sick-y

I have a sick-y baby.

A fever spiking between 104 and 105, coughing fits shaking her tiny body, a struggle to breathe through congestion, angry cries from achy bones. Poor thing just wants to feel better.

I laid with her across my lap between the hours of one and four am. Wrapping my arms around her waist and neck, snuggling her in the curve of my elbow listening to the rattle of air pass in and out of her body. A pool of warm sweat beads collected on the bed sheets and onto my shirt. Her hair matted from the sticky heat radiating from her forehead. She looked so small compared to me.

I moved us closer to the humidifier, letting the cool air cover her cheeks as I sat up against the wall of my bedroom in the complete dark. My phone sat across the room from me plugged into the wall. I couldn't reach the light on my nightstand and I didn't want to risk waking her from the slumber she finally had found. She shifted slightly and I bounced her back to sleep quickly singing her soft lullabies, hugging her tightly while glancing at the glow of the alarm clock counting the minutes until dawn.

While the rest of the house was quiet I sat alone with my girl. My mind wandered deeper, but I redirected myself off that path. My energy couldn't be spent on THOSE thoughts. I have to use all of myself that I can to make my darling angel better.

I can deal with those feelings later. The wondering if I'll ever be a good enough mother. Wondering if I'm doing all of this wrong. Wondering if I'm hurting my kids by having this career. And MY. GOSH. the guilt. Trying to have both a successful work life and balance the perfect family life. The voice that tells me I'm failing. Trying to keep the peace. Oh, the guilt.

But that's for later. When baby girl is better.

Mommy can get better.

stoplight

It was a dark and cold rainy morning as I sat at the stoplight in a rental car that I've had for far too long. The drops hit hard on the windshield as the wipers swished waves of water to the side. We waited as music from the hipster radio station hummed just under the sound of the rain. The red from the stoplight poured into my seat...

I'm waiting. In a holding pattern. Sitting in an infinite idle.

So much of our future is in the air.... waiting. Waiting for God to make his next move, for the stars to align, and for this chapter to end. It's calming and frustrating to know that THIS will end... eventually. But for now I'm waiting.

I remember back to my teen years, driving solo in my beat up old white hatchback across country roads in the deep of night. Waiting to grow up. Waiting for a husband by my side and babes in my belly. Waiting.

I remember late evening studying at a table in the school library, flipping pages of textbooks and spiral bound notebooks, waiting to graduate so I could marry my best friend. Waiting for our lives to come together as one. Waiting for a career.

I remember sitting on a hospital bed and when the doctor's asked if I was ready. After nine months of waiting for my baby to be born. Waiting for the moment to hear both of their first cries. Waiting for my heart to be full, waiting to be a mother.

I'm not so good with uncertainty. Trusting that a path will be forged and that will be the direction we should go. But it has, it has.

And it will.

I have a husband. I have an education. I have a job. I have two beautiful children. I have so much.

Though, right now, while it feels like it's been forever, I'm standing at a crossroads with an infinite number of avenues ahead. Just waiting for that signal, a sign to move ahead. Waiting.


... And just like that my light turns green and we go.

He just knows

He was restless and wimpering because he didn't want to lay down. It was fast approaching 1:30 as we both rubbed our eyes. I had spent the night before chasing after dreams against my pillow and the morning came to soon (like it always seems to do). He wanted to hug on his airplanes and bang aluminum cars against each other and be a kid, but I wanted him still. I wanted him to slow down.

He slid down the bed on his daddy's side and tried to run off before I called to him. His little body stopped in his tracks and he turned that angel face around to me. He came to my side and then sat in my lap. I rubbed his hair gently and he curled into my shoulder. I rocked him back and forth for a second. My eldest child, my first baby.

I told him how proud I am. I told him how grown up he's gotten, barely a baby... but always my baby.

He breathed a long and satisfied sigh. And his eyes slipped closed. I held him there for a moment longer and then laid him between his daddy and me.

I wrapped my arm around his waist and closed me eyes.

And I breathed my own satisfied sigh.

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all that I can.

Thank you. Thank you for the kind words and compassion. Thank you for the heartfelt letters from those fighting this same battle and those who have walked this path before. I talked on the phone at length with some, exchanged quick text messages with others, each moment a validation of my decision to share this experience online and in a very public way.

If anything, it was nice a nice reminder of what an incredible support system I have.

We had a nice weekend. It was busy, which was good. I got time to spend alone with each of my children. We played and saw friends. We spent a balmy Sunday afternoon at the park after an epic family nap time.

I think I'm okay to say that I no longer fear that this won't get better. I am hopeful that clarity will come and that resolution will soon follow. One thing that did come to my attention over the weekend was how intuitive Nolan is. I always knew he had an empathetic heart, but I realize that I need to be careful how we teach him to use that quality. I don't want him to feel pressured to please others. As that is something that has been heavy on my heart all of my life, I don't want him, or any of my children, to feel expected to do that. This is something that I'm embarrassed that I still struggle with.

He knows when I'm sad.

He knows how to make me smile. That boy, makes my heart sing.

Mostly, I hope that my children will remember a happy childhood with a mother who loved them with all of herself.

I sure do love them with all that I can.

Sometimes the truth hurts

There is an ache in my gut, right below my left lung directly behind my heart. I feel it there, boring deeper into my abdomen like a painfully silent shot gun shell.

My eyes burn, all the time, burning from damming up tears that are on the cusp of free flowing down the curves of my face.

I lie awake at night heavy sinking into the deeper darker, unable to crawl out. I watch the minutes click by on the clock slowly. I let my mind wonder to the what ifs, what if I wasn't here? How many hours will I sleep tonight? Two? Three, if I'm lucky.

Depression sucks.

Anxiety blows.

I hate it.

But this has become my reality.

Part of my brain is broken. My very smart (and super witty) brain, it has a problem. I've wrestled with this mess for a while. Circumstances in my life and past experiences have torn at my soul. While I have so much to be happy for, so much to want to live for, I am sad. I thought I was just going through a rough patch. That once things got easier, once I could get a break that I'd be okay again. But then I realize that it's a pattern. This wasn't my first time on this roller coaster.

I realized that I needed help.

Well, before I realized that I tried everything, EVERYTHING, to solve it. I tried to pray it away. I tried to shop it away. I tried to starve it away. I tried to drug it away. I tried to sleep it away.... but it lingers.

Someone told me that I just had PMS. That person also told me I wasn't taking the right vitamins. Some people have told me I was being dramatic.

I have a wonderful, absolutely amazing and supportive husband who knew that his bride couldn't do this alone and he was scared and unequipped to help himself. He saw this when I broke down in sobs in the church parking lot, when I'd lay in bed until the skies became dark again. But he helped me make that call.

I started seeing a psychologist. She's a firecracker from New Jersey with a gentle spirit. She's helping me face my own ingrained demons. I'm working to break down the walls of false truths I built myself upon. I'm working through this.

I'm on a medication. My brain needs healing. At least a respite from the torture it's brought upon itself. Hopefully, I can see things clearer and the fog will be lifted. Hopefully, I can feel more than just sadness but genuine, real genuine joy. And I can be honest when someone asks me how I am doing, and say I am good. I am okay.

Just Write 1/10

I watched her eyes focus up at me as she sat on the cool tile floor. The beautiful pools of deep blue met mine and she smiled. Her fingers flipped at the nipple on her bottle as she moved it softly to the side and she leaned her tiny body towards mine. She crawled over the cushy white bathroom mat and I felt her warm paws on my naked legs. Her arms just barely long enough to reach the top of knees, her precious hands give them a pat as she says ever so sweetly, "mama."

We giggle for a moment and I sit my hairbrush down to scoop up my baby girl into my arms. Her chubby legs wrap around my hip and I balance her there, her whole body falling into me. We play silly games in the large bathroom mirror under the bright white light. When she smiles I can count her teeth and each of her delicate blonde eye lashes. That dimple, to the right in her cheek, begs to be kissed. I whisper a thousand times in my head, I love you. And I hug her into my chest.

I swing her around and we dance wildly as I glance at the clock, 20 minutes until we have to hit the road. If time could stand still, how I wish it were now.

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Okay

Man, I hope my shrink likes me. Is that weird? Like I'm a little self conscious of what this doctor might think about me, when I'm paying them money to think about me.

What do I wear? I mean, I want to be presentable and put together, but then if I look put together will they think I have it too together and therefore think I'm being trivial? Do I dress to express how I feel? Because I might as well not shower or wear make up and should just wear my pajamas.

I want them to laugh at my jokes, and want to be my best friend. I want them to be mesmerized by my stories and rooting for me, this amazing heroine on this incredible journey. I want them to look forward to my appointments each week because I'm their favorite client.

I want to be the best client that psychiatrist has ever seen!

Turns out maybe I have a problem seeking approval. Who would have guessed?

This season of life has been exceptionally challenging. The other day I apologized to a friend I just met, "I'm sorry you are meeting me now, I am just a little weird at the moment." I am not me, well, not fully atleast. I go through the motions, put on a brave face and cover up the missing parts that have fallen or have been taken, and I want it seem okay. I want to feel like it is okay.

I'm not saying that my past was extra difficult, or even that things in my life are any harder than your own. I know deeply how amazed and grateful I should be that I have been given so much. But I do know that right now I'm not okay to deal with it. My brain just isn't allowing me to be okay.

Up until recently I didn't think it was allowed to not be okay. I can think back over my life at the times that I fell into this cycle and I remember being told by those close to me that I was being dramatic. I had no reason to be sad.

"Nobody is dead, Stefanie," they said.

They thought I was being moody and unappreciative.

"So you are sad, well, stop being sad."

They didn't know what to do with me.

But now, now I have too much to lose to not be okay. I have two tiny people who I am living for. I have a husband who I can't leave because God knows, without me he can't be trusted to dress my kids in the morning in clothes that match. Oh, how I heart him hard.

Now I know that it IS okay to ask for help when you need it. Sometimes we can't get there on our own. Sometimes we need to look back in order to keep moving forward. It doesn't matter if you're the best, the prettiest, and even whether everyone likes you. You're going to fight this saddness like hell. You'll be okay.

I'm going to be okay.