A New Year? Don't mind if I do.

First off- for those who have asked, Liam is doing awesome.  No repercussions from the seizure, except for two parents who are living on edge.  Andy and I have not been the same since the episode.  How could you be?  I keep reminding him- if we were "okay" after all that, we wouldn't be good parents.  Good parents worry about their kids.

Christmas came and left.  When it left, it forgot to take ALL the toys, games, cars, instruments and other play things it brought with it.  All in good fun though.  Liam got many very, VERY cool things.  Last year he slept.  This year he played, and that was cool.  Andy's family would not wrap gifts and just set them up for play.  My family would wrap.  This year we did a little of both.  The biggest gift was probably the drum set.

 

 

Christmas morning was followed by visitors from the north- In Laws.  They also came bearing gifts.  My MIL instantly took over my house- washing all my dishes and other things she didn't have to do.  I kept saying to her, "You don't have to do that.  Please.  You don't have to do that."  She doesn't have a dishwasher at home, so I kept unloading what she had loaded (no pots and pans can't go in the dishwasher...no, those thermos sippy cups have to be washed by hand...I'm sorry, we can't wash the Pampered Chef ice cream scoop...)  I'm the kind of person who likes to do my own stuff.  Maybe I'm not the best house keeper, but I like to do it myself. 

 

I ALSO learned this Christmas season, with five adults and one baby in our house, that we seriously need a lock on our bedroom door.  People who don't have kids don't know that when you need a tender moment alone, you've got to plan it.  As soon as Liam is down at night, we run out of that room like a soldier running from a grenade.  "Go go go!!!  We've got two hours before he wakes up again!!!"  Since my MIL was taking over my life, she also took over my child, which meant the moment he awoke in the morning, she'd grab him and he would be her ward for the rest of the day.  I decided to embrace it AND embrace my husband.  It was almost magic how this was an invitation for door knocking.  Thanks for knocking, MIL.

 

I have nothing to complain about.  We are blessed with a warm house and food in our bellies.  We've been given a healthy child and that in and of itself is a gift worth more than all the riches in the world.  Or a lock on our bedroom door.  Liam tends to get very overstimulated when his grandparents are around, so he's been waking up every two hours now instead of just twice a night.  He will toddle over to my side of the bed and tap my face...and of course I pick him up and cuddle him.  What else can I do?  He puts his hand on my face and his forehead on my mouth and breathe a little sigh of relief.  "Phew.  Momma is here."

 

You don't recognize how much your child is picking up from you.  Liam runs every night when it's time to take my shot for my MS.  He can pretty much perform the whole process by himself now- but I don't let him.  Sometimes I fight back tears as I ask him if he's going to grow up to find a cure for mommy.  After I'm done, I reset the injection pen with no syringe in it, of course, and he gives himself a "shot."  He laughs, because he thinks it's funny, and in a way, I think we're bonding.  He wants to be like me- God love him. 

So I'll take the New Year.  No resolutions.  If I had one to post, I'd probably say, "Be better at existing."  But I'll just keep chugging along.

 

A Simple Snowman

 

 

Sometimes something as simple as a snowman in the backyard can make you burst into fits of tears and laughter.  As you're watching your husband and your tiny son carefully (but not so gracefully) roll balls of snow and then hoist them one on top of each other, you realize that nothing else in this world matters except for them and the life you've built together.

--------

 

The last time I blogged, Liam hadn't eaten in a day and he was wheezing, and we were trying to figure out what was the matter with him.  After a trip to the doctor, she diagnosed him with croup (I had no idea kids even GOT croup any more!).  We started him on nebulizer treatments, which he took like a champ, and Tylenol every four hours, and lots of love and attention.

 

 

 

By Friday, he was looking a little better.  His eyes were still red, but he had managed to eat a little "cracker soup" as my mom calls it.  And he was drinking like crazy- anything he could get his hands on, drink drink drink.  Mom and I went to the mall to finish some Christmas shopping, and after about two hours, he started to get fussy.  We finished where we were and just left.  He had enough.  It was 7PM- we'd been shopping since 5PM- there's nothing we couldn't buy online.

 

Andy sat with me while we did his nebulizer, now deemed his "fishy medicine," and we settled in for a night of cuddling and rest.

 

The key to parenting is to expect the unexpected.  But there are some thing that aren't even on your parenting radar- things you never even knew to be an issue until they became an issue.  About 15 minutes after his nebulizer treatment, as we were cuddling on the couch, Liam's little body stiffened up.  His eyes rolled back into his head.  His face changed color.  "He's not breathing."  I said, "Andy he's not breathing."

 

I ran for the door, thinking the cold air would help open his air passages and he would stop all this.  "Please breathe, please breathe, PLEASE breathe, PLEASE BREATHE!!!!!!!!!"  I screamed at my son, "BREATHE, LIAM, BREATHE!"  His little eyes were back in his head, his face was swollen and yellow.  I heard Andy calling 911, "My son.  My 14 month old son, something is happening to him, please come.  PLEASE COME!"  He was frantic.  I was frantic.

 

The sirens started in the distance.  We knew they were for us.  "COME QUICKLY!"  I screamed into the phone.  "SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH HIM!"  Liam's little body shuddered and danced in my arms, like a little toy stuck on repeat.  His arms would flail in the same motion every time.  He began a little eerie choke/cry/scream- as if he was on repeat.  The 911 person told us to lay him on the floor and put our hand behind his neck and check for breathing.  "He's breathing!!!!"  I screamed.  I was told to check his mouth for vomit- his jaw was clenched.  We rolled him to the side and the drool ran from his mouth.  I laid him back on his back and held his head still.  He was still on "repeat" and a portion of me wondered if he'd be on repeat forever. 

 

I kissed his face, "God, save my son."  I cried.  "God, PLEASE, please save our SON."  I screamed over and over.  The ambulance sped up the street and stopped in front of our house.  An entire LEGION of EMTs and police were ready and waiting.  The police officer kindly asked me to step away, and in one fast movement he scooped Liam up behind the head and under the butt and held him high.  "He's breathing, let's go." 

 

I ran out behind them as they hooked my VERY tiny son up to a VERY large stretcher.  They started another nebulizer treatment.  I stood in the corner of ambulance, watching them check pulse, hook up a little indicator to Liam's toe, stroke his tiny cheek and call him "Buddy."  The police officer asked, "Do you want her in here with you?"  Instantly, I knew if I didn't calm down, they wouldn't let me come with him.  I breathed.  "Please don't take me away from my son."  The EMT nodded.  My parents pulled up in the van behind us- I saw my dad in the backup lights,   Off we went to the ER.

 

The didn't use the siren, so I knew we were going to be okay...that or the damage was already done and there was no use rushing.  I didn't know, and I was too afraid to ask.  Liam's glassy eyeballs stared at the lights and the EMT name "Julian."  I could see every vein in my son's tiny hand.  His face was still yellow.  I wiped the drool from his little mouth and spoke softly to him, hoping for ANY sign of normalcy.  ANYTHING.  Mentally, I thought he was a vegetable.  Is this how it happens?  I heard stories of "one minute he was fine and then the next..."  I wondered if this was going to be our story.  Would we move so he could be on one floor with his wheelchair?  Would there be physical therapy involved?  Would I quit my job to take care of him? 

 

Externally though, I just kept singing and talking to him.  "Want to sing, Liam?  What sound does a bell make?  Liam, we're passing daddy's work right now but he's not there!  Liam, did you know Grandpa is driving behind us in the van?  Do you know what he'll say when he sees you?  Hi, dude!  That's what he'll say!  Do you think he brought his tractor?  Nooooo, tractors don't belong at hospitals!  Liam, what does the tractor say?  Do you want to sing a song?  Want to hear a funny joke?  Liiiiiaaaaammmm, no sleeping baby, look at your momma!"  And endless monologue lasting from Elizabethtown to Hershey.  I watched his little fever pass from 99 to 100 to 101 to 102 back to 99 up again, down again.  His little eyes would flutter.  I'd kiss him.  He'd stare at me, then back to Julian.

 

When we got to the hospital I realized I had no shoes and no coat.  Didn't matter.  Liam was starting to respond.  The ER nurse did an anal probe and this GREATLY upset Liam.  Good.  Make him cry!  I want to see my SON, not this little veggie baby who was scaring the crap out of me.  I held him tightly in my arms.  We played an impromptu game of "peek-a-boo" with the unsuspecting registration lady.  "He's adorable!"  She told me.  We marched back to the pediatrics ER.  Kids artwork and bright snowflakes and nurses in cute scrubs lined the hallways.  I told Liam to wave to all the patients as we passed.  We got many "hi there cutie!" and "Aw, look at him!"  As we walked along.

 

He was in hysterics.  Andy and I kept our eyebrows and voices high- telling Liam all the while how brave he was and how proud of him we were.  I sat with him on the enormous bed and rocked him back and forth.  And then, like MAGIC, Andy pulled a pacifier out of his pocket.  Liam took it and put his head on my chest.  We rocked and rocked and his stats slowly started to come down.  His BP evened out.  His heart rate stabilized.  He became Liam again. 

 

The doctor explained all about febrile seizures and what had just happened to our son.  His fever had spiked so fast, he went into shock and started to seize.  He was going to be okay.  They gave him a dose of steroids and some more Tylenol.  His fever dropped and he slept soundly on my chest, and then on Andy's chest.  By 1:30AM we were released and on our way home in the back of my parent's van.

 

We were shocked to see our Pastor in the waiting room.  He came back to Liam's room and laid hands on him and prayed for God to heal his tiny body and our minds after all we had just witnessed.  It was still hard to let Liam anywhere out of our sight for the next two days.  Even today while I'm typing this, I know he's safe with my mom but...he's not in my arms.

 

 

I don't know how to end a blog post like this.  So I'll just click publish and let it be what it is.  Everyone is safe, everyone is on the mend, time to move ahead.

 





The Heart

In the last few months, Andy and I have begun to reinvent our marriage.  I've fallen in love with him all over again, and in that regard, I've learned to love MYSELF again as well.  As I've watched the baby weight come off, I've also regained the feeling in my right leg and foot (my knee is still tight, but I can move.)  The year is coming to a close, and I wonder to myself if I will remember anything that happened in the past 12 months, or if it will be one of those things my brain will shut out.

No matter who preps you, what kind of advice you are given, or how many books and magazines you read- nothing can prepare you for parenthood.  It's like going to college, taking a class with no set curriculum, and then being tested daily.  All the professor does is scream and throw food at you and make the sign for "more" while pointing at inanimate objects.

The other week Liam started to break out all over his belly and back.  I thought it was dry skin.  Babies get dry skin, right?  I figured it was from a lotion I was using, and immediately went out and bought the dye-free, alcohol-free, everything-free lotion and started rubbing him daily.  The was to no avail.  The bumps and spots were still there.  He wasn't eating.  He was still active as ever, but he wasn't "himself."
----------
I need to stop for a second and talk about an intricacy in my relationship with my husband; he feeds off of my emotion.  If I seem uptight, he gets uptight.  If I'm in pain, he gets uptight.  If I'm angry, he gets uptight.  If I'm depressed, he gets uptight.  So in order to run our lives in a smooth, orderly manner, I know I need to keep calm and carry on.  OR, in the very least, give my husband warning when I'm going to lose control.

This is also true of your child.  Children and babies can smell fear.  So even when your world is crashing down around you, your eyebrows need to stay up and your voice needs to stay perky.  I agree that you need to teach your children that it's okay to have emotions and how to deal with life's issues.  But children are also on a "need to know" basis.  Sometimes?  They just don't need to know.
----------
Andy encouraged me to take him to the doctor, which I refused.  "He's fine!" I assured him.  "I know my child!"  But after two weeks, his rash wasn't going away and he still wasn't eating.  So into the doctor we went. 

Did you know strep sometimes presents itself in rash form?  Evidently I was the only one on the planet (besides my mom, who also did not know) that in small children, strep will present itself in little red bumps all over the belly and back.  How was I supposed to know?  She prescribed a Z-pak in liquid form and $50 later, my son was on the mend.  (Yeah, $50.  That's WITH insurance.)

As of last night, Liam hasn't eaten for a few days.  For supper we convinced him to eat five grape tomatoes.   Last night, Liam started wheezing.  And then he started barking like a seal.  I brought him into bed with us and listened to his chest.  "Mommy is nervous about that cough, Little Bug!"  I said in a cheerful voice.  Right away Andy got uptight.  "Call the doctor.  What should we do?  Call her right now.  Give him something.  What should we do?  Will you call the doctor?"

I sighed.  "No, I'm not going to call the doctor.  I'm going to set up the humidifier and hold him while he sleeps."

"You know I get uptight when I feel helpless."

And there it was.  The proof that the woman is really the heart of the household.  Why is that?  Is it that inborn sense?  That "motherly intuition" with which we supposedly leave the hospital?  Why do children run to daddy when they want to play, but sulk to mommy when they're sick or hurt?  What is it that even as an adult, I will call my mom and talk for hours, but when it comes to my dad (whom I love desperately) my regular phone conversation with him is, "Can I talk to mom?"

More often than not, I feel I'm not giving my husband the attention he needs.  I need to do better on that.  We have this phrase we use when we feel out of control: I need centered.  That's usually a clue that we need a hug, or some quiet, or some time to sit and be a veggie for a while.  In the same respect, my husband needs a wife- not a mom.  So here I am with all this "motherly instinct" and for a moment I have to turn it off and be a wife again. 

Confession:  I called my husband "Liam" during an intimate moment the other night.  I had hoped he didn't notice, but he probably did.  But how many times during a day do I say my son's name?  How tired was I at that very moment?  It happens.  This is why, if you have siblings, your parents probably went through a slew of names before they got to yours.  I just now realized this.  It's because they were drained- and now, so are you.

-----
A friend of mine is the daughter of a colonial in the US Army.  For most of her formative years, her mother was in Afghanistan.  She and her father are very, very close because he was Mr. Mom for a good portion of her adolescence.  My friend recently got married.  During this time she sent a text to her mom: There are no colonials invited to this wedding, only moms.

It's hard to turn off ALL those other things you're used to doing and focus on one job.  Women are so used to multi-tasking.  Why?  Because we have no other choice.  My husband took our son to the mall to do some Christmas shopping and repeatedly text me through the trip: I don't know how single parents do it.  Single Parents?!  I do it every day!  But I don't say that- I only say: you are an AMAZING dad.  Because he is.  How many dads do you see at the mall with a 14 month old child?

Next time you're pressed from every angle, remember that you are the heart.  You can live without many of your organs.  Even your brain can fail, but if your heart is still beating, you're still technically living.  Feeling like you're having cardiac arrest?  Check yourself first.  What's going on with you?  Fix it, and then start to beat again.

Love and Marriage

This week we learned how to brush our teeth.

Also, guess who was born?  Emerson Sophie!!!!! 

Welcome, baby girl!  She is SOOO precious!  I haven't met her in person just yet, but those eyes are huge and beautiful, and her button nose just gets me every time!  Isn't she so alert??  Can't wait to watch you grow, Sweet One!

 

Of my five friends who were pregnant as of the beginning of the year, we've welcomed three BEAUTIFUL children into the world.  Brynn, Jack, and now Emerson.  The other two sweet babies will remain in our hearts as their parents try again. 

Life is sometimes very hard.  But we rejoice in the good and reflect in the bad.

 

---------------------

 

As I sit here and type in November, I realize I am not the person I was last November when I was typing, which seems light years difference from when I was typing TWO Novembers ago.  What a year.  What a life.

 

My husband and I struggle to find time for each other.  Between his new job and the new child and the new schedule, and the new "us"... To say it's been a long haul is an understatement.  He said to me in the car the other night, "What happened to this year?"

 

"We had a son."  I replied.

 

I asked my parents to watch Liam for a night just so we could find each other again.  We hadn't been on a date in MONTHS.   A few nights before, I had tried to create a "mood" (hair, makeup, lotions, lingerie) and instead Andy had gotten ill and so nothing happened.  A few nights before that, we had tried to create a mood, and the baby woke up.  A few nights before that we tried to create a mood and both fell asleep before anything could even happen.  We try and try and try, and we are just always thwarted.

 

Sex is everywhere in our culture.  Magazines boast columns on how to have more with better technique.  Every ounce of spam on my computer is trying to get you to enlarge something, cheat on someone, or to find a local (mostly hot and horny) single.  The TV.  Don't get me started on the TV.  You used to have to wait to see the hot and steamy stuff until you watch the show.  Now you can catch it on the commercial.  As can your husband and (you're quickly realizing), so can your son.

 

So you're immediately lead to believe that you're doing it wrong.  And you yourself can become obsessed with it.  (I started writing it on my calendar...true story).  I think somewhere deep down you just want to "keep up" with everyone else, even though you really don't know what everyone else is doing.  (Ever notice how they only interview hot, young, singles in those mags?)

 

We're sitting at the restaurant on our cozy little date night- I had no makeup on.  I didn't do my hair.  I had on leggins and a sweater.  We sat there and made up life stories for the three ladies at the adjacent table- you know the game- creating back stories, pretending we knew what they were saying, giving them audible thoughts...  We began a rousing rendition of: Is he gay or are they related??  Then we started criticising the band (it was really, really bad....) We sat and shared our meals with each other and for the first time in a really really long time, I remembered something:

 

I like my husband.

 

It suddenly became so clear to me.  I not only love my husband, I LIKE him too.  I was working so intently on the love part, the marriage part, the making it all work part.  The being sexy part.  The doing-it-the-right-way part.  And I totally forgot- I like my husband...and I don't even have to try it.

 

Immediately I was thrown back into the days of college where we'd go to concerts together at LVC and sit there and criticize the musicians.  How we'd have pet names for people behind their backs when we didn't really know their names.  How we'd nap together on a Sunday afternoon.  How we'd load into the car at midnight and go to Sheetz for food (thanks college, also, for making me fat).  I started mentally reliving those moments that we SO took for granted- sitting in our empty house, doing our homework, just so we could be in our house.  Sitting up until midnight, talking on the phone and just busting up laughing for no reason.  Waiting weeks and weeks to board a train just to see him again...

 

Why do we TRY so hard?  Maybe we need to stop trying and just...be.  Not to say the occasional dress up and go out night isn't great, but what if we toned it down once or twice?  Date nights, me time, you time, family time, it's all important.  But what if we lived those moments under the umbrella of, "Hey, I kinda like this.  And I kinda like you.  And you used to give me goosebumps when you touched me..."  Don't try to "recreate" it- just allow it to happen naturally. 

 

It did before, it can again.

Don't Fence Me In!

Liam is active.  I mean, REALLY active.  And we've realized that he throws his tantrums mostly when he cannot do things himself.  Say, if you want to put something in his mouth instead of him feeding it to himself?  Instant hunger strike.  It's like a baby sized "sit-in."  Now, lest you think my son is a super brat, we do not let him get away with such things.  I am not blind to the fact that my husband and I are both stubborn, we're both first borns, and we both have similar tempers.  It's only time before our child displays these qualities as well.

Liam in Time Out

 

 

So in an effort to give my son the freedom he so desires, while keeping my sanity in public, I purchased this adorable little monkey backpack...that is also a harness.

 

Don't judge me just yet.

 

My husband works.  A lot.  And so it's me a good amount of the time- just me.  And sometimes you're putting groceries on the belt, or loading things into the car, or trying to find the best price on something, and you need both your hands, and your son throws himself on the floor OR wriggles his way out of the stroller OR stiffens up to the point where you nearly drop him OR runs away in the blink of an eye......  You need an extra hand.

 

I had to fight tooth and nail to get it.  "People will look at us."  Andy proclaimed.  "Do you know how many times I'm looked at as I'm leaving my purse and my cart to go run after my child?"  I replied.  "If you don't like it, I won't use it around you."

 

This weekend I might actually get to use my little monkey harness- I haven't used it as of yet.  After I stated my case, my husband got crazy involved with the shopping process (perhaps to save my son from certain humiliation of the "leash").  But I can tell you, this thing is going to save us from an Amber Alert some day.  When I was younger, I had the wrist strap; one on me, one on my mom or dad.  Saved this little runner from many escapes.

 

"I had one!"  My friend Alyssa confided in me.  "That's how my mom kept track of me at Roots!"  (Roots is our local farmers market, for those who aren't from Lancaster County.)  In my humble opinion, Alyssa turned out JUST fine.  She's a capable adult with a real job and a husband and family.  Was it because of the leash?  Well I have been out with her in public, and she's never run off so.  Possibly.

 

So harness toting mothers of the world, unite!  Do what it takes, ladies.  Haters gonna hate, but at least I know where my kid is.

Ahh to be 1 again...

 

It's no secret that my kid is cute.  Like, not just "kinda" cute, like, THE REAL DEAL cute.  (This picture was taken on his first birthday- he wouldn't look at the camera, so he kind of looks like a little blind boy :-/  )

 

He knows how to do all sorts of cute stuff.  Like when you say, "Give momma a cheeky smile!"  He does the above.  Or we'll say, "Do tiny feet!"  And he does this little dance where he tip-toes around.

 

But looks are deceiving.  Inside that sweet little angel baby is a toddler just screaming to get out. 

Liam has always been ahead of his time as far as milestones are concerned.  He started cutting teeth at 5 months and walking at 10.  And here we are at 13 months, throwing tantrums like a child twice his age. 

 

When it's time to leave Nana and Grandpa's in the evenings, he screams and runs off with his jacket.  He thinks he's moving at the speed of sound as you're calmly walking after him.  He runs to the stairs, as if his baby brain tells him to take the higher ground.  When you finally overtake him, he stiffens his body like a little baby board and SCREAMS.  He doesn't know the "n-o" word yet, so he just spouts gibberish.  You put him down, so his flailing arms and legs do not hurt anyone (those little sneakers are HARD!) and he throws himself on the floor and stares at the ceiling, eyes wide.  You try to buckle him in his seat and once again he stiffens his little body, clenches his eyes shut and screams.  At this point, you're thankful that you're in the confines of your parent's driveway and not the grocery store parking lot. 

 

A few minutes in the dark car and you suspect after that performance, he'd be asleep.

"Liam?"

"Yeah."

Tantrum over.

------

Last night he was into EVERYTHING and Andy was trying to do the banking, (something which makes Daddys cranky to begin with) so I was trying to oblige and keep Liam happy.  He didn't want to be happy, he wanted to be eating the kitty food and sweeping things with his new broom.  He wanted to be in with daddy.  He didn't want to be on my lap.

 

So he did what comes logically, when you're one; he threw my iPhone across the floor and then he bit my cheek.

 

I just sat there, stunned.  The tears welled up in my eyes as I felt for blood.  Those little teeth are SO SHARP!  "What do I do!!!??" I called to Andy.  "Smack his lips."  Andy replied.  Impulsively I whacked my son right on the mouth.  NOT hard, mind you, but it got his attention.  His little face contorted and his lips started to quiver.  He looked at me like I betrayed him.  For the first time, I felt like a real parent.  Discipline will do that to you.  Because nobody wants a brat for a kid, but no normal minded parent LIKES to discipline their kids.  Nobody wants to be the bad guy.

------

I took him upstairs and immediately put him to bed.  Within moments, he was fast asleep.  I help him a little longer than normal, and when he woke up in the middle of the night (three times) he still called for me.

 

Parenting is not for the faint hearted.  Last night as I was reprimanded my son for throwing all his carrots on the floor at supper, it occurred to me that is has begun.  The training, the discipline, the rebuking, so that in 17 years you're not bailing your child out of jail. 

 

 

Eh, we'll keep him.

 

And on the really bad days, I'll send him to his Nana.

 

;-)

Everything. Is. Fine.

You know when people ask, "How are you!?"  And you'd like to give them more of an update than "Oh, fine."  But you can't think of anything positive to say?

It starts out like, "How are you!?  How's Liam?"

Oh, I'm fine.  Liam cut six teeth this weekend, so he screamed throughout WalMart and had to be changed only like, a million times.  This means more money spent on diapers.  Not to mention, my husband got bent out of shape because Liam was "THAT" screaming kid in the store, so we rushed out without half the things I needed for suppers.  My husband didn't quit HIS hissy fit all night, and then accused me of not making him supper.  Only, when I offered he didn't want anything I had to offer (going back to the "I didn't finish grocery shopping" story).

(No, no, that seems harsh...)

"How are you?  How's your family?"

Well, my husband works non stop, I work non stop, but we still have no money and no savings account.  He went hunting for the first time the other weekend and got a buck, which was great, but then told me when he got home that he couldn't wait to go back because he had no pressure and no stress when he was down there but he could feel it all coming back when he was on the ride home.  It made me feel great inside.  My child doesn't sleep, so he sleeps between us because I'm at my wits end and so is my husband and every time I ask my husband what I should do he goes, "Well, how should I know?  The LAST time I was a parent..." 

(Too honest?  How about this...)

"How are you?  How are you feeling?"

The weight of the world is on my shoulders.  I feel like my marriage is collapsing, but we had to stop counseling because it's either go to counseling or go to my doctor's appointments (neurologist, PCP and endocrinologist) and pay for the shots I give myself every night.  Oh yeah, the shots, the ones that I insert into my belly, butt, thighs and arms and it feels like someone is burning me with a cigarette as it goes through my body.  But at least it's not cancer, huh?  I'm sure it will be better once I sleep.  OR have sex.  Want to know how your love life suffers when you have a one year old in your bed?  I fall asleep at my desk no less than twice a day and that's the truth.

(Seems a bit drastic...)

So you know what I say? 

I'm.  Fine.  (Which is secret code for, "please let's talk about you and not about me.")

I realize that my husband and I are going through stuff, but it's temporary.  I realize money isn't everything.  And I realize my MS is not progressing, and that's a very very good thing.  I realize these are the best years of my life- livin' on love.  But I struggle to motor through this time because it's HARD and it's PAINFUL and I want OUT; and I struggle to take my son's infanthood slooowly, because I don't get a second chance at this.  It's a paradox, and I'm caught in the middle.

Nobody tells you that being a mommy is easy, it's being all the other labels on top that makes it hard.  I confessed to a friend this weekend, "I love being a mommy about 88% of the time."  She said, "You know what?  Sometimes I'm only at 10%."  A wife and mother of three, who on Facebook looks like she's got it all made...is 90% struggling.  She didn't ask me any more, just gave me the most sincere look and smiled.  I DID feel better.  I imagined her 10 years younger, no kids, no big house in the suburbs, no successful marriage...and I felt better.

I LOVE MY FAMILY.  I never want it to be said or heard that I'm done or I'm leaving or I'm giving up.  My husband is my best friend and the love of my life.  I can't wait to find new ways of making him happy every single day.  And my son is the light of my life.  Every morning I wake up and see him cuddled into his daddy and I have PEACE- the knowledge that God is good and so is my life.  Some day I want to be the seasoned mother staring in the face of the 20something saying, "You know what...sometimes, I'm only at 10%.  But I'm living proof that it's going to get better."