It’s All About ME

Wow … seven months since my last post. I’ve been a bad, bad blogger of late.

It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. Or haven’t missed it. I have and I have. It’s just that I can barely seem to find the time these days to brush my teeth (kidding), let alone use a keyboard for more than a 3 minute span.

I think I may be too old for this motherhood thing. I certainly feel old.

My little lady is now 10 months old. She’s a really, really easy baby so I have nothing to complain about. I guess the bottom line is that I am missing me time. A friend was telling me about her weekend this morning and – with the non-stop rain we had on Saturday, she just hung out on her sofa in her pj’s and watched tv all day. A nice, lazy day of lounge. I miss those days.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my kids and I love being a mom. It’s just that I miss the ability to do whatever I want, when I want, how I want, with whom I want, with no one depending on me for their well-being.

Lately I’ve been dreading the weekends. The pressure to have “plans” so that V doesn’t get bored hanging around the house is enough to send me in to a tail spin. And even if we hang around the house, we still have to have “stuff” to do so the tv doesn’t become the babysitter. But why is it me that has to make the “plans” and select the “stuff”? Where’s The Husband in all of this?

The Husband and I try to each get out with our friends one night a week – but more often than not, I stay home all week with the kids because I feel guilty going out (and frankly, am too tired) after working all day. Last week was a bit unusual in that The Husband had plans Wednesday night, Friday night and Saturday. Come Sunday, I really wanted to get out of the house. By. Myself. And do some grocery shopping, errands. etc. But for some reason, The Husband really wanted to join me. With the kids, which meant zero alone time for me.

While we were shopping, I received a phone call from the mom of one of V’s former pre-schoolmates inviting us to former pre-schoolmates’ birthday party. In two hours. This was one of V’s bestest friends, so we cut our errands short, went home, grabbed our socks and headed to the bounce house place. But not before dropping off The Husband. You see, he had “stuff” to do at the house. And when his response to my suggestion that he take care of the little lady while I took V to the party was a huge SIGH, I took that as a sign and took her with us to the party.

Big mistake.

Somewhere along the line V has developed a shyness. He didn’t know any of the other kids at the party, and hadn’t seen his friend in more than a month, so he was stuck at my hip. And he was too frightened to go on the bounce house thingies without me. But with a ten-month old stuck on my hip – and knowing no other parents there that could help me – I was unable to join V to help him feel more comfortable.

Enter: meltdown.

After 15 minutes of trying to calm him down, I finally just packed up and left. Both V and I were in tears the entire drive home. His tears were because I made him leave the party. Mine were because I was done. Finished. Over. Finito. I needed an immediate break from parental responsibility.

I walked in the house, handed over the kids, ran to my bedroom, shut the door and stayed there for nearly two and a half hours. Me time. And thankfully, no one bothered me.


Last week I made an appointment to see my primary care physician. I love him – he’s young, he’s funny, and he never comes in to see me without his laptop. At his fingertips, he has all of my history, my vitals, etc. – and in a few clicks he can quickly look up information to help him explain side effects of this drug or that.

I’ve been on cholesterol medication for several years. I’ve tried diet. Exercise. Soy. Nothing worked to lower my numbers. Both my mother and my grandmother had extremely high cholesterol as well – lucky me.

When I was trying to get pregnant, my doctor suggested going off of the mediation. I’ve been of for over three years now since it took us nearly 2.5 to get pregnant. So the purpose of my appointment was to talk about going back on the medication.

As I mentioned in earlier posts, I had very high blood pressure towards the end of my pregnancy. Both pregnancies, actually. But after my first-born, the blood pressure returned to normal right away.

Not so this time around.

It’s not dangerously high, but it’s high. The doctor has given me four weeks to concentrate on 4-5 days a week of exercise in hopes that it will lower the pressure.

I’m not in any kind of immediate danger, however this has been a wake up call for me. As you likely know, I’m of “advanced maternal age” – having just given birth at 41 years of age. If I have a chance in hell of living long enough to attend my kids’ weddings, I’ve got to get ahold of my health. I’m 20 pounds overweight. And yes, I just had a baby – but I’m only about 8 pounds away from my pre-baby weight.

Thank goodness the weather has been nice, as it’s allowed me to take the baby out for a walk everyday. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t walk as trying to get to the gym is impossible. I don’t currently belong to a gym to begin with. I looked in to a gym down the street that has daycare – but they don’t take babies less than 3 months old. That does me no good.

Another option is the raquet club we join every summer … but that’s a very expensive option, and I can’t justify it from a budget standpoint.

So you’ll find me walking for now. And riding my bike on the weekends … oh, how I love my bike. And hopefully you’ll find me 20 pounds lighter in two months time!

Wow. It’s been a long time since I’ve posted … and it’s been a long time since I’ve read any of my favorite blogs. Of those I have on my google reader, I have nearly 800 posts I’ve not yet read! Eee gads!!

First things first … why. Why have I seemingly disappeared off the face of the blog-o-sphere? One word … pregnancy. It’s been a real bitch for me, people. It’s all I can do to get through a day without losing my mind. Between the “complications” of this pregnancy, trying to get work in order so that I can be out of the office for 4 months, and chasing after a very energetic almost four year old, I’m drowning.

Oh, and the guilt. Perhaps it’s the hormones, but the guilt is sometimes crippling. I’m pregnant. I’m creating life. I should be glowing, excited, unbelievably happy, grateful, feeling oh-so-blessed.

NOT. Hence, the guilt.

I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I’m “advanced maternal age”, but this pregnancy is kicking my ass. I recall not exactly enjoying being pregnant the first time around, but this is so much worse. I should start by explaining that all is going well with the baby as of now. It’s me and the fact that I seem to be falling apart.

I have cholestasis – which is pregnancy-induced liver disease. Lucky me. First the good news:
– with ongoing monitoring, the baby should be fine
– I will deliver early
– my liver will return to normal after giving birth

And the bad news?
– there’s nothing that can be done about it
– I have an all-over body itch that is present all day, every day and is driving me insane. It’s an itch that comes from inside, so it’s not like I can use a lotion or take a bath or do anything to relieve it. The ONLY thing that provides a bit of relief is Benadryl. Which makes me sleepy – and which I haven’t been able to take in the last few days because my blood pressure has started to rise.

Add the feelings of guilt to the ever-present, overwhelmingly annoying body itch, and you’ve got one depressed Mama G.

Hence my disappearance.

I will return eventually – to both posting here and commenting on all of your blogs as well! In the meantime, have a fabulous holiday season with you and yours …


I didn’t have the balls today to say to you what I really wanted to say, so I’m using my blog as an outlet to do so if for no other reason that to hopefully make myself feel better. Perhaps give myself some closure.

You’ve disappointed me. And I’m sad about that.

It was a little over a year ago when I was proud to call you my friend. I truly enjoyed our talks, our lunches together, the times spent laughing and trying to solve all of the world’s problems. Or at least the problems we had in our little world.

I appreciated your advice and felt like I was helping you out when offering you mine. Ours was a friendship from which we both benefited.

Or so I thought.

But one day, it all ended. Without warning. And boy, it stung. At first I thought that you were just going through something and needed your space from those that were close to you. But before long, it was obvious that I was the only person from which you needed space. I was confused. Hurt. Sad. If I gave you your space, I thought, maybe you would come back.

You didn’t. And rather than confronting you, I let your friendship go. It wasn’t until six months later that you told me why. And the why was so unbelievable to me that all I could do was cry in frustration. The why, after all, was a lie. Something you had heard that I had said about you. But something that I had never said.

Why didn’t you value our friendship enough to approach me six months sooner and ask me about it then?

Our friendship never returned to the level it once was. Sure, we had lunch a few times after that talk – but it was just two people having lunch, never two friends. I didn’t have it in me to give you my friendship after being burned, and I’m not sure you had any interest in giving me yours.

So now you’re moving on and saying your good-byes. And what you did to me today stung as fiercely as when you first decided to end our friendship without my consent and without warning.

Although there’s a part of me that would like to stand up and say FUCK YOU, I won’t. Maybe one day you’ll learn that it’s your loss. Truly. Your loss.

Good luck to you.

Like clockwork, no sooner did the month of September come to end so did my depression. Might be because I only allowed myself that particular month to mourn, or it might be because October is my favorite month of the year, or perhaps a bit of both. But I kid you not, on Sunday, September 30th I was depressed, depressed, depressed yet somehow I woke up on Monday, October 1st ready to tackle the world. And on a Monday! Who’da thunk?

Yesterday – the 2nd day of October – and I have to tell you, I had a fabulous day. I actually enjoyed life again and I can’t tell you how relieved I feel. Relieved and exhausted, actually.

Exhausted because I’ve re-discovered my love of reading. I used to be an avid reader. I always had at least one, typically two books going at once. After V was born, the reading came to a screeching halt – mostly because any down time I was spent catching up on my sleep! But nearly four years later, and I’m reading again. And I’m exhausted because I picked up a book that I can’t set down. This book, I believe, actually helped to pull me out of my “September Mourn”. It’s inspirational, it’s funny, it’s fascinating. It’s Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert … and considering it’s a best seller right now, I’m sure many of you have read it.

Last night, after V was tucked snuggly in to his bed, I spent my evening sewing a darling little outfit for a girlfriend’s baby shower this weekend. Finished up with that at about 11:00pm and tried to go to bed, but couldn’t get that book out of my mind.

Just a half hour, I told myself.

Nearly two hours later, I forced myself with every fiber of my being to put the book down, turn out the light, and get some much-needed sleep.

And I just discovered that Elizabeth herself will be on Oprah this Friday discussing the book. The race is on. I really, really must finish it before Friday. Well, not really. I do have Tivo, after all. But I’m too excited about it and really want to see the show on Friday!!

Excuse me now while I go and read some more …. Ahhhh, life is so sweet right now!

There’s a saying that goes “In the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips”.

I’ve always wanted a sister. Someone who knows me better than anyone else and loves me anyway. Someone who understands me without me needing to say a word. My very own sister.

It’s not uncommon for little girls to want sisters, just as little boys want brothers. The difference is that I never outgrew my desire to have a sister. I’m not sure if it stems from the fact that my own sister, Deanna, died at two days old and I somehow felt gypped. Or maybe it’s because as hard as I try, I just can’t get close to my brother. He’s the most private person I’ve ever met and as a result, I don’t feel like I truly know him.

When my dad started dating his now-wife, I was thrilled to find out that she had a daughter. Selfishly I immediately thought that if they were to get married, I’d have a sister, albeit step. It was several months before I met this future step-sister, and we hit it off immediately – as if we’d known each other our whole lives.

We don’t live in the same town, and so we don’t get to see each other that often. Last week, for my birthday she sent me the sweetest note in which she wrote “happy birthday to my sister”. Likely due to pregnancy hormones, mixed with a dose of my never-ending desire to have a sister of my very own, I started crying. And I wrote her back to tell her about my reaction.

In the last week, we have started emailing each other. Every. Single. Day. You see, she’s always wanted a sister, too. And it turns out we have the same sense of humor, and love to talk about the same kinds of silly things. We’ve started to get to know all about each other … asking each other questions, answering each others questions, etc. It’s been a fabulous week of getting to know my very own sister, albeit step … my very own chocolate chip!

… but you can’t look to closely because seriously folks, it looks like a child made this dress!

My first attempt turned out. Just turned out. Not good, not bad, not too ugly. I think baby will be able to wear it at least once. My fear is that it might fall to pieces when washed.

What didn’t work?

– I couldn’t figure out how to sew a button hole on my sewing machine. I tried and tried, to no avail. In true Mama G fashion, I improvised. Instead of a button hole, we have a button – but the dress now attached via velcro. Brilliant, if you ask me!

– You can’t tell from the photo, but the fabric is a corduroy. Please take note. If you’ve never sewn before and want to attempt to try to make something, don’t pick corduroy for your fabric. Cotton, people. Cotton!

– The inner fabric is supposed to be fused to the dress. I bought the wrong kind of fusing evidently. Either that, or I didn’t know how to use it. It made the dress to stiff and crinkly sounding, so I just ripped it out. I’m going to buy some of that stuff they have now – I have no idea what it’s called – but you can iron up a hem rather than sew it. I’ll use some of that to attach the to pieces of fabric. Wish me luck.

After all of that, you’d think I’d end my sewing career here. But NOPE, not me. I’m headed to the fabric store this afternoon to buy some COTTON fabric to give it another try!! I know, I’m just silly that way …


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