Date Night

Nick and I had ourselves a little date tonight thanks to cousin Alison. We saw War of the Worlds. Overall, the movie was disappointing, but it was a lot of fun to get out of the house on a Saturday night.

Earlier today we drove out to cousin Bob’s house to get our tire fixed. I took Genny to a nearby park that had an enormous playground, but she slept the entire time and didn’t get to play at all.

I do want to give Genevieve a big kiss after seeing this movie, but I will certainly not risk waking her up to have that beautiful moment. I will kiss her plenty enough tomorrow.

Dream

A mother’s dream—I brought Genny into her room for bedtime, placed her on the floor while I plugged in the monitor and nightlight, turned around and saw her butting her head against her crib. She was saying with her head, “Mommy, I want to lie down. I’m tired.”

I quickly changed her diaper and pulled a pink onesie over her outstretched arms and placed her down on the crumply yellow sheet. Her fingers in the mouth and body limp; I crept out of the room shutting the door behind me.

I washed dishes and read a magazine, checked e-mails and decided on my classes for fall and now I am blogging myself asleep.

Quacky

Genevieve’s latest trick when she does not wish to comply with my expectations is arching her back, stiffening her entire body and screaming bloody murder. And so, apparently, the lifelong tensing and tightening of all our muscles into knots and bolts begins.

She still prefers kneel walking to regular upright on her feet walking. She’s now drinking regular old moo-cow milk. And she knows that a cow says moo. She likes to watch her DVDs and lets me know it all the time by taking them out of the cupboard, cling-hugging them and pointing repeatedly and gruntily at the television.

I still prefer napping to chasing a half-naked baby around the house trying to Velcro on a diaper to a wiggling butt. I am still not drinking cow milk because of a lactose type situation, but I went all out tonight and ate real ice-cream (mint chocolate chip). And I know that a cow says moo. I like Genny to watch her DVDs because I get a moment’s rest, but I have been pretty good at limiting her video intake to under an hour a day.

Quack, quack, waddle, waddle all day long. Quack, quack, waddle, waddle sing a duck song.

School Registration

Genevieve is talking in little bursts of word strings. Sometimes it really does sound like she’s actually making sense. Today we went to my dad’s house and she stood in the kitchen with her hands pressed against the sliding glass doors, stared out at the pool and kept saying, “poo, poo, poo”. And she wasn’t pooing. There was an almost “l” sound at the end of the word, but just not quite yet.

Genny was resistant to the pool once we finally got out there, but she warmed up to it the more I bounced up and down with her safe and snug in my huggy hold. She then let me put her in the pack and play in the shade while I jumped in and out of the pool. She laughed when she would see my head pop back up.

I successfully completed my registration for school. At first I was shut out of the Literature class I was supposed to take, but my persistence paid off and a seat opened up. So, August 29th is the first day of class. It’s hard to believe. Now that we know my schedule we can start trying to figure out how we’re going to work the whole childcare situation.

My life will be opening up very soon.

Around We Go

Genevieve is drinking regular milk now. I hear myself saying this in my mind. It seems beyond ridiculous that this is the most important thing going on in my life today worth mentioning. When did my life go away so that my daughter could exist? Fourteen months ago.

Now, I hear in my head the voice telling me to quickly affirm that, of course, I wouldn’t change it for the world. Celebrity moms are always sure to make this point when they detail their post-partum depressions in tell-all interviews.

“Having my baby was the worst thing in the world. I hate it. It’s awful. But, of course, I love it. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

And I understand that need to correct oneself as a mom because, of course, it sounds horrible to say you wish your child didn’t exist. But I’ve got to tell you, there are times when I fantasize what it would be like to have my own life back again.

There’s the voice again—pushing me to emphasize how cute Genny is when I ask her what a cow says and she says something that sounds like, “moo”, or the duck goes, “duck, duck”, or the feathered friend outside our window is a “burrd”.

Yes, it’s true. I love her. I want her to exist. But even when I have those feelings like I wish she didn’t, I feel the need to censor myself because of my love for her. I love her so much. I just don’t love the job of mom so much.

Tired

Once again Genevieve was awake at about 5 am. This is entirely too early for one’s brain to function properly. If I don’t catch up on some sleep soon, I may be heading toward a nervous breakdown.

I know the only way I’m going to get ahead in this world is by working super hard, but when I’m exhausted, I can’t get my creativity to flow. There’s seems to be no choice other than sacrificing creativity for sleep, but then I’m depressed because I’m not producing anything creative. It’s thoroughly frustrating.

We went to a friend’s first birthday party today. Genny was brave enough to be crawling in between all of these strangers’ feet. Then we were home and the whole family took a nap. After an early supper, we strolled to the playground where we ran into more friends and played in the sprinkler, on the swings and slides.

Gen went to bed easily since she’s probably as exhausted as we are. I’m planning on going to bed very early tonight and seeing if I might feel better. My energy and mood are very low at the moment. My sentences are not flowing—a reflection of my mind.

Delayed Reactions

One of the worst things to see is a car accident on the highway. I don’t mean passing by one that’s already happened and been processed, but one that’s unfolding before your eyes. I’d already seen a horrible one on I-95 many years ago when I was returning from a stripper shift.

A car was driving like a lunatic and then up ahead I saw it sliding sideways back and forth across the three lanes. We all slammed on our brakes. As I slowed down and held the center lane I saw the sports car flipping and rolling along the median and then I saw a man fall or drop or jump from the passenger window. I remember it all happened in such slow motion.

Tonight, driving home from Connecticut on the Merritt Parkway there was a red mid-size car tailing people with only like inches to spare. The next thing I know, he’s passing a Volvo station wagon on the right and then deliberately steering into the car, hitting it and causing it to swerve out of control and hit the median.

I stopped the car and ran out to the Volvo; the red car took off. The young woman stepped out of her car totally fine and already calling people on her cell phone. We waited with her until the cops came and I told them what I saw. Unfortunately, no one got the license plate number.

It was a scary scene—the whole front end of her car smushed in. She was so lucky to be uninjured. I was just talking to her and making sure she stayed calm. When we were leaving she was finally starting to cry.

I can’t imagine what would have happened if it had been our minivan that this crazy person decided to tail and smash. Genny was secured in her car seat, but still, you never know.

So, Genny went to bed late tonight. And I’ve got a bag of ice on my swollen toe—I think running over to the accident exacerbated it.

I feel very hazy and spacey, like I’ve just seen a dream and I’m trying to remember it so I can analyze it or share it with friends. It’s all cloudy in my mind and I see the screeching tires and the flying smoke, but I don’t hear any sounds at all. It’s very quiet and still, like being underwater.

Minivan Day

I set an official record for length of trip from Bridgeport, CT to Jackson Heights, NY today. Unfortunately, the astonishing feat was on the long side not the short. It took me three hours and twenty minutes to make a drive that usually lasts one hour and ten minutes. Now that’s a lot of traffic.

Genevieve handled the constant stop and go very well though. We’d had a busy day: drive to CT in the morning, swimming in Grandpa’s pool and then a trip to the Beardsley Zoo in the afternoon. Genny saw monkeys, tamarinds (which are orangey, like tangerines), two bears, a momma tiger and three cubs, foxes, and lots of birds. I think Gen’s faves were the ducks and, oh yeah, the ducks. When I asked her what a duck says, she said something like, “duk, duk”.

We went to the zoo with my stepmom, Pat, her daughter, Lisa, and her boys. Genny’s three little cousins, Christopher, Jimmy and John, are so enamored of her and take such good care of her—patting her on the head, rubbing her back and checking in on her in her stroller. It was really a fun day, at least until the drive home.

I even found myself jotting down ideas for poems this morning on the drive there. Of course, it’s not a good idea to write and drive, but sometimes you’ve just got to write whenever the feeling hits. And I don’t know why I’m all poemed up all of a sudden. I’m just feeling like working on my stripper poems for some reason.

It’s not my job to ask why; it’s just my job to write down what comes to me. And to not crash the minivan while I’m busy being creative.

Need to Sleep

Genevieve wasn’t much into her supper of green beans, corn and peas. There was lots of eye and nose rubbing, which is her sign language for sleepy time.

Then something you don’t see very often in baby world—Genny was actually trying to get into her pack-and-play to go to sleep. We’re hoping she’s zonked out enough to sleep in a little tomorrow, you know, like until 5:30.

My brain feels flat tonight. I can’t seem to get my thoughts moving out onto the page. Maybe I’m tired. I suppose that is a distinct possibility. I think I need to honor how I feel and not push myself to write anything else tonight. That’s a new concept for me. I usually get down on myself about not writing, but tonight it just feels right to say, that’s enough, I need to sleep.

Windmill Shaggy

We started the morning rather early—Genny awoke at 4:30 and wouldn’t go back to sleep. Then we had a medical guy come to the apartment at 7:45 am to take blood and urine from us for our new life insurance policy.

It was wretchedly hot out, but the air conditioning feels icy and smooth right now like a Starbucks Mint Mocha-Chip Frappucino.

I’m feeling less depressed. I feel kind of flat though, like a Color Forms person. Someone could just peel me off the page of this apartment and re-stick me down somewhere else. I think I’d be powerless to stop the move.

I see myself as an orange Color Form in the shape of Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. I’m hoping this is only because my sister and I had a Scooby-Doo Color Forms set as kids and I’m really only remembering that, not that I actually see myself as Shaggy. Wasn’t he the one who was always drugged out? Or was that all the characters? It’s been a while since I saw the cartoon and I never saw the movie remakes.

So, here I am as an orange Shaggy Color Form and I’m being peeled from my gray swivel chair and pancaked down in a windmill in the middle of a cornfield. There are crows circling overhead. I’m leaning out of a window smack dab in the center of the spinning arms. If there were anyone looking at me from the field, they would see a shiny orange face like the center of a sunflower with flying flower petals swooshing around me.

I feel at peace as Windmill Shaggy. And now I have been joined by a purple Scooby-Doo who is frozen in a running position with little black swirls around his feet representing movement. We are a fine pair of Color Forms. We flutter in the breeze from the window created from our windmill home’s wooden arms.

The Day After

I am burnt out tonight. I did not get enough sleep last night and Genevieve didn’t want to take her morning nap, so I decided to go to Connecticut with her to escape the killer heat of the city.

We stopped and saw my mom and grandparents. I drank a soda in the backyard that had just been mowed. Genny pointed at some birds. Then we drove to my dad’s house and played in the den with assorted plastic cars. Genny ate blueberries and freeze-dried apple pieces, and then we went for a float in the pool.

I didn’t feel much like pretending to be happy, but I didn’t want to come across as rude either. I find it hard to explain my depression to family. Their first question about my low feeling is always, “Why are you depressed?” I only wish it was so simple as to say I feel depressed because my dog ran away, but unfortunately, it is rarely the case.

The drive home was hot and I kept dozing off. My eyes were so heavy and my brain was trying to trick me into thinking it was okay to shut my eyes just for a moment. I finally pulled over at a roadside gas station and closed my eyes for two minutes until Genny woke up and started squawking.

So, we’re home and she’s asleep and I have a feeling I will be soon, too.

Banish the Word

Today was a rough day, but I’m feeling better now. Nick and I had one of those deep, late-night conversations where we both realized we’re not motivated. We’re both stuck in a rut.

When Genevieve refused to nap this morning I had a little mini-breakdown. I felt myself losing it, spiraling into a vomiting depression. All I wanted to do was lie down, cover my head with a blanket and sleep, but because Genny wouldn’t let me rest, I was unable to use my sleep-cure.

My brain sort of short-circuited at this point. I spun down into my self-loathing spiral. I looked at myself in the mirror and screamed, “I hate you, Sheila.” I tried screaming into my pillow hoping it would release my steam valve, but it just forced me down deeper. The next thing I knew my mind was contemplating ways to kill myself so it would look like an accident so Nick could collect the insurance money. You know, crazy thoughts that you don’t intend on following through with, but that pummel through your brain anyway.

Next was the search through the apartment for something sharp to drag along the flesh of my arm. Something to relieve the mental pain by feeling real pain. I wanted to feel anything but what I was experiencing. The small scissors in the bathroom opened, ran against my wrist, but barely left a scratch.

I was out of control, almost. I think I was in the kitchen with the big scissors with the black handles, again dragged across my skin in little skips. Not enough to cut. I am not a cutter. Just a tease of, I could hurt myself, I feel that depressed and unable to cope.

I lifted Genny from her pack and play and held her while I cried. She stared at me open-mouthed for a minute before crawling off to play with her magnetic letters, laughing, but looking back to me for reassurance.

I knew that I was losing it, but holding on at the same time. That far away voice in the back of my head was whispering that I was okay and that if I wasn’t, I knew I would get myself to the hospital.

On about the fourth try, Genny fell asleep. I climbed into bed and pulled the sheets across my head and squished my eyes closed. I slept for about a half hour and awoke to Genny’s cries. I got her up, fed her, changed her and took her to the babysitter. It was just luck that I had therapy today.

My therapist reassured me that I wasn’t going to kill myself and that I was going to be okay. A combination of a lot of stressors in my life pushed me over the edge, that’s all. Echoes from the past.

So, here I am and Nick is home and we’ve talked and I’m feeling better.

Depression is a wicked thing. Or is it? In fact, I don’t know what depression is. I hate the word. I wish I could banish it from my existence. And then what would be left?

What would these moods I experience be if there were no word for them?

No Writing

As the weekend of rest winds down I find myself having done no writing at all. I am very disappointed in myself, but even more so, I am wondering what my problem with motivation is.

I have so little free time away from the baby, you would think that I would fill every one of those seconds with writing. I have so much to say, so much to write, but I find myself paralyzed into a numb fog of non-writing.

I’ve tried setting up a minimum amount of time or pages a day, certain times of day or having a certain amount of queries in action. None of these requirements have kept me working. I flop out. I have excuses.

Once school starts I will be forced into a writing regimen, which will be very beneficial for me, but what do I do until then? What is my problem? Why must I procrastinate all the time?

Potter Pandemonium

Today was unusual for us—a summer Saturday with no plans. We all needed a break from our hectic paced, fun-filled season.

Nick’s Harry Potter book arrived by UPS bright and early and so his day was mapped out. I indulged in two naps and a lot of magazine reading. Neither one of us got anything productive done, except lounging about and relaxing. Genevieve didn’t seem to mind our low-key day either. She kept pointing at the television as if to say, “Hey, it’s my weekend, too. Let’s put on the tellie!”

Gen’s surprise phrase of the day, which both Nick and I heard, was something meant to be “Your welcome”, right at the appropriate time. We had been playing the pass back and forth game with a diaper and I said, “Thank you”, and she clearly said, “Your welc—“.

Nick and I both looked at each other like, “Did you hear that, too?” Of course, she wouldn’t say it again and then we both began questioning what we had actually heard.

I babysat tonight for friends, which was not difficult at all since the wee one never made a peep. And now I am munching on chips and salsa and trying to unwind so I can crash out before our little one wakes up bright and early.

Tomorrow should be quiet. We may just take a run to the baby store to get our baby-proofing materials. I think I should probably go pry the book out of Nick’s hands so he can get some rest, too.

Toes

Genevieve is all about the walking. Once she gets started, tromping one little foot in front of the other, she focuses all of her awareness on the task. She seems to be watching her boxy feet as they splat their way forward.

Interesting the parallels we find between our weird little lives. I am all about the walking, too. Heel-walking my left foot forward then squarely placing my right foot ahead of it. Glancing down and watching other people’s feet to make sure they are not about to enter my injured toe space.

Genny and I both concentrated on our walking for this brief moment in time. Within days or weeks, I will have forgotten all about the extra care and attention I needed to walk safely. Within weeks or months, Genny will have forgotten about all the extra effort required to walk securely.

I wonder what other skills I will be awarded the opportunity to remaster with Genevieve. Hopefully, nothing having to do with potty training.

Genny has in the past week decided she doesn’t like having her diaper changed. The moment we enter her room and head for the changing table she starts crying and twisting her body. I place her down on her back and she immediately rolls over and stands up. Strapping her down with the belt does no good—she rolls over halfway and gets all twisted up.

My solution for the moment is pull-up diapers. So, now I encourage her to stand up and place her hands on my shoulders while I whip down the old one, do a quick wipe and slip up the new one. Great for pee-diapers, but not so efficient for the poopie ones. She always manages to sit down on her feet and get poop in the crevices of her toes.

Ah, the joys of motherhood that no one can ever take away from you.

Poopie toes and broken toe—I will remember you.

Humping the Kitty

It’s quite a relief to have our Internet connection back up—when we came home from vacation that was just one more thing that was broken. It was strange how disconnected from the world I felt.

To top off the old broken toe, I’ve come down with a bit of a cold or virus, which I got from Nick, who got it from Genny.

I worked today, which went better than I was afraid it might since I was unable to demonstrate poses. I even hobbled to the pharmacy and grocery store this afternoon. My toe was hurting a lot less all day, but I think I might have overdone it a bit today because now my toe is screaming hurtful profanities in my direction.

Genevieve has a new hobby, which I like to refer to as humping the kitty because she is, in fact, humping the kitty. She climbs onto Lula and thrusts her hips and pelvis in a humping motion against her warm silky fur. I have to admit I’m surprised to see this thrusting and rubbing so early on. That’s all I have to say about that, except that I feel bad for Lula who is now being humped not just by her feline brother, Luke, but also a baby.

Vacation

If bad luck comes in threes, then we had a string of bad luck on our vacation. It all started out with Nick having an intuition that we shouldn’t go this weekend, but it wasn’t strong enough to prevent us from carrying on with our plans.

We carried out our multitude of bags, toys, sheets, towels, food and other assorted stuff to the hallway to find out the elevator was broken, which meant carrying the aforementioned pile down four flights of stairs. Plus, a baby in a stroller and a pack and play crib.

Friday, it rained the entire trip up to the Adirondacks, but it was still lovely to spend time with our friends. Saturday, it rained all day in the Adirondacks, so we decided to drive to Lake George and find some kind of a fun indoor play space for Genny. What we did find were many arcades, ice cream shops and a haunted house, so we chose an arcade that had kiddie rides up front by the window onto the street.

Genny’s first choice was a mini-carousel of horses. I sat her down on a horse and Nick plopped a quarter inside. I was rather surprised at how speedy the ride went. Genny was galloping away into the distance, well, beyond my arm’s reach. Nick and I chased her horse around in a circle a few times and then we just kind of watched as she slid off the horse right onto the cement floor.

She immediately cried and was inconsolable. She wouldn’t look us in the eye. She started shutting her eyes and acting like she was going to pass out. Neither Nick nor I could tell if she had actually hit her head, but it was about a three-foot fall.

We decided the hospital was our best bet. Driving the seemingly endless miles through green, green trees, Genny threw up. “Drive quickly,” I said as calmly as I could to Nick.

After waiting for a few hours, Genny got seen. Our pediatrician had wanted a CAT scan, but the ER doctor thought she was okay, so we departed finally with a cranky, hungry and exhausted family.

The next day was warm and we enjoyed ourselves at Crystal Lake. Genny seemed fine and splashed along the lake’s edge and dug sand with a yellow shovel. Nick and I were dealing with our own feelings of parenting inadequacies the entire day. Especially after Genny had already fallen off the bed when she learned to crawl—we thought we had learned our lesson.

Nick had been feeling like he might be coming down with something and so, of course, he got sick. I drove to the next town to get him some medicine, which, of course, would end up making him unable to sleep that night. Lucky for him, I couldn’t sleep either, what with the pounding pain erupting from my toe.

At dinner that evening, Genevieve had reached out for a hot plate that had just been set on the table. I suppose my unconscious was eager to prove it was a good parent, so it sent an emergency message to my arms to reach out and stop her from hurting herself, which set my dinner plate to flying off the table and attacking my second toe on the left foot.

I had never broken any bones in my life, but at this point, I knew my track record itself, had been broken. The pain surged through my toe and foot, but Genny was safe. Genny had not burned her little tootsie-fingers. My toe swelled up; I iced it down; I swallowed Tylenol; Nick buddy-taped my toe. And nobody slept that night.

We returned to Genny’s Emergency Room on our way home, but this time for Mommy. We joked with the hospital staff about our return and our seemingly jinxed vacation. It didn’t take long to get my toe x-rayed and to find out that it indeed was broken. The nurse buddy-taped my toe with some gauze in between my toes and gave me some strong Motrin, instructions on how to heel-walk (referred to as “heal walk” on my take-home instruction sheet) and a bag of ice inside of a surgical hat.

Just what a yoga teacher and a mom needs—a broken toe. It really makes my jobs a lot easier.

My lessons learned? That I have to be more careful even when I don’t think I need to be and even still—accidents may happen. As for my fractured toe, I suppose I can look at it as a message from some higher power that I need to slow down. Take gingerly steps through life. And wear metal-toed shoes.

A Call for Strength

It is time for a vacation. Nick, Genny and I are going up to the Adirondacks for a long weekend holiday. We’re staying with our friends Wendy and Danny. We’ll be shut off from computer access, so this will be my last posting until Monday evening.

I’m worried about my mother. I need her to feel better. It is so painful to see her sick. I feel powerless and helpless and out of words. My sadness surges through me. Why can’t I do more to help her? Why can’t I be wealthy and provide her with the comforts she needs right now?

Asking why—is all I feel I can do right now, but I know it does no good.

I can pray. Ask for guidance and strength, for myself, my mom and my family.

Loopy

This morning when I heard the old depressed tape loop playing, “I want to kill myself”, I stood apart from the voice, as if I was a silent witness to the insane words. I give the thought no credibility or seriousness because it is just a thought that passes through my brain, but that I have no actual intention of carrying out.

I hear the silent sentence as it slips through my head and I wonder—why are you bugging me again? Why does this thought wash up into my mind at all? I don’t want to kill myself, but my mind must use these words as some form of self-nagging. A reminder that I feel depressed. Like I need a reminder?

I saw Lloyd this afternoon and talked about my inexplicable sadness that just shows up out of nowhere. As he pointed out, things are going well for me, but there were a few triggers in the last few days.

I feel so helpless when I see my mother not feeling well. She only weighs 86 pounds right now, thanks to the effects of chemotherapy. She is twig like and fragile looking and I want to nourish her. Plump her up. Feed her chocolate shakes and homemade brownies. Take her back to the days of my childhood and relive them without me going through my bitchy phase.

And Miss Genevieve not feeling well is cranky and demanding, which is understandable, but exhausting. She throws food on my back when I lean over to pick up cold mushed green beans. It is funny, but I refuse to laugh. I give her my stern Mommy look, but that just makes her laugh harder.

Genny is plump plump plump. She can eat all she wants or skip a meal or two and there is nothing to worry about. I have filled out thanks to the Starbucks Mint Mocha Chip Frappucino. But Mom needs to eat. She needs to add on some of the weight that her friends who had the stomach stapling surgery have lost. Why can’t weight be transferable? We can donate a kidney but not a pound or two?

At least my mental tape is quiet now. The loop is broken for now.

Seal Pup

Today was one of those rough all-day-with-the-baby days. I wasn’t able to go to work because Genny was too sick. Her excessive crankiness was just the beginning of my unlucky day. I dropped and broke my cell phone; I lost a bottle of milk in the grocery store; I smashed three baby videos onto my bare foot; I forgot to buy waffles for Genny at the store; Genny poked me in the eye. I don’t think the last item reflects my not having bought waffles, but I can’t be sure.

To top off my lovely day, our upstairs neighbor hassled me. Every week or two her grandson comes to stay. Whenever I run into her in the elevator she always says, “If he’s ever too noisy, please just come and tell me.”

Well, this past Saturday he must have been playing Batman or something, jumping off Grandma’s bed and thumping his body all along our ceiling. He woke Genny up twice. So, Nick went up and politely told them the situation. She proceeded to tell Nick that he can’t be complaining all the time (this was our first time), that the grandson only visits once every three months (ha!) and that basically, screw you, they weren’t going to quiet down.

So, lucky me gets to ride with Grandma in the elevator today, who proceeds to inform me that Nick had no right coming up and ringing her bell on Saturday. I was just like, Okay, smile, smile, and then I quickly got off the elevator and felt like, what happened to the nice lady who always tells me to tell her if her grandson is being too noisy?

The big problems of living in a cheaply made Queens apartment. I suppose it could be worse. Right now I’m just hoping that Genny manages to sleep through the night.

Which for whatever reason leads me to the fact that I haven’t been writing. I’ve been uncreative and feeling like a beached seal pup about to be clubbed by a big bearded hunter. I don’t want my brain and blood to ooze out on the white white ice and snow.

So, there you have it.