Motherhood Uncensored

So apparently carbs, sugar, and booze make me an asshole.

After the whole Wellbutrin fail and my first post IUD period right around the corner, (or uh, official one, since yeah, me and pantyliners are like THIS nowadays), I was pretty much willing to try anything to avoid yet another two weeks in asshole town.

And so I decided to cut out carbs, sugar, and booze. 

I realize this sounds completely counterintuitive because really, after some tough times with my oldest daughter sending us back to therapy and Sandy Hook, the natural tendency for most humans is to eat and drink large amounts of unhealthy things. 

Now I'm not following any sort of plan or anything that's named after a person or a city in Florida, I'm just eating a lot of protein and vegetables and steering clear of carbs, sugar and booze, which by all accounts was almost my entire diet. 

The first few days were really hard.

But now it's just become a regular habit, because during what I'm pretty sure was PMS, I didn't yell once. 

That's right. No irritability, or feeling exhausted, or wanting to cry myself into a corner. 

Okay, that's not completely true. I was still weepy and a little anxious. But no yelling or gut screaming or any scaring of my children of any kind. 

Basically, me. Back again. And even in some of my old pants! 

(Of course, with my luck, any weight that I have lost has come straight off my boobs and not really anywhere else). 

It's not like I don't have any emotion. And my kids still annoy me sometimes. But my ability to handle it has gotten increasingly better. 

And by the way, if you're wondering, the first two days of the post-IUD period were, uh, interesting. But I'll be honest, it didn't last very long (which is typical for me anyway). So either I'm an anomaly, or that wasn't my real period. 

But hey, who cares because I'm not an asshole!

And I can eat as much salami as a I want. 

The refrigerator, lunchmeat kind, smart asses. 

The risk of living is dying

A tiny part of me felt reassured after the Aurora theater shooting because a midnight movie showing with my kids was never a situation I'd probably find myself in. 

And that somehow made me feel safer.

It's how anxious people like me cope. No judgment of parents and their choices, just how I get through the tragic events that plague our world and still leave my house every day. 

A Southeast Asian vacation was never on my life list so phew safe from possible tsunami. 

But today is a little more difficult, or really, a lot more, because every day I pack my kids up in the car, and most of the time I'm yelling or they're fighting or some combination of both. I get annoyed when the school door is locked when I drop them off or pick them up early, because having to knock on your own kids' school door seems wildly ridiculous until you realize that it's not at all. 

The bubble I had created to keep us all safe popped today. And as much as I know life is fragile and unpredictable, reminders like this make them so palpable. 

Because I've bought Christmas presents for my kids, stacked high in our dining room in huge boxes yet to be opened like everyone of those parents in Newtown did for their kids.

The stockings are hung by our chimney, waiting to be filled, then dumped with squeals of delight, sounds that the families won't ever hear again.

And every day I drop them off at school with total, absolute security, which is a pretty big deal for someone who has already thought out and prepared for all possible tragedies, like how to get out of a car that's sinking in water or talking to the kids about strangers or for 2012 "The Tricky Person" and so when the one completely mundane regular part of the day that for fuck's sake is definitely safe is suddenly, possibly unsafe, it's mind altering. 

Life shifting. 

There was news that my friend Victoria's nephew was killed at the school. My other friend Catherine's nephew, unrelated to Sandy Hook, can no longer breathe on his own. 

I've been trying to do better and be better, fighting marriage challenges and my own mother challenges and hormones GOD THE HORMONES and wanting so badly to not be short and overwhelmed for every other interaction with my kids.

I will not lie to you: Life has been wearing me out. 

But now it just has to be different. 

For too long, I've been surviving, pushing through each minute and hour to get to the end of the day for what? So I can plop my tired ass down on the couch and stare at the large television over my mantle where my kids' pretty stockings hang. And breathe. 

Each day is a complete blur. 

But see, I don't want to just breathe. 

Tonight I celebrated Drew's "Graduation" from needing tokens for staying in his bad with his favorite meal and cupcakes. Then we all skipped around the room with the music blasting, their tiny hands in mine, our shrieks and laughter so loud and deep that we were gasping for each bit of precious air. 

I want that more of this. These moments.

For me, for my kids, and for all the parents, sisters, brothers, husbands, wives, and children who wish they had one more chance to laugh so hard they were struggling for air. 

It's the least we all can do to honor them. 

I went to a Christmas Party and all I got was a midget blow-up doll

Last week I spent 3 glorious days in Disney World, which sounds completely counterintuitive to everything in my body because roller coasters, large turkey legs, and weirdos dressed up like Winnie the Pooh are not my idea of awesome, but I was alone with Margot and had a special press fast pass that meant no lines ever. 

About every other minute she'd grab my hand and say "Just you and me, Mom" and then I'd melt and buy her another Barbie-looking Disney princess doll to the point where we came home with a whole harem. 

Upon my return I was greeted with my mother-in-law, who had agreed to come down because my husband had to work, and we figured since she was here, we'd take advantage of her services (which I hear included candy, cinnamon buns and "3 hours of video game playing in a row SHE DIDN'T EVEN CARE, MOM!) and hit his Christmas party as well, which would mean I'd have to race home, grab some clothes, jewelry, and make-up, and drive 2-hours south to the party.

Now let me be clear: I really don't like Christmas parties, especially ones that involve the military, because usually it's a bunch of drunk white guys calling the female serves "hon" and "oh hey Mrs. MYHUSBANDSLASTNAMEMAKESMYBLOODBOIL," guffawing over sex toys and lube at the white elephant gift exchange.

And surprise, that's exactly what happened, except we got to stay in a hotel afterwards and sleep-in completely uninterrupted until 8:30am. 

{Note: A part of me dies inside every time I say "sleep-in until 8:30am"}

So, I figured that I could survive Quinlan bawling her eyes out to me about how her grandmother is just like her father (ack), and my mother-in-law saying something like "stop your nastiness" to my son as I tried to desperately pack up a few things. 

I gave her an iPod Touch to text me, I told my son to put his imaginary earmuffs on, and I shot out the door. 

Quinlan's first text, aw! 

And I was on track to make it there in time until I realized that I had driven about an hour in the wrong direction, which is awesome when you're relying on Apple Maps and the way you went doesn't actually have any sort of short cut remedy other than turning around and going back the way you came. 

But hey, at least I had pretty new shirts from Nordstrom that OH SHIT MOTHERFUCKER had all the security tags left in. Surely not all three shirts I bought could have the tags left in because that would be OH SHIT MOTHERFUCKER. 

Dude. All of them. EVERY single shirt had the security tag (the non-screamer tags I later learned). 

I rocked the jewelry though, yo.

So yes, yes, I went to the party with a security tag tucked into my skirt, peeking out the side like a gigantic goiter, but considering I'd just be sitting and tossing back vodka tonics while I flipped off the Secret Santa host for telling my husband to send his wife up to get a gift, who really cares about the giant security tag hanging off your shirt? 

And really, no one was looking at me because the chick at my table reapplying mascara without a mirror while we all ate our chicken cutlets and pudding was way more entertaining.

We topped off the evening at a bar where you can still smoke and a guy wearing a sweater vest with Christmas lights.

So not joking about the dude.

But hey, we slept until 8:30am with no children anywhere near our person. And I won a midget blow-up doll, which my husband was none to pleased about. 

3 love openings of pleasure, y'all 

"At least we can now drive semi-legally in the HOV lane!" I told him. 

What's that saying? Always look on the bright side of the blow-up doll? 

Wellbutrin. Or better, wellthatsucks

I know, I know. It's only been a week, but just yesterday when I nearly bit the head off my children during my good week, I decided to Google "Wellbutrin made me an asshole."

Okay, not exactly that but something about irritability and BLAM about 400 links with "irritability" and "agitation" as a side effect came up and I breathed a huge sigh of relief because wow, I haven't gotten so pissed about my husband not knowing where the baby wipes were in like, um ever.

I realize that it takes awhile for meds to work, or something, and I know it's different for everyone, which is the challenge with SSRIs. What makes one person gloriously happy and skinny can make another person a complete and total asshole. 

That's why you should not run away from the Wellbutrin. It only means that right now, I should. For the sake of my marriage and my children who are somewhat used to mommy being a complete jerk but usually much closer to the end of the month. 

I'm headed back to my midwife in 3o days to make sure my IUD didn't dislodge, so I'm going to ask her about alternatives then. 

These things take time and experimentation, which totally sucks, but I know from the experience of many close friends, when you find the right thing it can be glorious. 

And speaking of the IUD, I had some cramping and bleeding on and off for the last few days, but it seems to have subsided for now. We'll see how it goes when I'm actually supposed to be bleeding. 

I picked up a few boxes of diaper-sized pads and super-sized OB tampons so I'm ready! 

I know, I'm such a bag of giggles these days.