The day I lost my mind

Today began with a clogged duct. Being a person who has been pooped, peed and puked on in the span of a few hours I acknowledge that this is not the end of the world. It was only the beginning.

Every single parent I know has lost control, in the chaos and frustration of the moment even the most mild mannered parent wants to punch a hole in the wall. Today, that parent was me. You see, the most complicated part of my day consists of trying to get my constantly distracted son to do things that he doesn't necessarily dislike doing but that he NEEDS to do. Put on your shoes, eat your breakfast, put on your seatbelt, stop peeing on the floor, etc. I think we can all agree that these are simple tasks that take all of 30 seconds to complete. For my son something as simple as a spider climbing up the wall can completely derail him. He CANNOT focus. This particular morning we were dealing with a clogged duct delay and as a result we were running behind. I finally was able to get the kids their breakfast but Dr. Distraction couldn't stay in his chair and finish because I'd made the monumental mistake the night before or laying out little gifts for each child t tier seat at the table to help start their morning of nicely.... So instead of eating they were playing with their new gifts. Once we'd reached the time we normally are getting in the car I cleared the table and told them they could finish eating once shoes were on and they were in the car. Cue meltdown. Dr. Distraction falls apart because he is starving to death. I calmly tell him to put on his shoes then he can eat. Meltdown turns to atomic bomb. The girls have their shoes on and I'm trying desperately to convince him that putting on shoes isn't the worst thing in the world. Then I see the clock and I snap. I stand up and tell him that if he has no shoes then he can't go to school and I usher the girls outside and to the car and slam the front door behind me. That's when I hear his heartbreaking cry. I'd hurt my little boy, I'd made him feel like he was so unimportant that I could leave him. Unfortunately, I was still in the midst of my fury and frustration so I walked right back in and put on his shoes for him. "Get in the car and put in your seatbelt" was all I could groan to him as I walked to the bedrooms to grab their jackets. I emerge from his room and there he stands his shoes off again. I screamed (not at him, more of a war cry except my army had just been defeated and I was about to sacrifice myself rather than being taken by the enemy). He cried. "I just want socks". I cry. I scoop him up, grabs his shoe AND socks, and put him in his car seat where he insists that he wants to put on his seat belt all by himself(he doesn't).

On the drive to school after we'd finally gotten through all of this I realized that I'd forgotten my oldest's homework folder, as well as the twins' physical paperwork, and of course my TB test results. These are all things I needed. I am a horrible, unorganized, cruel, TERRIBLE, no good very bad parent. I deserved to have my kids taken from me. Clearly I couldn't handle all of this responsibility. I drove to school crying. First school, disappointed look from teacher. Second school, disappointed look from teacher and a "we'll talk after class". I slump out to my car sick to my stomach. I'd caused my truly wonderful son to feel unloved and couldn't manage to complete the simple task of bringing a few papers to school. I lost it again.

What happens next we all know. We try to get past this feeling. Our stomach hurts. Our hearts ache. We KNOW that we are the worst parents alive and all we've done is secure our child's lifetime of therapy sessions. I am a broken woman, a broken mother, and through these tears I'm trying to remember that I love these kids and I'm really trying even if that isn't good enough. I'm not good enough, but I'm not alone. I have you other parents out there who know what it's like to scream into a pillow, to hurt your hand hitting a door in the garage, to feel like you were never meant to care for a little person as sweet as the one you made because you fail at every turn. Then you make macaroni pictures and kiss them and try harder every day not to screw up, not to cry.
I'm a broken mommy but I'm pushing past this. Hugs anyone?

I kept forgetting

Anyone who knows me is well aware of the fact that I can't sit still, I take on too much, and do not understand the concept of limitations. In a lot of ways this is to my benefit as I'm able to push myself enough to accomplish the goals I've set. One thing I've overlooked in the madness of motherhood is the little people I am supposed to be raising. They are well-fed, clean, mostly well-behaved (sort of), and right on track developmentally. 1 point for mommy, right? Not quite. While home with them I love them in passing. I adore the crap out of my kids and I'm convinced they are the most beautiful little people ever put on this planet, but I wasn't getting in their face. I have things to clean, shopping to do, and various other lists of time-consuming projects that I see as a necessity and to their benefit. Who has time to drop everything? Then there was a shooting in Connecticut and a part of my brain lit up.

I can be pretty dense so messages that I should be hearing loud and clear have to wade through thousands of other thoughts and ideas that occupy my constantly changing brain space. So it sat there, slowly growing.

A few weeks ago I lost my grandfather and really haven't talked much about it to anyone because... who knows, I keep a lot to myself. All I can remember from that day is crying and telling Logan "I'm not okay". He was supposed to live forever, everyone I love was. There has been so much death this past year, just in my small circle and I was feeling a bit overwhelmed at the loss of someone I'd admired so much. It was the final straw and it shook me. In the wake of all this emotion I had a dream that had changed me permanently. In the dream I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of running water. The sound of running water drives me up the wall because my kids take about 45 minutes to wash their hands which translates to about a million dollars a month for my water bill. In my dream I headed immediately for the bathroom where water was running from the sinks and the bathtub all over the floor. I was furious, irritated and exhausted at the thought of cleaning it all up. I started by turning off the bathtub. Then as it began to drain I picked up a rag that was floating on the water when I felt something beneath it. I knew immediately what I'd felt, it was my son's head. I frantically pulled off the rag and grabbed him under his arms. I will never, in a million years, forget the feeling of lifting his lifeless body out of the cold water and laying him on the floor. I felt for a pulse, looked for breathing and immediately started CPR when none was found. I breathed and saw his sweet little chest push up, but not on its own. I laid my head on his chest to see if I'd restarted that sweet little heartbeat I never take the time to hear. The look on his face, so empty and so blue. AS I lay over his cold, lifeless body I sobbed knowing I'd never hold his sweet hand again. I woke up. I got to wake up from that horror. For those who have lost a loved one, we all have those moment where we pray that it is all a bad dream. What a blessing to be able to wake up when other parents have not been so lucky. I went to his room immediately and held him as tightly as I could and cried. That was the worst pain I've ever felt.

The next two weeks were a blur but mostly because I spent every possible moment in my kids' faces. I am the most annoying mom on the planet because I kiss them more, smell them more, and listen more. I still have some moments where I get super grumpy with them when they don't listen or when they are extra challenging but I get to keep them right now. Heavenly Father has let me have them for another day, a gift I receive daily and never appreciate. It is so hard to get caught up in the daily grind of time-outs, laundry and food on the floor... we forget those little faces that only want us to love them. We forget that we are their world and we are only their world for a short time, but they are our world forever. We forget that while I'm sure someday cleaning habits will be a crucial skill, right now they want to make a mess with us. They want to know us as much as we want to know them. They do the cutest things all day long... how many are we missing by checking facebook, or washing floors, or cleaning up their toys? I firmly believe that Heavenly Father was sending me a message "SLOW DOWN". I have had those words said to me more than any others and this time I heard them.

Go hug them right now, kiss them, squish them and bug them. They need us so much, but I swear we need them so much more.

Suicidal fish

Suicidal Fish... that would make a pretty bitchin' punk band name. Yes, I said bitchin'. Not a curse word. Lets move on...

About a year ago Logan came home with a beta fish he and Abby had won at some fair or another. Considering I do all the cooking, cleaning, and educating around here I politely informed him that I wouldn't be taking care of the fish. He had to feed it, clean it and keep it alive. I held to this agreement because I truly did not need one more thing to do.

For the first year or so the fish behaved like any other beta, it floated around looking for a fight or sleeping. I ignored it, it ignored me and I assumed he was being fed because he was still alive. Then he started moping around. I didn't appreciate his woe-is-me attitude because he could see from his tank the kind of chaos I had around me and still had the audacity to imply he had it rough. As far as I could tell he had a pretty good situation! Betas don't typically like other fish (except for dinner) so he had a blissful solitude other fish, and tired mommies, would envy. Still, on he moped.

More recently he's begun to look like he is dying. What makes me a little sad here is that he may very well be sick but he is a fish and we don't have the money to pay for chemo or whatever else may be required to keep this perpetual sad-sack alive. SO I accepted the inevitable and waited. Finally, last night I came home late and sound him floating on his side but he was still alive. I mentally prepared myself for the conversations I would have to have with the kids the following morning as they usually scream "GOOD MORNING FISHY" repeatedly until I give them something to eat. I wasn't sure how they'd handle it but I was prepared nonetheless.

He didn't die.

He has so far spent half the day with his nose in the bottom corners of the tank (his favorite spots) or floating sideways and playing dead. I feel an obligation to do something. Mercy killing? Or is this his/her idea of fun? I'm at a loss but all day I've been thinking "Why won't you die?"

I know, I'm heartless and I'm pretty sure I'm going to get hate mail from PETA.... but c'mon. Worst pet ever and I'm holding out for a guinea pig.

Injections, hormones and pills... oh my.

I wanted to get this down while I was in the thick of it. In less than a week I will be implanted with 2 embryos that are not mine. With as much thought, prayer and time as I've given this decision I am a nervous wreck.

Tonight I started the more serious hormones. I remember whining pretty loudly (sorry everyone) about the effects of the birth control pill on my body, but that was nothing. As I took a pill out of each bottle I saw the pile grow to an intimidating size. The memory of my sweet Intended Mom's recent (and excrucuating) experiences echoed through my head as I took one after the other. I have no idea what kind of toll this will have on me so all I can do is wait.

This is happening. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not having second thoughts about it. After getting to know my Intended Parents even better throughout this process I want nothing more than to make them parents. They've endured so much and have so much love to offer I am honored that they would choose me to be the temporary caretaker of their baby (or babies). I'm just completely terrified. I'm afraid that I won't be able to handle the side effects as well as she did. I'm afraid this won't work and I'll have failed them. I'm afraid that my family will suffer.

Okay, less than a week. Putting on my my big girl panties and taking care of business.

I wanna do it!

This morning I opened the door to the Dude's room as he screamed in frustration from waking up. Sure, I can see how waking up can be frustrating. We walk into the hall where I change his diaper while he screams and demands that Abby do it. Once he is nice and clean, and for absolutely no reason completely happy now, we head into the kitchen for breakfast. He spends 5-10 minutes demanding cookies and I simply eat my breakfast while repeating at least 5 times "no, cookies are a treat why don't we have breakfast instead". Eventually, this message gets through and he chooses a yogurt. I walk to the fridge to get it for him and he falls to pieces like I'd just thrown all of his cars in the trash. "I do it!". The next 7 minutes he spends crying in front a now opened (by him) refrigerater. The yogurts are still in the box. Crap. He doesn't let me anywhere near the fridge but screams because he doesn't want to open it and he sure and heck doesn't want me to do it. At this point I'm screaming in my head and I just open the box and set the yogurt on the shelf. Falls to pieces. I sit down and continue eating. He finally chooses a yogurt and brings it to the table. He can't open it. Crap. Again, I'm not allowed within a 2 foot radius of his breakfast. He screams, I scream internally, we both are on the verge of a breakdown. I open it a tiny bit then start to talk about waffles. He is distracted enough to open it on his own. He screams when I give him the waffle he asked for.

This is breakfast now, just a taste of what life is like in the "I wanna do it"
phase. Everything takes 10 times longer than it used to, which took 10 times longer than it should. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I'm trying to be optimistic. I'm trying to see that this is ultimately a step toward their independence but I'm about to lose my mind.

Holy smokes, I think I'm a runner.

If you'd told me a year ago that I would learn to love running I would have laughed in your face and called you a dirty dirty liar. I've always been pretty active but in the past I've thought of runners as a different breed of people with which I had absolutely nothing in common. Then came the warrior dash.

To be perfectly honest when I was first introduced to the Warrior Dash by my dear friend Amy it looked kinda fun but I had accepted that I'd likely be power walking the whole time. After we'd signed up I went into full Warrior Training Mode which included hiking, 30 day shred and the occasional jogging against my will with Amy. As the race was getting closer I began to feel a little ambitious and started hiking way more than any person with 3 kids really should and sometimes with one of those 3 kids on my back. With many hiking and Jillian Michaels hours under my belt I was ready to take on the Dash... until Amy's husband reminded her (and me) that I couldn't run and this obstacle course was essentially a race. Crap. In order to help her husband rest easy I decided to go out for one last run before the dash with her and see how it went. I ran almost 3 miles and I couldn't believe it. I ran 3 miles VERY slowly but I ran them! From that point I thought that while I didn't like running, at least I knew that I could.

I had an amazing time on our Warrior trip all thanks to a Clipboard o' fun provided by our cruise director. After, though, I didn't have goals. Nothing to look forward to, nothing to work toward. I chose something that challenged me, running. I started small, 2-3 miles and did that for about a month a few times a week.... then every day. Next thing I know I am running faster than I was before but no further. I set a goal for myself; 5 miles. That was all I wanted. Nearly a month ago another friend of mine got an idea for us moms to get active together once a week. The first week would be walking the track at the middle school. I showed us about a half hour or so early and decided to do a little running before they arrived to do some power walking. I didn't pay to close attention to the distance but my phone was keeping track. When they'd arrived I'd reached a little over 4 miles and decided to go for it... and I did! Since then I rarely run less than 5 miles and do so almost every day. I spend the majority of my run time smiling because I genuinely love it. I was unlucky enough to get shin splints recently and I was in agony when I couldn't run. I'd see a runner and wish I could take their place, just a few miles! At this point it is safe to say I'm a runner and I never in a million years would have expected it.


Thanks Amy :)

My Surrogacy

I've had a lot more people express concern over my decision to carry someone else's baby than I expected. I was prepared for nay-sayers I guess, but I didn't realize that a majority of them would react in that way because they loved me. I also found that I received overwhelming support from those who loved me as well but also understood how much this meant to me.

I think it is important for me to share why I am doing this. Yes, I'm getting paid. That is at the bottom of my very long list of reasons, however. It is by pure dumb luck that I am as fertile as I am. When I was in my early 20's I discovered that I had endometriosis and it was quickly removed with surgery. Between the time I'd heard this and the surgery I couldn't help but wonder what this would mean for me when I was ready to be a mother. Would I have trouble? What if I never had children? Was it something I'd done? When a woman's body doesn't do what it is supposed to it is difficult not to feel broken and guilty. ABout six years later, after literally only one try, Logan and I became pregnant with our little Abby. A year after she was born I was pregnant again with twins. Needless to say, my infertility fears were long gone. In their place I felt so much guilt. For whatever reason I was as fertile as they come and I would hear stories of women who endured great physical and financial hardship just to have the chance at motherhood. To this day my heart aches for those women because I want to take that pain away so badly. That is what I'm doing. The couple I'm carrying for are some of the most kind, loving and deserving people I've ever met. I will spend the next 10 months doing whatever it takes to ensure that they are able to know the joy of parenthood. It won't be easy, I'll throw up a lot, and my kids will spend more time watching Super Why than I'd like but in the end two people will be changed forever and a little person (or two) will be welcomed into a home where he or she will be loved completely. Believe me when I say that what I give up while pregnant is nothing compared to what will be gained. I know I'm taking risks and I'm terrified, but no more of a risk than I'd take having a fourth child... that I do not want to do.

To those who worry, don't. To those who understand, thank you. To those who think it is wrong.... my body, my choice.