Upswing

Meet my new best friend:

Cradle swings. are.  AWESOME.

My friend sent me home with her swing after Elodie spent all evening contentedly sucking on a blanket at her house while Kevin and I looked at each other like, "What happened to our screaming kid?"  It kicks my 2005 back-and-forth model's ass.

Today?  I actually got a shower after Kevin left for work.  I know.  Incredible.  I'm relaxing.  I'm letting her fuss.  I'm not letting the screams eat at my soul.  I'm not panicked that she'll somehow die if I leave her side before she's 100% asleep.

Going back on Lexapro helps, too.

This sounds so freaking cheesy, but I'm going to say it anyway.  After one week of meds, I'm me again.  I can look around and see that it's summer.  And life is good.  And my children are cute and funny and a joy to be around.  And staying home with them is a blessing--not a burden.

The anger is dissolving away.  All the misery and discontentment and negativity is draining out of me.  I can put a hard day in perspective and see the humor in life again--not just bitter sarcasm.

Life is on the upswing.

It's Going To Be A Long Way To Happy Weight

My mom gave me a ton of left over NutriSystem meals after she burned out on pre-packaged astronaut food.  (And by "left over" I mean 3 months worth.)  This couldn't have happened at a better time.  I've been fighting those last 10 pregnancy pounds for about a month now.

In an effort to scrape up blogging material hold myself accountable, I'm dieting on Da Blog.  Here's the customary BEFORE shot:

Oops.  Wrong file...

So.  Here I am.  BEFORE.

*Notice the I'm-fat-therefore-depressed pout.  It's a must in Fatty Lardo before pics.
**I took this on my patio because every room of my house is dirty.  It was just easier to take the mirror outside.  How sad is that?
***Taking a picture in a mirror is lame, but do you want to say to your husband, "Hey, will you take my Before picture?  Make sure you catch my muffin top!"

Instead of tangible goals with numbers that will horrify all the anorexics out there, I'm breaking it down into Life Moments.  (You won't catch me throwing my number on the internet!  Puh-lease!) 

Pre-Elodie Jaci:  5 pounds
Pre-Elizabeth Jaci:  add another 15 pounds
Happy Jaci:  add another 15 pounds
Wedding Jaci:  add another 20 pounds
Skinny Whore Jaci:  add another 10 pounds

Skinny Whore Jaci has been retired.  Unless I come down with cancer or luck out with a tape worm, she'll always be a fond memory.  Along with college.  And clubs.  And sleeping naked until 2 pm on a Saturday.

Wedding Jaci would be nice to hit, but honestly?  I'm not giving up wine and peanut butter cups to do it. 

So.  Happy Weight is 35 pounds away.  Can I do it in 3 months on NutriSystem?  Stay tuned...

Disclaimer:  NutriSystem is not paying me or giving me free food or doing anything to help a blogger out.  I asked them and they ignored me.  Boo.  Boooooo.  My blog is small and weak.

This Will Make The Name Haters Smile Smugly

I've dealt with the funny looks.

People saying, "What?" and leaning in closer.

People saying, "What?" again and then mouthing the name with a funny look on their face.

And now this.

*sigh*

Attention Western PA: Her name is Elodie. El. O. Dee. It's really quite simple. Say it under your breath a few times. Elodie. It's pretty, huh? So next time you read her name off a piece of paper in a crowded waiting room...

Her name is not E-LOAD-E.

Seriously? Seriously. Why would I name my kid Load?

Wide load. Dump a load. Load of shit.

But not E-load-e.
Thank you.

Sorry, I'm Not Saint Jaci.

Last Friday, I hit rock bottom and had to call a major time out.  This Friday?  It's the complete opposite.  I'm feeling strong and happy and thinking somewhere, in the back of my mind, I just might be able to handle this.

So.  Yeah.  Life is on the upswing.

I got so many e-mails from fellow moms reaching out to me and letting me know that I'm not alone.  It makes me wonder exactly how many moms are sitting at home, right now, miserable with depression?  How many have the baby in the playpen while they lay on the couch too depressed to get up?  How many stretch nap time way longer than they should and ignore the toddler crying in his crib?  How many don't get a shower until late afternoon?  How many plaster on a fake smile when her husband's keys jingle in the lock and pretend that everything is okay?

I'm not the type of person who can fake it.  I can't lie and my poker face sucks.  When something is bothering me, I don't shove it down and smile like a typical girl.  And since I'm not an adolescent *eyeroll at anonymous* I use my big girl words to deal with it.  I'm not a people pleasing teenager anymore.  I'm not going to stifle all my little heartbreaks and hurts so I can be pretty and popular and not bother anyone.

This blog isn't full of drivel about baking cupcakes with Children of the Corn lookalikes and every! happy! sentence! doesn't! end! with! deranged! exclamation! points!  Or emoticons.  And I don't write in pink font.  This is Ravings of a Mad Housewife.  Sometimes funny.  Sometimes WTF?  Always real.

My breakdown last week was not a proud moment.  I don't like to be weak.  But I shared it because I'm not unique in feeling overwhelmed.  I'm not the only Mom who's ever had to hand the kids off to her husband and walk away, and there shouldn't be any shame in that!  We're not martyrs.  We're mothers.

The very worst thing I could have done would be to suck it up and try to handle Friday on my own.  To send my husband off to work and spend 9 or 10 hours isolated with two innocent children when I knew I could blow at any minute would have been asking for trouble.  And as for Kevin staying home...

What responsible parent would leave their children with someone who says "I'm not stable right now"???  That's called neglect.  He did exactly what a husband and father should do--he put his family first!  Shrugging his shoulders and saying, "Good luck with that.  I have to be at work at 9," would have been like waving his big ol' middle finger at me and the girls.  What man would do that?

I think I'm struggling and I think that's normal.  I don't need medication.  I don't need to beat myself up.  I don't need to do it all and be the martyr of my family.  I just need time to adjust.

After all, it's only been 10 weeks.

At Last...The Elusive Dimple.

Breakdown

Let me tell you a little about last week.

1.  4 year old sick with sore throat and 101 degree fever.  In July.  (WTF, universe?)
2.  Half colicky, brand new baby without her 2 month round of shots.
3.  Stressed out Mom trying to keep children separated so baby doesn't end up sick.
4.  4 year old freaking out that Mommy isn't paying any attention to her all week long.
5.  Mom got her first postpartum period and all the hormones that go along with it.

Thursday night I sat up dwelling on everything that's going wrong in my life and how I can't seem to get a handle on SAHMdom with two kids.  By 5 am, I gave Elodie her early morning feeding while quietly sobbing--then after I rocked her back to sleep I threw on jeans and a hoodie and grabbed my car keys.

I didn't know where I was going, but I had to get the hell out of there.

I got coffee at Sheetz and found a dollar bill on the floor and thought, "This must be a sign!  God wants me to buy a lottery ticket and He'll pay some of my bills!"  (Oh blessed thought!  If only I could win one or two thousand dollars!  That's it!  I'm not greedy!)  I didn't win jack squat.  Clearly, God was only handing me pity chump change to cover the coffee.

Fail.

Then I had an impulsive thought to drive to my sister's house in Myrtle Beach.  Just up and leave.  Who could blame me?  It's just a weekend off!  I'd come back!  (Sometime.)  But then I remembered I was wearing a sweaty old hoodie and I didn't have my contacts in and I needed pads and I doubted there was enough money in checking to even cover the gas to get out of PA...

Fail.

So I drove 45 minutes away to the college I want to finish my degree at this January.  I had the morbid idea that I'd sit in the parking lot and stare at the campus and tell myself that I was going to do this thing no matter how little money we have or if we can't cover our freaking bills.  I don't care!  I'm finished it!  I'm going back to school full-time!  I weaved all over the road because I was absolutely exhausted and Sheetz coffee didn't even touch it, then when I got there my idea suddenly felt extremely gay and I turned around. 

Fail.

I decided to head back home and imagined that by the time I pulled in the driveway Kevin would come running out the door all concerned and scared because it's Friday at 7 am and Jaci's not here.  I pictured this whole scenario where he'd call off work to take care of me and tell me that everything is going to be okay and we're going to make it through this and we'd cry and have a 3 day weekend... I pulled in the driveway and walked into a totally quiet house because for some freakish reason everyone slept in so no one even noticed I was gone.  By the time Kevin finally came downstairs I was pissed that the 3 Day Weekend Dream wasn't going to happen and announced, "I'm not stable enough to take care of the kids today.  I haven't slept, and I'm going to bed."

Fail.

I went straight to bed and for the first time could care less whether Elodie had enough clean bottles or had her diaper changed or that someone else understood her feeding schedule and what needed to happen next...I just said, "Screw it.  They'll figure it out," and passed out.  I slept til 4 pm.

When I woke up the only thing that inspired me to roll out of bed and face the world was to tell Kevin, "You're buying me a drink.  I don't care where we go or how much you spend, you're buying me a drink."  I had a chocolate martini.  It was worth the $6.50.

For the rest of the weekend, I slept all day while Kevin handled the kids.  When I heard someone scream downstairs, I rolled over and ignored it.  When it was time for church on Sunday, Kevin got both kids up and dressed and went alone...and I didn't even hear a thing.

You know what?  I don't feel the least bit guilty about any of it.

This won't make it in the scrapbook.

Colic is over. (Praise God.) After 9 weeks, I'm starting to see glimpses of an adorable, kissable baby peeking through instead of a screaming, flailing burden. Yeah, I know it's just WRONG to refer to your baby as a burden, but whatever. A colicky baby isn't a joy--and if you're the type of woman who can feel all maternal and blissed out during it here's a news flash: I'm not you. And I'm sick of feeling guilty because I'm not measuring up to other moms who are happy and fulfilled by motherhood. Just plain old motherhood? Really? I'm sick of wondering if I'm unfeminine or unnatural or a selfish ass because I'm not content as a SAHM.
But I'm going off on a tangent...back to the colic issue...

Elodie has a dimple. It took me 9 weeks before I saw enough spontaneous whole face smiles (instead of screaming) to verify that yes, she does have one dimple that gives her an adorable lopsided grin. After I saw it, I almost burst into tears because if I had a *normal* baby who didn't scream for 6 whole weeks I would have found it earlier. Then I felt swamped with guilt because colic isn't her fault and she is *normal*. Then I had to push the entire thought cluster out of my head because damn it I refuse to go there.

I have to go through the same process every time I walk down the steps with Elodie and the thought "If I dropped her she would DIE" bursts into my head by the third step. Or, when I set her car seat down in front of the coffee bar at church and suddenly imagine someone dropping a cup of scalding coffee on her head. Or when a friend holds her a little awkwardly and I have to go in the other room to keep from snatching her away and screaming, "Give her to me! I can see you dropping her!"

Bitch be goin' crazy.

I'm so scared of depression sneaking up on me again that I find myself doing stupid things to "ward it off". Like...making sure I'm dressed with full hair and makeup. I remember those days of stinky funk with baby Elizabeth when I couldn't shower or take care of myself--so even if it takes me until 4 pm to slap on foundation--I do it. Or how about my fixation with making the beds? Because, in my head, non-depressed people are excellent housekeepers and the state of my bedroom is a perfect reflection of my mental state. *facepalm*

Kevin assures me that I am okay because the really crazy people don't know they're messed up. The fact that I know I'm psycho is a good thing? Apparently?

So instead of depression I have anxiety and just want someone to give me meds and make all this *waves hand in circles over everything in front of face* hazy and muffled. Has anyone invented soma yet? (Shout out to Dave Price's English class.) Some nights 7 pm hits and I just want to rage and scream and throw a glass into the sink like a PMS-ing 12 year old because I've had enough.

Oh, and tonight? Tonight. Yes, tonight, Elizabeth screamed at me because I didn't wash her precious Greeny Blanket in time for bed and she cried, "Why didn't you wash it today?" and I said, "Gee, I don't know! Maybe because I have to watch a baby all day?" Then she screamed in my face, "You should have done it when she slept!" and I lost it and screamed back, "I DON'T HAVE TO ANSWER TO YOU!" and almost...almost...this so makes me want to cry...almost added "little bitch."

I'm such an example of Christian motherhood right now. ( All the cussing on my blog really proves that). I want to change into something better but I don't know how. I don't know why I'm not like all the other moms who are content. Sure, they struggle, but they don't spend their days counting down the hours until their husband comes home and their shift ends. (In fact, I'm pretty sure they don't see their kids as a "shift" in the first place.)

I want contentment. I want peace. I want to enjoy my children and just calm down but I can't get there.

*deep heaving sigh*

I should have just posted a cute baby picture with a caption reading LOVING LIFE!!!!! but I wanted to try to put my thoughts into words.

It didn't work. This whole post is a hot mess.

FAIL.

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