When I was a little girl I had not a care in the world. My mom said I was the sweetest most joyous little person she has ever met. I would sing instead of talk, and skip instead of walk. Life felt light to me, and I felt good.
Then puberty hit. I'm pretty sure that was the end of the real me. With all of the raging hormones, my brain chemistry was forever changed, and things never quite settled down right. Since then I have had seasons where the chemical imbalance in my brian has effected me more than others, but its something daily I need to evaluate and keep in check. The truth is: I have a broken brain. Just like someone gets a damaged kidney or liver or any other organ, I have damaged brain.
There have been three stages in my life where I have needed medication in order to help my brain function like a healthy person's brain does. The first go around with my beloved happy pills was when I was in high school. The second was when I was in college (a few months into my dating relationship with my hubby actually). And the third stage began when my second baby was born. This has been the longest stage by far that I have gotten to take these little capsules of magic, lasting just over 2 years. But this week marks the end of this blissful stage of mental health.
Starting last week I had to start weaning off of my meds, and soon I will have to be med free for the remainder of this pregnancy. All I can say is I AM NOT EXCITED!!!! It has been such a magical thing for me to feel more like a normal human for the last 2 years. I am SO looking forward to November already when I can go back on my happy pills (which on bad days I call my crazy pills) and the relief that will bring from the inner workings of my damaged brain. I don't know why puberty had such an extreme effect on me, but it did. Part of the fallen broken world we live in I guess.
All three stages of med use have come for slightly different reasons, but one reason trumps them all: I am the real me when I am on them. This last stage of med use started from looking back at my horrible postpartum days with my eldest, and realizing that I really do owe it to my kids to do the best that I can for them in every way, including taking care of myself.
So far I feel pretty normal. But I'm still getting about 1/2 of the lowest dose, so we shall see next week.
On a slightly different unrelated note (lol), today once again I realized how controlling I am as a mommy. When my big kid was younger, we painted her nails a few times, but honestly she wasn't that into it. But today when she saw daddy painting my toenails (yep, cause I can't reach them already) she just had to get in on the action. She wasn't sure if she wanted her nails painted, but she knew she wanted to join in on the painting. Her first nail to paint was the big toe nail on my right foot, and she actually did a really good job for an almost 4 year old. This didn't push too many of my 'controlling mommy' buttons, but I was of course anxious as the whether the polish would end up on my toe, or on the couch right by us. She then expressed interest in painting daddy's toenails, which of course he agreed to since he is such a wonderful wonderful man. So I held the bottle of polish as she painted my giddy husbands toenails the color coral. Now this pushed a few more of my 'controlling' buttons when in all of her concentration she kept getting her long hair into the polish on his toe nails.
I made it through to her finally wanting me to paint her fingernails and toenails. Now this for sure pushed a few more of my buttons as I knew for sure she would quickly rub her nails on something catastrophic. Surprisingly she sat totally still as I painted all 20 of her tiny little nails. She was so happy, and felt so pretty, it was a great moment for my man and I equally. Towards the end of nail drying, as daddy was blowing on her toenails she started wiggling around and I started loosing it. I was boiling inside, just desperately wanting her to sit still, but like any 4 year old who has been asked to sit still for more than 15 minutes, she started getting really restless. With daddy's blowing, we made it through.
I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing, pretty proud of myself that although I was feeling anxious inside I had had enough self control to keep my mouth shut and ensure an enjoyable experience for my daughter. That, is of course, when it began. SHE STARTED PICKING THE POLISH OFF OF HER FINGER NAILS!!!!!!!!!! It became a moment by moment struggle for me to keep my mouth shut. Thoughts were running through my head like: Little flecks of polish are getting everywhere! I worked so hard to get them painted just right, she is ruining it! They are going to look so ugly now! She wanted to show the neighbor girl and now she can't! She's going to want me to do it again and thats alot of work! Is this normal?!?!? Why is she doing this?!?!?........on and on. I was able to keep my kind voice as I asked her to please stop peeling and picking, but she was already way too into it to be reasoned with. But inside, I had lost it already.
It all reminded me so much of the early days with her, and watching her play with her first stickers. I HATED how she would put stickers on the paper, and then peel them off. I thought it was such a waste of time and money, and we had no finished product to show for our art time together. I went through all of the same questions, and eventually reasoned with myself that it must be a developmental thing.
So back to birth order: when my second did the same thing with her stickers, I thought nothing of it. It did not invoke feelings of stress at all.
Sometimes I think it is a cruel cruel thing that we loose our memories of early childhood. I have no memories of playing with stickers the first 1000 times. I have no memories of getting my nails painted for the first time. I bet you anything that I peeled and picked like my kids, but all I remember is doing these things just the 'right way'. Doesn't it come down to that?!?! I mean really. The reason these things BUG me SO much is because they go against my opinion of the right way and wrong way of doing things. Its like watching your kids play with play dough the first time, and they MIX THE COLORS TOGETHER!!!!! Or painting with them and they use the same brush (without rinsing) in more than one color of paint!!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!!!!
I would have to say that I am proud of the amount of self control I have with my mouth in these situations, like today letting my kiddo put the sticker of a bib on the dino's tummy instead of his neck. WHO REALLY FREAKING CARES!?!?!?!?!?!?! The sad thing is: I do. Me. Their mommy. It bugs me. I want them to do things just like me. But they can't. They are little.
The thing I am not so proud of at all, quite disgusted by actually, is the lack of control in my heart. I can go from 0 to 60 in less than a second. The ugly controlling-ness I have in my heart is just plain gross.
So once again, to my eldest: I apologize. I am so sorry you have to be the first child. It is really really horrible. I know. But as I've promised you already, the counseling is on me.
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