Mommy's Night Off

I finally convinced Nate that being a stay at home mom is harder than he seems to think it is. He finally believes (for whatever reason) that being on duty 24 hours a day 7 days a week is very grinding. As a result, we've started doing "nights off." Usually it's Mommy's Night Off, where he takes the kiddo over to a friend's house. The guys play video games and she runs around and eventually falls asleep until it's time to go home. It's also good for her to learn to sleep somewhere other than her own bed. I get to do whatever I want on those evenings. Starting next week, we're having a Daddy's night off in the mix where baby and I do our thing, and he goes out with friends and does his thing, guilt-free. It's taken us 18 months, but we finally figured out that having time alone without being on parent duty is necessary to our mental well being.


Tonight is Mommy's night off, as was last Saturday. Last week I went to a movie completely alone for the first time in my life. It was AMAZING. Seriously, if you've never gone to a movie completely alone, go do it as soon as possible. For that matter, take yourself out to dinner, too. I did that for the first time when I was 20, and I loved it. I still do love it, but due to being a one income family, it doesn't happen as often. And I don't mean running into McDonald's. Do at least Olive Garden on your own. Someplace with a waiter/waitress. It's liberating to just be on your own time table.

So far tonight I've left the house long enough to buy a really big bottle of wine (Woodbridge, so mid-range Mondavi. Cabernet Sauvignon if you care, because it's my favorite type of wine.) I've had four full glasses, and I'm feeling damn good. I rarely drink anymore. Being pregnant and then breastfeeding for a year killed my drinking abilities. OK, so I didn't breastfeed in the normal way. I was intimate friends with a breast pump, but still, for the first year of her life my kid had maybe a grand total of 20 ounces of formula. I'd say that's something to be proud of because breastfeeding and pumping is fucking hard. It shouldn't be, but it is.

I should add that I have zero problem with mommas who formula feed their kids. I have a lot less parental judgement than many. If you can breastfeed, please do. If not, there's no shame in formula. Frankly, I'm very surprised with myself that I EP'd (exclusively pumped) for as long as I did. Really, my only parental judging comes from people who can't properly use a car seat. Seriously, it's called a CHEST CLIP not a fucking belly clip.

Don't drink and blog, kids. It results in really messy entries. Do I care right now? No. I'm going to keep going.

Something I've been asked repeatedly is "What kind of parent are you?" Honestly, I'm still working up an answer to that question. I'm thinking that when I'm sober I'll have to spell it out.

For now, I'm going to go drink a glass of water so the hangover tomorrow doesn't kill me. Eventually, though, I have a couple of semi-serious topics I want to write about. I just want to be sober and able to cry when I write them.

Struggles

I've dealt with depression for years, both with and without medication. Somehow, no matter what drugs I'm taking or not taking, I get hit with a bout that I just can't shake about every 15 months.

Right now, I'm not on any medications. I stopped them in January after their effectiveness was just not there. We (my doctor, husband, and I) decided it would be worth a trial run without them. I do have a one month supply stashed if I should need to start back on them, but so far so good.

Until the last six weeks or so.

I've been feeling off. I try to do things out and about with my kid, try to keep my house clean, try to just live my life, but I feel off. I can feel myself being isolated. Now, the tricky part is figuring out if it's all in my head, if I'm unconsciously isolating myself, or if other people are isolating me for whatever reason. It's all happened to me before. The challenge is that when I'm slipping, I can't tell the difference. I know it's happening but I can't figure out the cause. In turn, that makes it even harder for me to pull myself back out of the depression. It's all a cycle, and it sucks.

So I've been isolated. Despite trying my hardest not to be, I am. Nate's noticed it, and he's trying to figure out how to deal with me when I'm like this. So far the most effective method has been him just flat out telling me, "Hey, you're being crazy." I hate it when he calls me crazy, so I think it's dramatic enough in its simple way to stop me in my tracks and help me get myself together.

 You see, I have something called dysthymia. It's not as severe as many forms of depression, but it lingers. On and on and on. I think part of the curse of it is that since it isn't as severe, you can tell something isn't right. You KNOW you're messed up and you're powerless to stop it. There are therapies, medicinal and not, that treat it. I'm trying a nonmedicinal form, and it's more successful than not.

This is just a rough patch. But hey, at least I know it's happening and I can do my best to plow through it.

There's an old saying that if you wag a dog's tail, you'll make it happy because of the association with tail-wagging and happiness. I don't know if that's true or not, but that's what I'm trying for myself.

Honestly? It's working a little bit better every day.

I'm *that* Mom

So tonight has been the first time since before my kid was born that I've been home alone. I begged and pleaded and my darling husband finally took the kid out without me so I could be home alone. I've done nothing but play computer games since I upgraded my graphics card this week. It's been a glorious evening.

Yesterday evening was a graduation party for my friend Jill, who finally completed her bachelor's degree. It was a great time, and I think I earned the title of "That Mom."

You see, it started raining. We were at a park, so mud puddles formed quickly. The bigger kids (ages 4-7) started playing in the puddles. Of course, I let Addy join. I had the means to dry her off and make her comfy in the car, it was hot as hell outside, and I thought it'd be funny. Ultimately she was drenched head to toe and got herself, me, and everyone she came in contact with muddy. And she giggled, laughed, and squealed with delight the entire time.

That's right, I let my 18 month old play in a mud puddle until she was a mess. And I laughed with her.

Mud puddles are AWESOME.

I also let her eat a brownie AND a cookie. She also ate real food, and I think she realized what a treat those sweets were because I've never seen her actually savor food before.

As far as parenting goes, I decided while I was still pregnant that I was just going to roll with it and do things the way that felt right to me. I do some research, chat with other parents, and then go with what feels like the best fit for my family. This has led to a very difficult age in child rearing actually being fun. Yes, she still has epic drama queen meltdowns if I put the wrong shoes on her, but that's what toddlers do. They freak the eff out over everything. They're starting to form their own little opinions and still lack a good way to express them. You'd be frustrated and prone to melt downs, too if you hadn't developed good communication skills.

So there you have it. My kid has eaten junk food and played in mud puddles. And we loved every minute of it.