Wordless Wednesday? I Think Not.

I have way too much on my mind today for it to be 'Wordless Wednesday' but I still plan on posting some pictures because I love showing off my babies!

First order of the day is my husband is recovering from his little 'snip, snip' he had done yesterday.  I was supposed to have a tubal ligation when I had the twins but because they were being born at 33-weeks the doctors wouldn't do the tubal in case the twins didn't survive and I decided I wanted to have more babies.  I am sure he will be quite sore this morning and will have to spend some time on the couch with a bag of frozen corn between his legs.  I want to feel really bad and I do for the most part, but, um.....I have had 4 babies!!!  Seriously though, my husband is the most awesome guy in the world and has taken such good care of me after having our babies and after my back surgery years ago!  I am not so good at taking care of him and readily admit it. 

Second order of the day is that I start a new job tomorrow and I have very mixed feelings about it.  I am very glad to have gotten a job in today's job market and am looking forward to having some more income and health benefits in the future.  I am also very excited about all the free coffee drinks I can consume while working and the free pound of coffee I can take home every week.  (have you guessed where I am working yet?)  I am not, however, excited to be leaving my babies and older girls at home while I am at work.  It isn't because Peter won't take care of them.  I know he will do a wonderful job because he is the worlds best Dad, seriously, he is amazing!  It is because I will be missing my babies and girls and I would rather be home with them.  I've been able to spend the last nine years home with my girls and I don't know how I will handle being away from them.  I am a little nervous about working outside the home as well.  It has just been a while since I have worked for someone other than myself and I feel kind of like a "peon" because it's only a job at Starbucks.

Third order of the day is showing you all some pictures of my babies and girls because I can't remember what the real third thing was.  Oops.

The Girls posing for a picture to try and win some Rockin' Green Soap

Here is another I had to add because of Mel's face.

Phoebe, Avery and Melanie

Smiles for you!!

What are you lookin' at?

In Booby News...........

This morning I just sent out 1380oz of breast milk.  That means that I have managed to feed my own twins nothing but breast milk, donate over 18 gallons to another set of twins and still have a little stash left.  You might as well just start calling me 'Bessy'.  Part of me thought about keeping the rest of the frozen breast milk and not donating it so I could stop and just use up the frozen milk and then end up with formula, but I just couldn't disappoint the recipient. I did not promise her a certain amount or anything, but I felt obligated none-the-less. My husband didn't think I should have shipped it off, but he said he understood why I did.



I am struggling with continuing to pump because part of me really, really, really wants to be done.  My boobs are always sore and sensitive and I am battling more and more cracks.  I also want some free time back in my life.  I feel as though I am always pumping or feeding. 

But.......

I know it is good for the twins and has to be helping them grow so well and keeping them so healthy.  I feel that I am obligated to keep on pumping since I was gifted with such rock star boobs.  I am also afraid that if I stop pumping I will gain back all of the weight I have lost and that is honestly what really keeps me going. 

I just don't know what to do and I am going to be starting at a new job on Thursday and I am not so sure I can keep up with the pumping once I am working more.  Do any of you fine ladies out in the blogoshpere have any opinions, ideas on what to do or magic cures for sore nipples?

Depression: A Thousand Scars You Cannot See

I tried to kill myself.  I swallowed a whole bottle of No-Doz and went about my business like nothing had happened.  I didn't plan it.  I didn't write any suicide notes.  I didn't give away any personal belongings.  I say the books have it all wrong.  Everyone was shocked, and really, so was I.  The only thing that stands out as a warning sign is that I had carved my boyfriends name into the inside of my ankle about a week prior to this.  I don't remember what grade I was in, but I think I was 13.  And thirteen seems to be where it all started.


I really don't remember being sad and depressed before this happened, but people don't go around swallowing bottles of pills for the fun of it. (at least not those kinds of pills for those kinds of reasons)  It was a horrible experience that has left its scars upon me.    I recovered and it didn't do any permanent damage.  The pills themselves weren't going to kill me, but they were trying there damnedest to give me a heart-attack.  If you know anything about resting heart rates you will no that a resting heart rate of 196 is not good.  This little trip to the hospital landed me a prime spot at a psychologists office.  My Mom had little faith in her since she wanted to medicate me after talking with me for 30 minutes.  I think we went on to find another because my Mom wanted someone someone who would spend more time getting to know me and the situation before prescribing Prozac to magically take away my troubles.  I don't know if this was the right decision, but it also wasn't mine to make.

I thought about killing myself once again and this time I was going to do some damage.  They stupid doctor at the ER told me how fortunate I was that I didn't take x, y or z because of what they would have done to me, so now I essentially knew how to do it right the next time.  I don't know what the precursor was to me making this decision, but I dumped out my giant bottle of Advil and started to count them out to make sure I had enough.  I took four of them and my Mother barged into my room.  I tried to cover up the pile of pills, but she saw them and dragged my butt to the ER.  I tried to tell her I had only taken 4 because I had a headache and was just counting the pills.  Both of these statements were true and I vehemently argued that I was not going to try and commit suicide, but that was not so true.  I found myself in the same ER, facing the same treatments.  They made me vomit and only saw three pills in the pan and I told them that is because I only took 4.  They didn't believe me and figured the rest of the pills had already been absorbed into my system and so I was to drink liquid charcoal.  I didn't.  I dumped it in the garbage and then I used the restroom and dumped more down the toilet.  They really weren't keeping a good eye on me at all.  After this there was a new therapist and eventually there was also a pretty new prescription as an added accessory.

As I said my previous blog I have been on a lot of different anti-depressants, but my first was Zoloft.  When I started taking it I got a little shaky and if you looked closely you would see that my hands shook.  It would only last a little while and get better as the day progressed.  The other thing it did was made me poop, alot.  I knew I would have to have access to a bathroom if I was going to eat.  I could almost set my watch by it.  I would eat lunch and about 15 minutes later my lunch was in the toilet.  People thought I was either anorexic or severely depressed and at the time I was neither.  I didn't really understand what all the fussing was about until I saw a picture of myself that my Dad had taken on some holiday.  I took one look at myself in that photo and wondered why I hadn't been committed somewhere.  I looked sick and unhealthy.  Maybe some girls would have been happy to look that thin, but I wasn't.  I went back to my psychiatrist and we decided to try Paxil.  I hated Paxil.  It made me feel like I was drugged.  I think it made me feel exactly how people fear a antidepressant will make them feel....clouded and slow.  It wasn't too long after that I convinced her to put me back on Zoloft and that I was just going to have to force myself to eat more or just look like death warmed over.

I stayed in therapy and on Zoloft throughout High School and the first part of college, but it got to be too difficult for me to keep up appointment that required a 5-hour drive each way.  So what did I do?  I quit cold turkey.  **DO NOT ever do this as the professionals are not lying when they tell you that you need to ween off of it because you will go through withdrawal and it is NOT fun**  After recovering from that I did pretty darn well for quite some time.  I still had plenty of issues, but I wasn't depressed, at least not until my third year in the frozen tundra they like to call North Dakota.  This is one of the first times I was able to recognize the depression trying to weave its way back into my life.  All those 'signs' starting showing up slowly and I also had some new ones appear.  I guess my old friend wanted to bring some new friends along to the party.  I started to hear a amplified sounds.  The best way I can describe it is that the softest sounds, the ones you wouldn't normally notice, sounded so loud and sounded like they were yelling at me.  I didn't hear any voices telling me what to do, it wasn't like that, but the sound of my feet walking along the carpet would be almost unbearable.  To this day I don't know what that was or why it occurred, but thankfully it has happened very rarely.  I went through a long period of trying to stave it off, this depression, but then I found myself standing in a snowbank.  My boyfriend and I were coming home and I just stopped in the snowbank and stayed there for an hour or so.  I think I needed to feel something, even if it happened to be that of my toes freezing.  I needed something to shock my system into a reboot, something to grab a hold of me and shake away this heavy, numbing spell I was under.  I stood there and didn't move and it didn't work.  I didn't feel the cold and I didn't feel better and I knew it was time for me to move home and make some changes.

I moved home and made some very poor decisions, behaved selfishly, hurt a few people and did some things I wholly regret, all the while trying to evade the beast.  It found me though, that silent, slow-moving predator and it finally grabbed ahold of me, put my head between its hands, slowly unlocked its claws and let them sink into my skull and when it knew it had a firm hold it drug me through the darkness.  When I say this I am not doing so with the intent of being creative with my words, I do it because when I close my eyes and think back to how it felt to finally sink in the depression, that is how I see it.  I can remember walking around holding my head in my heads and begging for it to let go.  I told myself over and over again that things were okay, that my life was good and that there was no reason for me to feel this way.  It was the depression and as soon as I could make it let go I would see that life was indeed worth living again.  I knew this time I needed help and I called my old therapists office to make an appointment.  I eventually came out okay and was able to enjoy life, but I knew deep down inside that it wasn't going to stay away.

There were more 'epidsodes' and a new therapist to match each one.  It was hard at times to draw the line between what was just plain normality and what I needed to be concerned about.  I mean, everyone has bad days and everyone gets depressed, so sometimes it was hard to know if it were just a shitty day or if it was the beginning of something worse.  The teenage years were even harder because of all the hormones and changes and the hell they call High School (you couldn't pay me enough to go back there).   I did stay on  medication and managed okay for quite some time and then I got pregnant.  I got pregnant, carried my beautiful baby girl for 8 months and then finally got to meet her, but I got to meet someone else as well.  Unbeknownst to me, depression had a relative by the name of post-partum depression and it was a whole new beast that left an entire new set of scars on my soul.

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Depression: Nurture vs. Nature

I often wonder if I was just born this way or if it was the events in my life that shaped me.  I am going to say that it was both.  If I remember correctly, depression can be hereditary and passed along for generations....lucky you.  It can also be triggered by a trauma or stress such as a death or divorce.  It can also be brought on with a serious illness.  I don't know if it is hereditary since the older females in my family just don't talk about things like that.  I am guessing it lurks around in my genes though.  I am certain that I had trauma and stress throughout my childhood.

I need to make it perfectly clear that I am hyper-aware that the abuse that I went through pales in comparison to others.  It has taken me along time and many therapy sessions to realize that I do have the right to to be hurt by what I experienced and just because others out there have suffered worse things than me does not make it any less painful for me.  If two people were in an car accident and one person broke an arm and the other severely bruised there ribs, they are still both injured, they both feel pain and they both need to heal.  The person with the bruised ribs isn't expected to 'suck it up' because his injuries aren't as bad as the others.  I tried to suck it up for a long, long time because I knew there were people who had endured much worse things than me.

I have very distinct memories of M. (my step-dad) and the things that he did and I remember them as little stories and that is how I would like to tell them.  They don't go in a certain order and I don't remember them chronologically, some are mild, some are not and some people may find perfectly acceptable.

The Shower
M wanted me to take a shower with him.  I don't remember how old I was, but I remember knowing that I was old enough to feel very uncomfortable showering with him.  I did it because I knew I didn't have a choice.  He wanted to wash my hair for me and started getting very rough to the point that it hurt.  I said "ouch" and he asked me what the hell was wrong and I told him he was hurting me.  It was at that point that he grabbed me by my hair and lifted me up off of my feet and held me there while yelling at me and asking me how hard it hurt now.  He finally let me go and turned me around and continued washing my hair and washing me and I didn't say another word.

The Boat
M had a boat that he was working on in the garage and he put me up in the boat to keep me out of his way.  I had to pee and kept telling him to let me out of the boat so I could go, but he wouldn't let me.  This went on for quite some time until I peed in my pants and then froze in fear over what would happen to me.  I was screamed at and grabbed at and thrown into the house.  I don't remember anything else.

Counting by Fives
M got it into his head one day that I needed to learn to tell time and to count by 5's.  I did great but kept getting stuck at the 7 (35).  Because I was "stupid" I was put on our basement steps standing with my nose against the wall, the lights were turned off and the door was shut.  There I was left in the pitch black until my Mom came home from work and found me.

3 a.m.
M came home one evening at 3am.  He woke me up and said that my room was a mess and I needed to clean it right then and there.  He stayed there and watched me until my room was cleaned to his liking. 

Sex On the Beach
M took us to the beach to camp and proceeded to have sex with his new girlfriend that evening in front of the campfire for all of us to see and hear.

Beer and Chicken Wings
M had huge issues with the way I ate.  To him I ate too slow.  One afternoon he made a huge pan of chicken wings and sat down in the recliner with a beer to have a little snack.  I was still in my pajamas and he wanted me to come sit with him and have some wings.  I told him I didn't want to because I didn't want to get in trouble for not eating fast enough.  He said I could eat however I wanted and he wouldn't get mad, he promised.  I sat on his lap and started to eat some chicken and it was fine...at first.  Then he said to have a drink of his beer.  I said the same thing to him, that I didn't want to drink it because he would get mad that I didn't drink enough.  He said he wouldn't and even had a practice run.  He said he would hold the beer and when I wanted him to stop I just needed to put my hand up.  I tried it, and he did what he said, so I believed he was going to be nice that day.  At some point he started shoving chicken in my mouth, more and more, faster and faster and in the middle of it he shoved a chicken bone in my throat and I started to choke.  I somehow managed to force it down and swallow it and started to cough so he, of course, decided I needed to drink more beer.  This time when I put my hand up he wouldn't stop.  He just kept pouring the beer down my throat and it started to dribble from the sides of my mouth and onto my nightgown.  He stopped and looked at the beer that dribbled onto my nightgown and got angry.  He told me that if I could keep my clothes clean then I wasn't allowed to wear them.  He yanked the nightgown up and over my head and threw it in the laundry room.  He did allow me to keep my underwear on. 

The Old Metal Lunch Box
I don't remember the reason he got so mad this time.  I think he may have been trying to get me to tell time and count by 5's again, but I'm not positive.  What I do remember is that his lunch box, a giant, heavy-duty, metal lunch box was sitting on the counter and he got so mad that threw it at me as hard as he could and hit me on my knee.  I screamed in pain and started to cry.  My Mom was actually home this time and came running to see what happened.  M said that his lunch box fell and I got in the way of it.

There were many other things he did on a day to day basis and through the years when we had to visit him after my Mom and him divorced.  He was horrific to my brother, his biological child, and many times I got the brunt of things because I was trying to protect him.  He would act nasty and sick and then would come bearing gifts and treats to try to make up for it.  He would never admit to what he did or that it was wrong, but the gifts would follow whenever he was particularly mean.  He also liked to dress me up, put make-up on me and then take pictures.

The Grand Finale
This one could take some time to write out, but I'm not going to because I am tired.  I am tired both physically and mentally. 
My brother and I were visiting M on one of his weekends.  His newest girlfriend was there and I had a friend, J, over to visit.  I was in my room hanging out with J and I could hear and argument so I went into the living room to see what was going on.  M was screaming at my brother and shaking him as hard as he could, calling him a faggot and a girl.  I yelled at him to stop and to pick a fight with a grown man instead of his child.  I knew the moment the last word left my tongue that things were going to get bad.  I turned to walk away as quickly as I could but he grabbed me by hair and yanked me down, hard.  I struggled and tried to fight him off and found myself on my brothers bed with M on top of me choking me.  He did all of this in front of my brother, his girlfriend and my friend J (who was cowering on my bed on the opposite side of the room).  I fought as hard as I could and his girlfriend was trying to pull him off of me.  I somehow got free, grabbed J (and possibly my brother, but I don't honestly remember) and left.  M's girlfriend followed me for a while begging me to come back and saying he didn't mean it and that I shouldn't have gotten him so mad.  I kept on walking and eventually made it home.  To shorten and to summarize, I was bruised everywhere from my neck on down, police were called and pictures were taken.  M claims I attacked him and his girlfriend backed him up.  Yeah...........

I stopped talking to M when I was 18 and could legally do so.  I changed my last name as a way to officiate it and I never looked back.  My brother kept trying to have some sort of relationship with M though and I understood because this was his biological Dad.  My brother went to visit M and the visit ended with M trying to choke my brother to death.  I guess old habits are hard to break.  That was the last time my brother talked to M.

My biological Dad was alive and well this whole time and still is today.  He gave up his rights to me because according to him, he was young and stupid and didn't want to have to pay child support anymore and because he asked me what I wanted (at the wise old age of 4 or 5) and I told him I wanted M to adopt me (because I thought it would be neat to have a new last name).  My bio Dad went on and got a new wife and new kids and managed to ignore me the best he could.  He did manage to bestow some wisdom upon my young head during one of his infrequent visits.  He said he noticed the ways boys looked at me and that I should use that to my advantage in life.  He said that my looks and figure would get me more in life than an ugly person.  He urged me to quit my job at McD's and get a job waiting tables because I could make so much money by flirting and dressing 'scantily'. 

So did M manage to leave a permanent scar on me in the form of a catalyst to my depression or is it just in my genes?  I know why I had 'Daddy' issues, you don't have to help me out on that one.

Depression Hurts: The Current Situation.

I am pretty sure that I have been fighting this 'episode' for quite some time now.  I think it started when I found out I was pregnant.  My life (my families life) had been going really well.  We were finally in a good spot in our lives and had been for some time.  My daycare was doing incredibly well.  I had a great bunch of kids that I loved and their parents as well.  My husband had been working at his job, which was a new career path, and was extremely successful at it.  Things were good and we were comfortable. 

I had a family decide to leave because I would not lower my rates, which were already quite low. *I charge $120 a week for full-time care and $150 for full-time infant care.  I was charging this family less than my normal rates and also watched their child the later than anyone else.  I had always worked with them on hours and rates to help them out in difficult times, but they decided to leave after all these years because I wouldn't go lower.  I was angry, to say the least.  I was angry that they could just leave like that as our kids were very close and had formed a great bond and because I had done so much for them.  I was more angry with myself for being too nice and feeling like I let people take advantage of me. 

Then I had another family leave after 4-years because the Mom hated her job and decided to stay home with her kids.  I was angry because she kept going back-and-forth on her decision and dragging me along for the ride, because after 4 years of caring all I got was a little $5 plant picked up at the grocery store as a last-minute thought as a "thank-you", and I was angry because I couldn't afford to stay at home with my kids like she could.

Then I had another family leave because they wanted to put their child in preschool and I had watched him since he was a baby.  I don't like preschool and don't think most kids need to go, but that is a different topic for a different day.  So again, I was angry and hurt.

Then I had another family leave because they lost their home, and another because they were getting divorced and another because they were laid-off.  I was down to two families and one of those was planning on leaving when they sold their house.

These were a lot of blows to take, one right after the other, and I was having a hard time standing back up.  I felt angry and resentful.  I was mostly angry at myself because I felt like I put so much time and effort and love into my job and got nothing back.  All these families just left.  No thank-yous, no going away gift, no card, no nothing.  (One kind family did give me and my kids a going away gift and an extra weeks pay as a way to say thank you).  I bend over backwards in my daycare to help families out.  I never charged late-fee's when I should have, or overtime fee's when I should have, or demanded more prompt pick-up and drop-off times when I should have.  I worked when I was sick, when my own kids were sick and so on.  My ego took a huge blow because everyone was leaving and seeming not to care and I figured that meant I was someone unimportant in their child's life and that I had done a horrible job caring for their kids.

I found out I was pregnant in the middle of this and I couldn't help but wonder if some of these families left because they didn't want to deal with having to find alternate care after I had my babies.  One of my daycare parents actually came out and told me that she didn't want to waste her time-off when I had to take time off after having the babies because she wanted to take her normal July vacation and this was putting a kink in things.  Did I mention this was also one of my closest friends and that I was only planning on taking two-weeks off from daycare?

As my kids dwindled in numbers, my husbands job was eliminated because of the economy.  (He still hasn't found a new job)

I have always loved being pregnant, always.  I used to say I would be pregnant all the time if I could.  (without having more kids of my own).  I would be a surrogate because I loved being pregnant so much.  We weren't supposed to be able to get pregnant again though.  I had to have help to get pregnant with my second baby and was told I most likely got pregnant with my first only because I was on birth-control pills at the time and they stimulated ovulation when I missed a few.  I don't ovulate on my own and after 5-years of unprotected sex, I never imagined I would get pregnant.  I should have known better though.  So here we were pregnant with less income and then pregnant with twins with even less income and then pregnant with twins and my husband has his job eliminated.  Yay!

Instead of enjoying my pregnancy I spent it being worried and full of guilt.  I knew having these babies was going to put a stress on our lives and also leave a huge financial burden on us.  I contemplated not having them and then felt guilty for thinking that. I felt I didn't deserve them because I wasn't excited enough.  I felt guilty for not being excited.  I felt guilty for putting more financial stress on our family.  I felt guilty for disrupting M&M's lives.  I felt guilty for losing daycare business.  I felt I was solely responsible for ruining my families lives.  I was also certain that certain people were shaking their fingers at us and saying how stupid we were.  Yes, one of us should have gotten fixed because I know doctors aren't always right, but we didn't. 

I am pretty sure that is when I began to sink.

I ended up with preterm labor, pre-eclampsia, horribly sick with no voice and delivered at 33-weeks.  My babes ended up in the NICU despite all my hopes that they would emerge as super-babies requiring no NICU care.  I had a horrific time dealing with the situation of the babes being in the NICU, M&M being without their Mama and Papa and having their Christmas turned upside-down.  I cried a lot and then I cried some more, and then some more and then a whole lot more.  Despite all my crying and my husband being worried about me because I previous bout of PPD, I didn't want to die.  I just wanted some semblance or normalcy.

We still have no jobs and little income.  We do have ginormous medical bills, creditors calling all day long, a few summons for court, a horrifically dirty house and a lovely foreclosure notice.  We just filed for bankruptcy, filed for an extension on our foreclosure and I got an interview for Starbucks.  I feel ashamed, embarrassed and like I am a huge disappointment to those around me and to myself.  Some people have been amazing to us, friends families and strangers and others have only contributed to the shame and guilt I feel.

I am still sinking.

I tried to explain to my husband that I feel like I am drowning.  Some days I can make a little headway and swim towards the shore for safety, but I usually only last a few hours or a day at the most.  Some days I can tread water....I don't sink, but I don't make any progress towards the shore either.  Then some days I sink and all I can do is come up for gasps of air and sink right back down into the murky, cold water that surrounds me.  I started writing this morning because the bad days are starting outnumber the good days and a vast majority of the time I just want to sink to the bottom and stay there.  I don't want to struggle or fight to get to the surface.  I am cold, tired, sad, consumed by horrible thoughts, and seem no closer to shore than I was a year ago. 

All analogies aside, things are bad and I don't know what to do.  I walk around like a zombie and don't care much about anything.  I can't think.  I literally can't seem to focus and think and plan and do.  I get a little bit of energy and think I can do something, like clean off the table, but when I get to the table I am overwhelmed and can't figure out where to start, so I just go sit back down.  My house is a disaster and has been for quite some time.  I am so completely embarrassed by it that I will not let anyone into my house.  A few people have managed to get inside my front door, but not without me wanting to run and hide my face in shame.  I want to ask for help, but it is hard to do when you don't want anybody to see your disgusting mess.  I think I know how hoarders become hoarders, it is because you eventually just give up.  And now that I know we might lose our house I don't want to put any effort into making it look better.  They say your house is a reflection of you and they are so right.  My house, my yard, my car.....it is all overflowing chaos.  I manage to be able to shower and dress only when I have to (like today for another interview at Starbucks) or when I can't stand the smell of myself.  I just want to run and hide from it all, close my eyes and hope that when I open them everything will be back to normal.  I want my old life back, and when I think that, it makes me feel even worse because my old life didn't include the babes.  I want them, I do, and I love them to pieces, but I want things to be normal again.

I want to hide from the intrusive thoughts that I have.  Actually, they are more like intrusive visions.  I don't think to myself, "gee, I want to die today.  I think I will go draw a bath and grab a sharp knife, get in the tub a slit my wrists".  No, it is more that I have flashes of scenes of being dead in varying scenarios, like frames from a movie.

I have healthy ways of dealing with stress and depression and I also have unhealthy ways.  My healthy ways are affirmations, meditation, going for walks, sleep and making lists of all the things I am grateful for.  These things alone and sometimes in combination usually work great.  A good sleep or nap really helps me reboot and start fresh when I wake up.  Then there are the habits that emerge when things are starting to get bad.  I don't want to divulge what they are, but they are here.  I could postulate on the reasons behind these unhealthy things that I do, but I don't want to go all psycho-babble on you and I am fairly certain I know why.  I believe they give me back some sort of control in my life and also gives me something else to focus on for a while.

I focus on my girls right now to be able to keep going, but not because I think they need me.  It is because I am being selfish in wanting to be around to see what kind of people they will grow up to be.  Most of the time I think they would be better off without me.  I am not doing them any good right now.  I sit around in my haze instead of being a mother and bringing them to a park, having movie night and game nights, instead of baking treats and painting little toenails.  What good is a Mom that can't engage?

I am supposed to be strong.  I am supposed to be a fighter.  That is what people have always told me.  I don't feel so strong these days and I don't feel like fighting anymore.  I am afraid I have used up all my fight.  I've gone too many rounds and I am tired.  My hope isn't all gone yet.  I hope everyday that the next day will be better, that if I can just make it through the day I will wake up a little stronger.  I keep doing this day after day, hoping the next day will be better, but it hasn't happened yet.  "Just one more day, it is just 24 hours you have to make it through, one more night of sleep and maybe tomorrow you will find yourself again" is what I tell myself.  I hope that I do, I hope things get better, I hope that the economy gets better, I hope my Mom will find a job and be able to save her sanity and house, I hope my kids will forgive me for being such a crappy Mom right now, I hope my husband will get a good-paying job, I hope that I can continue to have hope.

Depression Hurts, But You Don't Have To.

I've never heard anything on TV that spoke to me stronger than those words.  Whoever wrote that commercial either suffered from depression or was a genius.  I I knew exactly what that commercial was talking about and I had been in those people's situations more than once in my life.  Those words, "Depression hurts, but you don't have to; Cymbalta can help" just echoed in my head.  I wanted Cymbalta to help.  I also have wanted Zoloft, Effexor, Wellbutrin, Celexa, Paxil, and Lexapro to help as well.  They have all helped, temporarily, but they have all come with side-effects and I couldn't handle them all.  Zoloft made me poop so much that I dropped down to 105lbs and looked anorexic.  Effexor made me so dizzy that I couldn't function or stand to be up on my feet.  Wellbutrin gave me hives, everywhere!  Paxil made me feel drugged and shaky.  Celexa and Lexapro both just stopped working.  Cymbalta actually worked wonders for me, gave me back some semblance of a sex drive, but it also made me fat.  I was up to 220lbs after taking Cymbalta and then I stopped taking it while I was pregnant with the twins (for safety reasons) and I lost almost 30lbs.  I started taking it again after I gave birth and I started gaining weight again.  I just recently switched medications again and lost 5lbs.

I know to some people gaining weight is a small price to pay for being sane, but when you are already depressed, being overweight only exacerbates things, at least for me.  I have gone from being a healthy 112-115lbs to 220lbs and I am currently holding steady at 193.  And did I mention that I am only 5'1"?  That is a lot of weight on a small frame.  Depression is a lot of weight on my frame as well though.

I have been battling 'depression' since I was 13, at least.  For all I know I could have been born depressed.  If you haven't suffered it, you may not understand.  You may think that you can just "shake it off" or cheer up, but you can't.  It seeps into you like a toxin and poisons everything in you and can sometimes leach into those that are close to you.  It surrounds you like a thick fog.  You know the world is out there, that happiness and normalcy are within your reach, but you just can't see them through the fog.  You want it desperately to clear, to just dissipate and allow you to see the world around you clearly and not through the haze of depression.  In my experiences, I know it my brain that everything is okay, that I have no reason to be depressed, but my body and emotions won't let me feel good.  I can remember my last really bad 'episode' and how I just kept walking around holding my head trying to convince myself that life was okay and worth living, that it was just an illness that I had to make it through and the fog would part and life would be clear again.  It was so frustrating knowing in my brain that everything was fine, but feeling the complete and total opposite.  It is different then just being 'down' or 'sad' because there is almost always a reason for that and it is temporary.  I can deal with that.  I can't deal with being at my child's birthday party where everyone is happy and all I can think about is jumping off of a bridge.  It isn't rational.  I sometimes wonder what is worse, the depression and despair or the knowing that it is just the depression talking and my life is fine.

I am choosing to blog about this for a few different reasons.  One of the reasons is because I am smack in the middle of a major depression right now and I am hoping this with be a cathartic way of working my way out of it.  Another reason is because I am hoping that some people out there can learn something from my experience or at least not feel alone in it.  This may end up being the longest thing I have ever written because there is so much I have and want to say, so please bare with me.  I want to tell my story, to let it go out into the world and to hopefully lift some of the weight that is sitting on my chest and not allowing me to breath.

I am not sure where to start.  I have never been good with plotting out what I am going to write.  I just kind of barf it up on the page, so to speak.  I just let it pour out of me and hope it lands in the right place.  So please be patient and kind to me while I try to figure this out. 

Please forgive my grammar and spelling while I write this.  Maybe once I have finished I will have my brilliant husband edit it for me so it is not so painful for you to read. 

Bob Bob Scare Pants

I feel like I am being followed by Spongebob this week.  First my girls started the week by watching Season 1 of Spongebob, and we haven't watched Spongebob in about a year.  Then I see that my favorite ice cream store has S. Bob ice cream.  It is lemon custard ice cream with raspberry swirl and chunks of sponge cake-yum!  This then reminds me of one of my favorite daycare kids who always called Spongebob Sqaurepants, bob bob scare pants and it still makes me giggle when I think about it.  And that always makes me think of B.O.B. strollers because whenever I see one, and they are everywhere, I think to myself "there's a bob bob revolution".

Did I mention I need a vacation?

In Booby News

• I have been battling more cracks and it isn't fun
• my first shipment of donated milk arrived safe and sound
• in the shipment there was approximately 990oz of breast milk
• that amount will feed her twins for about 16 days
• I will be sending off my second shipment today or tomorrow

I'm Rockin, but are you Rockin??

I have been meaning to blog about this for a while now and since my fellow blogger, Breastfeeding Mama is having a little giveaway, I guess it is the perfect time.

I first heard about Rockin' Green Soap from my local cloth diapering store, Peapods.  I hadn't really given much thought to what soap I was going to use for my cloth diapers and just decided to go with All Free & Clear because it was listed as safe  for my diapers, it was cheap and I could get it anywhere.  Something about this soap caught my eye though.  It could have been the excitement that Peapods conveyed about finally stocking it or the juicy scents it was available in.  I mean who can resist "Smashing Watermelons" or "Motley Clean"??  Not me.  I am a sucker for clever names (why I love OPI nail polish) and yummy smelling things (why I have a zillion scented candles) so I figured I should get some. 

Peapods was having their annual sidewalk sale and I figured I would just pick some up then, but amidst all the chaos and long lines I mistakenly grabbed "Bare Naked Babies", aka the unscented variety of Rockin' Green and didn't notice it until after I ripped the bag open, poured some in my wash and waited for the delish scent of Lavender-Mint to waft up from my Kenmore and tickle my nose.  So. Disappointed.

My little bag of Rockin' Green Hard Rock in Bare Naked Babies did not continue to disappoint me though.  My inserts were repelling and my babies bums were getting a little rashy and after my very first wash in my rockin' new soap, the problem disappeared!!  I started to read up on all the reviews people were leaving on both the Rockin' Green website and on their Facebook page and decided I needed to a) buy some more in a scent this time! and b) start experimenting with my new miracle of miracles soap.

I decided to "Rock a Soak" to make sure all of my All Detergent was out of my dipes.  I had seen so many nasty pictures of stuff coming out of "clean" diapers and clothes that I had to give it a try.  This is taken directly from Rockin' Green's FAQ's

 To speed up the process, try Rockin' an overnight soak with 3 Tbs of Rockin' Green followed by several washes with nothing. Repeat the process until your diapers are fresh smelling again.

I did a cold rinse first to get all the "yuckies" off and then filled my washer with hot water and 3TBS of Rockin' Green and let it soak overnight.  The next morning I lifted the lid to see some nasty dark, hazy water (and later regretted not taking a picture).  I then ran a hot wash cycle followed by two cold rinses.  My diapers smelled clean, and I'm not talking about smelling like Tide, they smelled like nothing, nothing but clean.  After that I had to tackle my monstrous laundry pile (and it gave me a reason to use up my unscented stuff while I waited for my "Rage Against the Raspberries"!!!)  The water from all my laundry loads was nasty and I was amazed by the the amount of residue soap that was lurking in my clothes!  There were a few items I didn't get stains out of like I had hoped, but some items came out looking brand new.  One of my favorite blankets came out looking glorious.  It had a nice sheen to it and I kept looking back at it while folding the rest of my clothes to see if it looked the same or if I had taken to hallucinating.  I also noticed an amazing change in a pair of my husbands pants.  Before I put them in the wash they felt kind of stiff or rough, but I just assumed it was the fabric, but boy was I wrong!  I took them out of the dryer and they were so incredibly soft!  I wasn't looking for a change and I didn't expect them to come out feeling differently from when I put them in, but the minute I grabbed them I was stunned by their softness.  I even had to bring them out and have my husband feel them, but he was not nearly as excited as I was.

I plan to write some more on Rockin' Green and do a few laundry experiments of my own in the future (and remember to take pictures), but my twins are crying and I need to go feed them so I must bid you all adieu!

Happy Rockin'!!!!

MilkShare

I have decided to donate some of my breast milk since I am running out of room to store it.  I am not sure how I feel about it yet.  I really wanted to be able to freeze enough to be able to quit pumping early, but I underestimated the amount of freezer space this would require.  I have filled up four freezers, not all of them full, but not all of them are mine either.  I just came upon the 6-month mark of some of the breast milk and I needed to use it before it went bad.  Some sources say that in a deep-freeze it can be safe well over 6-months, but a lot of sources say 6 months is the max and I would rather err on the side of caution.

I posted my information on MilkShare with all my 'stats' and then waited.  I wasn't sure anyone would want it because I do take one prescription medication that some people may not be comfortable with.  Within 24-hours I had a few inquiries and I started to second guess what I had done.  I knew I could just delete my information and keep my milk, but then what would I do?  Start feeding it to the rest of my family in lieu of Kemp's? 

I decided to contact one woman who had identical twin boys who have a true preservative allergy.  She is unable to produce milk for her boys even though she had no problems with her previous two children.  We shared stories and information and I decided to go ahead and ship her my precious milk.  She had two coolers, packing tape, replacement milk storage bags, and UPS labels shipped to me and all I had to do was pack it up and schedule a pick-up with UPS. 

I just sent off the first cooler of milk this afternoon and am planning on sending the other one next Monday.  I am very happy to be able to help someone, but I also feel a bit of a loss.  I worked hard for that milk, pumping every two hours for 12-weeks straight, and I am still tired from it :)

If only someone would pay me for my milk and then I could take a week-long vacation where all I would do is sleep............a sleepcation!!

Crafty, crafty.

We got the helmets for the girls on Wednesday and it all went very well and very quickly.  We got to spend some quality time with the babes without the older girls around and even treated ourselves to a baby feeding session in the hospital cafeteria before leaving. 

There was a lot of arm eating, noise making and toy stealing going on that day!

Making Noise!

Toy Stealing

                                

I was told I could decorate the helmets with stickers, but no paint, so that is what I did and they look so much cuter.  I would have loved something a little more "me" and a little less "cutesy", but I'm not the one wearing them, now am I? 

I let Mia help me out with Phoebe's and she did a great job until she placed the sticker sheets on the floor sticky side down which led to me picking off tons of little dog hairs.

Anyway, I am exhausted and need to head to bed.  I have a long weekend ahead of me and need all the sleep I can get to make it through.

Don't look if you are easily offended.....

explanation to follow sometime later...........

I am waiting for my clothes to dry so I have a few minutes to explain.........My Mom rented out the upstairs of her house to a friend when she lost her job some time ago.  She didn't really want to do it because this 'family friend' isn't always the most honest, nice, polite person in the world, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

The last 3 years have been hell on my Mom and everyone that comes to visit my Mom because this 'friend' has been around.  We finally gave her a nick name of "CC", and no, that doesn't stand for carbon copy.  This 'friends' name starts with a C and the other C stands for cunt.  Yep, we went there and were glad to do so.

I don't want to go on about the details and why cc is the spawn of satan, but she is now gone.  She found a man to suck the life out of and she is now tormenting another soul. 

Although my Mom is not happy about losing the money cc provided in rent I thought we should celebrate.  I sent out an evite for a "Bon Voyage to CC" party.  The guest of honor won't be there, but we will be and we will be having a grand ole' time.  Everyone is supposed to bring a dish to share that is related to the theme of the party..........................

I made "cuntcakes"

In Booby News

I have decided to donate some of my breast milk.  This isn't neccessarily because I want to, but more because I need to.  I would like to have stored it all up so that I could be done pumping early, but the fact that you can't open the freezer without being bombarded my bags of frozen breast milk has lead me to drastic measures.  I am running out of room to store it all and I am not about to run out and purchase another freezer for it.  I am already using four different ones!!