phatDonna

Wow, I really haven’t written in a while. Let’s blow the dust off this sucker.

I am not a resolution maker because I always break them. But earlier in the fall I decided I was going to get back into running after a four year hiatus. I needed it for weight loss and for venting of frustrations. I met some lovely ladies who also run and they have inspired me to do a 5K race in February. Then I decided that a 5K is a good goal for where I am now, but I want to really push myself. I decided to do a half marathon. I found one in Chicago in July which will be perfect because Chicago is a great city, and in July will hopefully not be balls hot like it will be here. It also starts at 6:30 in the morning so that will help. I’m a little scared about this but when I start to freak out I tell myself this:

You have given birth. And you survived your husband walking out on you at a very vulnerable time. Running 13 miles is really cake after those two things.

To make this goal more do-able, I decided to join Weight Watchers. So yes I will lose weight, and I will train for the races. But given that I started this endeavor before the holidays, I am not really counting this as my New Year’s resolution. That’s my goal.

No, my New Year’s resolution is to stop pretending that I cook. Every week, I buy a crap ton of groceries and then throw most of them away. There are a few reasons for this – our weekday schedule is such that by the time I get Bridget home from school, dinner has to pretty much be immediate if we want to have any time together before bath and bedtime. So unless dinner can be cooked before I leave to go get her and then finished up or reheated when we get home, it just takes too long. And the things that can be prepared that way are typically things she doesn’t like and won’t eat. So it’s a waste of time and money. Not to mention how frustrating it is to go to the trouble to prepare a meal that she either has liked before or that I feel sure she will like, only to have her turn her nose up at it. Then it gets thrown away after spending a lot of time AND money on it.

(As an aside, our rule is that I prepare her a meal and she can decide whether to eat it or not, but if not, there is no more food until breakfast. If she’s hungry she’ll eat.)

I can still give Bridget a healthy, balanced meal without preparing a whole big dinner. We don’t eat out that much or do takeout, but even when we do, it’s more cost effective than throwing out the groceries I buy. A restaurant meal for the two of us will almost always result in leftovers for Bridget that I can heat up the next night with some broccoli and she’s good.

So I am done pretending to plan elaborate meals and then throwing away the ingredients. If there were more than just the two of us in the house, it might be different. But that “traditional” family dinner just doesn’t work for us, and I’m tired of trying to make our life fit into that.

A few weeks ago I went to the orthopedist for my ridiculously painful shoulder. Within a few moments of evaluating my range of motion and where it hurt and listening to my symptoms, he came to the conclusion that my problem is frozen shoulder. He sent me home to do some research and gave me some pain pills and an appointment for a follow up appointment.

I did my research. I took a few pain pills. The pain was still ridiculous, especially at night which is a hallmark of frozen shoulder. I don’t question the diagnosis. But I also can’t go months more like this.

Today at my follow up, we talked more and he again explained that the pain part probably would only last me another few months and then it would ease up follow by the temporary loss of motion. Yeah, great news. At night when I’m practically crying from the pain, or when I forget and accidentally reach for something the wrong way with my left arm, that is not comforting at all.

We talked about the nasty cortisone shot. He says that his success rate with the shot for pain relief for this is only 50/50, and it can hurt like a bitch (my words, not his) for a few days afterward. I looked at him and said simply, “I can’t take a vicod!n every day. I just can’t.” He immediately stood up and said, “We’ll do the shot.”

I will not lie. That shot is murder. It’s simply awful. There was deep breathing and tears before it was over. But so far I think it’s working. My shoulder stil hurts, but in an all over kind of way, and not the shooting pain I usually have when I try to do basic tasks. This will end in a day or two, I’m sure, but this is tolerable.

I’m free! Well, mostly free. Free enough for now.

Any guys out there, please avert your eyes. I’m going to talk about my period. Shoo! Shoo!

For the past two years I have had the worst periods. The first one I had like it had me convinced I was having a miscarriage. Then I kept having periods like it, and I realized that it wasn’t that. I thought that eventually it would go back to normal. Needless to say, it has not.

I asked the doctor about it at my last annual, and she did some bloodwork and sent me for an ultrasound to make sure everything was ok, and it was all fine. And I let it go for a few months after that. But today I finally went back and basically begged her to do something for me because I CANNOT TAKE IT ANYMORE.

She was terribly understanding and has presented me with several options. (I was really mad at being kept waiting for 45 minutes past my appointment time but then she spent a really long time with me too, so I had to mentally forgive her.) Now basically it’s my choice. She has agreed to whichever option I pick, and is also willing to try a few things until we find the answer.

I initially wrote this long rambling post going over the pros and cons of each option which likely would have bored you all to tears. But then after re-reading it, the answer was so plainly obvious to me.

A sex change is clearly the only way to go.

Just kidding. I think the IUD is the best first option.

She gave me a surgical option – an endometrial ablation – which I thought I was going to take because it’s absolutely hormone-free. But in the end, I can’t make that leap yet. Doing that would end any possibility of having more children. And while I KNOW that I don’t want any more children, I’m also not ready yet to take a final surgical step to that end. I’m not ready to have it taken out of my hands again. I spent too many years struggling with infertility to just hand it over again. If the IUD doesn’t work out how I want, then I’ll revisit surgical options.

So thanks for playing absolutely no part in my decision. Internet, you are a great sounding board.

Earlier this year I made a promise to myself to try to make a life here in Austin rather than running away out of town to escape my boredom. When I moved here in 2009 I had four really good friends (two couples) and while I ADORE them, they do have lives that don’t revolve around me. And just because I am bored and free on a Saturday doesn’t mean they are. I needed more friends.

I’m proud to say that I have done it. Through the magic of Twitter, I’ve met some really amazing women whom I adore. And the mother of a former classmate of Bridget has become a friend. It’s kind of hard to make friends when the context in which you know each other is school and parenting. Women can be so judgmental of other moms and sometimes just downright fucking mean. So just because Bridget really liked Sally (not her real name), there was no guarantee that the moms would do more than tolerate each other for the sake of the kids. But this friend and I click. She’s awesome. Plus Sally is one of the handful of Bridget’s friends that I actually love. I’m actually wondering if a sleepover might be in their immediate future.

All that sap is just to report that I am actually making a life here and I’m really happy about it.

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This thought occurred to me and then strangely I was just watching the Louis CK show Live at the Beacon Theater (if you are at all a fan and have a sick mind like me, please do go pay the $5 to download or stream this show – you won’t be sorry) and he made mention of the same thing. Weird. Anyway, the thought is this:

Bridget is now at an age that I remember being. I clearly remember being five. In some ways that makes the parenting thing a bit easier, because she’s more relatable now. On the other hand, all I can think now is, “I better not screw this up, because this is the shit she’ll be talking about in therapy in twenty years.”

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I had the BEST time last night. There is a U2 tribute band from Austin and they play pretty regularly at my favorite bar. Last night I went with Sally’s Mom (see above) (also I have no idea if she cares if I use her real name but I won’t for now just to be safe) (how many parentheses is it ok to have in one sentence?) (is this too many?) (yes?) (ok, I’ll stop) for my third time.

Listen, they are tribute band. They are not U2. But they do a great job and put on a fun show and every time I’ve been to see them, I’ve met amazing people. Last night, we shared a table with two really nice guys – there was no flirting or monkey business they were just nice fun guys. One was Australian and he answered a question for me that I’ve had forever about Australia. Then we discovered it was his birthday so we did Irish Car Bombs to celebrate. Although Sally’s Mom was responsible and didn’t drink hers because she was driving. I thank her heartily for that because I was obviously working hard to get my liver in shape for Vegas in two weeks.

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I have bought Bridget a Christmas present that I’m not sure I should give her. I won’t really go into what it is, but it’s kind of expensive and although I know she’ll love it, I wonder if she’ll care for it properly. It’s expensive enough that if she destroys it, I will be mad. I’ll be giving her her presents from me the day before she goes over to The Ex’s for Christmas, and I know she’ll want to take it there, which is fine. I totally trust him to help her take care of it. Plus she has had an iPod Touch for a year now and other than one incident where it was lost for a few days when she shoved it in the pile of giveaway clothes, she has cared for it remarkably well. But the control freak in me wants to wrap it in bubble wrap and make her wash her hands before she touches it. I need to get over this. (See above re: her remembering things and me not fucking up.)

Blah blah blah, it’s Christmas and I am the biggest humbug Scrooge McDuck around this year. I have purchased all of Bridget’s presents and no one else’s. I have no idea in fact what I’m getting anyone else. And I don’t seem to have any motivation to think about it.

Could be the cold I’ve been nursing for a week now, complete with a random vomiting episode and multiple nose bleeds. I am a sexy bitch, I know it. In any case I just don’t give a crap about Christmas this year.

But my living room does not reflect my lack of Christmas spirit.

Here’s the mantle. Stockings hung by the chimney with yada yada yada.

There’s the Christmas tree. All four staggering feet of it. Sitting atop my end table. My condo is simply too small for a regular sized tree. I hate fake Christmas trees but in my world there are some things that are just Man Jobs, and dealing with the set up a real Christmas tree is definitely a Man Job. If I ever move out of here, maybe I’ll decide to learn to use a saw and deal with a live tree. And maybe I’ll learn to hang pictures but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.

So yeah. Merry Christmas. Ho ho ho.

I have the Cold That Will Not Die or CTWND for short. Is that shorter? I don’t know. I can’t be expected to think clearly in my condition.

It started last week on Sunday and I was pretty sure I was dying of rheumatic fever. I had to ask the EX to take Bridget on Monday night because sitting upright was a challenge for me and I knew that I was not going to manage getter her fed, bathed and in bed. As it was, getting up to go to the bathroom or make my own soup was enough to make me cry.

It seemed to be better every day. By Thursday I was able to do my first day of running. After the run my lungs decided to revolt for a good 30 minutes or so, but all seemed well.

But when I got up yesterday at 8 am fully prepared for my second run, I was again a gross mucus mess. Coughing, stuffy nose, sneezing – the whole shooting match. I let the dog out, realized it was raining and decided to just lie down again for a quick second to consider the path my day should take.

Five hours later… Yes, I woke up again at 1pm. I would feel guilty about this but my body obviously needed it. Today is not much better. I mean, I didn’t sleep until 1 pm. I woke up at 6:40 so I could work. But the phlegm. Oh the phlegm. (I am one sexy motherfucker, aren’t I?)

This is the cold that will not die. And now today is COLD and rainy and I need to run but WAAAAH! Maybe I should have a hot toddy and think it over.

Regret is the worst feeling in the world. Maybe you regret how you behaved in a certain situation. Maybe you regret how you treated a friend.

I think the worst thing in the world would be to reach the end of your life with regrets for chances not taken, for things left unsaid. But sometimes, too much time has passed. Too many things have changed. Life gets in the way. It would be wrong to say the things you want to say.

There’s nothing to be done but try to drive those feelings away. But that’s the hard part, isn’t it?

Actually, my shoulder has hurt since 2007.

After having Bridget, I would go through these periods where my shoulders would hurt like mad for a few days. I went to the doctor and he told me it was tendonitis, common in new moms who have a new routine of repetitive motions. We tried oral anti-inflammatory medication which didn’t work, then the big guns were pulled out. I got a ridiculously scary and painful cortisone shot in each of my shoulders about six months apart. And it worked! For years, it worked.

But for the past two years, it’s been flaring up again, but this time it’s been almost exclusively in my left shoulder. And it’s bad. When I try to describe it, I call it an excruciating ache. It’s not a sharp pain, but it’s deep and it’s definitely not muscular. It always hurts, but there are times when it’s much worse than others. Some days I can’t even put on a bra because the motion of trying to fasten it behind my back is just too much. Thank god for sports bras that go on over your head. And because I’m always trying to brace it to not hurt, I’m doing strange things to the muscles in my upper back and neck, so they always hurt too.

I kept thinking of calling my doctor in Dallas and asking for another shot in my left shoulder, but because of his office hours, I’ve never been able to make that work. I was dragging my feet about calling someone local because I’d have to go through the whole spiel again, do my time on the pills, when what I really wanted was the nasty shot.

But last night was the last straw. It hurt so badly before bed that I was almost in tears. So I finally went looking for an orthopedist to fix this once and for all. This is just no way to live. I have an appointment tomorrow morning and I am so damn excited. I’m scared too, because I don’t want to hear it if this is just something that I have to deal with for the rest of my life. Then again, I’d not be thrilled to hear I need surgery. Well, maybe surgery. How long would I get to lie around after shoulder surgery?

All I want is to walk out of that doctor’s office tomorrow pain free. Is that too much to ask?

You know, after I posted that last post about how motherhood has changed me down to my DNA, I started thinking about whether that was true. And I guess in most ways it has because everything I do is premeditated through the filter of “Could this affect Bridget? If so, how?”

And yet I strive to maintain some of my own identity. I don’t think it sets a good example for her if she thinks that my sole purpose in life is to tend to her needs. If she ever decides to become a mother one day, I don’t want her trying to live up to some June Cleaver impossible standard. She needs to know NOW that I do have other things in my life besides her and that they are important to me, but never more important to me than her. Because if she ever wants to become a parent, I want her to know that she has a right to be her own person, too.  I think I do a pretty good job of that.

But one thing I just can never shed of myself is my completely twisted sense of humor. I know I’m dark and inappropriate. I am almost impossible to offend with humor. Given the right audience and context, I don’t think there is any topic that can’t be made fun of. And I honestly have no idea how to deal with this in relation to Bridget. I certainly can’t laugh at pedophile jokes around her now (but I do know one that’s really funny) and I don’t know that I would ever pinpoint an age when I could do that.

So for now I snicker quietly to myself as my twisted brain comes up with sick sexual jokes during her kid shows, and when she asks why I’m laughing, I just tell her I got a funny email.

Where do you fall on Nature vs. Nurture when it comes to humor? Was I born this way? Or did I learn it from my parents dad?

This picture was taken just about five years ago to the day:

This was the weekend before Bridget was born and we were clowning around, experimenting with finding items that could and could not be balanced on my giant pregnant belly. This was me before my DNA was completely reorganized and I morphed into being a mother, something I will be for the rest of my life. I can never go back to being the person I was in this picture.

I remember getting a card at one of my baby showers with this quote in it:

Making the decision to have a child – It’s momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.

It’s a bit cheesy, I’ll admit, but it’s true in a way that girl up there never could have imagined.

I don’t know why exactly but I’m getting kind of sad about the fact that Bridget is about to be five. Five seems so big. Five is school aged. Five is halfway to TEN. Oy.

So pardon me this week as I muddle through this week preparing for my baby girl to be five. I’m sure I’ll be back to saying inappropriate things very soon.