There has been lots going on in the world of Bogey and I have either been too exhausted, overwhelmed, or busy to post. Hopefully all of that will be changing very soon. Like maybe next week. When I begin my NEW job.
Going back to work hasn’t worked. I wake Cameron up in the mornings, feeling awful for doing so, throw a boob at him (didn’t know I could throw them, did you), throw him in the car, and whisk him off to my mother-in-law’s, through 45 minutes of traffic. I then sit at work all day missing him and wondering if he’s miserable or happy or sad or feeling bad or feeling good or missing me or forgetting me. I then rush over after work to grab him, hear about his day and either be sad because it was awesome and I missed it, or be sad because it was terrible and I missed it. I then throw him in the car (sometimes with a boob, sometimes without), wade through 45 minutes more of traffic, get home, and am barely able to see straight. John kindly prepares food and manages to shovel it in me as I try to stay awake and enjoy the precious few hours I have with my child. I then collapse into bed, trying to stay awake as long as Cameron does. He sleeps a few hours, wakes, eats, sleeps, wakes, eats, sleeps, and the whole cycle begins again.
I was at my ragged edge. In the last month since I’ve been back at work I feel as tired as when he was a newborn. I can’t think coherently, and have been unhappy, with each day worse than the previous one. I began the frantic resume sending, desperate for any other option. One in particular with a hospice in the area. A dear friend here had worked there and had nothing but wonderful things to say about it. And after talking with me a few days after I was back at work, she (four days postpartum herself) called the hospice and made sure my resume was on somebody’s desk. I had a phone call that afternoon. Thus began the process of interviewing, reference checking, and ultimately, a new, wonderful job.
I’m not even going to get into my love of hospice now, that will be for a different post as I know most people’s reaction to hospice, is really? Ugh. How depressing. Just know it is not for me. Besides being in an area of nursing I have a great interest in, the job is perfect. I am getting paid more, I get many weeks off every year, and my schedule, while on the surface seems odd, especially for me, is wonderful. I will be working 1pm-10pm. This means I get all morning with Cameron, his favorite time of day. He will then go to his grandmother’s house for a few short hours until John picks him up and they get all evening together. The true secret to my happiness is the fact that I am able to do a lot of work from home. I will have two cases a day, and I can do a lot of the paperwork part of the job on the computer at home. So while the hours seem terrible, they couldn’t work out better for us.
There have been a couple of other changes in preparation for the job change over, but I’ll save those for later.
Just wanted people to know we were all still here and doing o.k.
First, there is a new button here! Not that I have ever used a button before, but here it is. It’s a cool website just about photography and people’s pics. I’m submitting this first one of Cameron for their It’s in the eye’s contest. So check it out because I know there area lot of you photo folk out there…
It isn’t really a snow day. We both have the day off for MLK. It did decide to snow though, which is very exciting as every other time it has snowed here John has been working. So we were both able to enjoy Cameron’s first snow. I told him he really needs to appreciate it because there are kids who live here who don’t see snow until they are 10.
We have tried to be very conscientious about going out either with or without Cameron just a little here and there, so we don’t end up staying in our house until he is 18. This probably applies more to me than John because if it were up to me I’d stay home with Cameron 24/7 until he decided to put me in a retirement home. Or throw me off a cliff. Depends on how our retirement looks by then.
Last night we went on our biggest adventure yet (well, if you discount the whole travel to NC thing). We went to have dinner with friends about an hour away in a very beautiful part of TN. The evening was lovely, we enjoyed very much seeing everybody, and Cameron did a fairly good job. There was a slight meltdown here and there if he was hungry or bored, but considering it was four new people, entirely new surroundings, and evening time, he did awesome. He started to get tired so we decided to pack it in and head home.
Somehow, when we put him in the car, we missed the fact that we had also allowed a demon to sneak in with hot daggers that he apparently used to poke Cameron in the knees, starting, oh, about five minutes into the hour long drive.
Our calm, relaxing drive home was interrupted as my sweet lovable baby went from kinda sleepy to screaming louder and longer than he ever has in his entire three months of life. And I mean screaming. Shrieking. Gagging, spitting, meltdown. We tried everything. We tried feeding him. The pacifier. The other pacifier. Music. Singing. Light. His mirror. Freddy the Firefly. Mommy talking. Daddy talking. Mommy threatening to jump out of a vehicle going 50mph. NOTHING WORKED.
After three hours of this screaming (John says it was more like 10 minutes) we decided we had to get off the road. Unfortunately we were in RURAL, CONSERVATIVE, TN. I know, I know, isn’t it all conservative? Yes. But there are shades of conservative and we were in a much darker shade. Not that the conservative part matters much. But it was 9:00 on a Sunday night and if you drive in the wrong area in a foreign made vehicle, the law pretty much protects the hunter. It sure did look like a deer, officer. So we waited until the first lit place we could find.
Of course, it was a church.
A church with a Sheriff’s car sitting in the well lit parking lot.
We come screeching into the parking lot, screaming baby, screaming mom with boobs flying, Calm dad trying to keep control of his totally out of control family. Does the Sheriff and his partner come say hi? Or hey, can we help? No. not so much. They sat there and just watched. We weren’t really expecting much, just a police escort back to our house. That’s all. I personally think they were enjoying the free boob show.
At that point, if getting out of the car in 30 degree weather buck naked and doing a dance around my car in the church parking lot in front of the county Sheriff would have made my baby stop crying, I would have done it ten times in a row.
Which brings me to the one thing we hadn’t tried yet. Making the baby naked. Our baby LOVES being naked. So as soon as we are stopped, I tear him out of his car seat and strip off all his clothes. Then I gave him to his daddy, because when the world is coming to an end, daddy is much more help than mommy. Eventually John got him to calm down enough that he was able to stop crying. And even start breathing normally. And then finally, smile just a little bit.
We were then left with a dilemma. What do we do with the naked baby? Fearing the second apocalypse, we decided not to mess with magic. That baby was staying naked. So naked he was. And naked he stayed. Naked he went back into his car seat. Naked he rode for an hour back home. Quiet he stayed.
Someday, when I decide to ever leave the house again, I’m going to go back to that road and try to find the ten years of my life that were lost.
I have started back to work. And I could definitely post about how incredibly difficult that has been for me. It would be what you’d expect. Devastating to leave Cameron everyday, exhausting to be up at night and then all day. However. The last few posts have focused a lot on the negatives, and I need to share all the wonderful positives.
Yes, parenting is difficult. My lovable bundle of joy isn’t always such a lovable bundle of joy.
He gets mad. He gets tired. He gets hungry. He cries. He gets sick.
I get mad. I get tired. I get hungry. I cry. I get sick.
Those things aren’t really all that out of the ordinary.
These aren’t either, but they are wonderful to me. He smiles. He laughs. He talks. He claws my chin when I put saline up his nose. He has more expressions than I thought possible on a person. Let alone a baby person. He clasps his hands together and lays them on his chest while nursing as if he is in deep contemplative thought.
He sneezes and then smiles because sneezes are hilarious. He hiccups everyday. He farts as if trying to provide energy to the world. His burps rival his parents’ burps. And we’re impressive burpers. He thinks getting his diaper changed is perhaps the greatest joy in life. He has sweet baby breath. He holds my shoulder when he sleeps at night. He kicks me in the back when he sleeps at night. If allowed, he would watch TV all day. He loves football. Falls asleep during basketball. Indicating he already knows how to push his mother’s buttons. He entertains himself ENDLESSLY in his play tunnel, successfully making it all the way through last night. He shrieks with delight. He wakes up laughing in the mornings. He has a dimple in his chin. And is working on one in his cheek. He has the most awesome Elvis curl of hair. He has brought me closer to my husband in ways I had never imagined, but am eternally grateful for.
I will never be able to fully express the warmth Cameron has created in my life. There is a fundamental shift that occurs that cannot be described. I will leave it for those who have had a child to enjoy and those who haven’t yet to look forward to.
Oh, right. And he enjoys Britney Spears. I blame John. Serena does not enjoy Britney Spears. I commend myself.
I have been thinking a lot about the last year. I’m not a big New Years person. I don’t do resolutions or have grand sweeping visions of what the new year will bring. In general my hopes are that things will be o.k. Everyone I love will be healthy and relatively happy by the time the next year roles around. That in itself can be a tall task in my family, but it is what I hope for in the New Year.
Last year at this time, I was recovering from pneumonia. Wickedly awful pneumonia. We also had just purchased a new car because after a trip home to NC we realized our old one was not big enough for two dogs, two humans, and a bunch of stuff. Let alone if there were ever to be a third human thrown into the mix. Little did we know how quickly after the purchase of the new car that third human would be thrown in. I don’t think we even had our permanent plates yet.
Bogey came into existence. It was great. First trimester wasn’t so bad. Overwhelming fatigue, a little queasiness here and there and I was certainly ready to welcome trimester number two, but the first could have been a lot worse. Second trimester was awesome. Rocked it. Third trimester was great, although by the end the hormones were starting to kick in and I was ready for that guy to be out. Luckily he obliged and arrived early.
It was like hitting a brick wall at 190mph. My world was shaken. Kind of like an Etch A Sketch. Every little thing meticulously planned out and arranged, erased into a pile of sand.
Last year, if we wanted to go to a movie, we went to a movie.
Last year, if we needed dish soap, we ran out to the store and grabbed some.
Last year, if we wanted to stay in bed all day and watch mindless television and eat food, we did.
This year, we have to plan. Because we can’t just run to the grocery store. When was he fed? When did he last nap? Why don’t one of us just stay home. O.k. but who and if it isn’t the boob lady, then is there thawed milk?
A movie? Ha!
Staying in bed all day? John had to get a 102 degree fever to pull that off. And he can’t even do it guilt free as I glare daggers at him every time I decide to throw Tylenol at him.
I should have seen this coming. None of these things are surprising, I knew about them all. But knowing about such drastic changes in your life doesn’t necessarily make them any easier once they are staring you in the face. Even if you’ve had years of preparation.
Part of what makes it hard to see is that it is all sort of gradual. You don’t realize how much your life has changed because one little piece gets eaten up here. One there. And if you step back and look at it, you realize you haven’t seen a movie in a year. But you weren’t waking up everyday thinking man, I haven’t seen a movie in a year.
Since Christmas I’ve seen two movies. The first one due to the kindness of my family who watched Cameron for us allowing John and I to slip out and have two hours to ourselves. O.k. there was a little prodding by everyone to get me out and no one could have pried the cell phone that was encased by my hand during the movie. But we saw one.
Yesterday I went out and saw another one. This time, John’s mom was taking care of Cameron so they can get acclimated to each other as she will be providing child care for us once I return to work. Monday. That’s another post.
As I sat in the theater (John at home fighting off the plague), I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I went out and did ANYTHING by myself. I used to be independent. I did lots of things by myself. I’d go to a bookstore. Go get some tea. Just be by myself. And while I was pregnant I would do things alone, you’re not alone. It is wonderful because you always have this little person with you and it was amazing. But I was definitely not alone.
Yesterday was great.
When I look back to when John and I first moved in together, I think of all the great things we did. We’d run off to the beach for the weekend or watch endless episodes of 24. I had two part time jobs I loved that allowed me the greatest flexibility I’ve ever had in my work life. There is a temptation to always compare ourselves to who we were then. But if we did, we would go insane. We will never be those people again. Our lives have progressed to something different.
11 weeks ago, I cried everyday. I couldn’t get out of bed due to the pain. I felt overwhelmed, underprepared, and wholly inadequate. If I compare myself today to who I was then, I’m awesome. I can eat three meals a day, shower, and get dressed without crying, and without a significant amount of pain. And generally, while taking care of my son at the same time.
It is all in the perspective. Comparing ourselves to who we were five or ten years ago is o.k. to remember who we were, but not very effective at measuring who we are now. All we will find is that we are inadequate measured up to the past. Who we were a week or a month ago might be more realistic. Or maybe we shouldn’t compare ourselves at all. Where are we now, and what can we do to make it a good day.
I’m still just at the beginning. But I am learning that perhaps the fastest and easiest way to reclaiming some of my independence is to accept help from all of those people around me offering it.
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