progress (report).

hot damn. i just re-read the post i published today, but wrote nearly six months ago. capturing the feels of my post-partum / generalized anxiety disorder. i was on day 11 of my anti-depressants at that point. and the struggle was (is) real.

i'm not sure what day count i'm on anymore, which to me, is an excellent sign that the meds have done their duty. i am on month six! and while i still worry, i think that's just par for the course of motherhood. i'm me again, in the extent that i can focus on milestones, and tasks, without losing sleep.

i started off on 25 mg of setraline, the generic pill for zoloft. it wasn't enough. 50 mgs. not enough. sitting pretty at 100 now, for the past three months or so. there are days that are considerably worse than others, to be frank, i don't think my mind will ever slow down to the point of 'normal,' but for me, i can function and no longer feel electricity (literally) coursing through my veins. i've been off the birth control pill now for four years. i went off shortly before conceiving holden, then had max, and decided to investigate alternate means of birth control for the remainder of my fertile years. because fuck artificially controlling your hormones. but i will say this - they helped (or at least me in my personal experience) dealing and controlling with the sads. and by oh boy do i get the sads. but only for 1-3 days a month, so i can handle that. beyond those temporary sads, (which i have the help of hydroxyzine - because my psychiatrist thinks that benadryl and putting my ass to sleep is effective for the super sads?), i'm doing ok. which is great!

i see my friends more. i talk more. i'm me more.

i got a haircut, with no second guessing or trembles! and chopped it!

i may even get another tattoo, which i'm not sure is the smartest decision as an adult, but i'm looking forward to exploring the option. which is as jodi as i ever used to be, so maybe it's a nod towards the yester-me. the bridging between the pre-mom jodi and the mom today jodi.

i love my husband. i love my children. i love my friends.

vincent and i are going on our first (!!!) night away from the children in a couple weeks. unless you count the night i went into labor with maxwell and holden stayed with his grandparents while vincent and i hung out in the hospital watching garbage tv as the nurses barraged in our room with oxygen masks, belly detectors and various IV fun to get things moving, we haven't had a night to ourselves since the arrival of kid #1. we're planning on driving south to starved rock for a day of hiking and a night sleeping in the same bed!!!! at a hotel while his sister and my sister watch the kiddos. (good luck, dudes - max without a tit at 3 am is a hoot, i'm sure). i don't get to sleep with my husband anymore. i sleep with two other little men, who no matter where they fall asleep initially, somehow always wind up spooning me in my arms.

i'm not complaining.

although, it will be a treat to cuddle a grown up for once.

the thing is - i'm talking about it. i'm thinking about it. i'm looking forward to it.

these are things i did not - could not - do six months ago. before i finally sought help for my mental health.

i got a letter from my psychiatrist in the mail yesterday informing me he's leaving his practice and that he'll develop a 'transition plan' for me to a different doctor at his office. good riddance. i wasn't a fan of the sixty dollar co-pays to come in for five minutes to confirm 'yup, the meds are working' every 3 weeks. it's zoloft, not xanax. i just want my pills. i want my stability. i want my help. just for a little while. i was on medication for about a year between a rough patch when i was 19-20. saved my life. and they've done it again. so i'm not in hurry to go off, nor am i really entertained by having to spend so much money to confirm that my medication plan is in fact working. why is our health care system so screwed?

oh wait - that question right there is enough to lead to dozens of others. (why is the world falling apart? like seriously the apocalypse? why does it take multiple life shattering hurricanes for me to think 'oh wait, chicago's not that bad - at least we're only killing ourselves vs. natural disasters, gang shootings in broad daylight out of elementary schools aren't THAT bad, at least we're not flooded!)

ugh.

i need to move my family to minnesota. there, the only natural or otherwise disasters we'd be at risk for would be cold ass winters. bring it on, snow. i ain't afraid of no frostbite.

but i guess what this ramble is getting to is that if any of you are feeling off - or know anyone who is - it can get better. it can be ok.

it's scary to read my past writing, and to think back on my past feels, and realize how silently and how long i was secretly suffering. and i mean suffering. and belittle myself like, oh what are you whining about, you have financial stability, a family, healthcare, there are so many people in need, you're fine. . . . but the thing is, i wasn't.

the first day i saw my psychiatrist, i was a shivering, scared mess. i was sitting in the doctor's office, and saw a familiar face come out of their own appointment. and it was the last thing i expected - seeing someone i knew - admitting i was weak, being caught as vulnerable and not a rockstar. but it was nice. instead, i got a hug, an 'it'll be alright,' and it was unexpectedly empowering, and nearly brought me to tears. this person will never know, but that hug meant the world to me and was everything i needed in that moment.

i'd like to return the favor to anyone else in the boat i was once in. if you need a hug, be it physical, or virtual, or just an 'i got you, dude,' here it is. seeking help is so worth it. it's scary. but because of the help of my doctor and anti depressants, i'm a happy and fun and most importantly, present, mother in my children's and husband's life.

a lot can happen in six months. i can only imagine where i'd be now - before he who shall not be named's 'ruling' overtook the country and the world fell to shit, without my meds. i'd be a fullout mess, and not an ironically hot one.

anyway. i know i say this all the time and never fall through on it, but i'm going to try and write again. when i can. document the trivial day to day moments, so i don't forget. holden whispering 'theres a party in my tummy,' or repeating 'fistbump' to himself before jittering himself to sleep. max screaming 'BEEEEEEE' at beans, and laughing in joy at his older brother's funny faces. that's the good stuff, the reason i'm here, the justification for self care - gotta take care of me, to take care of these little boys of mine. to raise genuine, loving good men. that's what the world needs. solid people to have other people's backs in times of need.

first day of school.

My baby is going to school today.

When you ask him, my blonde haired blue wonder child, how old he is, he'll no longer respond "two months,"  (like he did for the first three years of his life), but 'three years,' holding up the four fingers, holding one down with his left hand, and ask, 'is this thwee, mom?'

He's so bright. If you ask him his address, he'll reply in song, and get it right. He knows both parents real names, although you may have to prompt him after he initially responds with 'mom' and 'dad.' He can count to ten in Spanish. He can count even higher in English. He knows three quarters of the lyrics to Taylor Swift's latest single, (although I'm not sure if that's brag worthy in itself, the fact that he can retain the lyrics in the ten or so days since he heard it for the first time is impressive in itself). He not only pees and poops in the potty at home, but he'll insist on taking a dump anywhere we go. He has conversations with himself, "I was telling a story to me, mom--why are you looking at me like dat?" (This is his common response to me peeking in with a giggle).

His favorite color, hands down, is blue. He loves torturing (and snuggling) his younger brother. He loves his grandmas to bits. His favorite song, forever and always, is Taylor Swift 'Bad Bwood,' (again, he's a Swiftie).

He just recovered from his first (and I hope last) battle with strep throat. Really gave us a bit of a scare last week, when he woke us all up at 3 am last Thursday evening wheezing and struggling for air as he dry heaved with sobbing coughs. Talk about a heart stopper. But thanks to Taylor Swift on mommy's phone (again, I know), a steam shower with Dad, and snuggles elevated on mommy's shoulder, he was able to make it without a trip to the ER and the walk-in pediatrician saved us with antibiotics AND steroids. Talk about metal. And that was only our third out of four doctor's visits in ten days between the two kiddos. (although the little one, I suspect, is the initial culprit behind the strep bug, and also accounted for three of the four doctor visits - they're both healthy now, knock on wood).

This morning, as I struggled to apply mascara without jabbing myself in the eyeball, the two shorties ran between my legs, hugging my waist to sturdy themselves as they took turns  pulling each others' hair, pushing one another in the chest, and lunge biting (the little one). why? because of the new rage in our household, the big one had a plastic drinking straw and the little one wanted it.

a drinking straw. 'a bwue one, mom. i don't wike the green ones.' DON'T YOU DARE GIVE HIM A PINK ONE. unless you want to battle a seven minute whining cry spree over how he doesn't wike pink ones, and eventually give up and toss a blue straw in his direction just for three minutes of peace while you hustle to scramble some eggs and microwave sausage links for the little carnivore who is a neverending bottomless pit, despite peaking at 6% on the height/weight charts just under 20 pounds at 16 months.

but i digress.the big one. my first born. he's so bright and independent. and i'm so proud of him. 

part of me (almost) feels guilty for not sending him to the public school preschool program. but the rational/financial part of me is still high fiving myself for finding the alternate park district program 'kiddie college' that is essentially the same thing, and i shit you not, nearly $5,000 cheaper for the same program. because Illinois reallllly (eyeroll) has its shit together - public preschool costs $500/month. even with teacher strikes.  this equates to something like $4500/5000 a year. or, the park district, which is two versus three days, is $165/year. tough choice.

but still! he's going on his own. we went school supply shopping. he's wearing his nice first day of school outfit from grandma, despite mom winning the ten minute melt down this morning of the big one wanting to wear his skeleton shirt. (maybe for the second day, kid - we can't creep out all your buddies on day one). 

my  babies are growing up. and i haven't cried or gotten super sentimental (yet). maybe when i drop him off in a couple hours? 

it's amazing, how the days seem SOOOO long. (especially during the epic battle of the bedtime each night). but the weeks, months, years fly. they truly do - it sounds so cliche, but i remember waddling around pregnant with holden, and here i am, a 34 year old mother of two boys, working in a coffee shop awaiting the hour to drop my firstborn off for his first real day (ok, two hours) of independence without a parent, grandparent or nanny. 

and i just love him so much. even if he drives me crazy insistently whining about the color of drinking straws. 

mom loves you holden, today is the first day of your journey into you, and i know you'll kick butt and make me proud. but please kiddo, no matter how quickly you blossom into yourself, please remember how much your mama loves you and know you'll always be my baby.