Sneaking in my Sister's Window

I know I neglect this blog and my writing too often. This blog has always been home to me, no matter what other writing projects may come and go, I always come back to this one, to write, to bare my heart and to make myself laugh at how witty I think I am. 

I am hoping to quietly get back into writing here. I had such hopes and aspirations for this blog, but I have gotten distracted more then once and I am afraid it seems choppy and doesn't flow. I will be doing some work here over the next few days and then I will relaunch. Without much fanfare but just so things don't seem so choppy and difficult to understand. 

Maybe I will play with a new layout while I am at it. 

In the meantime, it's good to be home. 

Timely and Informative

So many are going through so much with the Newtown Tragedy still in the hearts and on the minds of our nation and the world. I am not here to discuss and debate gun control, although I believe in sane gun laws (in the state of NV, if legislation passes requiring pseudophedrine to be dispensed by prescription only, it will be easier to legally purchase a rifle then it will be to purchase Sufafed) I am not even going to talk about how, yet again, our countries lack of mental health services has failed another disturbed individual.

To catch you up on the last few months of my life would be difficult given my only thinly veiled attempts at hiding my real identity. If you know me in real life you know how mental illness and substance use/misuse/abuse have been affecting our family. During this time we have also dealt with tragedy of losing two friends to suicide. I have strong feelings about mental health care but no more answers then anyone else. I am also not willing to use the Newtown tragedy and the loss of so many precious lives to drive readers to my little blog.

What I want to talk about is the worst gift you can ever give to the mother of a young child and how ultimately that gift changed my life at its very core.

When my little one turned a whole year old, we had a party for family and friends. It was monster themed, my sister made the cake and my little one ran around in a tutu. A friend of ours gave me the gift of a month at a local hot yoga studio. First, I had never ever heard of hot yoga or Bikram yoga. Second, giving any woman, especially a new mother, the gift of a workout or workout equipment is usually interpreted as meaning that the giver believes the giftee is fat and needs to lose weight because everyone is sick of looking at the giftee's jiggly belly and flat, saggy butt (at least this is how I initially interpreted this gift, after faking pleasure at receiving it of course) did I mention that the giver is single? Cause shockingly, he totally is (maybe because he makes a habit of giving workouts as gifts) joking (kind of) in the sake of honesty I have to say that the giver is a sweet guy, who gave me this gift because Michael and I rock climb and he had found that hot or Bikram yoga helped him with his flexibility, recovery and strength in regards to his climbs. None the less he is single and if you are living in Afghanistan and looking to meet a guy let me know, I could set you up (long distance wing-womaning, I should totally get props for that one)

I attended my first Bikram yoga class at Bikram Yoga Summerlin that next week. The first week was pure torture. I was sick, very sick, I hurt all over. I was sore and I didn't want to go back. I was experiencing a health crisis, but I also really believed that I needed to make some changes so I trudged onward. The studio was amazing, warm not in the physical sense, it was HOT in the physical sense (Bikram
Yoga is practiced in a 105 degree room with 40% humidity) beautiful; artwork, couches, paintings, gorgeous lithe men and women walking around barely clothed like super attractive cats wearing less then bathing suits. There was love and immediately my cynical side started to look for flaws.

I attended classes 12 times in my first month. At the end of my gift month I knew I wanted to continue with this practice, although I still had times of loathing it deeply. I was mistrustful of Bikram as an individual, I had read some disturbing stories on the Internet about militant instructors and injuries caused by the encouragement to push yourself further, I read about sloppy postures never being corrected, I read about heat exhaustion, dehydration and what ultimately always is a major complaint is Bikram Choudhury's financial success and the disagreement about how he runs the studios bearing his name. But after my first week I started leaving classes feeling renewed, like a dirty sponge wrung out, everything dirty and messed up was left in the sweat on my towels, my clothes and the studio floor. I continued to go semi regularly until the beginning of October.

In October my studio had a 30 classes in 30 days challenge. After practicing for for around 4 months I was seeing my body change and thought I would attempt the challenge. Michael and I talked about how I would fit in the various classes, who would watch the kids while I was attempting this and what I would need to achieve this. I read inspirational blogs of people attempting 30 and 60 day challenges, I followed people on Instagram who were regularly practicing or attending the Fall 2012 Bikram Yoga Teacher Training in Los Angeles. I was pumped, I was set and I started. 30 days to change your body, 60 days to change your life.

I failed. 5 days into the challenge I became dehydrated, I then fell while carrying the baby and sprained my wrist. Lastly, and most emotionally taxing, Michael and I dealt with the tragedy of losing a close friend; an amazing person, a wonderful musician, a talented artist and tattoo artist, a wise, hilarious guy with a goofy, dry sense of humor.

I failed completely and my shame and pride kept me out of the studio for almost 2 months. During my recent trip to visit Bean and her little Beanstalk, I started having dreams about my studio and my instructors. I missed them, I actually missed the hot, torture box. When I came home I drug my jet lagged butt to class. I had thrown my back out on my trip, it hurt to lay down, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to carry and run through Houston International airport with carry on luggage, wearing a 20 pound, 18 month old. That first class was painful and healing. My second was better and full of light and love, which was a blessing because of the events our nation went through on Friday. My vibrant instructor Lacey told us to hug someone important to us that day, full of doubt and wondering if she would think I was weird I hugged her as I left, she had no idea how important to me she has become.

So it is with renewed faith I start my Bikram practice again. I am less cynical but I will always struggle to quiet my monkey mind who wants to compare and pick apart my fellow classmates for being better, more attractive, thinner, more flexible, stronger or wearing nicer workout clothes then me.

I will still question Bikram as a man but I have never blindly followed anyone or anything. I don't believe "Doubting" Thomas was a bad thing (another post for another day) I am finding inspiration from the people around me and working on radical self love and acceptance.

"You’re never too old, never too bad, never too late and never too sick to start from the scratch once again." -Bikram Choudhury

I Got 99 Problems...

I am getting ready to post my 100th picture to Instagram. This is a very minor milestone in my life right now.

Babyness is walking, she has 6 teeth, uses some basic home signs and is starting to copy noises and sounds she hears. For example we sing the song "Lil Red Riding Hood" to her and she has picked up on the howl and joins in on it. Her biggest milestone is coming, she will be a year old next month.

The Kidlet is graduating 4th grade, finished baseball and is starting basketball.

Michael and I will celebrate 9 years of being together on the 30th of this month.

So many milestones I would to celebrate with my 100th post and I fear I will end up posting a naked baby picture or something mundane but exciting to me like a clean sink or a pile of folded laundry.

These are definitely 1st world problems.

If you want to follow me on Instagram I am Thimbleful.

Sleep and Dream

The Little One is asleep in her bassinet next to me. Everyday she grows in ways I never dreamed I would be privy to watching.

Words are often not enough.

You can follow me now on Instagram I am thimbleful.

I Will Probably Regret This in the Morning

It is 11:30 p.m. PST.

The Kidlet went to bed around 9, Michael finally called it a night at 9:45 and I got the Little One down a little after 10. I know I should have laid down put on my iPod (with only one earbud in so I can hear if the Little One stirs in the co-sleeper next to me) and listened to This American Life or RadioLab or a meditation podcast but instead I am here.

I wandered around Pinterest, I changed my privacy settings. I also changed my privacy settings on Google, Mozilla and Facebook. While I am happy to share myself, I am cautious about what is out there for people to see. I want to be in control about what I choose to share on the interweb but that is a tangent.

I miss writing, I miss blogging, I miss having these little late nights because the Little One is always up by 7:30 a.m. and I am not a napper. I use her morning naps to shower and get some housework done that I don't want her to be involved with, like cleaning the bathrooms with bleach.

So much has changed, I don't regret a minute of it but sometimes my mind is overwhelmed trying to keep up with what might be an unrealistic ideal of motherhood. I gave up the notion of being super stepmother years ago but I am coming to terms with the idea that I cannot be the perfect mother I had in my head. My Little One loves Elmo, I know this because in a desperate attempt to have a few minutes I put an episode on the computer. I have also had Elmo's Song stuck in my head for around a month.

I was dead set on making all her baby food but it turns out she likes the stuff from the store. I still try to buy organic and I still make her a significant amount of homemade food but again, it was an ideal. I have never been a perfect housekeeper, kids make messes and while we live in a sanitary house we often live with differing levels of chaos. The Little One will eat the dog food if I am not watching closely and by not watching closely I mean turning my back to get a drink of water. I can pick up the food but then the poor dog never gets to eat because I forget to put it back down on the ground.

It is now 11:45 p.m. I am going to try to go lay down and prepare for tomorrow. All I can wish for is to enjoy every day that goes to quickly with my little girl and to sneak a few minutes to keep myself grounded.

First Time Mother, Second Time Parent.

I get all sorts of attention with my Little One, being a first time mother is overwhelming. First for me was the realization that I was completely in love with this other being and WHOA, my mother felt the same way about me. It makes all the bad decisions I have made in my life sting just a little bit. But it makes me understand the answer to the question of "Why?" with "Because I love you." I understand now.

Second while I am a first time mother I am second time parent. You see that gangly little boy over there? Yeah, he isn't as "cute" as the Little One right now, he has scraped up knees and his feet seem too large for his body. He is almost as tall as me but weights like 70 pounds soaking wet. Currently he sports a fo-hawk and only wears skate shoes. He doesn't like girls yet but has a best friend who might as well move in because I hardly ever see one without the other. The Kidlet is mine as well. I know it isn't this way for everyone. Plenty of stepmothers I know have such difficult relationships with their stepchildren or the biological mothers of their step kids that they hold back. I don't. I haven't ever had too, I am blessed and I know it.

The Kidlet has a mother, I am not her. I respect her position in his life and have never felt the need to usurp her. The Kidlet loves his mother, I want him too. I was taught that there is no such thing as too much love. So the Kidlet has a mother who loves him, a stepmother who loves him, a father who loves him and a stepfather who loves him. Along with the Little One and his other sibling and in the respective families, grandparents, aunts and uncles and this is one loved kid!

The Kidlet was 18 months old when I met Michael. He was just a rolly polly little guy, already running a million miles an hour and still wearing diapers. He had these big, blond curls and the biggest blue eyes you have ever seen, Little One has the same thing only her eyes aren't blue. He was in love with The Wiggles and I have forever memorized the words to Hot Potato.

I have been here through all kinds of firsts; potty training (but I will give all the credit to his mom for that) preschool, kindergarten, riding a bike before the age of 3, first concussion, lost teeth. Nightmares, friend problems, being teases, moving and making new friends. Haircuts, bad haircuts, out growing shoes, shoe fads, stinky shoes. Spongebob, Pokemon, Cars, skateboards, rip sticks, bikes and snowboards.

I have been here through all this and I will be here for all the other firsts; driving, dating, broken heart, graduation and with any luck I will get to be here when he becomes a parent and I will love his children with all the love I have shared with him. That is my blessing of being a first time mother but a second time parent.

and he loves his sister, which makes me love him even more

My Baby Story

So now that you are all caught up on my pregnancy let me share the story of my little ones birth.

Dr. S,  my sarcastic, awesome OB had told me around 36 weeks that my little one was measuring 2 weeks ahead. I could have told him that, I was huge! I know that ultrasound measurement can be inaccurate so it was taken with a grain of salt but after all those months I was ready to have my little one in my arms and no longer in my stretch marked, sore, gigantic belly.

I walked, I used a yoga ball, I ate eggplant Parmesan, I did everything I was comfortable with to bring my little one here as soon as she was ready (and not one second sooner) I was ready but then, I wasn't ready. I was scared, I was doubtful of my ability to be a good mother (even though I know I am a wonderful mother already) I was hormonal. I was a mess.

At my 38 week appointment I had another ultrasound. It showed my little one was still measuring ahead and it also revealed that she was very, very low on amniotic fluid. He could only find two pockets one around her face and one around her back. He was worried about her and wanted her to arrive the next day.


I chose to have a c-section, basically I was not willing to put my little one in any danger by forcing an induction. She wasn't far enough down into my pelvis for my doctor and I to think that an induction would even be successful. We discussed infant mortality rates, complications and emergencies. In a perfect world I would have loved to have her come naturally but I am comfortable with my choice and appreciate that the option was there.

I left his office with an appointment for 2 p.m. the next day at the same hospital I stayed in during my treatment for MRSA. I was not thrilled, I didn't want anything from that time in my life to cloud what should be the joy of my daughters birth but it did. The hospital didn't complete it's paperwork the summer before so I was listed as still having an active case of MRSA, I found this out when the charge nurse in Labor and Delivery triage yelled it to my primary nurse (HIPPA anyone?) even though I had completed all my treatments and taken my recovery very seriously the hospital had to treat me like I was still active and potentially contagious.

Everyone who came into contact with me had to wear PPE (personal protective equipment) gowns, gloves, hairnets, masks. All the precious first pictures of my daughter are forever tainted with memories of the lowest point in my life because the hospital is incapable of keeping accurate, up to date records.

Sorry for the tangent, I was prepped and wheeled into the delivery room and delivered a healthy baby girl at 3:45 p.m. on June 8th. She came into the world at 8 pounds 7 ounces and measuring 19-3/4 inches long. She cried and I felt surreal. They showed her to me and I kissed her cheek before she had to be taken so I could be closed up.

I chose a c-section to protect her but it was the worst experience for me. Right after my child was born she was taken from me and I was forced to wait in recovery for almost 3 hours because they had to clean a room for me. I was anxious, beginning to get sore, scared, alone and sad. I was alone, a nurse would come in and out but basically I was alone and I wanted to be with my baby. Finally I was taken to a room in the Maternity Ward, my family was waiting in all their PPE and I was at last allowed to hold my Madeline Adele. I cried, I was exhausted, we tried breastfeeding. My best friend came in and laughed when I apologized for my boob hanging out. Mom, Dad, Michael, my sister and brother in law, my cousin, it was all a wonderful blur of hugs and pictures and love.

And then everyone left and it was just us. Just our little family and just beginning the worst hospital stay. One of the drugs I was given for pain has a side effect of dysphoria, basically it is the last thing a brand new mother should ever have to feel. During the night when my little one wouldn't latch on right away and I am crying because I feel like a failure already, I am loopy enough to consider going to String Cheese Incident concert and the only person there to help is Michael. I decided that IF we ever decide to do this again it will be on my terms. The rest of my hospital stay just confirmed that.

Somewhere between the terrible food, inability to get water when I asked for it, extra days because of my little ones jaundice, the rude nurses, the nurse who forgot about me and was well over an hour late with my pain meds and then yelled at me because she was with patients until my pediatrician came into the room and found me crying to my sister, in which case he got the charge nurse and I was finally given my IBUPROFEN (I wasn't just drug seeking, I had just had abdominal surgery!!!) being treated like a drug seeker every time I was due pain meds (they were never just given, I had to ask for them every single time) everyone having to gown up because I was still considered to be in isolation. The only ray of light I had was Michael, he was beyond amazing! I changed one diaper my whole time in there and he is a master swaddler! Dr. S brought some humor when he told the charge nurse to shove it because he wasn't wearing the PPE and since he had been "elbow deep inside her (me)"

Being in isolation meant that when my little one was diagnosed with jaundice and ordered to be under the billi lights for 24 hours (although no one told me how long they would be taking her when they first came to me and told me she had jaundice) I couldn't go to the nursery to feed her, they brought her to me every 3 hours for 30 minutes so I could feed her. I cried for half an hour before they brought her to me and half an hour after they took her from me. They also supplemented her with formula to help the jaundice but I felt so uninformed. I didn't get to see a lactation consultant until my second day in the hospital.

I watched The Business of Being Born before giving birth to my little one and at the time I didn't think that I was cut out for a natural or home birth but after my experiences I have learned that I should have been much more knowledgeable and more demanding about what I wanted to happen. I wish I had spent less time reading pregnancy book and read more about breast feeding. I wish I had attended a Le Leche League meeting before giving birth. I wish I had educated myself further I wish I had researched more about a Doula because I am disappointed that I didn't have a wonderful birth experience but in the end, I got my wonderful little girl and it was all worth it.

I can't begin to tell you how wonderful she is but I will try, give me time!