Off Meds, on Blog

History of depression and mania on mother and father's sides? Check.

History of depression and anxiety in self? Check.

History of responding well to SSRIs? Check.

And yet I'm off my meds. Well, not off entirely, I'm switching from one kind to another. But I knew going in that switching meant letting the prozac go out of my system, and waiting for the wellbutrin to kick in. AND it's the holidays. AND I have lovely but still out of town guests for the next 2 weeks.

It was weird this time - the return of depression. It feels like passing through a fog - sometimes it almost lifts and I can almost imagine that it's gone and then out of nowhere it returns and I find myself feeling totally unable to cope with anything beyond ensuring the basic survival of my kids until bedtime.

The first fog came on Thursday. I was so angry at my husband, my kids, my parents, just for being. If I stopped feeling angry for long enough to try and figure out what was actually bothering me I was immediately overwhelmed by tears - the kind where if you take a deep breath and let them start to slip out you are shuddering and heaving with snot running everywhere within seconds. My son, whose behavior is often hard to understand and harder to deal with, had a typical tantrum about his sox being too loose (or was is slippery?) and when I couldn't help, or calm him down (which I can't, which no one can,) I felt like a failure. Not an "Oh, I'm having a bad parenting moment" failure, but a total and complete failure who will never be good enough for anyone or at anything and who is failing the people who rely on her and whom she loves more than anything.

And then poof, it was gone. The sun was out, I was once again enjoying and enjoyable. And then this morning I woke up with this tight feeling in my throat. Like the feeling when you are trying to hold back tears. Every time Jeremy or my mom said something to me I cringed inside, hoping to be able to answer them, to hold a conversation, without either screaming at them or melting into a pool of tears.

My mom and I got the kids geared up to go out in the snow, and the lump grew. My jaw clenched, I felt overwhelmed by the prospect of 2 kids, 1 sled, and all the fucking winter clothing I had to get everyone bundled into. We got outside and it was all I could do not to scream (really, actually scream) at my mom, who wasn't actually doing anything wrong, "just go away and leave me alone!" - at least when it's just me and the kids there is no one to talk to, no one to notice I'm feeling bad, no one to ask me about it and cause the lump to rise dangerously close to the front of my throat, wanting to escape out my mouth.

Sitting at the computer typing I can feel it receding. My jaw is unclenched, the tears are not in the corner of my eyes waiting for a blink to send them streaming down.

Unfortunately this is not the catharsis of putting feelings into words. This is the up and down of my emotions, the switching on and off of the chemicals in my brain. It feels so good right now, to feel that fog slipping away, but it's like driving through the Himalayas in the morning in the back of a dilapidated pick up truck; one moment you're filled with the joy of the wind in your face, the exhilaration of feeling totally alive and like you can conquer the world, and the next moment the truck has plunged into a fog and you can't see the cliff next to you or the cars careening towards you but you know they are there and you grip the rusty truck bed hoping that you survive to the next patch of sun.

Damn you Olive Kitteridge!

It's been awhile, I know. I have been here, in Spokane. I used to be able to write things like "sorry I've been out of touch, the sat. phone in Rwanda was down". Now, not so much. Honestly, I just haven't felt motivated to write anything. I'm sure my one reader will understand.

I finished my book club book. It starts out slow but is fantastic, and fantastically depressing. A woman, growing old, realizing she has no real relationships with anyone, including her son who, as she looks at the man he has become, sees only the baby, the toddler, with an open face full of love. Only now he doesn't love her, doesn't know her, doesn't want to know her.

My babies won't always be babies. In fact, one of them already isn't. This life of mine, as a mom of two young children, is fleeting. As I sit at the coffee shop and shut my book, it feels like it is slipping through my fingers. Kids grow up, they become too cool for you, they push you away so that thy can find their own meanings and languages and relationships, and that is as it should be.

And what about me?

What do I look like when I am no longer a mom of young kids? Do I look like the humanitarian worker I once was, passport full, sarcastic comments on the tip of my tongue, doing "important" work in "far away" places?
Probably not.
Do I look like the wife of a doctor, who volunteers with the Red Cross and drives her kids to after school activities in he minivan?
Honestly, even if that would make me happy I don't know that I could justify it.

The truth is, I am happy now. More than happy, I am content - something I have never been before. I don't want to be anything except for what I am right now. Which is great - except that right now will not aways be the way it is, well, right now. I know that I have two choices - either to git while the gittin's good, and worry about the rest later, or miss out on right now because I'm worrying about tomorrow. The choice is clear, and clearly easier said than done.

So at least for now, at this moment, I know who I am. I am a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend. I am a person more defined by relationships than by professional titles or higher degrees.

So I sigh, take a deep breath, turn off the computer. Open the door. Pay the babysitter. Make dinner. Baths. Put kids to bed. Kiss husband. Have a drink with friends. Do it all again.....

love actually

When I first saw Zeni I cried.

Not because I immediately fell in love with her, but because all of a sudden it was real. This baby, who we didn't know, was ours. She was coming home with us and three would become four as we added an unknown variable into our family which already felt full of love and joy. I cried because all of a sudden I didn't want to do it. I didn't want another child. I didn't want the responsibility. I didn't love her - I didn't even know her. I thought she was cute and cuddly and small and felt sadness for her situation but if, at the moment when they handed her to me, I had been given the chance to turn back and go home without her, I would have taken it and run.

Zeni and Jeremy on the day we met

We came home and fell into the routine of having two kids. Figuring out how naps fit in with activities, allowing an extra two hours to get out the door, trying to make sure Hayden was ok with this whole new baby thing. Every once in awhile Jeremy and I would look at each other. "Do you love her?" We would ask, and while I wanted to reassure him (and myself), no matter what I said out loud the answer in my heart was always "not yet", and then: "please don't let that turn into not ever".

For the first few months that Zeni was home, I preferred to be in the company of other people. It was easy to pretend to care for her. All I had to do was smile and coo and hold her, and everyone assumed things were going fine. It was when we were alone that I had to admit to myself that I didn't want to play with her, or get to know her, or spend time bonding. I wanted to meet her needs and then I wanted her to play by herself or sleep. It felt horrible. It felt like those feelings would never change, and like I would be pretending to care and going through the motions for the rest of our lives while I secretly preferred Hayden. I was angry at myself, angry at Zeni, sad for my family, and most of all felt so deeply ashamed that I was unable to bring myself to love this helpless, adorable baby who hadn't asked to become a part of our crazy family in the first place.


About a month ago, I started to see little chinks in those feelings.

It started when she began sleeping better and, as I became less exhausted, I forced myself to play with her. Patty Cake, Piggies, tickling - little games that I played with Hayden without thinking twice about it. She LOVED it. She looked at me and grinned and drooled and giggled. The love I felt from her began to soften me. She started raising her arms up for me to pick her up. I began reading to her at night and she loved that too. I found myself giggling when she did. I started telling her stories; About her birth mom, about me, about our family.

Zeni this morning eating a banana

Yesterday, when we were at the pool, she got scared by a loud noise and hugged me tight with her arms. She had never done that before. As her attachment to me has grown, mine to her has as well. Jeremy asked me last night - "Do you love her?" and I answered, without guilt of hesitation or second guesses, "Yes". It felt fantastic.

I know there will be struggles ahead. I know I will spend most of her youth trying (and probably failing) to parse out what is "normal" behaviour and what is related to attachment/adoption issues. I know that I will love her and Hayden differently. But I now feel sure that my love for her will be equal in intensity and ferocity to the love I have for Hayden. A huge weight has been lifted from my heart. My family feels complete and happy and I feel so thankful to Hayden and to Zeni and to Jeremy for showing me how to open my heart and love deeply and differently and wholly.

Notes from the past

Breaking news:

Stay at home mom used to have real life. Used to have passport that had to have extra pages added to fit all the stamps in. Used to have enough frequent flyer miles to hang out in the swank lounges and get upgrades without asking. Used to have a code name used for security purposes ("Flamingo one" - reference, anyone?). Used to have a paycheck and conversations about the politics of sexual exploitation and an in debth understanding of the epidemeology of HIV.

I keep on getting flagged on Facebook to do a "25 random things about yourself" list so, before all memory of these things dissappears forever into my sleep deprived mush of a skull, I record a few of them here so that, on days like today when I have been pooped and peed on, I can go thought the list and find my happy place.

1. From 1999 to 2000 I lived in Nepal, and worked for a group who brought medical volunteers over and set up health camps in rural areas. In fact as all my devoted readers will remember (hi mom!) it's where I met my husband. While there, I was chased out of a rural village by Maoist activists with guns who were yelling that they wanted to kill me. I hid in the attic of a very, very kind couple for 24 hours before slinking out in the dark the next night and climbing down the side of the mountain to a bus stop.

2. I was born in the south.

3. I went to Tufts (go Jumbos!) where I majored in soiology and then Harvard (go Crimson? There must be another mascot, right? Can a color really go?) where I studied public health.

4. I once met Robert Mugabe.

5. In 2001, Ted Kennedy grabed my ass.

6. I used to date guys that were either so nice that they had no personality, or so nasty that there was no way to have a sustainable relationship with them. These gems included it all: from someone I cheated on (and told) 4 times and he still wouldn' break up with me to someone who, when you called, had a code word to let you know if the feds were on the line hoping to get him on tape talking about how he was sellig drugs to most of New England.

7. I had a c-section. I wanted a natural birth. It really, really sucked. I still feel angry about it. There is a large part of me that wantes to get pregnant just to try again to give birth vaginally. If there wasn't that whole thing about adding another person to my life who I have to take care of, I would do it. I still might.

8. I was never a big pot smoker. I had a blast doing acid in DC where the National Mall, with all the monumets and museums, isa fantastic place to spend the evening. I've done X a few times and liked it so much that I decided not to do it again for fear that I would never stop.

9. In high school I lived on the Havasupi Reservation in the Grand Canyon.

10. I've been to the following countries (and not just to the airport:): Zimbabwe, South Africa, Botswana, Zambia, Namibia, Mozambique, Nepal, Cambodia, Bhutan, Tibet, Thailand, Vietnam, Laos, Kenya, Rwanda, Ghana, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Ethiopia, and then all those boring European countries.

11. I first had sex when I was 15. 15!? Are you kidding me!? It was way, wayyy too young. Way to young. Dear God let my kids be smarter than I am.

12. I've only been pregnant once.

13. Jeremy and I got married in my best friends living room in Chicago. There we are, at our "rehersal brunch" at this great Dim Sum.It was awesome. Family and a few close friends, a cake shaped like Mt. Everest, and a honeymoon in Cuba. (Oh, add that to #10). I fantasize about doing it again someday and having a fancy (white, not pink like the first time) dress and a real diamond ring.





14. I've had the same best friend since i was 2. She is amazing and evey time we talk I remember how lucky I am tohave her in my life, and how much I love her.

15. Jeremy and I moved to Phoneix when we were first married. We both hated it. Most people that live there spray paint the rocks in their front yard green. We couldn't decide if this was better or worse than robbing the land of what little water it had to create the perfect, golf-course green grass that the rest of 'em had.

16. My Master's Thesis was on the sexual exploitation of refugees by humanitarian aid workers. It happens all the time. (Relativley) rich, usually western "humanitarians" use their position of power to have sex with those who are relying on them for aid. Sometimes its super explicit - "hey, have sex with me or I won't give your family their ration of flour for the month". Sometimes it's insipidly subtle - "I am a white 50 year old man from Germany working for an aid organization and in a consentual sexual relationship with a 16 year old Liberian girl." Consensual? Really? And the fact that you have the ability to ensure that she and her family have access to food and jobs has nothing to do with it? It fascinates me. Before kids I was working on designing programs that could be implemented in refugee camps to report sexual exploitation and a system to discpline perpetrators. I miss it.

17. When Hayden was born I thought he looked like a cave man. I wanted nothing to do with him. It was scary.

18. When we first met Zeni in Ethiopia, I thought we had made a huge mistake and I wanted to go home and forget we ever eve thought about adoption in the first place.

19. I love my kids, and my family, very much (now).

20. When I was in 5th grade my mom almost died from cancer. When I was 22 she almost died again from a grand mal seizure. Both times I remember thinking I was fine - she was, so I should be too. I wasn't, I still think about it all the time.

21. My little brother is so much cooler than I am.

22. I swore I would never live in a small town. I live in Spokane, Washington. There is no art theater. I love it. I have amazing friends (more than one, despite what the link indicates - I couldn't figure out how to link more than one url...) and my kids are growing up a block from a huge park.

23. I've seen four people die and delivered one baby.

24. I love really, really stupid humor. Billy Madison, Step Brothers, America's Funniest Home Videos.... love it.

And that's it folks. three short, I realize. Apparently my life is not as exciting as I thought it was!

Fear of Flying

And I don't mean the version where you have sex with hot strangers in trains.  

I mean the part where you cross the country alone, with an active 3 year old and a quiet but demanding 10 month old.  We are in North Carolina right now visiting my parents.  It's been a great trip, and my mom was even kind enough to fly out to Spokane and pick us up since Jeremy has to work.  Sweet deal, right?  Absolutely.  But now the day has come that I must return to Spokane, alone.

I remember when I was booking our flight.  I was in a really good mood.  I thought - "oh yeah, I'll take the 6pm departure that gets into Spokane at 11pm, and the kids will sleep the whole way."  Please note - my son has never slept in a car, on a plane, in a stroller, ANYWHERE except in a bed.  My daughter will sleep, but only in my arms.  I seem to have overlooked this as I made the reservations, picturing two children curled up in my lap and me quietly flipping through US Weekly with a glass of wine.  

Fast forward to today.  Zeni has been up since 5:30am, is refusing to take a nap (I've turned off the baby monitor and can still hear her through the walls, babbling, crying, babbling - I've checked for poop.  I've fed.  I've changed.  I've rocked and sung.  I can do no more.  She is on her own, and judging from the sounds coming through the walls not doing a great job at the old self soothing).  Hayden, who is usually in bed by 6:30pm, rallied to keep us all up until 11 last night, and is now doing the zombie stare into the TV as I pack - oh, I mean blog.

People do this all the time.  Stacey does it like a champ, with 3 kids.  Kristen just did it a few days ago and landed intact.  I have hiked the Himalayas, been charged by a rhino, chased out of a village in rural Zimbabwe, and I am scared.  

Wish me luck.

Wish me quick flights and sleepy children.

(And don't think I haven't thought about benadryl - we tried it once with Hayden and it turned him into a hyper lunatic, and Zeni only weighs 15 pounds so I feel kinda bad drugging her.  I do have some in my bag though, just in case..)

Oh, and so sorry about the blog colors!  I was agog to see them when I logged in, will fix - I mean pack and then fix - tout suite....

Who doesn't love the Chordates?

My husband is fantastic.

We get into ridiculous arguments over things neither of us really care about when we are stressed out about kids, money, life.

We get resentful of the other because "you get to hang out with the kids all the time" "Yeah, well you get to leave the house every day, use your brain AND pee by yourself".

I yell (yes, I have actually yelled about) his inability to hang up a towel after using it and, conversely, his inability to use a towel that is hung up and instead get a clean one our of the cupboard.

He yells (yes, he has actually yelled about) me putting trash in the trash can. (Right?? He totally has more issues than I do:)

We both yell when the other is driving: "damn it Jeremy, if you touch my windshield wipers I am going to kill you" (don't forget the "Damnit" chorus coming from the back seat) "Elise! Stop texting as you drive with my children in the car! Jesus!" ("Jesus christ damn it papa! Can I say that? It is ok?")

Then there are those moments when I remember why I love him. He came home early from work yesterday so I could get some stuff done. I got home after a lovely, productive afternoon and drinks with a friend to a quiet, clean dark house. I tiptoed upstairs to find him in bed, reading.

"Honey, listen to this! Did you know that chordates' gas exchange mechanism is completely different from anything...." I would love to go on quoting him, but really, I understood no more. Not that I didn't understanding in general what he was talking about - I didn't even understand the actual words he was using. I wouldn't have even known what a chordate was if there wasn't a useful drawing of a squid on the cover of the book. "AND, I found a mistake on this graph!" Only Jeremy would (a) be reading this book (b) be interested in it and (c) be paying enough attention and have enough understanding of the subject to find a MISTAKE by the author.

Not only is he the smartest person I know, he is the most interested person I know. He is actually interested in chordates. And the social life of ants (another text on our shelves) and social justice, health care reform, endocrinology, anthropology, music... you get the idea.

So honey, I will try to remember next time you drape your towel over the office chair that you did it because your brilliant mind was working out a gas exchange calculation and couldn't be bothered with the minuta of towel etiquette.

Tapaikko.

help! My kids are trying to kill me

OK, this seems a little melodramatic at noon on Jeremy's day off, but at 4 in the morning it seems not only reasonable but likely.

SLEEP DAMN YOU! Just do it! You will be happier, I will be happier, my word finding deficits will abate...

I'll start with the little one. I asked the paediatrician yesterday what I could do about the fact that she just doesn't sleep at night. "How much does she sleep?" he asked. "Five or six hours max" I said, and waited for the look of pity and shock that I was sure was about to wash over his face. "Well, some kids just don't need that much sleep. We could give her something to make her sleep, but it wouldn't be the right kind of sleep". OK, so a) are you kidding me!? All the sleep books I've read say kids need, like, a zillion hours of sleep or they end up killing puppies in the alley and b) really? Something to make her sleep? Sign me up! I inquired further about the sedative angle only to be met with a look of disdain. Well? He offered! Sheesh.

So the medical angle got me nowhere. The sleep books are getting me nowhere, I think I'm just going to have to hunker down with my 5 hours a night self and try not to operate any moving vehicles for the next year. This is a harsh reality which is only compounded by the bigger child who, ever since his first birthday, slept like a champ. In bed between 6pm and 7pm, up around 7:30am. No nap, but I was willing to sacrifice the nap because he spent an hour in his room in the afternoon having quiet time (which was markedly unquiet and usually involved toy throwing and music and jumping but what the hell do I care? He is happily in his room and I am getting some time to myself!) and because he was in bed early enough that I had some (real)time to myself and could stay up until 10pm (gasp!) and know I would still get enough uninterrupted sleep.

About a month ago that all went to shit. Well, I guess the quiet time went to shit a little earlier - his room and Zeni's room share a wall so if she is napping I don't want to put Hayden in his room because his loud time will end her nap time and better one awake child than two. So instead of quiet time Hayden gets either special mommy and me time or "fucking go play by yourself time", depending on how much sleep I've had. Right. So day time quiet is out, but his nighttime sleep was still hanging in there. And then the Nanny 911-esq bedtime games started. We put him down. He makes like he's going to sleep. 5 to 30 minutes later there is the "thud" of his feet hitting the floor, the "patter" of them crossing his room and the "screeeech" of the bedroom door opening. "Mama?" If we don't answer he sits on the top of the stairs and sings (note - stairs located directly outside of Zeni's room). We did what we were supposed to. Unemotionally put him back to bed. It's been 3 weeks of this. The most times he's done it in one night is 57, but there are a number of runner-up-horrid-nights including 48 47 and 33 times. Every once in awhile he will fall asleep without coming out, but it has only to do with how exhausted he is, not with our wily and skillful parenting tactics.

AND (I know, you can stop reading and rsvp "NO!" to my pitty party anytime) in the morning he has started doing the same thing. Somewhere between 5 and 6:30 the same thud patter and screetch are heard as he exits his room and makes for our bed. I would suck it up and cuddle if he would go back to sleep, but instead he turns somersaults over us. AWH MAH FUCKING GAWD!

So now there is a gate in the door to his room. It stopped him from coming out last night but he just sat there and screamed and thrashed and banged the door open and closed (I should draw a map - in case it is not clear, Hayden's door VERY close to Zeni's room!)

Add to this the last minute cross country trip I made over Christmas because my dad was having diabetic seizures and in the hospital, Hayden's "Harold and the Purple Crayon" stint (if by "Harold" you mean "Hayden" and by "crayon" you mean "purple never to be removed Sharpie all over the wall") the three (not exaggerating) feet of snow between me and my "we're moving to North Carolina, we don't need all wheel drive" minivan and I am hanging on by a thread.

Any one of these things would be ok, I could deal and even probably still be a good parent and partner. But put them all together and as a parent I am short tempered and non-imaginative, as a partner I am sleepy and uninterested in anything that doesn't directly help me get to sleep (and strangely, I get really hyper after sex... sorry, tmi) and as a friend I am the loser who doesn't return phone calls or emails for weeks on end.

It's not pretty.

It will pass, right? Kids will sleep? I will have time to myself again? I might return to the career I love one day? I might go out to dinner with my husband and then stay AWAKE through the movie or, zut alore, we may have enough energy to do something BESIDES see a movie?

I know the answer is yes but it sure as hell doesn't feel like it today, or this week. So goodbye 2008, here's hoping that in 2009 the kids loose, I survive, the snow melts and we all take a nice long nap!