Removing the anvil from my chest

I logged on to Facebook today and while scrolling through the news feed, I found a friend of mine shared a link regarding the decline of parents opting to have their little boys circumcised and her excitement at the news. Given the debatable subject of the article I knew it was bound to create a few opinionated posts, and being the nosy Facebooker that I am I decided to read the comments. Bottom line, I should have known better, but what can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment.

One thing I want to make clear is this has nothing to do with the friend who posted the link because she is truly a wonderful person and I value her advice in both parenting and lifestyle. I'm writing this now because the emotions I took away from her post reminded me of a topic that has plagued me during my entire time as a mother. It just so happens that her innocent and maybe even random re-posting of an article and some of the responses gave me the words to do so.

***

The following was too long to add to any comment thread:

I love my children with every fiber of my being. They are my entire world and the thought of anything ever happening to remove them from that world sends chills down my spine, creates a painful emptiness in my chest and completely removes my will to live. And that's just the thought that anything could happen. Every single decision in our lives, big or small, important or seemingly irrelevant, is made with them in mind. Every decision I have ever had to make as a parent, some even prior to becoming pregnant the first time, was made to keep us all functioning and happy and healthy to the best of my human abilities. I do the research, I ask for advice, I sit down and contemplate and try to envision every possible outcome, and then roll all of that into one final decision that will keep us moving as a solid unit.

I like to think this makes me a good mother. I have to believe this makes me a good mother. I have to remind myself all the time amidst debates on staying at home versus working, breastfeeding versus formula, vaccinating or not, circumcising or not, I made all of these very tricky decisions with Owen in mind. I made them to the very best of my knowledge with ALL of us in mind because we have to work as a whole. And I have to tell myself this makes me a great mother because based on some things I've read online I've already failed miserably despite putting my children first.

I breastfed for seven months. They were the darkest, scariest seven months of my life. I'm alternating between typing and sobbing right now as I force myself to go back there and find the words to describe it for you. Medication didn't work. I had this precious, beautiful little boy with bright eyes and the sweetest smile looking up at me every day and I couldn't return the favor. I never wanted to hurt him...just myself, very badly. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that if I ended my own pain by hurting myself I would in turn be hurting him. Strangely, the only thing that kept me alive was him and my unwillingness to give up on him. But it was my unwillingness to accept that breastfeeding, at that time, was not right for me and my inability to put the peer pressure and the everlasting battle between breastfeeding and bottle-feeding behind me that kept me in that horrific and depressing state in the first place! I tried to do what the majority of other mothers said was the only correct choice, and I fought a very scary bout of postpartum depression that was only prolonged by the breastfeeding, and I nearly did more harm than good.

So all you moms can come and yell at me for giving my child formula for the remaining five months of his first year, and for being fully prepared to do the same with the child that is in my womb should the same circumstances arise the second time around. You can scold me and tell me how selfish I am for not giving my child the best start possible. Go ahead. I won't listen. I will continue to make the choices that are best for MY children and OUR family and I will NEVER judge a woman for opting against breastfeeding. After all, how am I possibly giving my child the best start if it puts me in such a dark place that I can barely see him?

In my world, making the decision to stay at home or work, to breastfeed or use formula, organic or inorganic, to vaccinate or not, to circumcise or not, to baptize or not, to home school or private school or public school does not add or reduce value to your motherhood. What matters is that you give your children as much love and attention and safety and guidance as you possibly can. Help them become strong, confident, thoughtful, brave little people. Offer the support necessary to carry those traits into adulthood and their own parenthood. That alone will determine your value in motherhood.

***

For the record, Owen is circumcised. It wasn't until I learned we were having a little boy that I was made aware of an option not to. Jon and I sat down and talked about it, and I asked him if, given the choice again, he would opt to have the procedure done and he said "Yes." And since I lack a penis and the mountain of pride that seems to be held there, who am I to argue?

Retail Therapy

This evening I...

picked up Owen from day care...

came home and fed everyone dinner...

loaded the dish washer...

put on mascara and my coat and told Jon I was leaving...

I was going to blow. I could feel it, but I couldn't explain it. Everything Jon was doing was annoying me, and everything Owen was doing was even worse.  I haven't been sleeping well and Jon has been working late every evening and Owen, well, he's doing some SERIOUS teething and boundary testing and I can't keep him happy for nothing. Add to that the fact that I rarely get out of the house for more than picking up Owen, walking the dog, or a little grocery shopping and I was feeling cornered into a never-ending bad situation. See what I mean? BAD MOOD.

So I went exploring again only this time I dared myself not to turn on the GPS...

and I found my way to Timonium...

and I found an Old Navy...

and I found a plaid pea coat in the exact fit and color I've been wanting for a very long time...

and now I have a little chunk of plaid and wool happiness.

Deciphering Kate

Thoughtful Kate wants to put life on hold, leash up the dog, and walk forever. She doesn't care where she's going or where she's been so long as she can stay lost in her head and mentally write blog entries. The dog serves as her excuse to be out, a quiet companion, and her eyes since she isn't paying much attention to her surroundings. Her feet work as a mode of transportation and a crank for her internal monologue. She is most content on cold, rainy nights without an umbrella because wet, stringy hair and feet dyed black from her flip flops make her feel all emo and emo writes good blogs.

Tired Kate wants to march up a flight of stairs, pound on the Elephant Man's door, bitch slap him a few times, knock him to floor, and then slowly and painfully claw out his eyes all while a disturbing, maniacal laugh escapes from the back of her throat. She hasn't had a solid nights sleep since moving here because the Elephant Man doesn't give a shit about waking his polite neighbors at 1:00, 2:00, even 3:00 in the morning. She has complained to the office, pounded on the ceiling, screamed at the top of her lungs in a desperate plea for sleep but the asshole must think it's funny because he only gets more obnoxious. Tired Kate doesn't know how much patience she has left and may very well be featured on the next segment of Baltimore's Most Wanted. She makes no guarantees.

Wallowing Kate has an overwhelming urge to lose herself in bags of Cool Ranch Doritos, Little Debbie's Fudge Rounds, and entire seasons of One Tree Hill. She wants to wrap herself in self pity, fill her insides with high fructose corn syrup, become grotesquely obese, and spend her evenings whining about how the kids on Tree Hill have everything she wants but can never have because she's too fat and ugly and socially awkward. No, she doesn't make a whole lot of sense, she may even lack a single rational bone in her body, but she is one extremely overwhelming pain in the ass.

Lonely Kate is always reminded of something a friend told her a long time ago: "I moved so far away because I was trying to run away from my problems, but what I didn't realize was my problems were in my head, and they followed me all the way out there." Despite this very valuable advice given long before-hand, Lonely Kate moved to Baltimore in the hopes of reinventing herself and is failing, obviously. She wants friends. She wants to meet people. She wants her own "bestie", but she can't figure out how to exchange more than pleasant hellos while out walking the dog. She stupidly thought this was one Ohio problem that could magically fix itself in Maryland, but she was wrong. She recently started trolling this website: www.succeedsocially.com and is actively seeking a babysitter.

Top 10 Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me About Pregnancy

1. Morning sickness doesn't always include the relief of vomiting.
I was actually sitting in a booth at Applebee's, staring down a plate of french fries and a Fire Pit Bacon Burger with two bites taken out of it when I realized I needed to take a pregnancy test. The few weeks leading up to that moment were packed with tell-tale signs that my period was coming any day--irritability, extremely sore breasts, constant fatigue--but my barely touched plate of food made me realize there was one other symptom I hadn't acknowledged: I was becoming undeniably nauseous every time I ate. It didn't matter what I was eating or when I was eating it, it was making me sick, only I could never find reprieve from the nausea because I never had the overwhelming urge to vomit. I was just in a constant state of nausea for 13 weeks.

2. My dogs would know I was pregnant.
On the one hand it was very sweet to wake up in the middle of the night at 8 weeks pregnant and find Jack sleeping with his ear up against my belly as if he could hear the baby's heartbeat before any of us, or the way Macy always positions herself over my abdomen whenever there's too much rough housing going on between Jon and Jack or when there's a particularly loud argument brewing. On the other hand it's not so sweet having two dogs on a constant state of alert, watching my every move, and following my every foot step. It's almost as though they feel a sense of responsibility to make sure the baby and I are safe at all times. You're probably wondering what's so wrong with that? All I can say is it's kind of hard to concentrate when there are two dogs pacing, worrying, and sometimes even crying on the other side of the bathroom door because you might be in danger while you're "taking care of business" and they can't help you because you closed the stupid door. They also seem to find it very hard to sleep around me and I'm such a light sleeper that the slightest movement or click of nails on the hardwood will keep me awake for a very long time.

3. Not everyone acquires a glowing complexion.
I've been told countless times by friends, family members, and total strangers who like to chat it up with pregnant women in the grocery aisles that their hair, skin, and nails were never more luscious than when they were pregnant, and I have the hardest time not clawing their eyes out. My hair and nails are unbelievably shiny and strong and they grow like weeds, but my skin is a whole different story. My skin has reverted back to my teenage years. I have acne like you wouldn't believe. It runs all along my jaw line, down my neck, and across my chest with lone soldiers taking up sporadic residence on my nose, cheeks, and forehead. Prior to becoming pregnant, the last time I wore concealer was on my wedding day for extra coverage against the camera, but I wear it on an almost daily basis now or else I'd look like I let myself go in a really horrible way.

4. Psychotic tendencies a.k.a Niagara Falls times 300!
Of course I knew that pregnant women had a tendency to be irritable--who wouldn't when the size of your abdomen grows a little closer to that of a house every morning? What I didn't realize was it's not just irritability, there are some seriously strong emotions that run through me at every single moment. Some days I feel like a really big nerve ending that keeps getting poked at for the hell of it. I know no one is doing it on purpose. Hell, I even know it's all in my head usually, but that's never enough to make me stop crying. And some days, oh yeah, some days I don't even need a reason to sit on the couch and cry quietly. I'm overly emotional as it is but these hormones really take it to a whole other dimension.

5. Your taste buds experience an identity crisis.
My food goal during the first 13 weeks was to just find food that didn't make me feel terrible. I didn't worry about nutrition so much as fighting off the nausea, but I always figured I'd go back to my old, healthy eating habits once I got through the first trimester. It turns out I was wrong. It turns out that the last year I've spent developing healthy eating habits to lose weight and lead by example to my child can go away with the flip of a switch, or so it seems. Even though I don't get nauseous anymore, most of the foods I've been eating for the last year do not appeal to me in the slightest. I hate that I followed a much healthier diet before getting pregnant than I am now, even though it's so much more important now than it ever was. I'm finally getting to the point now that I'm able to force it again. I used to like carrots and broccoli. I eat them for the baby now, not because I actually want them, ever.

6. The thought: "Someone has to be the 1 in 250, so it's probably me!" never goes away.
I never realized how scary pregnancy was, how easy it was to convince myself that my life may end if my baby doesn't make it. It's amazing how quickly and completely you become attached to this little life inside you, and how paralyzing it can be when you realize how many things can go wrong. I've calmed down quite a bit especially now that I can feel the baby move, but those first few months were maddening. Not that I have to say anything about it in this blog because there are a dozen others in the last 4 months that are proof of how scared I was and sometimes still am. Like I said, I'm much calmer now that I can feel the baby move but the fears never really go away completely. I lay awake some nights thinking: what if I pushed myself too hard today? what if the cord is wrapped around his neck? what if he arrives premature? what if they missed something in the screening? what about SIDS? What I've come to realize is this is probably never going to go away. Even if, God willing, we make it through the delivery and infancy and toddler hood just fine, then I get to wonder about things like: what if he doesn't fit in? what if he loses control of the car? what if he never comes home? what if? what if? what if?

7. It's not just delivery that hurts.
This should probably be number one. This is the whole reason I started a list in the first place, but whatever. I've read/skimmed a dozen or so pregnancy books thus far and very, very few mention round ligament pains. My mother had 6 kids, my older sister had 4, and my younger sister has had 1, but not a single one of them mentioned round ligament pains. For those who have never been pregnant, round ligament pains are brief, sharp, stabbing pains, or a longer-lasting dull ache in your lower abdomen. It's caused by ligaments stretching to support your growing uterus. It makes absolute perfect sense once you've read into it, but believe me when I tell you that there is nothing scarier than simply turning over in bed too quickly and feeling like your abdomen has just been sliced open, even if it does only last for a few seconds. Or that time when I bent over to pick up a towel, stood up too fast, and fell right to my knees because it felt like my legs had just torn away from my body? How can something so painful and so scary not be printed in bold text in every single pregnancy book out there? I don't know, maybe I just have a severe case, but still. If you promise to tell me everything about pregnancy make sure you include the stuff that might make me think my baby has just died a horrific death but is really just typical growing pains. On the bright side, now I know why pregnant women move so slow; it's not because they're so much larger, but because it hurts too damn bad to go any faster.

8. You don't have to wait 9 months before the baby starts keeping you awake at night.
First and foremost I just want to say this is not at all a complaint. I wait for, enjoy, and relish in every single nudge, kick, or tiny little movement I get from my baby, but I never realized he would have a sleep and wake schedule before he was born and I especially never thought his schedule would begin and end at completely different times than mine. This baby wakes me up at 4:30 in the morning every morning. It's like clockwork. Even though I'm sound asleep, not moving, and even though it's pitch black inside and out, he begins kicking and stretching and my belly starts bumping my arms or Jack's head and it's...it's...well, it's hilarious! And who can sleep when something so miraculous and entertaining is taking place in your own body? Like I said, it's not a complaint, more like, why did I not know this?

9. Everyone has an opinion about your size.
In the span of a month I've been told everything from "You don't even look pregnant!" to "Are you sure there aren't twins in there?!" but the most common is just a simple "You're HUGE!" I let it upset me at first, but I very quickly learned that no one means any harm, they just aren't really thinking before they speak. I mean, c'mon, how many 26 week pregnant women who haven't seen their feet in what feels like forever are going to believe they don't look pregnant? My immediate thought was if I don't look pregnant then I must look a very strange sort of fat! And then the others who acted as though I was so massive the sheer force of my breath alone was enough to knock them over were really just making conversation, albeit in a very strange, borderline insulting way. I also noticed a trend pretty quickly: everyone who knew me before I lost 70 pounds thought I was running on the small side, and everyone who met me after the 70 pound loss thought I was gigantic. It makes sense when I look at it that way, but I don't know that it really gives people the excuse to talk to me/about me the way they do sometimes. No matter what, from this moment forward, I will always think twice before commenting on a pregnant woman's size. Wait. Scratch that. I will just never comment on a pregnant woman's size. I'm sticking with, "Wow. You look positively radiant."

10. Never ever ever use Google to self diagnose!
I never mentioned it here, but at my 20 week appointment our midwife discovered I have placenta previa which means I have a low lying placenta and it's covering my cervix. It's a condition that usually corrects itself by delivery, but in the rare case that it doesn't I will have no choice but to have a c-section. Attempting a vaginal birth with placenta previa risks birthing the placenta first which would cause massive amounts of blood loss and possibly death to both the baby and myself. Women with placenta previa are also more likely to experience hemorrhaging or to go into pre-term labor. It's obviously not a diagnosis to take lightly, but when I asked the midwife whether or not I should be worried she very specifically said, "Not yet. We'll do another ultrasound at 28 weeks and it should have corrected itself by then. If it hasn't, then we'll go from there, but we're not going to worry. Not yet." But did I listen to her? Of course not! The first thing I did after arriving home was Google "placenta previa" and read every single horror story about women hemorrhaging on their kitchen floors and giving birth to their baby at only 26 weeks. I read about so many women who went into pre-term labor and lost their babies that I had myself convinced the same thing would happen to me. Just when I'd finally reached a time in my pregnancy when I didn't feel fragile, when I was sure it was all going to work out for us, I was diagnosed with something that I was convinced was a death sentence for both me and the baby. I cried for a week. Jon banned me from searching anything pregnancy related on the internet and immediately advises me to call the midwives 24-hour help line whenever I have the urge to Google a strange symptom. The internet is a fabulous, helpful thing but I've learned that it's mostly women with the saddest, most heart-wrenching stories who post on pregnancy boards and I had to learn that the hard way, unfortunately.

Atleast the Bills are Paid

Today I balanced the bank book for the first time in over a month, and yes, that would be the same month in which I started a new job, stopped receiving severance payments, and took a trip to Las Vegas. In fact, the last transaction I had recorded was the withdraw of $500 in preparation for our trip. And while I try to comfort myself with the fact that I always had a running tally of dollars in my head so that I would (probably) know if we were about to bounce the account, I'm still disappointed in my dangerous decision to wait so long, and I consider myself very, very fortunate to not be in a big financial hole right now.

Truth be told, procrastination has become a way of life ever since I found out I was pregnant. It's like right after I took that test and a small, pink plus sign appeared, my world and I were submerged into a very large tank of water and each movement requires extra effort and a whole lot more time to perform than usual, so instead of taking action, I sit back and pretend there isn't anything to act upon.

It's one of the many things I hope to find a cure for before this baby arrives, including becoming less selfish, become comfortable making telephone calls, and most importantly, become a good role model.

I've got my work cut out for me.

Sweet Pea

It's nearing the end of the month. It's that time where I start to freak out about how much I haven't updated and start thinking if I don't do it now I might get too scared to ever do it again, so you end up with everything in a one long entry of the month kind of thing. What bothers me about it this time is how much happened in September that the internet doesn't know about; it doesn't know September 2009 has been one of the most fulfilling months of my life.

This month my husband and I learned we're having a boy! I was only 16 weeks along at the time, which isn't too early to find out, obviously, but slightly unusual as it's not typically a scheduled ultrasound. Our baby is difficult, however, and has yet to let the doctors or midwives find his heartbeat with a fetal Doppler, so I've actually been the scared but happy recipient of an ultrasound at every single prenatal check-up thus far. The fact that they have not been able to find the heartbeat via Doppler doesn't frighten me so much anymore because I know there are quite a few factors coming into play; like all of that fat on my abdomen I was in the process of losing, but never became completely rid of, or the fact that my uterus has been slightly tilted, though evidence is showing it to be straightening up a little more each month, and lastly, I seem to be carrying my baby a bit higher than they anticipated because they search my lower abdomen with the fetal Doppler to no avail, but have no trouble finding his heartbeat almost along side my belly button in the ultrasound.

Anyway, back to my 16 week check-up, Jon and I are giggling to each other and making cracks about our stubborn baby (because what else would our kid be?) as the midwife is unsuccessful at finding the heartbeat with a fetal Doppler for the 4th appointment in a row. I verify with the midwife that I'll be able to have an ultrasound done today to make sure everything is okay and she assures me I will. Ten minutes later, in the next room, I pulled the elastic of my dress pants below my belly and my shirt up to my chest while the ultrasound technician spread gel across my abdomen and Jon sat quietly at my side. The technician computed my name and due date into the machine, flipped on the sound, and Jon and I were listening to our baby's heartbeat for the first time. It was fast and steady, like the sound of a running horse's hooves, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. Jon and I smiled at each other and I thought for sure life couldn't get any sweeter than that moment. But to my amazement, the conversation took a quick and unexpected turn right then. It went a little something like this:

Technician: "Were you planning to find out the sex?"

Kate, after turning to Jon for permission: "Yes."

Technician: "Well, did you want to know today?"

Kate: "You can tell now?!"

Technician: "Oh yeah! It's a little early, and sometimes I have trouble telling because of the position the baby is in, but this one is easy. Look..."

She turned her wrist and tilted to a new angle that had us looking up at our baby's butt.

Technician: "See that? Your baby is not shy. It's sitting spread eagle! And do you see that thing there? Between its legs?"

Kate: "Oh yeah. That's a penis!"

Technician: "Yep, you're having a boy!"

I can honestly say, with all of my heart, Jon and I would have been perfectly happy with either a girl or a boy. After 4 years of trying to get pregnant, the only thing we really, truly wanted was a healthy baby, but in that moment, in the realization that I was looking at a penis and in the technicians announcement, I felt a wave of calm wash over me, like this is exactly how it was supposed to be all along. If I was forced to have a preference it would have been a boy, and when I looked over at Jon and saw him grinning from ear to ear, and perhaps even sitting up a little taller, I knew he felt the exact same way.

We are having a boy. That short, simple sentence sends shock waves of happiness and excitement through my entire body every single time. We are having a precious little boy.

September 2009 also goes down in history as the month I traded in my muffin top for a belly that more resembles a tortoise shell and is almost just hard. I've started showing. I've passed through that awkward, is she fat or is she pregnant stage and moved on into the she's oh so pregnant cuteness stage. Maternity clothes have become my best friend and I never enjoyed shopping for clothes more. I spent the majority of my adult life shopping in the plus size department and scowling at the maternity clothes across the aisle because for some annoying, unfair reason the maternity clothes were so much more attractive than the "fat girl" clothes. Needless to say, I've been admiring the shape and clothing of pregnant women for a very long time and even though I managed to move out of the plus sizes last year, I'm having a fabulous time shopping across the aisle this year.

Another fantastic thing about this month has been letting myself let go a little. I know I said a long time ago that I just needed to relax and stop fearing everything that could wrong with this pregnancy in order to have a healthy one, but I've had a really hard time listening to my own advice. The fear is overwhelming. The idea of coming so far only to lose it all is terrifying. Knowing that I didn't even have to do anything wrong or stupid in order to lose everything I've grown to love was crippling. I waited for the bottom to drop out for two whole months, but it never did. Instead I went to appointment after appointment and was greeted with an ever growing baby, and then this last time I was greeted with a growing baby boy.

I've finally started breathing again. I realized the other day that I am one week and two days away from being half way through my pregnancy, and I think, I really do think that God is going to let me have this. He's really and truly letting me have this joy, even though I was so sure he wouldn't.

It started off timid and slow as I began sniffing the flowers when no one was watching, but it didn't take long before I began filling my lungs with the beautiful aroma. I'm not just sniffing the flowers now--I'm basking in them--rolling around and laughing and bathing myself in their sweet scent. I'm letting myself enjoy every remaining moment of this pregnancy, because you know what? I'm growing a precious baby boy with fingers and toes and a heart with four chambers. I'm finally willing to accept this for what it is; not a cruel joke, but an amazing, breath-taking miracle.

Your Salami Stinks

I've been waiting for something better, something a little more positive to write about, instead of constantly complaining about how badly the world smells (most notably fabric softener, dog breath, and salami), how the only foods I ever want to eat are Nacho Cheese Doritos and Chicken McNuggets, and how often I want to cry simply because my husband looked at me strangely. Life is not easy right now, and that's not even taking into account the fact that I am looking for a job in a very depressing and limiting market.

On the bright side, the nausea has mostly subsided and only rears its ugly head once or twice a day when I haven't eaten enough or maybe eaten too much. I walk a very thin line with food, but as long as I don't veer too far left or right I generally have it under control. The fatigue is also letting up, which is nice, and leaves more time in the day to waste away on the time stuck that is all things internet.

Jon accused me of depending on him too much lately. He said I waste my day away watching television, using the internet, and doing anything else to space out until he can come home from work and rescue me from my own boredom. I was so incredibly insulted when he said this to me that I didn't even look at him for hours, but the truth is, he's right. I don't know what to do with myself during the day. There's only so much job searching you can do. There's only so much housework you can do, although I really could do more if my attention span would last longer than 10 minutes.

I don't know if it's the pregnancy or the depression or the anxiety or sheer boredom that has me feeling like a maniac in slow-motion, but I want it to stop. Today.

Living Nightmare

If you had told me as little as 24 hours ago that I could be in my old office building, sitting in my old cubicle, working on my old computer and doing it as soon as today, I would have laughed hysterically and then rudely spit on your favorite shoes, because I would never, in a million years, let that company take any more of me than it already has. Alas, it appears I would have been horribly mistaken as my confident demeanor would have stepped aside as soon as the last remaining sister company still residing in that building called in for my help. I buckled and I agreed to come in for only a couple of days to help get the company out of a backlog.

I honestly can't even say what made me do it. It's not the money, 2 or 3 days will hardly be worth it. It's not that I feel obligated, they sucked me dry and were now coming back to beg for more. If I had to guess, I'd say it was Jon and his convincing argument about why I needed to get out of this house, away from this computer and every job search engine known to man, before I drove myself completely insane. He also played the value card by convincing me that I must be even more valuable than we thought if a company that knew me, but I never worked for, was desperately seeking my help. He tried to get me to imagine how awesome that would sound to a prospective employer when mentioned in an interview. I, on the other hand, pointed out that it may sound great in an interview, but it's pretty useless when prospective employers don't call you back for an interview in the first place. He acted like this was hogwash and so I went to work today.

It was odd, very, very odd to be there. I'd left almost 3 weeks ago with a little skip in my step and I was perfectly prepared, even excited, to never see that building again. Yet here I was in eerily similar, but blank and alien surroundings trying to be productive while voices of co-workers past lurked in the dark, humid, and silent call center.

It was not a particularly hard day, just...odd. And you have my word that after this short, little stint I will never agree to this again. It is beyond time for me to move on with my life and I can't do it until that place is my past, not my today.

In other news, the temporary agency finally contacted me with a very promising position. It is nearly perfect in every way--close to home, temp to hire, well known and trusted company, something I'd be good at, and the pay is not too shabby. It's going to require a bit of song and dance on both my and the agency's part in order to get me in there but I'm up for the challenge and I think they're tired of trying to please me and my "impossible" job requirements. Please keep your fingers crossed as its pertinent that I find something soon, before companies can begin illegally discriminating against my soon-to-be round belly.

Uh oh, she's at it again

Dear Sad Self,

Your weakness sickens me. Your fear of change and what you are letting it do to you is giving me dry heaves. I get that your life is about to change forever and you have no say in it, but don't you think you could suck it up and do the right thing? No, of course not. That's why I've created a small list of demands I expect to go into effect immediately, if not for your sanity, then for mine. Please keep in mind that I could have started by banging your head against the wall, but for some weird reason I care about you, so I'm being civil for now.

1) Get off the fucking couch and start working out again. It takes 3 weeks to create a habit, but it only took you 3 days to break it. Embarrassing. Do you remember what happened last May when you started working out everyday? That's right! You were suddenly happy. You were more optimistic than you had ever been and you hadn't even lost a pound. So why on earth, when you're feeling depressed again and could use a little optimism, do you feel it's okay to stop releasing those feel-good endorphins? Suck it up and start moving. I'm tired of watching you blow off the fastest route to a so desperately needed attitude adjustment.

2) Stop trying to drown your stress in caffeine and chocolate! Sure, your doctor said those heart palpitations were harmless, but he also said they were caused by mixing--drum roll please--stress, caffeine and chocolate. You've gone well over a year without experiencing a single irregular heart beat and yet the last 2 nights you woke up in a cold sweat with a heart that was beating so fast you could see and feel it popping out of your chest. I don't care if they're harmless, they aren't healthy, and they are entirely preventable. You have to understand that you aren't going to find happiness in a bottle of Diet Coke and a bag of peanut M&Ms.

3) Understand that I--and everyone else in your life--loves you, and we will do everything we can to get you through this confusing time, but you have to make the final decision to let us help you. Don't make it so that we're talking until we're blue in the face and you still let yourself get swallowed up in doom. I'll tell you what, let's start easy. How about you stop worrying about losing the house, or about all of the things you have to do to put it up on the market before you've submitted a single application? Do you think that's asking too much? I don't, because I don't see the sense in letting go of anything without a fight. So, fight for it, and if we lose then we at least lose trying.

And there you have it. I've said my two cents. It's up to you to decide if you want to take it and fly or if you still want to crawl into that black hole you keep eyeing and wither away.

(Regretfully) yours,
Sensible Self

Motivation

I haven't been getting enough sleep lately and my body decided to remind me of that fact this morning as I lay in bed pleading with my arms and legs to move. My eyes were swollen and sore and my head was pounding so hard I could barely lift it away from my pillow. Nearing tears I had to shake Jon awake and tell him I needed motivation or else I wasn't going to move. He did the best that he could and provided me with 15 minutes worth of grumblings from under the blankets.

"C'mon Kate, you can do this. Just get up and go to work."
"It won't be so bad, I promise."
"You're having an anxiety attack. You just have to realize you're having one and you'll be fine."

And I did. He let me know I was having an attack, I thought to myself "I'm not going back there," as in back to the days when my whole life was one big anxiety attack that no drug, psychiatrist, or other well-meaning person could bring me out of. A time in my life that was so detrimental my mind can't even remember most of it. I've blocked it all out except for a few bits and pieces. One day, namely the day I graduated from high school, I snapped out of it and I've been running from the anxiety ever since. Every once in a while it will creep back up on me and it seems I'm more susceptible to it when I'm exhausted but for the most part I have a handle on it. Tell me I'm having an anxiety attack and I will run away from you, in this case, to work.

I was 45 minutes late to work to give you an idea of how long I had been laying there fighting the good fight. And things weren't so bad, just as Jon promised. There were only a few instances that I thought my head would crash into the keyboard.