The Problems with Therapy

Gimmelwald

Therapy has some difficult hurtles to to leap over. First off, when your depressed you don't even feel like doing the things that you once considered fun, so the idea of a depressed person taking the initiative to get into therapy is pretty far fetched. There is also finding the money, finding the time, getting over the stigma, admitting you need therapy, getting yourself to go every week and most of all finding the right therapist to go to.

There are some real crazies out there and guess what? They are therapists. There are some types of therapy that have limited studies about whether they are effective or not and there are some types of therapy likes psychoanalytic (think Freud) that have plenty of research which shows they are not effective at all. I went to a therapist who was very kind and I liked her personally, but she was obsessed with one therapeutic technique that I found somewhat effective, but mostly just uncomfortable and didn't really help all that much (EMDR). Despite her enthusiasm for the practice, I've since learned that there is very little research about EMDR and so their is no proof it helps. On the other hand, the interpersonal approach as well as behavior/cognitive therapy has been shown to be as effective as medication. Still even with all of this evidence, there are many people out there who weirdly persist in there own little favorite techniques.

Before I went to the above mentioned therapist I had one visit with a guy who drove me crazy. He was like that hyper man on Home Make Over and so fakely happy, that I really couldn't take him seriously. So after one session I realized working with him, was not going to help. But it is so hard changing to someone else. I didn't want him to feel bad and I also didn't want to go over "my story" all over again. With this latest bout of therapy I've had to tell "my story" three times. Rehashing becomes really exhausting. Mix that with the fact that all of this ground work won't result in a long term relationship because we will likely be moving and I found it hard to go in.

When we first got to Durham and after a few months of getting insurance squared away, I sought the help of therapy. once again. The woman I saw was cold, unfeeling and a little hostile. She was convinced that my depression and anxiety (as well as extreme fatigue stemmed from the possibility I had hypoglycemia. This seemed absolutely ludicrous to me based on the fact that none of my blood tests had ever shown me to be hypoglycemic, nor did her little diagnostic quiz show me as having low blood sugar. Still she persisted in insisting that this was my one and only problem. She recommended I got a certain book and refused to help me with therapy or with investigating my medications. Another practitioner blinded by her pet project. I was so discouraged from this experience, that it took me until now to actually find someone who is working.

I still don't like going to therapy. It's difficult to motivate yourself  to go and spill your guts to a complete stranger and bring up hard and painful things. But I want to get better. I want to find ways to change my thinking, my behavior and figure out why all of this is happening. I want to be me again. I want to be happy for me, for Russ, my kids, my family and my friends. And I'm doing everything I can to get there and I know it will be worth it. Maybe someday I'll come up with a way to make effective therapy easily accessible to everyone. As well as a way to match the right therapist with the right person.  

Switching Meds

Where the Green meets the Colorado River

Awhile after being on Celexa, I started having a bizarre twitches, especially in my legs. I started worrying after I saw a commercial suggesting to see your doctor if you experienced twitching, because it might become permanent. Awesome. My doctor suggested switching to Lexapro which has the exact same chemical composition, except the molecule is flipped and is supposedly a "purer" drug. The nasty bit about changing meds, is you have to go through the whole waiting period and hope the next drug works as well as the last. Luckily, I switched over pretty well and didn't have too many "bad" days. We decided after a month or so to switch back to Celexa to make sure the Celexa was causing the twitching (Celexa has a generic, Lexapro does not). Celexa again had the same twitching side effect and so I switched back again to Lexapro. After being on Lexapro for a few months and feeling mostly normal and able to get good sleep again, I was disappointed because I still felt very tired. I went back to the doctor and explained my fatigue and he ordered some blood tests which didn't show anything too abnormal and he gave me a sample of a drug used to treat narcolepsy. I was pretty uncomfortable about trying Nuvigil so I decided  not to take it and keep it on reserve. I suffered through the fatigue for awhile after that, just hoping it would go away. After visiting my OB a few months later she asked me why I wasn't doing therapy in addition to my drugs. I told her I didn't know who to go to and I had asked a couple of doctors for recommendations, but none had any to offer. I felt a little chastened because being in psychology I knew that studies had shown better results when both drugs and therapy are used in treatment. She had a recommendation, Wendy, and she was awesome! (more on that later) I went to Wendy and she suggested trying to add Wellbutrin in addition to the Lexapro, I noticed somewhat of an improvement, so we tried a higher dose. By the time we had tried all of these different combinations, Russ had been accepted to Duke and we moved.

Switching to new insurance, finding a doctor and getting a new appointment took forever. By this time I was horribly sick and tired of being so tired. I felt like a newborn with how much sleep I needed to function somewhat normally. Most of the time no matter how much I slept, what I ate, how much or little I exercised, I was still exhausted. I hated being so tired and physically not being able to take care of the household needs or be as good of a mom as I wanted. My kids watched entirely too much TV and I really hated myself for it. The next nine months were spent trying Prozac with Wellbutrin, Bu-spar all by itself and then finally Zoloft with Wellbutrin. Those nine months were absolute Hell. There were days or months when switching left me back in the horrible, dark hole of depression. I cried uncontrollably several times a day and worried about everything constantly. I couldn't fall asleep many nights and on top of it all I was finding no relief from the horrible fatigue.  Being on Bu-spar was the worst switch. I felt like I was back off of the medicine, which realistically I probably was. Bu-spar looks awesome on paper and has none of the usual side effects of SSRIs (like fatigue), but in practice does very little to actually help with anxiety. I was ready to try anything though, to get rid of this debilitating fatigue. In addition to the drug experimentation we also tried looking at blood tests again as well as a sleep study. Towards last April I tried Zoloft, which both helped my anxiety and depression and didn't leave me as crazily tired. So currently I am on both Zoloft and Wellbutrin. I still feel quite tired, but it's not as bad as when I was on Lexapro. I also got pregnant soon after starting on Zoloft, so I also don't know if the current fatigue is entirely pregnancy related.

Next: The Problem with Therapy  

Dark Abyss

Canyon Lands, Utah

I should have gotten therapy when I was pregnant with Hannah. I should have gotten on medication right after Hannah was born. I can only think that not knowing where to go to with therapy and becoming insanely busy with a newborn and a two year old, kept getting help and taking care of myself far from my mind. I slogged through day after day of just making it through. Being miserable, crying all the time, not wanting to do anything and never being able to fall asleep or stay asleep or nap became the norm. If Gen or Hannah had a tantrum, got sick or did any of the normal complications that come with children, I had a meltdown of my own. I was either too vigilant and immediately burned myself out until I felt crazy or I would be paralyzed with fear, guilt and the feeling that I couldn't handle it. If Russ had to stay late for work, I felt like I was going to have a conniption. There were several times where both girls would be crying at the same time and I would break down with anger and extreme sadness. I would run into my closet, shut the door and have a toddler tantrum of my own. All the while I would be hating myself. I felt like the worst mother on the planet and the biggest failure humanity could find. Sometimes I would get so low, that I just wanted to die. I didn't want to kill myself, I just didn't want to exist anymore. I felt like I was no good for my children, Russ or anyone else in my life. I wondered if everyone would be better off if I'd just disappear. But then those thoughts would scare and shame me and I would feel even more low and more alone. I felt like no one understood how I felt and I had no idea how I was going to go on day after day like this. I knew that nothing was going to ever change and that I was going to have this torturous and monotonous life for the next twenty years. I felt so trapped. I wanted nothing more than to change my life. But I knew that thought was so wrong and looking to other women in my same situation only made me feel worse. They were doing it. They were loving it. What was so horribly wrong with me? Not only was I a bad mom, I was also a bad Mormon woman. Yet through all of this, I hadn't realized I was depressed. I just thought that what I was going through and feeling, was a result of my situation and my inability to be good at it. On one of my many sleepless nights I suddenly had an epiphany. The thought came very strongly, clearly and powerfully that I was depressed. The next morning I took a depression quiz on WebMD and sure enough I was answering yes to all of the symptoms of depression. I'm still dumbfounded that with my psychology background and all of the times I must have read through the symptoms of depression, that I couldn't recognize it in myself. I told Russ later that night that I thought I was depressed and that I was going to go to the doctor again. I'm not sure going to the doctor was any easier this time than the first. I didn't want to admit that I had gone off of my meds on my own, nor did I want to talk about how depressed I was. I don't think anyone relishes the idea of crying in front of their doctor. I don't like crying in front of anyone. I went back on the same medication I was on before. I also asked about any recommendations the doctor might have for a therapist. He sort of blew me off and I got the feeling he didn't "believe" in therapy. So no help there and I let it go and started the pills. Once again they were magic and I was brought back from a horrible place of darkness, despair and loneliness. Best of all I could sleep again. That in itself was miraculous. Suddenly where sleep was the ultimate battle and the thing that constantly eluded me, now simply because the medication had kicked in, I could fall asleep.

Next: The special piece of Hell finding the right medicine can be.   

You Think I'd Have Learned By Now

Me with my Dad's Family-You've got to love my mom's hot, pregnancy dress.

Three months after going on Celexa, I decided to wean myself down and off. I was feeling better, Gen had stopped having such horrible colic and despite the miraculous difference I had seen personally and among some close friends and family, I wanted to be "normal" again and not need the meds. Can we say stupid! Let me say though, you find out pretty quickly that you weren't "addicted" like you had long ago felt. I didn't notice any physical or emotional withdrawals and I was better than I had been before going on the medicine. I think the changes in Gen as well as the nice reprieve from anxiety and depression helped me be ready to face life without the help of Celexa. But if I'm being honest, I should have stayed on the medicine. I think it would have been best in the long run. I did ok until I got pregnant with Hannah. I think the change in hormones sent me spiraling back to that dark, torturous place again. There was a return of anxiety, but more pronounced this time was the depression. I think I was so tired and worn down from all of the anxiety that it finally gave way to bleak depression. My pregnancy with Hannah was harder than with Genevieve. I was more sick and more tired. I think part of that was the fact that I had Genevieve to wake up with and look after. I spent a lot of time on the couch and I felt like crap. I fought hard to get up and take care of Genevieve's needs and take her away from the babysitter that was the TV. But some days I just couldn't and I would spend the whole day loathing myself and feeling horribly guilty that instead of nurturing Genevieve like I good mom should, I was immobile and crying on the couch. I think my friend Tiff was a huge part in getting me through that time. We would go walking every Tuesday and Thursday and she was my therapy. She got me off the couch, got me walking and talking. Russ also was amazing. He did crazy amounts of loads of laundry, cleaning and making meals. He listened to me, loved me and did all that he could to help me. I knew I didn't want to take medicine while I was pregnant. I was so worried that it would hurt Hannah and when I tried to get some advice on therapy and who would be good my midwives were surprisingly unsupportive and unhelpful. Besides my wonderful husband, family and friends, I had to go it alone. Depression makes you feel oh so alone.

Hannah was a sweet baby and as long as she was being held she didn't cry. I can't tell you how wonderful that was. I think 9 months of constant crying created something like PTSD with crying. I still feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin and fly out of the door screaming when my kids whine and cry for a prolonged time. It still took me a long time to get some help after Hannah was born. I think that whole "must breastfeed" and keep meds out of the milk kept help far from my mind.

**Next: I go lower than ever before until I finally re-see the light and get help.  

Magic Medicine

Nana (my grandma), my mom, Acie (my great-grandma) and me

I really didn't want to take medicine. I felt like I was giving up and giving in. I felt like going on meds was admitting that I couldn't solve this problem myself. I was worried that once on it, I'd be forever on it. Meds are tough because it takes at least two weeks for them to kick in and to know if they're going to work. Sometimes results can even take up to six weeks. I think it must be like having horrible, debilitating pain and having the doctor give you a prescription and then telling you, the pain killers will start working somewhere between two to six weeks. Luckily for me, Celexa was prescribed and started working about two weeks after I began taking it.

I was so nervous waiting to see the doctor. I felt like I was going to him to confess some horrible and embarrassing sin. Luckily, he was so gracious. I took a couple of quick assessment quizzes, one about anxiety and one about depression. I was very high on the anxiety scale and also over the threshold on the depression quiz as well. He patiently answered all of my questions and reassured me. I left feeling something I hadn't in a long time, hope.

In two weeks my whole life had changed. Feelings, thoughts and behaviors I had beat myself up over and felt horribly guilty about, because I thought they were my fault, magically disappeared. I suddenly knew that there was something physically wrong with me. Somehow the chemicals in my body had betrayed me and turned me into something I wasn't. The medicine was balancing those chemicals back again where they should be. The medicine didn't turn me into a zombie, didn't make me out-of-control giddy, they simply returned me back to something that resembled my old self. I still had some work to do, because you can get into some negative patterns after being anxious/depressed for so long, but I was so much better. My life was a night and day difference compared to two weeks ago. If you suspect you might have anxiety or depression, don't wait. WebMD has some pretty good quizzes. Visit your doctor. The worst/best they can tell you is that you are fine, but if you are suffering, I'm telling you there is no shame in medicine. Would you refuse medication if you had an infection? I'm guessing not. Many times anxiety and depression is a result of something chemical/physical going on in your body and has a strong link to genes. Sometimes it's because something really horrible happened and that messed you up chemically. Whatever the case, some sort of medicine will help you. Sometimes one doesn't, but there are lots to try. If medicine doesn't help, certain types of therapy can be just as effective. You will feel normal again, you will be happy again and not only will it greatly bless your life, it will help all those around you.

**Next: The relapse--Will I never learn?

I'm Just not the Type (The Truth- No One Ever Is)

I was anything but anxious or depressed growing up. I was always looking for a new adventure. I flew by myself and would join my dad on a business trips or visit my cousins in Washington. I lived by the belief that things always worked out and there was no need to be worried or uptight about anything. I was a serial procrastinator who must have gotten some sort of pleasure out of the rush that came with pulling off a miraculous effort on the eve of a project or assignment due. I worked well under the stress and urgency that followed putting things off until the last minute. This was unfortunately much to the distress of my poor mother.  I was the extremely good and improvising and making due and quite often it really all did work out. I was outgoing, happy and carefree. Maybe a little too much so.

Consequently, it took me far too long to realize that I actually was suffering from anxiety or depression after Genevieve was born. Surely I was not the type that was susceptible to postpartum anything. I was not the least inclined before, so why would that have changed? I reasoned every moment panicking and not being able to sleep the result of "new mother worries". Even when I began worrying constantly about everything from Russ dying in horrible ways, to my family dying, to the baby having SIDS, Russ losing his job, feelings that I was a terrible mother, I was still convinced this was a result of my lacking in self-control. I decided I just needed to figure out this mothering thing. I was extremely upset when I still wasn't finding a rhythm months after Genevieve was born. I had spent so much time plotting and planning how I was going to be the perfect mother. How could I not be succeeding? I had had majored in psychology for goodness sake. And I had always been able to work hard at school or a job and do really well. I wasn't used to feeling like I was constantly failing and that I was never going to get used to my new lot in life. Why wasn't this working? Why was I having such an unbelievably hard time and most pressing, why in the world did I not like it one bit? Not that I would ever admit to anyone else, or most of the time to myself, that horribly shameful admission. After all, this is what I had grown up dreaming about. I had been taught from my own cradle that this would be my greatest job and most fulfilling aspect of my life. It was my eternal destiny and the hope of every Mormon girl. Plus, all I had to do was look at everyone else out there with their babies and children, especially their blogs, to know that they loved motherhood and they had it down to a science.

Finally when Genevieve was about six months old, I had reached my limit. I was freaking out and stressing over every little stupid thing that happened to me, Russ or anyone else I knew. I knew my craziness was being hard on Russ. He was constantly my listening ear and reassured me about every tiny problem. I hated being a burden, especially because he was so wonderful about it all. I couldn't fall asleep and I couldn't stay asleep. I started to dread going to bed. Falling asleep had become a torturous battle that I frequently lost. Imagine the terrible irony when your baby is sleeping through the night, you are insanely tired, and can't get the sleep you so desperately need. I had decided Russ and I had suffered enough. I wasn't just worried, I was clinically anxious. As much as I hated to realize the truth that I needed help, I was going to swallow my pride and see my doctor.

*Tomorrow the magic of the right medicine. . .

Social Leprosy

A few days ago I went to therapy. Supposedly in LA, it is very posh to have a therapist and almost all the cool kids do. Too bad I live in the real world where I'm pretty sure admitting you've gone to therapy is social leprosy. So hopefully I don't loose too many friends over my precarious admission. But I feel pretty strongly that there might just be some of the rest of you out there struggling with anxiety or depression or you most likely know someone close to you who is/has. I also believe that there is nothing wrong with admitting that you have a challenge and that you are doing all in your power to get better. And although I'm pretty sure I'm not going to make much of a dent in eliminating the stigma surrounding mental illness, I refuse to be afraid and ashamed anymore. I can't remember meeting many people who were viewed as tainted or somewhat ostracized when they had bronchitis, diabetes, polio or any other physical illness. Yet somehow, some erroneously believe that mental illness has nothing to do with genes, bad luck or circumstances beyond an individual's control. I would argue, that perhaps with most cases of mental illness, people are far less likely to "bring it upon themselves" than a lot of physical diseases, like Type II Diabetes.   Don't worry, I've felt enough guilt and shame, beat myself up because I couldn't quite "snap out of it", for most of the world combined. Part of the joy of depression is that you're worse to yourself than anyone else could ever be. I was going to get myself out of that dark abyss without any help, if it killed me.

In the next few posts I want to focus on the story of my postpartum depression anxiety and perhaps shed some light on the subject as far as my experience goes. 

Call me Crazy. . .

It's official. Today I figured out that the lovely hospital (Durham Regional) that I will be delivering at, has the hideous policy of "rooming in". Oh they try to make it sound all lovely, dovey and that you will be able to form such a wonderful bond with your infant from the very start. Right, this couldn't be about saving money and resources, no of course not! it's absolutely beautiful to put a mother right to work after she's labored and pushed out a bowling ball at 3AM. I can't wait! What could be better than being absolutely exhausted, messy, sore and emotionally drained and then having no respite from needing to be in the constant care of your baby? Sounds like a dream to wake up, an hour after giving birth, to a crying infant needing another feed, diaper change and a soothing before back to bed. I'm sure I'm going to come home fully recovered and ready to tackle those first few weeks after being alone caring for my baby since birth. This is a brilliant plan! Absolutely genius! I know, I've likely incited some out there, who are far better mothers than I and relish in the chance to be with their baby the whole time they are in the hospital. They probably hate the idea of abandoning their baby to the nursery for the night. If you are out there just take comfort in the fact that you are far superior mother. My hat is off to you. Maybe you could come and be my hospital nursery?

P.S. Did you see the contraband in that woman's hand in the illustration above? Yes, not only do I want a break from my baby, but I might also be committing the unpardonable sin of motherhood--bottle feeding.

Five is a Goodly Age

I like five. I like five on Genevieve and I like it on all those other little munchkins. Five year olds still say it like it is. They are who they are and they make no apologies for it and are rarely self conscious.  I could learn a lot from a five year old. They still believe in magic, Santa and the Tooth Fairy. But I think my favorite part about a fiver, is the funny things that make it from their brain to their mouth.

One fine day, we were riding home and Gen was very inquisitive about accents. She doesn't understand why her teacher talks the way she does or why the other kids in her class follow suit. She was telling me about their morning song that they sing every day and she said very seriously "I don't know why Ms. Sinclair says it Good Mornin', it's Good Morning. The other kids all say it with her too, but I don't. I've got to stay strong." It's very hard not to laugh, but really, I hope she keeps that attitude with all of the other things she's going to be very different with.

Gen was also overheard telling a younger child when asked if she wanted to play, "You know, sometimes when you get older there are things you just aren't interested in playing anymore. Like when you are an adult and you don't want to play with kid toys anymore". 

Christmas Finally!

My silence is being broken. We've had some computer tragedy in the last little while. The desktop appeared DOA and before we left for Christmas, I sadly spilled water on my laptop keyboard (poor, poor Bertha). Having no return button and a possessed keyboard that capitalizes and then uncapitalizes after every tap of the space bar,  sort of kills the pleasure of plunking away. In fact, I've turned into a horrible emailer and as you've witnessed, a very absent blogger. So without further ado here is Christmas which feels like forever away. . .

The Tuesday Shearing

Before

After

The day after I touched down in Utah, I herded myself over to Shep's for my shearing. I couldn't let the guys have all the fun with shaving their heads. I couldn't quite bring myself to that level of bravery, but believe me, I was terrified enough with the prospect of having boy short hair. I wish I could lend some additional support to my Aunt, Grandma and Chris, but I hope they know how much I love them and how often I am thinking and praying for them. Cancer sucks, but they are heroes. Thanks for your amazing examples. Love you!

Bald Friday

We have some pretty great friends from high school and even scattered across the country we manage to keep in touch. Our friend Chris has been diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma. My Aunt and Grandma both have breast cancer. So Russ decided to join with a bunch of our friends on Friday and shave his head in support of those close to us who are going through chemo and cancer. It was a very powerful experience and I feel so grateful to be able to be surrounded by such amazing, wonderful people in my life and I hope those going through such hard times know how much we love and support them and are praying for them everyday.

I told Russ if he keeps his baldness up, he'll probably match his son in a few months.

Russ let me play beauty parlor and I frosted his hair a few days before the shaving

Before

During

The Final Product

The Chambers Move to Georgia!

     
Our family had the best time driving down to visit Marilyn and her family in Georgia. We first met up at the Cabbage Patch Headquarters. The girls loved wandering around and looking at the myriads of dolls and watching the birthing of a new cabbage patch doll. The grown-ups found the birthing and some of the dolls disturbing and the whole thing was a little hokey, but that made it all the more fun. I was ashamedly bursting with laughter when a high school, Jonas Brothers wanabee, was talking about mother cabbage being almost ten leeks dilated and more horrible puns were dropping from his serious mouth.  We finished the evening with a Georgia classic dinner at Zaxby's and then it was off to the Lake house. A rousing session of Uno and the girls watching the Disney channel had to be taken care of before it was off to bed. We spent the next day wandering the lake, watching an impressive band number from the Super Six, complete with a huge stick posing as a bass, rock drums and a guitar made form an old Dorito bag and another stick. We ate at a pretty authentic Italian restaurant complete with slow service and blackened pizza crust, but very yummy pasta. The girls spent the rest of the afternoon going crazy in the jacuzzi and we had a delicious dinner of taco soup. We kept Marilyn up late chatting into the wee hours. What a fabulous weekend. I love this adult version of a sleepover. Now I just need them to come and be our guests so I can return the favor.

Cabbage Patch Baby Land- AKA glorified gift shop :)

Adventures at and Around the Lake House

It's going to be. . .

a boy! We have no idea what to do with one of those, but we are so excited to fumble, I mean, figure that out. And I hope he looks just like this. . .

and acts just like him.

Halloween '11

Disneyworld Oct. '11

Charleston, SC

Magic Kingdom

Animal Kingdom and MGM

Epcot

Magic Kingdom

Savannah, GA

Eno River Outing

The sickness has left my body. And let me tell you, this peasant is rejoicing. I'm still tired as an infant, but it's loads better than puking and moaning and total couch dwelling. This is enabling me to actually want to move past a five foot radius from something reclinable. One such glorious day we headed to the river for some walking and water playing. It was so beautiful, but I missed Luna. She would have loved it.

Southern Saturday

Whew. So between computer severe computer malfunctions, vacation and pregnancy, this blog has been suffering and I'm sure so have you. HA HA. So around a month ago we had what I would consider a southern Saturday. We picked us some cotton, reveled in the good old days of the confederacy while a canon was fired. Genevieve even signed up to join the confederate army. The South has already corrupted her. Pictures to follow. . .

I Hate These Things!

I like animals. I like bugs. I'm even so crazy as to refuse to kill them when I find them in the house. Instead, they get the royal treatment of a carriage ride via a cup and paper, back to the great outdoors. I love North Carolina. It's beautiful here. I love living in a forest and the variety of birds that sing outside everyday. I love how fall is truly fall. I get to enjoy nice full months of mild temps. and beautiful leaves.

What I hate with every fiber of my being are mosquitoes. They are bugs and this fantastic weather has them lingering into November.  I'm pretty sure God could have been talking solely about mosquitoes when Adam and Eve were tossed out of the garden and there was going to be torment instead of paradise. Mosquitoes love to eat me and my children. We can't even go outside and play because we will be eaten alive. Gen and I have the misfortune of being mildly allergic to them. Our little bites swell to the size of golf balls. Hannah has the horrible habit of scratching her bites until she has horrible lesions all over her body. She seriously looks like the plague has found it's way back to her. The bites also cause extreme sleep disruption. We have little visitors constantly waking us up with complaints of severe itching and not being able to sleep. And finally I'm always in slightly panicky, mad state when making our way from the car to the house. I find myself fumbling with my keys and freaking out to get us all inside before the beasts can have their feast. I'm constantly saying, "hurry shut the door before the mosquitoes come in". And then I'm ticked because all of this is because of some practically microscopic creature that provides absolutely no benefit to the ecosystem and are instead harbingers of horrible diseases and maddening scratching. I hate you mosquitoes and if I had it my way, I would obliterate you off the face of the earth forever.  You suck and not in a hot, good vampire way.

An Awesome Surprise

The cute kid, causing all the problems.

Yesterday was a knock-down drag-out fight with "pregnancy sickness". While trying to literally throw Genevieve's sandwich into a bag, I was desperately fighting the urge to puke. I hate throwing up. I avoid it at all costs and I'm pretty good at mind-controlling my way out of the actual throwing up bit. I do not ascribe to the whole "I feel better after I throw up" thing. Yesterday, was a huge exception. No amount of ice on the neck, sitting down on the kitchen floor or psychological tricks kept me from hurling myself to and into the kitchen sink twice in fifteen minutes. I know man cannot survive by bread alone, but how about Zesta crackers?

Genevieve and Hannah have been so incredibly sweet and understanding about this pregnancy. I'm constantly surprised at their attitudes. Genevieve asks if my back hurts periodically (thankfully not yet, but I say yes anyway. Who is going to pass up a massage? Not me!) and then will offer me a massage. They both will fetch me things if I can't seem to find my way off the couch and are weirdly tolerant of my need for more down time. Hannah does seem to still enjoy throwing herself onto my abdomen and generally squishing my belly, but Gen gets it, and constantly tells her to "not hurt the baby" and then she will rush over to me and stoke my face and tummy and give me a kiss on the cheek and ask if I'm ok. They also says some pretty funny things. As I was emptying my innards, Gen was rubbing my back and gave this nugget of info "I'm sorry mom, I guess the baby is getting bigger." She then offered to get me a glass of ice and water. So yeah I have some very cute, sweet nurses at hand. It makes the puking almost bearable. Almost.

It appears as though I'm being kicked, although I can't feel it yet.

Look at those brains!

Fire-Breathing Dragons

I'm not going to lie, our house needs some serious help. There is a lot of clutter and a lot of toys scattered all over the place. Yeah this pregnancy is kicking my trash. It's winning and the house is also winning. Soon the house's goal of having chaos rein will be complete. I get sad because then I don't really want people to come over, because I know I can't make it presentable, but then I remember that I feel disgusting and I don't really want to do anything, but lie still, so I guess the sickness and exhaustion take care of both.

As I said, there is a lot of clutter, so I was completely shocked when one the girls' plastic lizard moved and scurried under the fridge. I've never had a real life lizard in my house. I didn't even know that was possible unless you lived in Hawaii. What surprised me more than our unexpected house guest, was my subsequent reaction. I worked at the Bean Museum for five years and handled turtles, snakes and lizards on a daily basis, but I think I've lost my mojo. After he/she ran under our fridge, I should have turned on the mighty lizard hunter, but instead I was paralyzed with, "I have no clue of what to do". Then we had to leave for church and who knows where he is right now. That thought is so disturbing to me. I realized I'm not exactly worried about him making a home in our home, but I'm worried about him dying in our house. That idea creeps me out! Yikes. So I've found myself not wiping up some minor water spills, hoping that this will keep our little friend from rotting in an unknown corner. I know something is really bothering me when I dream about it and of course Mr. Reptilian, made the dream reel. Apparently he is really a tiny fire-breathing dragon. So if our house goes up in flames, there will be a reason and a positive--My house will finally be tidy and our little dragon is still alive.

Thirty is Feeling Really Old

So it's official. All of the throwing up, feeling like a want to die, being excessively tired is actually not for naught. There is a baby in there. The supreme, all-knowing wheel has deemed the due date to be April 5th, however the magical wand of the ultrasound believes that I am a week behind that. Who knows who will win?! Oh the excitement. I have been so much more sick with this pregnancy. I'm feeling so old and like each pregnancy is rapidly wearing me down. How do people have twelve children? How do people have five? I'm definitely struggling through this third one, that's for sure. Drumroll please. . .here is the first picture of our cute alien child.

First Day of School

First Day (Part day)

I'm still reeling from having a child old enough to be gone seven hours of the day. Genevieve did preschool last year, but I'm still weirded out from having her gone for a good portion of the day. Genevieve has always been an extremely clingy child since the very beginning, so we've been attached at the hip for five, seemingly long years. I wasn't sad when she stepped on the bus, just worried, confused and waiting for this to become normal. She loves school so far and loves riding the bus and my life has certainly gotten easier, but it's still just so bizzare.

First Full Day and First Day on the Bus!

After 1st full day. . . I think she likes it!

Hannah also started preschool. We were all worried, since she has such a rough time with nursery and babysitters. The first day she was stonewalling the teachers and the kids when I left, but no tears. And when I picked her up she was SO happy. She is itching to get to school as soon as Genevieve is off to school. And now I have time every day to myself. Yeah I'm feeling extremely spoiled. This is the life. I'm definitely living the dream.

First Day of Preschool

Not sure about all this

After school-So happy!

Maui

So I have a pretty amazing mom and my kids have a pretty cool Grams. My mom just watched my kids for a week while Russ and I got to hang out in Maui. The girls were absolutely spoiled and did the coolest projects, parties and activities that I'm pretty sure they'll be sad when it's back to the non-Martha Stewart days at our place. I wonder if they'll be asking when we are leaving again. :)

Tennis Bliss

Last week I headed up to Stanford to try and get tickets for a match between Serena and Sharapova. Unfortunately it was all sold out and there weren't even any scalper tickets out there, but I had an awesome time taking in the atmosphere and standing behind the 49er Cheerleaders as ESPN covered the pregame talk between Mary Jo and Patrick McEnroe. I provided a hilarious contrast in my huge floppy hat and sunglasses going crazy behind the perfectly poised and perfectly put-together Barbie look-a-likes in front of me. When I get to my parents I'll have to figure out a way to get the recording off their TV and onto here. I had a great time going crazy and watching myself on TV. Who knew it could be so much fun?! I snagged us some tickets for the semis the following night. We picnicked, took in the grounds and then watched the match. I'd like to say the kids were captivated, but that would be a lie. It was challenging to keep them quiet and watching while still trying to enjoy the match. We found the ESPN booth again and this time the kiddos made it on TV (I think you could sort of see Russ and I). Then we waited around a long time to get our giant tennis ball signed by Mary Jo Fernadez, Serena Williams and Sabine Lisicki. What a dreamy night.