Not the kindest day

I've been running and it's making a huge difference. I think. I guess there's not much I can do about afternoons like this one, where my big kids sleep nearly three hours and my baby is waking up every 15 minutes. Running can't really help THAT sort of rage. 

But last week I was getting The Twinges. Let's review: my personal brand of mental illness manifests itself as Fear, both physical and mental. So I started feeling the tension in my shoulder blades and the dread in the pit of my stomach and my thoughts started going to Dark Places and I thought: hmm. Should probably go running. 

Last week I was proactive and hit up all my Anxiety Prevention Resources and I'm feeling better, mostly because I've slogged through a half hour on the treadmill for three days in a row. It's not a long time, it's not very fast, it's certainly not pretty, but I'm pretty sure that this will do the trick. If I'm consistent. 

That's been the problem - there is NO consistency in my life ANYWHERE. For a while I thought, well, I'll just run whenever I finally get the baby down. But even when I DO get the baby down, I can't relax, because her MO is to wake up after 10 minutes and start complaining. And I was remembering that the only thing that made running a HABIT last time was knowing that that half hour was a half hour BY MYSELF. It's one thing to go outside and listen to very loud, very vulgar music and recharge - it's quite another to listen to that vulgar music while also trying to figure out what the big kids are asking for while I'm on the treadmill, and oh, is that the baby I hear on the monitor? 

What I decided is that I'm going to run when Phillip gets home from work. It is the ONLY consistent thing in my life right now, that eventually, even if it's not the same time every day, he WILL come home from work. I'll run into a problem in a few weeks when he goes on his business trip, but I'll make another plan for that week. For right now, this is going to work. 

Phillip, who gets stressed out when I tell him I'm stressed, does NOT get stressed out when I just tell him what I need. So I say, "I'm feeling anxious so I'm going to start running when you get home from work. You're in charge of feeding the kids." And he says, "I can do that." WHICH IS AWESOME.

It won't always be like this. I'm hopeful that eventually Emma will start napping at regular-ish times, and then I'll be able to revise everything and we can have dinner as a family again. Right now it's not the most important thing. 

Speaking of Emma. BLARGH. So I am very much seriously considering leaving her with Phillip when I go to Palm Springs with my friends at the end of this month. The reasons being:

• Phillip will have been out of town all that week. Single parenting Mon-Thurs, then single parenting all weekend does not sound like an awesome time. 
• I am not at ALL worried about other people taking care of her. 
• The big kids can go to grandparents' so Phillip would only even have to concentrate on HER.
• She'd be safer at home, away from any plane germs. 
• She'd stay on whatever "schedule" she has. 
• I'd have more fun with my friends and THEY wouldn't be woken up in the middle of the night by a snarffly hungry baby. 
• I think it'd be good for Phillip to spend this time with Emma on his own. 
• I'd be WAY less stressed about traveling. 

My con list has exactly one thing on it:

• I WOULD MISS MY BABY.

So. Have not decided. I mean, I think I HAVE decided, I just don't want to ADMIT IT because OH THE GUILT AND ALSO ALL THE MISSING OF MY BABY.

Actual Real Life Dilemma That I Do Not Think I Am Blowing Out Of Proportion For Once

Here's something I learned in the last year - last fall, to be precise: my body will turn on me, in the form of anxiety, EVEN IF I am 1) eating well and exercising as regularly as I can manage 2) not experiencing any larger-than-average outside stressors 3) everything is going well in my family life 4) everything is going well in the REST of my life. Even when I am at the height of my healthy game, even after training myself to notice and manage/conquer anxiety triggers, even when there is really nothing going on that would naturally make me anxious I WILL GET ANXIOUS. Especially in the fall. Huh!

This is why I decided, after eight years of doing it on my own, to bypass the stigma and the sense of failure, and go straight to the meds. And AMEN. And once I got pregnant? After two pregnancies that verified my own personal health fact that I will be nuttier during pregnancy than at any point in the six months after I give birth? MORE PILLS, PLEASE. To hell with stigma; the difference between my raving, loonypants, irrational fears Molly pregnancy and this simply-physically-uncomfortable pregnancy is HUGE.

But now I am trying to figure out if I should wean myself off of them before/around-ish Third Baby's birth. WHAT DO YOU THINK? 

I've been fine taking them during pregnancy because 1) my doctor says it's fine and 2) I know I'd be a mess. I am LESS fine with taking them while breastfeeding because 1) people generally seem to frown on that and 2) I'm pretty sure I WOULDN'T be a mess. The last two times I had a kid was an Instant Anxiety Fix, I'm not exaggerating at all. With Jack it stayed away for a good six months, with Molly it was two YEARS (I think because I was running. Just a theory.) 

I wouldn't worry about the breastfeeding thing. I'd be fairly confident in my hormones for a while. I also think I would have an easier time losing weight/not eating everything in sight if I weren't on meds. (Shallow? Perhaps.) I could see how long it takes this time to revert to, uh, normal. And if I felt anxious again there is no doubt I would go racing back for a prescription, because I am OVER doing this on my own OVER OVER OVER. 

My fear with that is ... things are fine right NOW. I've read a lot of stories where people have a hard time going back on the meds (and to be honest, the whole first month or two BLOWS) and sometimes the original one doesn't work and blah blah blah. I know that even if I keep doing what I'm doing there's still the possibility that I will need to change it up, but it actually feels pretty frightening to start all over again. And I am pretty sure I will need to do that at some point. 

I could, perhaps, just decrease my dosage after the baby is born. I did increase it just a bit when I got pregnant (because I am from Opposite Land, where the post-partum insanity happens WHILE pregnant.) I suppose a missing piece of information is: how much WOULD it affect the baby? I am loathe to google this. I have a doctor appointment tomorrow, will ask then.

If I had good reason to think I would be anxious after giving birth I would happily - CHEERFULLY! - put this kid on formula and go on taking my meds. I have no issues with formula, other than it being Not Free and also Bottle Washing Sucks. Breastfeeding, even though I never really grew to love it, REALLY worked for my lazy butt. And it IS better for the baby and YES I want to do what is best for my baby, but what is REALLY best for my baby is to not be CRAZY. 

Right now I'm leaning towards going off the meds and Seeing What Happens. But I am not feeling particularly brave about it. I am pretty intimidated by the day, even if it is two years out, when I will be anxious again and have to go through this whole rigamarole again. I would love to know if you've found yourself in a similarish position and what you decided. Aaaaand GO!

Antsy

Oh you guys, I am losing my mind. Seriously. It wasn't until I got the reminder phone call this afternoon that I remembered I have an appointment tomorrow. THE appointment. The one where you find out, if you're lucky, if you're having a boy or girl. And I immediately lost my, uh, fabulous cool, because 1) Phillip was supposed to come with me and there'd be no way to make that happen on such short notice and 2) I had no babysitter. So of course the first thing I do is tweet my panic. AS YOU DO. 

But a few frantic phone calls later it all resolved itself. My husband did not need any help cluing into the Importance of this appointment and cleared his schedule and checked the bus times and will be there. AND my sister is available to watch the kids. Guys, it totally pays to be related to someone who works a baker's schedule, FYI. 

So everything is worked out, but I am sitting here feeling more anxious than I have in months, and I don't really know why. I think part of it is just how little attention I've paid thus far to Third Baby. Thanks to the meds taking care of The Crazy, this pregnancy has most resembled my Jack pregnancy, in that I've had barely any sickness, barely any noticeable pregnancy Stuff, and, like both of my previous pregnancies, I still look like I've eaten too much cake, not pregnant. (People say "you're barely showing!" like this is a good thing, but I know that what they REALLY mean is that I just look like a fat girl, not a pregnant girl. And when half of what I'm wearing is Pre-Jack-Pre-Weight-Loss clothes, how can I blame them?) (And WOE, to think half my "maternity" clothes were MY REGULAR CLOTHES.) 

Whoa, hello tangent! 

Anyway. That's part of it. Just knowing that The Appointment is tomorrow and I haven't really enjoyed my previous appointments. I don't LIKE seeing all the insides and the measuring makes me antsy and it's uncomfortable and you never know what sort of This Could Be A Horrible Thing But We Won't Know Until The Baby Is Born Surprise! they're going to stick you with at the end. 

Another part, I think, is how many people have lost babies in the last few months and how I am not one of them and the guilt is... I don't know. I have been praying for those babies and mothers and I just feel so sorrowful about all of it. The injustice. I'm thankful I can feel Third Baby bobbing around in there, and then wondering why I've been blessed with three - so far - totally uneventful pregnancies. And it's not all sympathy, you know. I'm totally the person who wonders when the other shoe is going to drop, so it's fear too. How far will my luck go? 

The rest of the anxiousness is the typical irrational stuff I come up with when I'm already in the Irrational Place. Things that did not bother me yesterday, but suddenly seem huge and overbearing tonight. Things that are stupid, or have a .0000003% chance of actually occurring, or things that I just MAKE UP. All that is getting to me tonight too. 

I WOULD be drinking a nice glass of wine right about now, but I'll have to make do with left over birthday cake, the Kindle, and staying up until The Good Wife season finale. Also a back rub from Phillip. 

P.S. I think we are going to find out! I was still very much on the fence, until I started asking Jack and Molly if they wanted a brother or a sister. Turns out they think they are going to get their OWN baby. As in, Molly would like "a sister baby" and Jack is going to have a boy baby and I haven't quite been able to explain that 1) there is only ONE baby and 2) we don't get to PICK which one we want and it occurred to me that it would be nice to just KNOW and stop the whole "what kind of baby do YOU want!" nonsense. I'm calling it "managing expectations".

P.P.S. We've had the names picked out since the beginning. I know. We are superstars.

P.P.P.S. My guess is: boy

Self-advocate

Today I called my doctor's office about bumping up my anxiety meds and I just got off the phone with the nurse and now I have to write about it. I'm sorry. 

I just... ARGH I AM GOING TO CRY. Okay. So. In October and November I went through the whole experimentation phase of meds, where you have to figure out what dose works and it takes a long time for everything to kick in and no one really has any metric for you to measure anything, you're just supposed to wait and see. Which kind of sucks, but whatever, I powered through and by the end of November, early December I felt awesome. I was feeling like: WHY DID I WAIT SO LONG. AM HUGE IDIOT.

And I continued to feel great until six weeks pregnant when: BOOM. It was like I was taking nothing. And for me, this was just more evidence that the anxiety I'm dealing with at this stage of my life is due, in large part, to hormones. This is where I get to the Justification part. I am not anxious about a new baby, no more than the average woman anyway. I'm not anxious about how much we have going on in our lives, no more than average. When I tell friends about this I have to distinguish between Normal Person Anxious and Chemically Unbalanced Person Anxious, because people don't get it. And I can't expect them to. It makes absolutely no sense to just wake up with a pounding heart and short breath for no reason whatsoever. And to spend your whole day combing through your life to see if there IS a reason and anxiety is the wake up call (because it WAS a wake up call six and seven years ago) but no, you've gone through all the possibilities and even considering the most upsetting things happening in your life have no effect on the physical feelings. You just feel NERVOUS. You have stage fright, but there is no stage. The tension in your back becomes painful. You are taking deep breaths, but they don't work. You're dead tired in the afternoons, but you can't sleep because your muscles are whirring and your heart is in your ears. And the whole time YOU ARE NOT WORRIED ABOUT ANYTHING. I know. It does not sound right at all. But I can't think of another way to describe it.

It wasn't always this way. There used to be Extreme and Hard Core Reasons for my, ah, "episodes" but you guys, I am a completely different person. I am. I have done everything I can think of to counteract my 9 Out Of 10 Highly Anxious Personality Traits. I no longer need anxiety as a wake up call. If I were a saintlier person I would venture to say that I am a better person because of anxiety, though honestly, if I could do it all over I'd choose to do without it, thank you. 

When I first asked for the meds I did my best to give my doctor the short story. To say I've done all the personal examination, that it really and truly feels like something else now, something I have no control over. I can eat well, I can exercise, but I can't control hormones and I can't control the seasons. I needed help and my doctor, bless her, was only too glad to help me. 

She is this time around as well. But asking for help is so incredibly hard. The first time, at six weeks, it was only hard because I hated to call the office and talk about it and ask and deal with the assumptions about depression and pregnant women and blah blah blah. This time it's hard because it feels like I ALREADY bumped it up, and it's something I ideally wouldn't even be taking. And when I talked to the nurse today and she listened to me say that I felt like I went through another little increase in hormones - because my nausea, which had disappeared as well, ramped up again - and the anxiety was back and I knew I was ALLOWED to take more, so I was ASKING for more, and I was trying so hard to sound rational, like I knew what I was talking about, that I wasn't being irresponsible or avoiding my own issues... she said, "Oh, are you just feeling a little down?" 

And that's when I wanted to cry. Because HELL YES I AM FEELING A LITTLE DOWN. But that is not why I am requesting an increase in medication. I am requesting an increase in medication because even though I'm not a doctor or a pharmacist, I feel like I know what I need, I feel like I know what's going on with me. And I know what happened the last time I was pregnant and anxious, and how I told my husband I would not put us through that again. 

I realize it's totally unfair of me to just want the nurses to trust me or understand me or think I make sense or whatever. She was NOT being condescending or blowing me off, I think she was genuinely trying to help me because I'm terrible on the phone and who KNEW what I was actually saying. I totally get that I'm just another patient, one of many who's probably on drugs, and that they work from the lowest common denominator. The nurse was actually being really nice to me, but when she asked me if I was "just" a little "down" I felt the culmination of all the exhausting work it is to deal with this. To not be depressed, but require depression meds. To have to constantly say, "it's anxiety, but it's not really ABOUT anything, not this time anyway". To have people be confused because seriously, it's confusing! To have spent so much time concentrating on it, learning about it, working on it, and needing to start at the beginning when I ask for help. 

I used to never write about this. Or if I did, it was very vague. I didn't mention it to my family, not if I could help it. And it was hard for Phillip so I tried not to say much to him either. But I'm sort of tired of being embarrassed by it or feeling like I'm inherently messed up because of it, and not mentioning it when people ask me how I'm doing. Yeah, a lot of people don't know what to say and maybe it's awkward or maybe I come off like one of those people who can't talk about anything but their own mental health (although I hope not), but if I hadn't started talking about it I would have never had the conversation with my mom earlier, where she turned into my biggest cheerleader and encouraged me to finally call the doctor. 

Right now my kids are being CA-RAZY and I do not think their voices could be higher or faster. The entire house is a disaster. I can't remember the last time I really cleaned anything. I'm tired and Phillip has a meeting tonight. I have no idea what we're going to eat for dinner, and why yes, I have spent the last half hour ignoring my kids to write a blog post I'm not sure I should publish. But we're all okay. HONESTLY. Everyone's happy, bedtime will come soon, tomorrow is another day - see, I'm like wired AGAINST depression. 

I'm just wishing I didn't have to explain so many times. Especially when the explanations often sound fishy to ME. 

Because I know you were dying for an update on the Krazy

I thought I would tell you that I am feeling better. Much much better. Not 100% better, but enough better so that I am back to feeling like December is just another month (albeit one filled with sugar everywhere I look) and not The Month That Drives Me To Therapy And/Or Hard Liquor. Which is nice!

I credit the pills. I certainly can't credit my excellent diet or commitment to exercise or getting to talk to my husband more than once every three or four days. It has to be the pills. 

But I still have very mixed feelings about the pills. I still don't understand them, although understanding the pills is only part of a much larger thing I don't understand, which is how it's possible that brain chemicals affect how you FEEL. I can understand broken arms, stomach flu, headaches, even things like cancer to a certain extent. But I still do not really understand how I can be so very incredibly horribly nervous, more nervous than my most nervous moment ever - the hour before my first debate in high school - and not have a good reason. Oh, SOMETIMES I can fish a reason out of my murky clot of non-linear memories, sometimes I can find one in a particularly stressful moment in the last week or two, but other times? THERE IS NO REASON. I swear it. I feel like people can't possibly believe that, but I'm not exaggerating, I'm not making it up. Cold sweats out of nowhere. Panic, dread, instant shoulder tension, and all the while I'm thinking, "WHYYYY???"

I understand medicine for sickness. You can't do anything about sickness and medicine is what you need. But why do I need medicine for feelings? Shouldn't I be able to do something about FEELINGS?

I had a lot of reasons for resisting meds, but a big one was: there HAS to be a reason. I must be doing SOMETHING wrong. I can't just be anxious out of NOWHERE. I felt like taking meds would be just masking my Real Problem, whatever that was. So I delved into all the possibilities, I really did, and you know what? Still anxious. 

So I got my prescription, I stared at it for a long time, I filled it, then I stared at the pills for a long time. I wondered how they would make me FEEL. How did they WORK. Would I feel better, but only artificially better? Would they affect my other feelings? Would they mask anxiety I NEED to feel? Would they make me happier? Cheerier? More talkative? Less inhibited? Would I still be me? Could I still be me if I was taking medication to make me FEEL differently? 

I started taking the pills. I had a very rocky start. Probably not as rocky as some, but for a while I was pretty sure they were making everything worse. But I also thought that I was really good at making everything worse on my own, and I gave them more time. 

I am so glad I did. 

I feel like myself, only not as anxious. I still feel a little anxious every so often, but not at a level where I'm particularly annoyed about it. And there are more and more days when I feel absolutely fine. I don't THINK I feel happier or cheerier or anything that might smack of fake. I feel like ME. But I do survey myself pretty frequently - am I doing better with the kids because I'm on meds? Am I yelling less because I'm on meds? Would I be even more bummed out about my Grad School Widow status if I wasn't on meds? 

Mostly I think I'm the same. I feel like my feelings are the real ones. I honestly can't tell a difference between pre-meds and post-meds except a distinct lack of anxiety. Which is exactly what I hoped for, even though I do not understand it at all. 

If you've been reading here a while or if you ever drop by the Catholic blog, you know that I am not super big on understanding everything, that I'm pretty comfortable with the limbo of Not Sure. And hey, this stuff is working for me so far, why question it, right? 

Except I do. I really do. I'm happy I've found something that works, at least so far and for now. Well I'm more than happy, I'm relieved. But I'm someone who trusts her gut, has instincts, senses more than knows, intuits things... and the mystery of nervousness out of nowhere, and the existence of medication to make it go away makes me think... I don't know. Like I can't trust myself. 

Oh HELLO existential crisis! Well, if there's any place for it, it's the blog, right? I AM JUST THINKING OUT LOUD, people. All is well. (Which is the whole point of this post anyway!) Things are better. I just don't understand why, I guess. Not complaining, just thinking and it appears I've reached my making-sense threshold. All those dirty dishes in the kitchen should take care of that! 

My First Episode of COPS

You know what is IRONIC? Experiencing your first Police Car Flashing Lights Pull Over Situation as you are driving home from your Can You Please Give Me Crazy Pills Doctor Appointment. You'd think the police could have given me the two to six weeks (depending on who you ask!) for the crazy pills to kick in before they pulled that stunt, am I right? 

I am undecided on how much I want to say on the meds front. I thought it depended on whether or not I would go around telling real life people, but as I've pretty much told everyone I see on a regular-ish basis (sorry Real Life People, I cannot help myself with the oversharing), that doesn't seem to be the issue. So maybe it is how much you are interested in this not terribly mommybloggish aspect of life, or maybe I just have to figure out a way to talk about it that isn't constantly justifying the decision. There are parts of it I want to write up for the Catholic blog, at least. And all that said, I am still undecided on when I am even going to take them. For all intents and purposes I should start tomorrow morning. But I don't know. I'm feeling pretty good right now and that is without having had my nightly glass of anxiety wine and so I JUST DON'T KNOW. 

So let's chat about the police, shall we? I got my license the summer after my freshman year of college and I have been terrified of being pulled over ever since. I drove like the Oldest Lady On Earth and now I drive like Not Quite The Oldest But Still Fairly Old Lady On Earth. I am constantly surveying the cars in the rearview mirror for cops. I hardly ever speed. I take great care with my signals and lane changes and stops. Possibly this is because I have no idea what the "registration" part of the "license and registration" spiel means. Possibly because I am a Highly Anxious Person and I was pretty sure that if I ever got pulled over I would have fourteen panic attacks and die. Nearly all of my anxiety triggers have to do with me doing something WRONG and what is better evidence of having done something wrong than FLASHING LIGHTS and SIRENS?!

I was sitting at a red light and a police car pulled up behind me. "Gee," I thought to my stupid self, "I sure hope my tabs are up to date! Ha ha!" And then I 1) signalled correctly 2) did not speed 3) changed lanes correctly and when 4) the police car suddenly turned on his lights (but no siren) I thought: DAMN YOU, TABS. 

Since there was no shoulder on this particular stretch of road it was a ways before I could pull over. Which was embarrassing. I mean, when I see a cop car about to pull someone over I always try to get a glimpse of the perp. That wrongdoer! Bad! So anyway, I pulled over and oh so calmly pulled out my license and, this is the best part, my INSURANCE CARD because SURELY that is what "registration" means, right? 

I thought I would cry or hyperventilate or, at the very least, feel really really REALLY super bad and guilty for having done something WRONG. But no, I just sat there blowing my bangs out of my face and thinking, "Well @#@*%@." 

Then the cop came up and I rolled down my window and it was SO television-esque I started internally blogging that minute. And the cop was cute! What a bummer! I gave him my license and insurance card and he said, "Uh, do you have your registration" and THAT, my friends, is when I hauled out the nervous-sounding "uhhhh I've never been pulled over before!" as I flipped open the glove compartment and (THANK GOD) extracted the one single piece of paper available to me: the registration document. (THANK GOD.) I mean, it wasn't like I was even TRYING to get out of something. It just CAME OUT. What a moron. 

Then I sat there for freaking EVER while the cop... I don't know. Ran me through the Computer of Felons? Wrote down all the personal details on my license? (THAT IS NOT MY CORRECT WEIGHT, BY THE WAY.) Laughed about me to the dude in the front seat of his car wearing normal person clothes? (WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?) I don't know. I sat there texting Phillip because hey, where are our tabs? Oh, and then I started to feel SLIGHTLY guilty because I told the officer that we had "just moved" and when I really thought about it, we moved in APRIL which was kind of a while ago, at least long enough for us to have tabs that are not three months expired. So maybe I got a LITTLE anxious about whether the cop thought I was trying to Pull One Over. Except, I'll just let all the cops out there know: I am not skilled enough to pull one over on anyone. Ever. I am the worst liar on EARTH. 

Anyway. I know this is not that interesting to you, but I was just sitting there feeling like DUDE! Look at me being all Cool In A Crisis! Which reminded me of that time when I was incredibly anxious, like way back in the beginning when I could have used a handful of Valium nearly every day, and Phillip was so distracted and upset about everything he clipped the car in front of us trying to get into the other lane. And you know what happened? My anxiety DISAPPEARED and I was all "CALM DOWN. THIS IS WHAT WE DO. IT'S OKAY. THINGS ARE FINE." Like, SUPER COOL. I don't know. I am all kinds of out of whack. 

Finally the cop came back and was reeeeeeeeally nice (perhaps because I did not show up in the Computer of Felons?) and told me that I needed to fix this little issue lest I get myself a ticket NEXT TIME. And then I drove home. The end. 

Oh wait. Then I had another Super Average Day that was just the tiniest bit more shouty and annoying than yesterday, complete with Totally Disgusting Tub Floater and Crabby, Incoherent, Unnapped Two-Year-Old, but for some reason I did not feel the need to weep when I put both kids to bed and am currently feeling downright CHEERFUL. I don't know. "Obviously," you are saying to yourselves, "she should take the meds ASAP." SIGH.

And now I'm going to fill out Jack's book order. SO! INTERESTING!

I just wrote the boringest post in the WORLD. Seriously. Because I love you I deleted it, and now I am having a glass of wine and thinking NOW WHAT? It's not as if I have a plethora of Interestingness going on over here. 

As evidence: I am drinking my wine out of a water glass. This is because I 1) broke the single wine glass I keep in the kitchen for solo wine drinking purposes and 2) I am too lazy to fetch another wine glass from the sideboard in the hallway. Even though it is precisely four steps away from the kitchen. And I sort of LIKE drinking my wine out of a water glass. THIS IS HOW INTERESTING I AM. I AM SORRY.

Today was a good day, mainly because the in-laws had the kids and I had time to do whatever the heck I wanted which was, namely, shop. I spent so much money this weekend. I'll have you know that half the things I bought on Sunday I returned on Monday, but that did not lessen the joy of buying things. I know that's a horrible thing to have joy around, but OH, a new sweater in just the right color is TERRIBLY joyous. I am just stating FACT.

I am also proud to note that I went for a run. It was a gorgeous sunny day, I was all alone, Ke$ha was brushing her teeth with a bottle of Jack and I was not stopping to walk. So, to sum up: I played volleyball Sunday night, I ran today - what will I do tomorrow? Running is out of the question as I am proper stroller-less, but I might do a shred during preschool, or maybe take Molly on a long brisk walk if it's nice again. Either way, the goal is to do SOMETHING. Oh! This reminds me: the treadmill people are coming to fix mine on Saturday. They were EXCEPTIONALLY friendly in their response (email! I got to EMAIL them!) and reassured me that they would figure it out (perhaps I sounded a smidge desperate in my email?) and they are coming SATURDAY. Woo hoo!

In other news, I am a holiday planning QUEEN. First of all, we are going to stay in our new neighborhood for Halloween (the last couple years we've gone to my parents' house because they live in one of those perfect for trick or treating neighborhoods) AND we've decided to do it with friends. Do you know me? Come to my house on Halloween! EAT MY CANDY! I've even put up decorations, you guys. We are prepared. 

THEN we started discussing Thanksgiving and how sad is it that neither of us can remember what we did last Thanksgiving? We alternate families and I SWEAR, I cannot remember whose house we were at. All I'm going on at this point is my sister who says she doesn't remember me at MY family's Thanksgiving, which means it's their turn. So we have that figured out. And spoiled wittle Phillip will get to have a second Thanksgiving on Friday because his parents are super accommodating and want to make sure he's properly fed, ie: sticky rice stuffing. I am not being snarky either - have YOU had sticky rice stuffing? It's really the only Thanksgiving food I look forward to, well, that and peach jello with the ice cream on the bottom. GOOD STUFF. 

AND THEN we started talking Christmas! Are we productive or WHAT! (By "we" I obviously mean "I".) We're still not sure what we're doing for the actual holidays, as that's always a big confusing pile of driving and Mass times and staying the night, but guess who ordered invitations for her Christmas party? You're invited to that too. 

LA LA LA life moves forward even when you're anxious. 

P.S. I know you're thinking that THIS post was pretty boring too, but trust me, it's only the SECOND most boring post in the world. 

Awww, you're the best

Oh wow, you guys are awesome. I throw up a little random this-is-what-I-can't-stop-thinking-about-brain-vomit on ye olde blog on a Sunday morning of all times and you're all YAY CHEERLEADING YOU CAN DOOOO IT! So I am anxious as all get out BUT I AM OPTIMISTIC!

(This is my problem, though. So much optimism I don't know when to give up. AHEM.) 

Anyway! Right after I posted that I hunted down the Treadmill Fix It People on Craigslist and emailed them. I totally get what you said about making Phillip do it and honestly? That's how I roll. However. Grad school really throws a wrench into the division of labor around here and I really hate adding One More Thing to his plate. Especially when this year he's responsible for so much more at his real job, ie: the one that means I get to stay home and run on treadmills, and there is no extra day off and he's constantly dealing with Work Email and Work Phone Calls and now we've got Dreaded Group Projects and you see how I don't want to ADD to that. I mean, if I'm going to ADD to it it's going to be the kind of phone call where I want him to get twenty bucks knocked off our cell phone bill. Or something. Because God knows if I made that phone call we'd end up paying twenty bucks MORE. 

(Have I told you about my boss from several jobs ago who had me make a bunch of fund raising-ish phone calls and then actually asked me to STOP because I was so BAD at it? Not to mention about to die of stress? YEAH.)

Okay, so hopefully the treadmill people get back to me AND magically fix my treadmill (we have major belt slippage going on) because OBVIOUSLY that is the best option. 

I would LIKE to be a gym-goer because I like the idea of Me Time and doing different stuff like weights or kickboxing (I think I would really like kickboxing) and I think my kids (kid) would even be happy in gym childcare. I think Jen makes a good point about the gym being on the WAY. That wouldn't work here, since preschool is literally two minutes down the road and all I pass are coffee shops, a grocery store and I swear to God a gourmet doughnut shop. (ODDS: STACKED AGAINST.) However, you forget I live in the city and there are gyms THREE minutes away. So it's possible. And if I had a designated TIME, like preschool or a babysitter I'm pretty sure I could hack it. HOWEVER. The only thing I really want to do, the only thing I feel is the most BENEFICIAL, is running, and that I can do for free. I am scared of Gym Sales Dudes and while I can handle a One Time Only Chunk of Change I am not ready to commit to another Monthly Fee. I consider it because anything I can do to combat anxiety is worth a whole lot to me, but I have other options. 

I would LIKE to be a stroller jogger, but I don't know. I suppose I should try it and see if I like it. But honestly? It really doesn't appeal to me. I know that's how all the moms do it, and my friends who train for long distances can't live without them, but I'm just wanting to get out there three miles at a time (or 2.8, right Maureen?) because it appears that that is enough distance/time to make things right in my head AND kick the ass of Writer's Block and it seems like I should be able to find a half hour to myself. Jack is horrible in the stroller ("too windy!" "too sunny!" "I want a SNACK Mommy" "I want that pinecone!" "Mollymoo needs a flower too!" "Are we going to the playground? I want to go to the PLAYGROUND!") so that just sounds like a drag. Molly, I think, would be happy. And pushing one kid doesn't sound quite as strenuous as pushing two. Which is why I think I WOULD like to find a single jogger with a rain cover (DEAR SANTA?) because I've found that I DO like to run outdoors. And sometimes I feel like running outside when I have kids, as opposed to totally NOT wanting to run outside when I have the time. Seems like I should take advantage of every opportunity, yes?

But we are shooting for a Fixed Treadmill first. Fingers crossed. 

Anyway, I know this is just a rehash of what I wrote earlier, but I SO wanted to tell you how I SO appreciate you GETTING IT. I just feel like the routine/life I had when I first started this whole regular exercise endeavor is completely different, what with preschool and no napping and Grad School and now I have to figure out a new system. I have to find that spot between Doing What Is Good For Me and Doing What I Can Actually Pull Off. 

Options

All right, I'm still anxious. Time to figure out a plan. And by "plan" I mean "exercise again" because that seems to be The Thing that had a big effect two years ago and is the thing I am not doing now. Here are the reasons why:

1. Exercise is hard. If I have an excuse not to do it, I don't do it. Simple as that. 

2. Jack doesn't nap anymore. I used to have a solid two hour chunk in the afternoon to receive a beating from Jillian or, when my treadmill was working, run for a half hour and still have some nap time left over. Now what I do is put Molly down for her nap and turn on the computer for Jack, which he plays to about 2pm. Then I have him "take a little rest" in his room and sometimes, usually on preschool days, he'll eventually fall asleep. But most of the time he doesn't, and it's a crapshoot whether or not he'll happily play in his room or whine me to death to be let out. And because it's double hard to exercise when I have a kid around or even just playing in his room (because he'll inevitably interrupt and I don't want to keep going back and forth) I don't do it. 

3. It's dark out. During the summer I would go for a run after dinner. Can't do that anymore, even if it's not raining. I used to have no problem going out by myself in the dark, now I feel like it's somewhere within the realm of Height Of Stupid. Before the kids wake up is not an option either, since the kids are getting up when it's still dark out (and it will be dark until... April? Sigh.) 

4. My treadmill is broken. We've tried to fix it ourselves. We had a guy come out to fix it who told us what was wrong and that we could fix it ourselves, but that didn't work either. We kept it, because we think one day we'll wake up and it will magically start working correctly. I guess. 

5. I am lazy. Have I mentioned that? For a while I was doing the shred while Phillip was putting the kids to bed, but I got out of that habit and the thought of starting it up again sounds dreadful. This is the problem with not exercising for an extended length of time: you stop "missing" it, you stop remembering that it makes you feel good and energized and strong, you just think it sucks and your pants still fit so why bother? (Just me?) 

But what I really want to do is run. While I believe exercise in general is good for my mental health, I think running is better. I can't say why exactly, but I think this is true.

SO. 

Here are the options I've thought of:

1. Buy a single jogging stroller. The double joggers are out of my price range and honestly? The thought of going for a run with both kids sounds like The Height Of Suck. The best thing about running is that I get to listen to music and do it ALONE. However. I CAN sort of see myself pushing my usually-happy-to-do-whatever-Mommy-is-doing daughter along the trail while Jack is in preschool two times a week. I only go for a half hour or so, so I wouldn't feel like I'm using ALL of preschool time to run. Single joggers sound relatively easy to come by, in consignment shops or online, I might get more use out of it if we have a third baby, and it sounds so much more manageable than a double. (I have seen a lady push a TRIPLE jogging stroller around the lake. She is going directly to heaven, no stop in purgatory whatsoever.) Anyway, that buys me two days of outdoor running a week. I could buy one of those covers for it so it doesn't get too windy for Molly, but if it's pouring we still can't go.

2. Call a guy and get our treadmill fixed for real. Cough up the cash, make it happen. And if it's unfixable, even that year and a half of a treadmill was TOTALLY worth what we paid for it on Craigslist. We can just get another one. My mental health (or the possibility of improved mental health, rather) is worth it. I just feel bogged down by this - calling, dealing with people, what if they don't know what to do, what if they say we can do it ourselves again, I just don't want to talk to anyone or deal with anyone. I need to get over it, because this is the easiest and most flexible option. Our treadmill is the garage so I'll freeze, but that's what hats and gloves are for. And I could go in there any old time I wanted. 

3. Find a gym. I really don't want to pay for a gym, but it seems like some of the smaller local ones could work? Except none of them list prices on their websites and all I really want from a gym is a treadmill and this brings me back to number two: just fix the stupid treadmill. 

I have less time to exercise in this not-napping stage of life and it's harder to schedule it, but right now, as I wake up anxious for the sixth day in a row for no good reason, I need to figure it out. Not that running is the magic pill, but it can't hurt. 

Fall is still my favorite season

It's naptime, and both of my kids are in their beds, if not exactly asleep. I'm sitting in the kitchen where sunshine streams through the wall of window. It's beautiful. I should probably be outside dismantling my given-up-on garden. 

And all around the internet people are talking about how Fall is their favorite season, how they love it so, and I find myself nodding my head and agreeing right along with them. I love Fall too! I love the colors and the foods and the holidays and how life settles back down into a routine again (or tries to, in our case.) Summer is fun, but I love Fall. 

Except... do I not remember seven straight years of DREADING Fall? Because Fall is when anxiety comes back and I gear up for at least six months of pulling myself together, not showing too much. Fall meant Unisom and planning a million get togethers so I wouldn't be alone and nightly glasses of wine and trying not to worry Phillip and wondering how bad it would get. Fall is my worst season. Fall is horrible. Fall starts the hard stuff all over again. 

But after Molly was born, anxiety went away. Mostly. I was eating right, exercising more than I ever had in my life. I was downing Vitamin D like chocolate chips. I wasn't pregnant anymore, that helped immensely. There were a handful of other important factors too, and when all of these things mixed together, I had my first anxiety-free grown up winter. Then I had a second. I was hoping to shoot for a third. 

I've been anxious the last handful of days. Not distressingly so. It's purely a physical feeling - tension in my shoulders, tightness around my shoulder blades, butterflies in my stomach if I allow myself to dwell on it for too long, the ever constant feeling of stage fright. Worry about what it MEANS and what's WRONG and why is this HAPPENING, but not too much, and I can listen to myself say that everything is fine and actually believe myself. If I were obsessing about something, if I couldn't drag my thoughts away from some horrible thing I did ten years ago, or some horrible thing that isn't real, or irrational worries or circular thoughts about things other people think are ridiculous - THAT would be worrisome. THAT would be distressing. So that's how I know I am really okay. That I am anxious, but not BAD anxious. That for whatever reason, my body responds to stress or an emotional trigger or even a minimal change in routine with Anxiety, and that's just the way things are. It will melt off eventually, although eventually could mean a few days or a few months. That's just the way it is.

But I don't like it. And it's hard. And I am feeling it and thinking about it all day long, even though it's not even BAD. But even when it's not bad, it's exhausting. 

I don't think this is going to last. I'm not feeling anxiety around some Thing that I can't fix or make go away, I'm just feeling it. Which means it will probably dissipate after a while and I'll go back to relishing the feeling of Normal. I haven't been good about exercising, I've totally changed what I eat in the last week, I'm not good at recognizing when I'm being affected by External Stressors - things like the grad school schedule and upheaval at workplaces and certain things I've committed to doing this month. The first thing to do is take a little bit better care of myself. 

Because really, Fall IS my favorite season. Even when I was kid, I remember the coziness of Fall, the smells, the dark. I used to love the dark. Everything felt exciting in the dark. I am so happy that I can still say Fall is my favorite season, that anxiety hasn't ruined that for me. 

I told Phillip that if I ever got really anxious again I would take something for it. I've never taken medication this whole time, and my reasons for that have changed over the years. At first medication meant I was weak. Then it had something to do with masking my REAL problems, which I was furiously working on. Then I didn't want to deal with side effects. Then I was just scared it might not work, and I sort of liked having this Last Resort in my head. If all else fails, I know a pharmacist, right? But after my Molly pregnancy, when my anxiety was SO weird and flat out crazy (and again, I KNOW the levels of crazy!) I told Phillip that if that ever happened again I would go straight to a doctor and get myself a big bottle of pills. Because I am not putting us through that again. Ever. 

I feel like I've done my work, you know? I gave up coffee, I started doing yoga, I listened to relaxation tapes, I tried blue lights. I exercised, I stopped eating so much sugar, I lost a bunch of weight. And not only that, I fought the personality points and inner vows and opinions and perspectives I carried that were working against me. I examined all the places in my mind that triggered anxiety and worked to change those things. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I am a completely different person, and I've worked so hard. 

It's still here though. And when I'm in my right mind I can say that there's not much I can do about it. It's a physical sensation, the way the court burn on my knee stings in the shower. It just EXISTS, even if everything in my world is going just fine. I have to feel it, feel through it, and hold on.