeks. I see people I haven't seen since my last class, I get in a reasonable workout before Monkey#1 decides not to share with Monkey #2 in the child care thing and Monkey #2 begins to scream like a pterodactyl. We head out for shakes and mac and cheese and Monkey #1 has a massive meltdown over not being able to eat in the car. It results in my prying her from her car seat, taking a few blows and trying to calm her down for half an hour. I also have to take her NickJr.com privileges away for the hitting. Somehow, monkey #2 and I manage a nap while Monkey #1 makes a giant spider web in the kitchen with a ball of yarn. Amazingly, I'm no longer feeling depressed or anxious. (Thanks to the drugs, more on that later). The rest of the day falls into place. A few tantrums, a few me, me, mes and that's mine, mine, mines. Clean up, feed up and the hubs gets home with presents. We love presents. We love Papi.

We (actually my husband) are currently trying to get the monkeys ready for bed. They're running in circles and squealing in laughter and I'm happy, contented and only moderately anxious. Now I face the bedtime routine which really isn't all that bad because Monkey #2 actually likes her crib and falls asleep in an instant. This was my day. It was a fairly good day. The background stories will come beginning tomorrow. And man, does it feel good to write again. Until tomorrow...