Quick Update

Maya loves to play in my art supplies and "help" me finish them. The shelf in the living room has a couple really nice drawings of hers. It's in pencil, so I could wash it off, but I almost don't want to. So what? I'm a proud artist mama, CAN I LIVE?!

The banana pictured above is recently listed and up for grabs. I've got a few other pieces I'm working on, and about a million business ideas in general, so I guess you could call me a bona fide businesswoman now. ::finger guns:: *chk*chk*

I've been busier than I've ever been in my entire life and I LOVE IT. Not being busy in itself, but I'm doing things I love, feeling productive and accomplished, and I'm only barely upset that I can't afford to get my hair done right at this second. HahahahaHAHAHAHA!

BUT SOON. Rome wasn't built in a day. But that doesn't stop anyone from trying to do anything, ever. I could build a Kardashian-sized empire without even using my butt.

I feel like I should disclose that my baby girl right there cheesin' for the selfie isn't even a year old yet. Not even! WHAT HAPPENS TO BABIES?!

*Sorry for all the yelling in this post. I'm easily excitable.

The Shop is Open!

This is it, y'all. I opened an Etsy store! I make art, and now I officially sell it. And I highly underestimated the level of courage it would require to announce this to people I know.

I'd like to say that I'm in love with every piece I make, but that would be a lie. I've always been the kind of artist (and non-art-related person) that jumps into something and is ready to move on quickly. There are countless finished works of mine that will never see the light of day, simply because I don't like them but don't want to go back into the world of that piece to attempt to turn it into something I might like.

With that being said, the art that I'm starting to make these days is different than things I've made before. I'm making art for me now, but formeforyou. Creating it makes me happy, and I want you to be happy by having it.

For a long time, I never wanted to sell my art. First of all, for a long time, I never thought I had anything that another human being would want to buy. Mostly, though, I was afraid I'd grow to see it as a chore, a burden, and ultimately stop enjoying it. What I've found through this process is that I really do have a passion for it. This became clear when art DID become work and I still loved it. When making idea lists and to-do lists excited me instead of overwhelming me, when giving myself deadlines for certain pieces made me feel accomplished instead of frustrated...

I know I'm not the most skilled or most practiced artist out there. That's not my goal. What I want is to find my voice, in a sense, and make people happy in the process. The value in the destination is in the journey, and I intend to experience that.

***

Coming back down to Earth:

You can visit my shop HERE, and always at the top of the page using the "Shop" link. I've got plenty more pieces coming, and you'll be able to get prints of all of it. Add my shop to your favorites so you can see when I post new art. Let me know what you think!

PPD: 11 Months Later

Last year, I had a baby. I also had postpartum depression. I originally talked about my experience with PPD in a previous post.

The thing about postpartum depression when you're on an antidepressant is that you feel normal, for the most part... but I still wondered every day if I would ever be able to get off of it. I'd accidentally miss a day and think I'd surely never be able to stop taking it if only one missed dose could allow so much negative emotion to slip through. This is why it's almost unbelievable today for me to say I'm officially off the medication completely.

OH, if I could sit and talk with my past self!*

In part, I wanted to give an update in case anyone might be wondering how this has been going. Mostly, though, I am sure there are chicks out there just like me who think they are the only one. They might feel alone, and if they're like I was, they'd be searching the internet all the time to try and find comfort, to find someone who can tell them that they're going through it too and not to worry and to call your doctor and that this! takes! time! You aren't a bad mom for feeling sad instead of happy. You aren't a failure because you can't will yourself out of the darkness. And taking medication for it can be scary but many times it's necessary to be able to take care of yourself and your baby/babies.

This is what I wish I could go back and tell myself, but my experience is what it is, and I've made peace with that. I was still happy and grateful and ME underneath it all, but I couldn't dig that far.

Now, I do wonder if I'll have depression with future babies, but it's a much different situation now. I look forward to experiencing a new baby without it, and I'm much more aware to handle it more quickly if it does happen. AND now that my experience is all out there in the open, it's not nearly as scary of a thought.

*I'd really like to talk to my future self, too. All of us could do a HIMYM-style acapella number, which would be worth it even without any insight into life.

I Fried My Best (It's a pun.)

*This post contains talk of baby vomit. AAAAAAHHH!!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!

I was trying to be a good mom this morning and make breakfast. I thought an egg would be good for Maya, even though I don't really care for them, so I fried a few up for us to share. I didn't put anything on it, because babies don't need salt, right? I fed her about six tiny little bites. I ate some myself and regretted it almost immediately. The eggs aren't expired, which I checked first, but even I'm still nauseous.

My "good mom" idea backfired. Maya didn't feel well either, which was obvious. She coughed and opened the portal to an ugly, eggy dimension. Watching your baby get sick is probably the worst thing on the planet, and I say that to make it clear how little I cared about the grossness happening in my arms. However, when the portal closed, Maya looked significantly better and I suddenly became very aware of myself and my now drenched shirt. Without putting Maya down - 'cause LOL it's too late for that - I took off my shirt with one arm, one side at a time. You could call this a mom skill if you want, but the only reason I was in this situation is because I thought it would be a good idea to give an egg to someone I love. Clearly, my intentions were flawed from the start.

Maya was then acting sleepy, and it was about her nap time anyway, and I knew she didn't feel well as it was due to a tonsil infection, so I nursed her. Unfortunately, I saw what little milk she drank come back up just a few minutes later, along with the few remaining bits of egg. I grabbed a towel from the nearby laundry basket and cleaned what I could. She laid her head on my shoulder and was asleep not two seconds later.

At first, I was a little concerned, but knew she was very tired, so I held her long enough to feel confident about laying her on the bed without waking her up. Shortly after, I heard her sweetly talking in her sleep (which is a thing she's been doing lately, probably to follow in the footsteps of her aunt.)

If I learned anything from this experience, it's never to give anyone an egg, ever. Maybe not even if they beg for one. Eggs are weird anyway! They're the wandlore of the culinary world, and for a non-chef like me, I'll just ignore all eggs that don't already belong to my body.

post-eggtraumanap

11 Months & Lately

I'd like to start this post by patting myself on the back for the upgraded blog. Yay, me! If you know me, you might know that I hate web design. And, even though this blog template was pre-made, I still had to do way more than the desired amount of IT work to fix some issues and do some formatting. NOW HERE WE ARE! I did have to take multiple breaks to, you know, take care of my kid, but that's just a convenient excuse for why it took me as long as it did.

Speaking of my kid, she's only ten days away from being a whopping eleven months old. She can walk now (!!!) and does so about half the time, or when she forgets people are watching. She's very smart - too smart, really. She knows what a baby is and can even say the word. And even though she knows who mama and dada are, she says "dada" when she's happy (which is often) and "mama" when she's upset (which is also often). I think she's more like a fairy, like Tinkerbell, where her body is small enough that it can't hold more than one emotion at a time. I feel like a broken record with this, because she's always been this way. She's happy until she isn't, and she is unafraid to let you know.

We've had so much fun the last week and a half doing all kinds of things. Between her first 4th of July, first trip to Medicine Park and Mount Scott, first trip to the Children's Museum, and first time at Andy Alligator's, she's been having a blast! She also stayed in a hotel for the first time. I was worried that she'd end up being a homebody, but thankfully, she's been totally adaptable and has been going with the flow.

When it comes to milestones, Justin and I are basically pros now. Pros in parenting, pros in marriage... We're thinking of opening up shop and selling our priceless advice. HAAAAAHAHAHA.
For real though, last month, we hit our five year anniversary. [Insert "aawwws" here.] My very talented sister documented the occasion for us.

The thing about this anniversary is that it felt so... right. Being parents is the best thing ever, honestly, and even though having dinner alone has a lot more work around it, it's still something I'm happy to be doing. Although, I will be first to admit that simple things, such as writing this blog post, can be incredibly frustrating when you're constantly interrupted by a baby pooping or choking or throwing a plate on the floor, or nearly anything that will prevent a person from being remotely productive.

(...but I love it, really. Just don't tell Maya.)

9 Months

Okay, here's what happened:

I blinked, and suddenly, Maya is crawling all over and getting in the trash and playing in the toilet (ew) and scattering candles (I don't even know why we have so many) and throwing DVDs (I found a new, secure home for them in an empty drawer) and generally causing me to wonder how anyone is able to keep their house standing with more than one kid.

On top of the whirlwind that is our child, we've had a busy, crazy month. I feel that I'm in desperate need of a vacation and then I can happily resume this active lifestyle. I'm officially back on track to get in shape again, and I've had to overhaul my eating habits because the gym can only do so much. Diet is, like, what? 70% of fitness? Am I making that up?

After Maya's 9 month checkup, I immediately started planning her first birthday party. And by "her first birthday party" I really mean "our celebration of being parents for a year" because IF WE'RE ALL BEING HONEST, the first one is for us. Maybe even the second one, too. We'll take a bunch of pictures and someday, I'll show them to her and thank her for making my first-anniversary-of-becoming-a-mom party possible.

See? It's still all about her, really.

She can't walk yet, but if she started walking right now, I wouldn't be surprised. She was, is, and always will be the most active person alive, and she's getting quite brave. She is long and thin, and currently very small for her age. I don't expect that to last, but I've been wrong before.

In general, I'm used to this stage of her life, and I am starting to think about the next kid for the first time in a while. Months 6 through 8 were basically just me wondering how anyone has kids at all, much less more than one. You can't even finish a sentence before you wonder why you even bothered to start it. There were a hundred Maya's in the house, playing with dishes, unloading dressers and trash cans, yelling and swinging from the ceiling fan. This is what I see when I look back on the last few months.

Now, for better or worse, she has purpose. She is on a mission at all times. "She knows what she wants, and she's not afraid to let you know." Two nurses pegged her life mantra when she was less than two days old. I was afraid of having a strong-willed child, but it doesn't seem so scary now that I've accepted that's what she is. It seems perfect, actually, considering my craving for adventure, so LET THE FUN BEGIN.

8 Months

Lately, things have been not so good. I have the flu, and Justin and Maya are working their way off of a cold. They have horrible allergies, so I think that's compounding their problem. I must say that taking care of a clingy baby (who doesn't realize she's sick) is the absolute worst thing in the world to do when you feel like you're dying. The only thing worse, I think, would be having to care for multiple children instead of just one. I did have a single moment where I wished she was old enough to go to school, because then I'd at least get a chance to nap or bathe or cry or something.

Maya is just five days shy of 8 MONTHS OLD! Her tooth game is strong. She never ever ever stops moving, like a puppy. GOGOGOsleepGOGOGOsleepGOGOGO. She loves water and barely even notices toys in the bath because she's too busy splashing all the water around. She's still breastfeeding but not nearly as often. She'll eat almost any food we give her, unless it's baby food, then she gets super picky. Apples? Sure. Bananas? Heck yeah, all of 'em. Meat? Ew, no. Carrots? No, sorry. It's much easier to just mash up some of my food and give that to her.

She's a big time cuddler, which is a habit I will never try to break her of, even if it means I'll be carefully removing myself from bed Jenga-style as not to disturb her for the rest of my life. She's got so much hair now, and the bedhead every morning is LEGIT. So far she's said mama, dada, nana, and baba (asking for a brother, maybe?) She's getting pretty good on her own these days and warms up to people much faster. This has been extremely helpful since I've been going to the gym and can't hold her while I'm on the treadmill. You know, safety and stuff. She still sleeps in our bed with us, which is fun and all... but I'm aware of the fact that this will not be fun as our family grows and we run out of room in the bed. I've formulated a plan to get her out of our bed, which should work well when I get around to doing it. I'll admit I'm a little lax with the "rules" on crib-training because, well, I just like cuddling with her.

The same thing applies to breastfeeding. I'd love to stop breastfeeding for a while before our next baby, but then I think about it a little more. When Maya stops breastfeeding - which she'll do when she's ready, probably sooner than later - that's it. Nursing isn't one of those things you do forever. (I mean, you could, but yikes.) So why rush to the end?

Oh, yeah. Because maybe I'd like my body back for two seconds.

Hahahaha just kidding, I'll never get my body back. I'm not talking physically, I mean this body will forever be an extension of Maya and her world. I'm in high demand around here, you know. Like royalty, basically.

6 months? No, please.

It hit me last night that Maya will be 6 months old next week. SIX MONTHS! I have to start feeding her! I mean, I have to start supplementing her breast milk with actual food that people eat. I officially feel like a mom.

I'm going to have to start buying baby food. I have to read ingredients and make brand choices and buy things. I have to carry baby food and baby spoons and BIBS. What the heck?

What. the. heck.

One tiny little milestone and suddenly she's going to preschool and driving and getting married. Ugh! Stop! I'm so relieved to look down and see her still tiny and in my arms.

Today, though, and for the next week, she's my tiny little baby who needs nothing but breast milk and love. I like this time where it's just her and me. I want to get to know her. She's shy, but she's a goofball. She's a snuggler and a talker and I can't wait until she knows actual words and can tell me all her thoughts and dreams.

This is basically turning into me just rambling because I'm freaking out a little. I have pretty much kept my cool so far, but the fact that she'll need to start eating the same basic food that I eat is absolutely insane. Also, I don't think I could ever get used to this - the whole my-baby-is-growing-up thing.

*Sigh*

What is happening? Am I old?

The Dark Days: Postpartum Depression

It's 11:01pm. Maya is asleep in my arms and Justin is asleep in bed. I went to dinner with friends who only just now left. Honestly, I'm putting off going to bed because my makeup is relatively fresh and I don't want to ruin it by taking it off. I've been looking back at pictures of Maya from when she was brand new, right out of the womb. My heart fills with the joy and the relief I felt that day, finally having my baby and experiencing the best thing ever.

I also ran across pictures of after we brought her home. My heart feels a twinge. In that first month, especially in the first two weeks, my days and nights were tainted by postpartum depression.

We brought her home. This tiny, delicate baby that I loved more than life was now in the place I lived. I was terrified. There were no nurses here to make sure her blood sugar didn't drop again. There was no one to check our vitals or tell us what she needed. I sobbed that first night, feeling like I had just changed my life for the worse. I feared Justin and I would never be the same. I was convinced I would never sleep for more than three hours at a time again. I felt guilty for feeling so... sad.

The first night was the worst, but it didn't get much better. I saw my sister nearly every day, and I would cry to her about how sad I was. It was just baby blues, I thought. Maybe this is normal. Maybe all new moms feel like this. I'm just tired. I just need sleep. So I would feed Maya and lie down for a nap. Instead of sleeping, I would cry. I felt lonely and scared, always worried that I would die suddenly and leave Maya motherless and Justin as a brand new dad by himself. I researched PPD. I didn't want to admit that I was depressed. Emotional strength was a quality I valued in myself. Who was I without that? What kind of a mother was I that I couldn't be happy? I reasoned that everyone must feel this way. Hormones, and all that.

Well, two weeks later, I didn't feel any better, despite what I told myself. I dreaded the night time. I was only barely better off during the day. I went to lunch with my dad and started crying in the middle of it, for reasons I couldn't articulate. I finally called my doctor. I was afraid she would tell me it was all in my head, that I was being weak and ridiculous. She, of course, didn't do any of that. She had PPD once, too. She knows what it's like. My experience is not normal. She diagnosed me and prescribed a low-dose medication, which I was extremely reluctant to take. But, after two weeks of feeling so bad after the best experience of my life, I just wanted to feel normal. To feel happy. I didn't want to feel like I was ungrateful for my beautiful baby.

I'm over halfway through weaning myself off of the medicine. (Apparently stopping suddenly would not be good at all.) I feel and have felt like my normal self for months. I have to admit, it's a little embarrassing to talk about this, but why? Trust me, if this was in my control, I would not have gone through it. I make a conscious effort not to be jealous of women my age who have babies and don't have depression. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but I wonder how my experience would have been different without it.

***

The only lights on in the living room are the wifi router and my cell phone. The porch light shines outside the window and keeps the room a few shades lighter than pitch black. Maya stirs and starts to cry, so I hum and rock her back to sleep. I remember the early "dark days" when a dark living room was enough to make me cry and wonder, seriously, if I'd ever be happy again. Now, it's actually really peaceful. Just me, my sleeping baby, and my thoughts. Justin sleeps in the other room (because, you know, he works for a living) and our relationship is like it used to be, only better. If only I could have seen the future in that first month...

There are a lot of "what if" questions I have about my experience. I'm separated from it enough now that I'm only reminded of it from time to time, and I hurt for my past self. I hurt for the family members who had to watch me go through it and not know how to help me.

But. Here we are. Healed. (Thankfully.) I have this awesome kid who is basically the best thing ever, and I have a story that doesn't start with depression and doesn't end with it. Hopefully my story will end with me at 120 years old with 80 grandkids and great-grandkids, wise and free and adventurous, never really ending and living on through my legacy until Jesus comes back and brings Heaven with him.

Or something like that.

***

I've been hesitant to talk about this, mostly because it's such a serious subject and I don't want to dwell on negative things. But if even one person reads this and feels better just knowing they aren't alone, it will have been worth it.

5 Months

Maya is 5 months old today.

I've said this before, but it's truer than ever: She's practically an adult!

Things she loves: her parents, singing, talking, anything within reach, her feet, oh and did I mention her feet? She's also a big fan of Auntie Pey Pey (not an official name) and most anyone else she sees on the regular.

Her eyes get browner every day, though they are taking their sweet time getting rid of the blue. Her hair is lighter than when she was born, but it's still brown.

Her reaction when I put her in dresses... Gotta figure out this strange contraption. 

She rarely cries these days. If she's unhappy, she just tells me about it. It's complaining without words. It's simultaneously annoying and adorable.

She's pretty much over the whole "give me mama or give me death" thing, but she's still needs to get acquainted with people before just being handed over. She also needs to get acquainted with the water in the bath first, but she LOVES it when she does. She basically tries to swim off. (I believe I did say she was going to be a water baby.)

The thing that is most bizarre to me about watching her grow is that she learns new things so suddenly. Something new will start randomly one day. Also, my definition of "emergency" has broadened. Losing a pacifier could be a 911 call for sure.

***

I've been a parent for 5 months now. I've learned how to live my life with a baby. I know what she needs without checking the clock. Going out isn't such a massive deal anymore. The meaning of "down time" has changed, but this mom gig is probably the best full-time job I could've imagined. (Although, the one way it could be better would maybe be that it was a paying gig.) I still have several pounds to lose before in back to my pre-pregnancy weight, but for the first time since having her, I'm finally starting to feel more like my old self, physically.

She will always be my first. She made me a mom, she jumped onto this ride with me. I find myself speechless sometimes, trying to articulate how I feel about her and what she made me.

Maybe me being speechless every now and then isn't such a bad thing.