Whew!

We survived the flight.

I'm exhausted.

I miss my husband.

Good night.

Seven Quick Takes – 8/14/09

1. So I should be packing right now. Instead I’m writing a post. Same difference. After all, this post WILL DEFINITELY help me get to my plane prepared, right? I’m actually ahead of schedule right now, because there are actual items of clothing IN THE SUITCASE. This is HUGE because I normally wait until 2 hours before I leave to pack. I am not even kidding. I am the worst packing procrastinator EVER. I just hate gathering everything. Hate it, hate it, hate it. If I could just sit and everything I need would just magically appear before me, I wouldn’t mind packing. In other news, I am very, very lazy.

2. Emily wrote a post about breastfeeding over at iVillage this week. (Warning! The accompanying picture to the article is kinda NSFW. Not sure why they had to show that, because WE KNOW what breastfeeding is, guys.) It was well written and I really loved it because I could relate to a lot of what she was saying. And then, THEN, people started commenting. And y’all, if you want to see my head explode, then just watch me read comments from people saying that you should not have children if you aren’t committed to breastfeeding 100%, even if it makes you more miserable than you’ve ever known. The comments made me want to punch people in the face. GAH! GAH! I absolutely DO NOT understand why people think it’s okay to be so harsh and judgmental over how you feed your child. YOUR CHILD NOT THEIRS.

3. Big Brother! Big Brother! Did y’all watch? Because Jeff straight up used the Coup d’état power, yo! We missed the first half of the episode, so when I came in Jesse and Natalie were on the block and I was practically yelling at Alex, “He used it! He used it,” despite the fact that he was carrying our sleeping child. But I am so pumped that Jesse is gone. SO. PUMPED.

4. Would you like to see a video of my child laughing? Of course you would!

Laughing with Daddy from Cora on Vimeo.

5. Wouldn’t it be nice if Starbucks or McDonald’s or Caribou delivered coffee to your house? That would be AWESOME. Because I’d really like some iced coffee right now, but I don’t want to leave the house. And really, there are lots of days like this, where I’d like to just run out and grab some coffee, but that means I’d have to put make up on. And a bra. (I don’t mean that.) (Yes I do.) (About the bra, I mean. That has got to be one of the most awesome things about staying at home with Jack. SORRY MALE READERS.) So if they could just bring the coffee to me, that’d be great. Of course, I’d probably still feel the need to put make up on to meet the delivery man.

6. Earlier, when I said that there were clothes in my suitcase? They’re not folded or anything. It’s just a big pile of clothes. Both mine and Jack’s. With some burp cloths and towels thrown in for good measure. Just thought I should clarify that it’s not like the suitcase resembles anything that could go on a plane right this second. Maybe the people who deliver my coffee could also iron and fold my clothes for me? Now THAT would be worth the money.

7. Jack has started this annoying new habit of only napping for 30-40 minutes at a time. It really sucks because he is CLEARLY still tired. Sometimes I can rock him and he'll go back down, but other times, he is just UP. And then he can barely stay awake two hours before he goes back down. (We do a hybrid baby-led schedule. I put him down for a nap two hours after he wakes up, unless he is super tired and cranky, in which case I will put him down immediately. I have found this works best for us. It leads to a happier baby and a happier mommy.) It's just no fun. I tried to get him to go back to sleep for 30 minutes yesterday before just giving up. He was simply having NONE of it. But then he was EXHAUSTED later in the evening. I don't really think there's anything I can DO to fix it, but man, it's just a bummer.

Celebration

I had a great birthday yesterday. Alex got up with Jack and dressed him in my favorite shirt. Here he is posing with my gift.

It's a Zip Around Wallet in Pink Cupcake. I actually wanted this wallet in about five other colors, but apparently those are all very popular because Alex could not find any of them. He picked this pattern out himself and he did a great job.

Instead of a birthday cake, I had a giant brownie with delicious cream cheese frosting. I will not tell you how much of this brownie I have already eaten BY MYSELF.


My parents also sent me flowers!

So the florist delivered them while we were out to lunch. And instead of leaving them at the house or taking them back to the florist, the delivery guy left them with our neighbors two houses down. Our neighbors that I do not know. When we got home, I walked down to the house looking forward to a lovely awkward conversation and they were not home. I didn't get them until much later that night. Silly florist.

It was a nice, low key day and a great way to celebrate the first day of the end of my 20's. Y'all, I can't believe I'm already 29. I just don't feel like I'm in my late 20's, like AT ALL. It really blows my mind to think that I'll be embarking on my third decade of life in 364 days. In many ways, I still feel like a child. And most days, I feel like an awkward teenager. Like I'm playing at being an adult. And yet here I am, a wife and mother and 29. It's not how I imagined it and would not have been what I planned. But you know, I'm okay with it.

Year 29

Today is my birthday! There's still a good hour and a half left to celebrate, so I will leave you with an excellent picture circa 1994. I was actually still 13 when this photo was taken. It is really blurry and for that I apologize but we weren't even freshman in high school yet. And this was BEFORE digital cameras. So it's not a surprise it did not come out as planned. But! It's still good times and worth a laugh.

BEHOLD:


Less depressing blog content to come tomorrow. I promise!

Depression. It Sucks. Part 1

Sometime during my junior year in college, I began to fall apart. I am not sure when exactly the depression started. But it had certainly taken its hold on me by the time Christmas break ended. I distinctly remember not wanting to go back to school. And this, my friends, was a big deal. I loved school. LOVED IT. I totally made fun of the goofy rules and traditions at Ouachita, but I adored that school and my friends. So it was A Very Big Deal that I did not want to go back. I secretly thought about dropping out, but the super student within me did not let that happen.

I went back to OBU with a heavy heart and little motivation. I had 15 hours that semester, including a tough religion class with one of my least favorite professors. He liked to call on people and ask them difficult questions and then laugh at them when they said the wrong thing. Not my idea of a good time. I was always really anxious whenever I entered that classroom. In addition to this, he also had a really strict attendance policy.

One weekend early in the semester, I drove to a nearby town to see my parents who were visiting some friends. My mom knew something was wrong and I cried on her for a while. I tried to explain to her how empty I felt. I think my words probably failed me and I don’t exactly remember how I described my feelings. I just remember that she cried with me. (Have I mentioned I have a great mom?) Saturday night, I got sick and it was worse Sunday morning. I wound up having to stay the night and came back to school Monday afternoon.

And guess what class I had on Monday morning? Yep, the tough religion class. I had missed one. I am not sure what the consequences were for missing one class, but I remember being very, very, VERY stressed out about it. I even spoke with the professor about it. To his credit, he was a nice guy, but stood firm on his rule. (Whatever it was, I really have no idea.)

I continued sinking deeper and deeper into despair. I dropped that religion class because I couldn’t handle the stress of attending or the consequence of missing that one class. I continued going to my other classes because of my previously mentioned compulsion to excel in school, but I barely made it through the classes. My mind wandered. I avoided people. I began thinking dark thoughts about death and suicide. It seemed as though I was being enveloped by a cloud of darkness. I know that sounds terribly dramatic, but it’s the only way to describe it. My thoughts and feelings were getting darker and more desolate each passing day. One Sunday after church, I reached a new low. I drove out to Lake DeGray thinking that I should drown myself and be done with it. What was the point? There was no reason for me to live anymore. I might as well stop breathing.

Fortunately, I am TERRIFIED of water and couldn’t bring myself to do it. The fear of drowning outweighed my desires to die and I eventually went back to campus. But that moment changed me. I had spent hours sitting in a parked car by a lake thinking about dying. About actually jumping in and sinking. Just letting go of this life. I knew I was racing towards very dangerous territory and I did not know how to stop. Perhaps the most disconcerting part is that I did not WANT to stop. I figured I might as well keep going down this path because my life was useless. (I am also pretty sure this was Super Bowl Sunday. I remember missing the Super Bowl party and avoiding my boyfriend at the time because I was at a loss as to how to explain myself or my situation. I was also convinced that my life was worthless so why would anybody care? I now face Super Bowl Sunday with a deep sense of dread and fear EVERY YEAR.)

Again, let me emphasize that I had GREAT friends. GREAT FRIENDS. It was not like I was surrounded by negative, unsupportive people. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. I was in a positive nurturing environment. But I was not letting anybody in at this point. Nobody knew. Nobody. And I was going to keep it that way. I don’t know if it was because I was embarrassed or ashamed or what. But there was no way I was going to tell anybody what I was thinking about or going through. I knew what I was feeling felt wrong and that scared me. Depression is such an odd experience to describe. Because objectively, nothing had changed. On the outside, everything seemed to be going great. I even started wearing make up that semester in order to overcompensate for my lost feelings. I looked better than ever on the outside, but was worse than ever on the inside.

One day, I realized I had spent the entire day thinking of ways to kill myself. I began wishing that I would have the guts to end it all. I was ready for it to be over. I often envisioned myself out in the middle of a body of water with nothing and no one around me. I was drowning in my own life. I wrote a strange, terrible poem where I described myself as being suffocated by a wet blanket. (Yeah, I have no idea.) I just remember that as I sat at my desk in the math department on that fateful day, it suddenly hit me that I was going to DIE if I didn’t do something. If I truly believed there was nothing left to live for, then I was going to stop living. And just as I had always envisioned myself in the water with nothing around me, I could now see a little light. It was a very small, very teeny tiny light. But it was almost as if I could hear a small voice telling me that there was hope. That things would get better. That I should go on.

So! I figured I should probably talk to somebody about all of this. I was pretty sure the only way I was going to make it to that little light in the lake of my despair was to get help swimming towards it. I made an appointment with the counselor on campus who was immediately concerned when I told her my situation. She gave me a diagnostic test confirming what we both already knew: I was experiencing depression. She suggested I inform my parents and visit my physician. She felt as though I could benefit from medication. I knew very little about anti-depressants at that time, but she encouraged me to talk to my doctor more and make an informed decision about whether or not I should take them.

I fearfully called my parents to tell them that I was pretty sure I was mega depressed. My mom scheduled an appointment with my doctor and I drove home that next weekend. He prescribed me Paxil with little question. He was very concerned that I was going to hurt myself and made me promise multiple times that I would find someone to talk to if I began to think about hurting myself in any way. My mom got my prescription filled and I began taking my first anti-depressants at the ripe old age of 20.

I made true on that promise to talk to someone and continued seeing the counselor on campus. It was my first time in therapy. I don’t remember her name or much about her other than she was really nice and had blonde hair. It’s funny how little you can remember about people who made such a big impact on your life. She was very helpful and we worked on different issues that were contributing to my depression. Between my sessions with her and the Paxil, I made it through that difficult time.

A Brief History of My Neuroticism and/or Quirks

Let's talk, shall we? Here's some background that I feel as though will help you (and me) better understand my experiences over the past year.

When I was a kid, I would get down on my self for things that weren't really a big deal. Mostly my grades. I quickly figured out that I excelled in school and sought out affirmation and approval from my teachers and parents through good grades. As a result, I put needless, endless amounts of pressure on myself throughout my school career. Because who was I if I didn't make good grades? I was no one! I wasn't pretty or popular or athletic or edgy. I was a big ol' nerd and that was my Thing. Live up to my own ideal or die.

I remember being unable to sleep one night because I thought I was going to get a “B” in a class. That’s right. A “B.” Not a “D” or an “F.” A “B.” And I was pretty young at this point. Probably in the 5th or 6th grade. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, I got up and wrote a big, long note for my mom to find in the morning. The missive was about a friend who had gotten a “B” on a test and not that many “A’s” on her homework, and she was wondering if she could still get an “A” average the class? I was so sly. It’s a wonder my mom ever saw through such a complicated ruse. My mom, being the loving and kind woman that she is, assured me over and over and over again that “B DID NOT EQUAL BAD.” I disagreed. Wholeheartedly. (I wound up getting the “A” in that class, by the way. Anything less was unthinkable.)

I feel as though it’s important to note that I held no one else to these ridiculous standards. My friends could get whatever grades they wanted. I didn’t care. Good for them! I envied them and their ability to let stuff go and just live their lives so carefree. Meanwhile I was doing math in my head over what kind of grades I needed to get and hording poetry about death and wearing black. Like that Edgar Allen Poe guy. He was so dark. He knew how life sucked. He understood. (Insert eyeroll here.)

My freshman year of high school, I struggled in Geometry. I had to work very, very hard to squeak a “B” average in the class. I went to tutoring during lunch and was constantly asking my teacher and friends for help. I just wasn’t getting the subject matter and I was distraught. And I do mean DISTRAUGHT. One morning, the stress and guilt took over me and I completely and totally lost it on the way to school. My mom was still driving me to school at the time and she did her best to comfort the blubbering, red faced mess in the passenger seat. I became so hysterical by the time we reached school that she drove through the circular driveway in front of the school and went home. And people, my mom NEVER LET ME MISS SCHOOL. EVER. She always made me go even when I felt really sick. You know what I’m talking about? One of those mean “throw up or go to school” moms. So for her to think that I was too upset to go to class means that I was TOO UPSET TO GO TO CLASS.

Social situations were not much better. I was a wreck before we went to church EVERY SINGLE TIME. And we went to church A LOT. Every Wddnesday night. Twice on Sundays. I went on countless youth group activities and trips. And I thought I was going to throw up each and every time I entered the church doors. Social anxiety, much? Basically, I was scared of people. Like, SCARED of them. I'm not sure what I thought they were going to do to me. These were, after all, NICE people. No one in the youth group was ever mean to me or bullied me. And yet, I was terrified of half of the group. Things got better as I got older, but I could never shake that anxiety. Even as a senior in high school, the time when I was supposed to be at ease and happy to be the oldest, I was still so nervous before any type of social activity. And don't even get me STARTED on the stresses of where to sit in church after youth choir. Talk about a social nightmare.

By the time I entered my senior year of high school, I felt stuck in my role as the quiet, shy, smart girl. I was determined to go far, far away from these people and start over. There are a few other reasons I wanted to head out, but the main reason was to discover myself. Even I knew I was stifling myself in my hometown. And it was time to move on and conquer my social and academic fears on my own.

Seven Quick Takes - 8/7/09

1. I love driving by myself. But put me in a car with another person and I am a nervous wreck. One time I drove a guy who worked as a driving instructor and it was like I had never driven before. I may or may not have almost run off of the road. And cut someone off. And run a red light. It was bad. But when I’m alone? I’m golden. This used to be one of my great stress relievers back in the day. I’d hop in the old Sentra (oh how I miss your ugly ’94 awesomeness!) and crank up some music and just drive. It was wondrous. Glorious. Tremendous. And any other “ous” adjective that you can think of. I’d often sing a lot of Dixie Chicks and Fiona Apple at the top of my lungs while driving on some back country roads. It really helped me clear my mind and just enjoy some good, solid Cora time.

2. In honor of this love, I took out our new car for a little spin Monday night. Jack was down for the night and Alex was all, “Go! Enjoy yourself!” I didn’t really want to go very far, but I wanted an Icee. (It’s an addiction. A real, sad addiction.) I thought I was really smart because I went in the store with just the sleek Honda key and a single dollar bill in my hand. And I splurged with 32 ounces of Coke and Cherry goodness mixed together. I waltzed on over to the cash register to pay feeling all hip and cool and independent again. (Because the GAS STATION is where I go to feel “hip” and “cool” and “independent.”) And the guy rang up my Icee and it was…$1.17? What? Huh? Aren’t they, like, 85 cents? Nope. Turns out that promotion is over. And you know, I had nothing with me but a Honda key and a dollar bill. I dug in my pockets for change even though I KNEW I only had a HONDA KEY AND A DOLLAR BILL. So I was all, uh, let me run out to my car for some change. And the incredibly kind woman behind me stopped me. “How much do you need?” And she gave me a quarter to pay for my Icee. She refused the change and told me to put it in the bucket for donations to the children’s hospital. So thank you nice lady at the gas station on a Monday night with the super cute Vera Bradley wallet!

3. I drove home from the Icee debacle feeling pretty stupid. I called Alex to tell him the story, but he didn’t answer. So I decided just to enjoy the drive home. Relax. Whatever. The lady gave me the quarter. I’d do the same for someone else! No big deal! People can’t afford stuff at stores all the time! As I was about to turn onto our street, I noticed it seemed a little…dark outside? Shouldn’t there be more light? Oh wait, did I just drive to the store AND BACK without my lights on!? NO LIGHTS? AT ALL? And no one noticed! Nobody did the friendly light blink thing. I had no idea AT ALL. The inside lights in our car light up all the time, so it creates the illusion of lights being on. But they are NOT ON. I was pretty thrilled to get out of that car unscathed from my idiocy.

4. And when I got home? I realized I had 30 bucks in my back pocket.

5. I’ve wanted to get Jack an exersaucer for at least a month now. Every time we went anywhere that sold anything remotely related to exersaucers or jumperoos, I HAD to look at them. I knew they recommended them for four months and older, so I kept myself from buying anything. UNTIL NOW. We went to Target last night with gift cards in hand and I was SO EXCITED to buy a freaking exersaucer. I’ll let Alex tell the whole story, but we eventually decided on this hideous creation.


Yes, it is U-G-L-Y. SUPER UGLY. But if you had seen the joy on that child’s face the second we put him in it in the store…well, you would have bought him the ugliest, gaudiest toy in the world too.

6. Part of staying at home with a small kid is that you never have any idea what day it is. EVER. I thought it was Wednesday all day yesterday. I finally figured it out when Alex came home from work. I was all, “Wait a minute! It’s Thursday!” And he was all, “Yes? Duh?” And really, it’s like this every day. I’m always asking what day it is and always surprised by the answer. The same is true with dates. In fact, I originally titled this post with the date of “6/7/09.” Yes, that’s right. I briefly thought it was June. So my birthday is next week, right? And every morning this week, I have logged onto Facebook and noticed some notifications and thought, “Oh? Is today my birthday?” EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. And every single day, Facebook has told me that, no, today is not your birthday, MORON. I can’t even grasp the idea of when my OWN BIRTHDAY is happening, people.

7. I bought new work out shoes! I am really excited to start using them. Especially since I haven't worked out in almost a month. I'm not sure how that happened. One minute we went to Louisiana and the next it's August. So who knows! I'm sure my trainer is going to be THRILLED with me. THRILLED.