I am fortunate enough to be the owner of a lot of really lovely shiny things that commemorate the birth and life of my Tiny Man. When he was born I received a pair of earrings and a necklace in his birthstone from Hubby. I also have a mommy bracelet that was made for me. It, too, has his birthstone and his name spelled out on it. It's not something I would have chosen for myself, but I wore it faithfully every day until Toast was born, when I received a second bracelet with both boys names on it. I love them. I also have a "B" on a silver chain, and few assorted bracelets made for me by hospice volunteers. I frequently wear a blue and yellow rubber bracelet for Down syndrome awareness. It's not dressy, but it's a daily reminder to myself and to others what one of my strongest priorities is. My two favorite things are a locket I received at Tiny Man's memorial, with his picture in it, of course; and a necklace that is now my every day wear. The second has two metal tags, each is stamped with a name...one for Tiny Man and one for Toast. I love it....it was my "push prize" from Hubby. *an aside*: I'm aware of the crassness of the term "push prize", but I made it abundantly clear to Hubby at the outset of our marriage that while I am NOT a girl who requires regular gifts of shiny things, it was of paramount importance that I receive the shiny gift of my choosing ASAP after bearing a child. It's okay for you to think this is shallow of me, I don't mind. I make up for it in other areas.
The purpose of this post isn't to enumerate my jewelry collection for you, but to share how some of these things are significant to me. I'm really not a dressy kind of girl. These items aren't expensive, they aren't flashy, and they don't hold a whole lot of monetary value. There are days, however, that I want to wear all of them at once. If I didn't think it would make me look like some ridiculous mommy-version of Mr. T, I probably would. They remind me of Tiny man. Of what he means to me, and they are a way to help keep him present in my daily life.
I have other Talismans too...but they aren't as visible. These are the gifts my son gave me.
I look at people with disabilities differently now. It isn't that I was judgemental or rude before; I was simply uncomfortable because I wasn't sure what to do or how to act. I didn't want to say anything wrong. Tiny man did so much to draw people in to him. Without a single word (he never learned to talk), he could draw a complete stranger to him, introduce himself, and hold a conversation. A simple smile, a laugh...the twinkle in those eyes that were so blue I couldn't have chosen the color in Photoshop if I wanted to. This gift of acceptance is a Talisman I carry with me every day. It helps me to see people better, to laugh at life (and myself), and to accept imperfection.
I worry less. I'm a planner, and boy did I try to plan everything about Tiny man's life. Before I even got pregnant I had a plan...when I would get pregnant, how it would work with my teaching schedule, when I would have to go back, what the baby would be doing at that age and how things would work out in daycare. When he was born I tried to think of a plan. There was none. We made a plan, instead, of what to do if he died in the car on the way home. Not the kind of plan I had in mind. After several months, we started thinking about the fall...would I return to work? Who would take care of him? How would his health be? I was so scared to stay home...scared of money (or the lack of it), scared of losing myself and my identity, scared of leaving my job, scared of being alone with him (though I didn't realize it at the time). All the old adages about planning? We all know them because they are all true: "we plan, god laughs"..."life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans"..."the best laid plans of mice and men"...it's all true. Instead I realized that if I stop trying to plan my life, I can actually live it. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, or next week, or three months from now. I can make sure I'm ready for good things (be frugal, stay healthy, keep an open mind)...but I can't plan. It won't work. Another thing? When I stopped planning, I loved my life so much more...and I found that life loved me back and gave me gifts beyond what I thought possible.
I'm more forgiving. I know that in light of recent blog posts this may be difficult to understand, but it's true. I'm less likely to bristle over an off hand comment. I'm more likely to remember that people say things that they don't think through. I try to remember that I can't control other people and what they think, and sometimes the best thing to do is just walk away and Let. It. GO.
I've spent a lot of time this year, on the anniversary of Tiny Man's death, thinking about my Talismans...about how the lessons I learned from him still guide me. He really is my star...and he's still with me every day...helping me get through this life with some grace and dignity. It sounds like a cliche, but it's true that sometimes it's those who know the least that teach us the most.
I miss you, buddy. Every day. Still.
Love,
Mama
Showing posts with label afterpains. Show all posts
Showing posts with label afterpains. Show all posts
Monday, February 15, 2010
Thursday, November 5, 2009
sharing
So a few months ago I got a letter from our Pediatric Hospice...the one that helped us take care of Tiny Man. They are starting (have started) an outreach program to explain what they do to the medical professionals, parents, and community that the come in contact with.
See, when you say someone is "with Hospice" or "on Hospice"...no one really knows what that means. I think that most of us understand that it means someone is dying. Does that mean that Hospice helps them? Cares for them? What if it's a family that doesn't have anyone else? What if it's a family that has...well...everyone they could possibly need?
I made a scrapbook about our journey with Hospice, and I wanted to share it here; mostly because it's something I'm very proud of (I think people who know me are sick of seeing and hearing about it). You can see the actual pages on my Flickr page starting here. The pages uploaded backwards, so the first page of the scrapbook appears last.....
So here is the journaling that explains what Hospice did for us:
______
Our son ** was diagnosed in-utero with Down syndrome and two cardiac defects. While the heart defects were not rare alone, they had been seen together less than twenty times. We spent the months leading up to his birth preparing for a high-risk delivery at Hutzel Hospital, and possible surgery after his birth.
After B was born we found out that he actually had three cardiac defects: a Truncus Arteriosis type I, Coarctation of the Aorta, and Complete AV Canal defect. In addition to this, his heart was slightly smaller in some areas, making fixing the defects a very tricky call indeed.
After discussing the options for surgery, and finding that B had very little chance of making it through surgery, much less living with a good quality of life afterwards; and finding that surgery would not guarantee a significantly longer life, we decided to enroll B in a pediatric hospice program, take him home, and live whatever time he had to it’s fullest extent.
Meeting with Hospice, planning for an end, is not what new parents expect. We didn’t even know what hospice was.
Hospice, as we found out, is family. They care for their patients medically, but it is so much more than that.
Illness, sickness, surprise, death, surgery, defect. These are the words new parents do not want to hear. Should never hear.
Hospice brought us normalcy. They emphasized that we had control. We had B. They did not dwell on fear, pain, suffering or the very real eventuality of B’s death. They encouraged us to live with our son, and to love him. They helped us bond with him in a very normal fashion.
We had power that had been taken from us when B was born “sick”. We were taught how to marvel at the little things new parents do, and forget the nightmare.
Doctors told us our son might, with luck, live two weeks.
Two weeks.
Together with Hospice, we knew B’s health was taken care of, and we were able to build memories of our son without being afraid; without being reminded of what was ahead.
But then we learned that B had other plans for his life and the people in it.
After two weeks had passed, B was just being B…living.
After three weeks, he was still here.
At one month, his doctor told us he was stable, static, and nothing had changed
At three months, we had him evaluated by Early On in our School System.
At seven months, he started physical and occupational therapy.
Two days before his first birthday, a birthday Ben was never supposed to see, he was discharged from hospice.
Then the fun began
B LIVED.
We took him birding, camping, hiking. He was showered with love. He met his entire family at family reunions. He went to school. He flirted with girls. He received therapy to help with the effects of his Down syndrome. He attended Christmas parties, weddings, funerals for friends, picnics. He went Trick or Treating. Twice.
In short…life was NORMAL.
Hospice gave us that gift.
We could have been afraid to do any of these things. We could have stayed in our house, worried that B would get sick. Worried that he was too frail.
Instead, we were taught that it was okay to be normal. B taught us to be brave, and strong, and to love the world and people in it; even in the face of enormous uncertainty.
On December 8, 2007 we welcomed B’s brother T into the world.
After T’s birth, B contracted one respiratory illness after another.
On February 20, after yet another visit to the pediatrician to deal with yet another runny, sneezy, sniffly day, we were told that B was in Organ failure.
Hospice was called on the way home, and they were at our house in less than two hours.
It was like they picked right back up; like they had never left.
We said goodbye to B less than 24 hours later, on Valentine’s day 2008. It was exactly one week before his second birthday.
In the hours, days, and weeks that followed, Hospice helped us with every last detail, from the nightmare of notifying the police of a death in our home, to planning the funeral, to walking back into an empty house.
They still visit with us occasionally, as we learn to navigate life without one of our guiding stars.
B’s life could have been full of
Anger
Blame
Argument
Uncertainty
Misunderstanding
Hospitals
Surgeries
Sterility
Sadness
Fear
Low expectations
Instead, B lived a life of
Nature
Home
Laughter
Love
Family
Friends
Learning
Playdates
Adventure
Certainty
And Miracles
Our whole family owes a debt to Walk With Me. They gave us the power to LIVE with our son, not wait for his death. In addition, that life was one of dignity.
So was B’s death.
Grief is never an experience one “gets over”, but when a parent loses a child, that grief is so very different, so much darker and more painful.
B has been gone a year and a half, and sometimes we behave as if he’s still here. Walk With Me gets that. They understand. Other people in our life, though filled with compassion, will never understand.
Hospice is like family. We would never have the many memories we have without them and what they did for us. We would not have been able to lift ourselves out of the initial bad news and bad scenario without them.
Thank you will never be enough.
______
If I could hug our hospice every day for the rest of my life, it is a task that I would happily undertake. Those people are angels, and they work magic. I owe our comfort and sanity, and the many memories we were able to make with our son to them.
So next time you hear about someone being taken home and put on Hospice, please know that they are living; and yes, dying, with dignity, respect, love, and family. They are the lucky ones who will not know fear of death.
We should all be so lucky.
See, when you say someone is "with Hospice" or "on Hospice"...no one really knows what that means. I think that most of us understand that it means someone is dying. Does that mean that Hospice helps them? Cares for them? What if it's a family that doesn't have anyone else? What if it's a family that has...well...everyone they could possibly need?
I made a scrapbook about our journey with Hospice, and I wanted to share it here; mostly because it's something I'm very proud of (I think people who know me are sick of seeing and hearing about it). You can see the actual pages on my Flickr page starting here. The pages uploaded backwards, so the first page of the scrapbook appears last.....
So here is the journaling that explains what Hospice did for us:
______
Our son ** was diagnosed in-utero with Down syndrome and two cardiac defects. While the heart defects were not rare alone, they had been seen together less than twenty times. We spent the months leading up to his birth preparing for a high-risk delivery at Hutzel Hospital, and possible surgery after his birth.
After B was born we found out that he actually had three cardiac defects: a Truncus Arteriosis type I, Coarctation of the Aorta, and Complete AV Canal defect. In addition to this, his heart was slightly smaller in some areas, making fixing the defects a very tricky call indeed.
After discussing the options for surgery, and finding that B had very little chance of making it through surgery, much less living with a good quality of life afterwards; and finding that surgery would not guarantee a significantly longer life, we decided to enroll B in a pediatric hospice program, take him home, and live whatever time he had to it’s fullest extent.
Meeting with Hospice, planning for an end, is not what new parents expect. We didn’t even know what hospice was.
Hospice, as we found out, is family. They care for their patients medically, but it is so much more than that.
Illness, sickness, surprise, death, surgery, defect. These are the words new parents do not want to hear. Should never hear.
Hospice brought us normalcy. They emphasized that we had control. We had B. They did not dwell on fear, pain, suffering or the very real eventuality of B’s death. They encouraged us to live with our son, and to love him. They helped us bond with him in a very normal fashion.
We had power that had been taken from us when B was born “sick”. We were taught how to marvel at the little things new parents do, and forget the nightmare.
Doctors told us our son might, with luck, live two weeks.
Two weeks.
Together with Hospice, we knew B’s health was taken care of, and we were able to build memories of our son without being afraid; without being reminded of what was ahead.
But then we learned that B had other plans for his life and the people in it.
After two weeks had passed, B was just being B…living.
After three weeks, he was still here.
At one month, his doctor told us he was stable, static, and nothing had changed
At three months, we had him evaluated by Early On in our School System.
At seven months, he started physical and occupational therapy.
Two days before his first birthday, a birthday Ben was never supposed to see, he was discharged from hospice.
Then the fun began
B LIVED.
We took him birding, camping, hiking. He was showered with love. He met his entire family at family reunions. He went to school. He flirted with girls. He received therapy to help with the effects of his Down syndrome. He attended Christmas parties, weddings, funerals for friends, picnics. He went Trick or Treating. Twice.
In short…life was NORMAL.
Hospice gave us that gift.
We could have been afraid to do any of these things. We could have stayed in our house, worried that B would get sick. Worried that he was too frail.
Instead, we were taught that it was okay to be normal. B taught us to be brave, and strong, and to love the world and people in it; even in the face of enormous uncertainty.
On December 8, 2007 we welcomed B’s brother T into the world.
After T’s birth, B contracted one respiratory illness after another.
On February 20, after yet another visit to the pediatrician to deal with yet another runny, sneezy, sniffly day, we were told that B was in Organ failure.
Hospice was called on the way home, and they were at our house in less than two hours.
It was like they picked right back up; like they had never left.
We said goodbye to B less than 24 hours later, on Valentine’s day 2008. It was exactly one week before his second birthday.
In the hours, days, and weeks that followed, Hospice helped us with every last detail, from the nightmare of notifying the police of a death in our home, to planning the funeral, to walking back into an empty house.
They still visit with us occasionally, as we learn to navigate life without one of our guiding stars.
B’s life could have been full of
Anger
Blame
Argument
Uncertainty
Misunderstanding
Hospitals
Surgeries
Sterility
Sadness
Fear
Low expectations
Instead, B lived a life of
Nature
Home
Laughter
Love
Family
Friends
Learning
Playdates
Adventure
Certainty
And Miracles
Our whole family owes a debt to Walk With Me. They gave us the power to LIVE with our son, not wait for his death. In addition, that life was one of dignity.
So was B’s death.
Grief is never an experience one “gets over”, but when a parent loses a child, that grief is so very different, so much darker and more painful.
B has been gone a year and a half, and sometimes we behave as if he’s still here. Walk With Me gets that. They understand. Other people in our life, though filled with compassion, will never understand.
Hospice is like family. We would never have the many memories we have without them and what they did for us. We would not have been able to lift ourselves out of the initial bad news and bad scenario without them.
Thank you will never be enough.
______
If I could hug our hospice every day for the rest of my life, it is a task that I would happily undertake. Those people are angels, and they work magic. I owe our comfort and sanity, and the many memories we were able to make with our son to them.
So next time you hear about someone being taken home and put on Hospice, please know that they are living; and yes, dying, with dignity, respect, love, and family. They are the lucky ones who will not know fear of death.
We should all be so lucky.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
I'm not late, you are
We're going to pretend that, instead of 9:11 on a Wednesday, it's actually still Tuesday. That way this post isn't late. See? Play along at home, friends. ;)
Just wanted to post pictures of a few scrapbook layouts I did at a retreat a few weeks ago. Since I get a lot of inspiration from scrapbook blogs and books, I'm trying to be better about sharing my work, which means I am trying to stop comparing what I do to what other people do and just be happy with preserving my own memories.
Anyway.
There isn't too much to say about the first, other than I am sort of fond of it. The second is the one I really like. It's a layout that probably won't be seen too much: one of both boys together, at roughly the same age. The journaling at the top says : "Brothers: 20 months apart. Pictures: 22 months apart. Cheese - Always fresh!" I was looking through some pictures of Tiny Man and realized that Toast's new desire to smile the cheesiest grin possible was something they shared. I love having these two pictures side by side....it's not often I see how much my boys resemble each other.
An aside: maybe I should make it a goal of NaBloPoMo to learn how to take better pictures of my work and not spend ten minutes trying to upload them to the blog. Just a thought.
Just wanted to post pictures of a few scrapbook layouts I did at a retreat a few weeks ago. Since I get a lot of inspiration from scrapbook blogs and books, I'm trying to be better about sharing my work, which means I am trying to stop comparing what I do to what other people do and just be happy with preserving my own memories.
Anyway.
There isn't too much to say about the first, other than I am sort of fond of it. The second is the one I really like. It's a layout that probably won't be seen too much: one of both boys together, at roughly the same age. The journaling at the top says : "Brothers: 20 months apart. Pictures: 22 months apart. Cheese - Always fresh!" I was looking through some pictures of Tiny Man and realized that Toast's new desire to smile the cheesiest grin possible was something they shared. I love having these two pictures side by side....it's not often I see how much my boys resemble each other.
An aside: maybe I should make it a goal of NaBloPoMo to learn how to take better pictures of my work and not spend ten minutes trying to upload them to the blog. Just a thought.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Pie-eve
I love the reaction I get when I tell people Thanksgiving is at my house. Either they say "Oh! Fun!" or I get a look like "how did you get roped into that?" I love to have dinner here. I love to have a house full of family, everyone talking and laughing, snacking, stuffing full of dinner, then falling asleep to movies in the living room. Mostly, though, I love to cook.
I think I should have been born a southern woman. I love to cook, but I don't necessarily pay attention to how healthy something is. I mean, yeah, on a daily basis I pay attention..I make sure our meals are balanced...that there is always a vegetable, and I try to pay attention to things like fat and salt and stuff that isn't good for you. But Thanksgiving, I"m in my element at Thanksgiving. Our stuffing uses a pound of butter. People who hate stuffing love my family's recipe, because it's just that good. I think it's the butter. Then of course there is the green bean casserole...squash with more butter (and brown sugar)...you know, all the standard stuff. And the gravy...lord I love gravy. It's a food group at this time of year, you know.
I think that, in general, people pay too much attention to how much weight they will gain during the holidays. Maybe it's because I don't go to a ton of holiday parties, but really the big meals are Thanksgiving and Christmas. Twice a year. You can't go crazy twice a year? Show restraint at all those holiday parties if you must, but please don't show up at my table telling me that a typical Thanksgiving dinner is 4,000 calories, because I will look right at you with a mouthful of food and say "huh"...then put more potatoes on your plate.
I miss my tiny man. I'm thinking of the past two Thanksgivings and all the fun we had. I"m thinking that this was the last healthy holiday he had, because it was shortly after this that he got the cold that would not go away and turned into bronchitis or RSV or whatever it was that hung on and on and on. I'm thinking of taking him to Bronner's in Frankenmuth two years ago the day after and watching him trip out on all the lights and shine. Mostly, I"m thinking that Thanksgiving last year was the start of a very dark time for me, and I can't help but think of it now and get a little blue. It feels like I'm standing at the top of a hill with roller skates on...
I think I should have been born a southern woman. I love to cook, but I don't necessarily pay attention to how healthy something is. I mean, yeah, on a daily basis I pay attention..I make sure our meals are balanced...that there is always a vegetable, and I try to pay attention to things like fat and salt and stuff that isn't good for you. But Thanksgiving, I"m in my element at Thanksgiving. Our stuffing uses a pound of butter. People who hate stuffing love my family's recipe, because it's just that good. I think it's the butter. Then of course there is the green bean casserole...squash with more butter (and brown sugar)...you know, all the standard stuff. And the gravy...lord I love gravy. It's a food group at this time of year, you know.
I think that, in general, people pay too much attention to how much weight they will gain during the holidays. Maybe it's because I don't go to a ton of holiday parties, but really the big meals are Thanksgiving and Christmas. Twice a year. You can't go crazy twice a year? Show restraint at all those holiday parties if you must, but please don't show up at my table telling me that a typical Thanksgiving dinner is 4,000 calories, because I will look right at you with a mouthful of food and say "huh"...then put more potatoes on your plate.
I miss my tiny man. I'm thinking of the past two Thanksgivings and all the fun we had. I"m thinking that this was the last healthy holiday he had, because it was shortly after this that he got the cold that would not go away and turned into bronchitis or RSV or whatever it was that hung on and on and on. I'm thinking of taking him to Bronner's in Frankenmuth two years ago the day after and watching him trip out on all the lights and shine. Mostly, I"m thinking that Thanksgiving last year was the start of a very dark time for me, and I can't help but think of it now and get a little blue. It feels like I'm standing at the top of a hill with roller skates on...
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Perhaps I should have thought about this...
Our DS parent support group has put out a calendar full of pictures of our kids...the calendar is beautiful (I'll post a link later where you can view it, if you want). Anyway, Ben is on a page in the calendar and tonight there was a big gala at a local art gallery to celebrate the publication of the calendar.
I didn't think before going that it would be difficult. I didn't really think at all, I just said I'd go. It was awful. I mean, seeing everyone, our friends and new parents and all, that was great. But seeing all the kids made me physically ache again. Made me miss Ben so much it's a physical stabbing pain in my stomach. We stayed about an hour and I managed to make to the car before losing it.
I'm going to have a large glass of wine and watch something that will not require thought.
I didn't think before going that it would be difficult. I didn't really think at all, I just said I'd go. It was awful. I mean, seeing everyone, our friends and new parents and all, that was great. But seeing all the kids made me physically ache again. Made me miss Ben so much it's a physical stabbing pain in my stomach. We stayed about an hour and I managed to make to the car before losing it.
I'm going to have a large glass of wine and watch something that will not require thought.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Frozen
It really shouldn't be this hard to get help. After my last post I did look into getting some help, and that is an ongoing process. I found a therapist in my area, and we talked on the phone. Seems he is an analyst, and his specialty is not in supportive therapy. He did give me numbers for a couple other people in his practice, and I've been in contact with one of them who does not take my insurance. So I"ll call another today. I just feel so frustrated, like it shouldn't be this hard to find someone to help me! What do they do with people who are suicidal, say that they don't specialize in suicide? Agh!
Hubby is well, but both kids are sick now. Listening to Bruiser's little cough at night just kills me....he has this horribly hacky congested cough, and of course there is very little to be done about it. I think the pediatrician's office should just set up an automatic recording: "Unless your child has a fever, elevate their crib, use saline nasal drops, and a cool mist vaporizer at night". Tiny man is back on the nebulizer. Trying to keep his nose clear with the drops and snot sucker is like wrestling with an octopus. Last night I did it at one in the morning because he was whimpering and couldn't breathe. It kills me, it really does, but at the same time I am so frustrated because I"m not sleeping AGAIN since they both got sick at about the time Bruiser started sleeping all night.
I'm really trying to let people know that I am not doing well and that I need help, but that is just so incredibly hard. Everyone has their own shit to deal with, and no one wants to listen to me whine. I feel like they are my kids and I should just get through this because everyone deals with it at some point....it's the fact that the fatigue and sleeplessness and sickness come with this paralyzing sadness and apathy that is just killing me. I feel incapable of dealing with more than one task at a time, and that includes the kids. I can't multitask at all...and my life is a series of multitasks. I feel thankful that I don't feel any anger towards the boys...that I don't feel like hurting them or myself. I DO however, feel like throwing breakable things in my kitchen and screaming a lot. I can't do any of this, so I"m trying to look for other outlets.
Another unfortunate effect of what I'm dealing with is that I am completely incapable of figuring out what to DO with myself. I get a half hour of free time when they both nap, and I wonder where it went. I have a million things I should do, a million things I want to do, and I wander around the house drinking coffee and straightening things. At the end of the day I feel so unaccomplished. I can't be still, even at night after Tiny man goes to bed and hubby has bruiser....I can't stand to watch TV, I can't focus on the simplest of knitting, I can't even read...and I read a lot. I used to read before bed every night...I have always been a big reader. I can't focus on the simplest or shortest of things.
So I"m still trying...I am, but it gets more difficult each day.
Hubby is well, but both kids are sick now. Listening to Bruiser's little cough at night just kills me....he has this horribly hacky congested cough, and of course there is very little to be done about it. I think the pediatrician's office should just set up an automatic recording: "Unless your child has a fever, elevate their crib, use saline nasal drops, and a cool mist vaporizer at night". Tiny man is back on the nebulizer. Trying to keep his nose clear with the drops and snot sucker is like wrestling with an octopus. Last night I did it at one in the morning because he was whimpering and couldn't breathe. It kills me, it really does, but at the same time I am so frustrated because I"m not sleeping AGAIN since they both got sick at about the time Bruiser started sleeping all night.
I'm really trying to let people know that I am not doing well and that I need help, but that is just so incredibly hard. Everyone has their own shit to deal with, and no one wants to listen to me whine. I feel like they are my kids and I should just get through this because everyone deals with it at some point....it's the fact that the fatigue and sleeplessness and sickness come with this paralyzing sadness and apathy that is just killing me. I feel incapable of dealing with more than one task at a time, and that includes the kids. I can't multitask at all...and my life is a series of multitasks. I feel thankful that I don't feel any anger towards the boys...that I don't feel like hurting them or myself. I DO however, feel like throwing breakable things in my kitchen and screaming a lot. I can't do any of this, so I"m trying to look for other outlets.
Another unfortunate effect of what I'm dealing with is that I am completely incapable of figuring out what to DO with myself. I get a half hour of free time when they both nap, and I wonder where it went. I have a million things I should do, a million things I want to do, and I wander around the house drinking coffee and straightening things. At the end of the day I feel so unaccomplished. I can't be still, even at night after Tiny man goes to bed and hubby has bruiser....I can't stand to watch TV, I can't focus on the simplest of knitting, I can't even read...and I read a lot. I used to read before bed every night...I have always been a big reader. I can't focus on the simplest or shortest of things.
So I"m still trying...I am, but it gets more difficult each day.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Cross posted
Sometimes it's the little things that keep you going.
I can't talk on the phone (too busy, too muddled, too crazy right now), I can't shower (no time), I barely move from the couch (nursing every hour to hour and a half)...(round the clock), but I can try on my jeans.
And I can fit into them, and in a respectable manner.
And today, that might be all I need to keep me going.
I can't talk on the phone (too busy, too muddled, too crazy right now), I can't shower (no time), I barely move from the couch (nursing every hour to hour and a half)...(round the clock), but I can try on my jeans.
And I can fit into them, and in a respectable manner.
And today, that might be all I need to keep me going.
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