Red and White Ribbons

The events of last week are fresh like open wounds in our hearts. There are still children fighting for life from hospital beds. My community is grieving and broken, unsure of how to heal just yet. My own heart continues its ache, and I pray. A lot. Sleep is not a priority for many.

In the midst of this turmoil there are many different faces. Some attempt to bring laughter to the anguish. Some exude sympathy without a word. A few are angry and looking for anything to blame.

There are also the faces that belong to extraordinary, though quite ordinary, folks. These are the folks I would like to thank for stirring hope in my heart on this evening's drive.

Red and white ribbons adorn downtown, and every street into the city. The hearts, bows and initials "MP" are bold and beautiful. The city is blanketed in symbols of unity and support. Their message is clear:
Tragedy will not define us.
Pain will not drown us.
We lift each other up in love.
Hate has no purpose.
Hope is alive.

Bedtime Shenanigans

My sister "A" and I shared a room growing up. We had bunkbeds, me on the top bunk and A underneath. I don't remember if it happened that way because she wanted the bottom and I wanted the top, or if I demanded that I got to pick first because I was older...but I suppose that doesn't matter now. What does matter is how much fun we had at times! We made up a bedtime game, "Bird & Worm". One of us would lean over the edge of our bunk, wiggle our finger around like a worm and wait for the other one to try and catch it. Whoever was the "bird" could only use one hand to catch the other's finger, and if the "worm" could pull out of the bird-hand it didn't count. We had so many fun nights, staying awake late when we were supposed to be sleeping, trying not to make too much noise giggling. What fun to share a room with my sister! (Of course, you never would have heard those words when we were in the thick of growing up!)

E has just started her own version of our bedtime game. When we're lying all snuggly in bed, she starts waving her hand as if to say  goodbye. She waits for me to grab at it and giggles like crazy when I catch her! Sometimes she pulls away real quick and sometimes she lets me catch her hand in mine. When I do I squeeze it a little and tickle her palm, which makes her laugh even harder! It usually only takes a few rounds of this for her to settle down and nurse to sleep. Obviously content knowing she taught her mama a game.

A Melancholy Milestone

WARNING: POSSIBLE TMI ALERT!

If you are not yet a mother, male, or otherwise sensitive to..ahem, "womanly topics", continue reading at your own risk.
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It appears that "Aunt Flow" is making her return. Almost 14 months postpartum, not bad at all right? True, true. I should be so thankful it took this long. (Though it's a little hard when I just want to curl into a ball and sleep through the next five or so days of "after pain" like cramps.)

They say the first period after childbirth is a doozy. No matter how long it's been.
At least I have somewhat of an explanation for the recent drop in milk supply. Though I sure was hoping not to have to dig in to my stock of "paraphernalia" just yet!

The saddest thing for me right now is how this is yet another reminder of how quickly we're transitioning from caring for a baby to parenting a toddler, raising a child. Don't get me wrong, this is a fun stage! And I most likely have nothing to worry about in terms of E self-weaning anytime soon. (She still loves her milkies!) But time sure is flying all the same. I hope we can do it again, with another newborn baby, a sibling for E. I feel like I have so much more knowledge and confidence now, I would love to do it again. I would like to experience all the newborn ups and downs, the "firsts", the amazement of that first few weeks, months, year. I always pictured myself as a mother of plural kids, never an only.

If she is to be our only child, I want to keep her young as long as possible! ;-)

Every Day A New Amazement

She's just so amazing. Every single day E does something that makes me marvel at how incredibly fast she is growing up.

Recently it's reading books. She sits on the floor with them, turning the pages, babbling about the things on each page. She can entertain herself for quite a while, seemingly in her own little world.
We are now at the stage of reading books to her, over, and over. And over. I do love these times, when she'll bring a book, scoot herself into a loving Mama or Daddy lap, and wait for the book to be read. I swear I've even heard her say "ree" for read.
Sometimes, when she's in a hurry, she'll turn the pages herself. Sometimes she is happy as a clam to relax in your lap and just listen and watch.

I am kind of relieved that we're experiencing this phase. When E was a young baby, up until a couple or so months ago, she never seemed to have time to sit still for a book. She was always working on her coordination, crawling, exploring the world. It's like now her imagination is kicking in and she wants to learn about the beautiful things in stories.

We are also officially in the boundary testing phase! You know, where toddlers do that one-thing-you-dont-want-them-to to see if you are going to be consistent in your reaction. I now understand the frustration. I get it, Mom. I'm sorry! :)
It's not that E is even being "naughty" (I hate that word by the way,) but I hear and see myself repeating a lot of guidances these days. "Please don't climb in the dishwasher. I don't want you to get hurt." "That chair is for sitting in, not safe to climb." "Mama doesn't want you to play in the fridge. Too cold for you."
I do try to always give her another option to choose, but this is one determined girl! Hey, perseverance is a good character quality, I'll take it!

I find myself wishing more and more that I didn't go to work every day. I feel like I'm missing out on lots of fun memories. If it weren't for Mom being "nanny" I just couldn't do it. These days are too precious and fleeting.

My Dear Toddler,

You're just hours away from turning 13 months old. It boggles my mind how a month has already passed since your first birthday.
You have been outside of me, in this big ol' world, longer than you lived in my womb.

Those first moments, when we met the very first time, those sure were something else, huh? Before you let out your first cry I was panicking inside, praying everything was ok and willing you to scream ferociously. Then you did, with your hefty, angry, newborn lungs. Those first cries broke my tear-damn and I sobbed thank you's as you were placed on my chest. You were the most beautiful, pink, wet human I'd ever laid eyes on.

I can't believe how grown up you are... how fast you can walk, how many words you understand (and even say!), how deep your emotions run. It's hard to imagine you a helpless newborn anymore.

Soon you'll be running outside, playing catch with Daddy, climbing trees, playing hopscotch. It'll feel like a blink or a heartbeat, same as these past months.

So many new and wonderful changes, amazing things you learn every day. But you're still a baby at heart. You still want me when you're tired, hungry or hurt, and sometimes just because. You still laugh that little "he he he" when I ask if you want milk. Your little (though not as tiny now,) fingers still grasp for mine as you drift to sleep.

In another blink you'll be oh-so-grown.

But you will always,
forever and ever,
be my baby girl.
The daughter who made me Mama.

Trying To Be Helpless

It has been way too long since I've visited. The only reason I am here now is because I don't know how else to get these thoughts out of my head.

I have finally given Zoloft the boot, tapered off completely over the course of a few weeks, taking my last (ever and good riddance!) dose last week. Prescribed this "considered safest for breastfeeding" SSRI at 6 weeks postpartum, I've struggled with the decision and it's been a love-hate relationship the entire way. I surely needed something to help keep me in check while the hormones tried to balance out, but I am not convinced now that this was the best choice. The withdrawal hit full force this past week and I pray it's over soon. "Hi, my name is Cassandra. It's been 10 days since my last dose... Oh, and I feel like I'm losing my mind!"

Oh man, the jumbled thoughts, tremors, clumsiness, "brain zaps" and itching have been making me crazy all weekend. At least the intense anxiety and irrational irritability has subsided. That's got to mean something good, right?

My greatest problem right now is my own pride. Thinking that I can handle this on my own. Wanting to be strong, stoic and in control. The truth is, I still feel competely out of control. My mind has trouble finding the correct words, my fingers aren't working quite right...dizzy spells spin my world and anxious thoughts wreck my concentration. I honestly cannot handle this on my own.

This is where becoming helpless comes in. If I remember that I, of my own broken self, am completely incapable of getting through this graciously, maybe I'll be open to letting God help. He's the only one who can mend my shattered nerves and calm the anxious heart. I've tried medicating, meditating, mediating... it must be time for some mending from the Master mender of brokenness.

1 Peter 5:7 popped up the other night during another inner battle, and the version above really got me. The word "anxiety" stuck out like a sore thumb and made me think... anxiety is exactly the problem right now, but my anxious thoughts and hairbrained schemes of paranoia aren't something to hide. I should just toss them over to Jesus and let Him deal. (I know, duh, right?) I think I had this skewed idea that because my anxiety was (at least partially) induced by my own decisions (first to medicate and now to stop,) that it wasn't something to give up to anyone else (even God!). How wacky is that logic?! Man, my head has been through the wringer. All the more reason to let God take it. I haven't a clue what I'm doing! Ha!