20ish Days

I can hardly believe I am looking at 3 more weeks of being pregnant. It flew. It seriously flew by.

I was washing and putting away clothes this morning while Cohen was at VBS. I neatly stacked the diapers and rearranged the living area preparing for baby. 

Where should I put the cradle? The extra blankets? The diaper genie? 

It all seemed overwhelming. Nothing seemed to fit anywhere. I didn't like the way anything was looking. My nesting wasn't cute... it was irritating. 

3 more weeks?!

How I'm feeling: 

Emotionally: Like I'm on a freaking roller coaster. Lots of crying. Lots of laughing. Lots of all of the place. Zac is working nights for the next few weeks so I'm feeling lonely at night and very alone with my emotions. It's strange to look around and realize life is going to change drastically in just a handful of weeks. 

Physically: I'm feeling like I have a nice big baby, my tummy is feeling full and active. I've gained about 23 pounds this pregnancy, ten less than with Cohen. So I'm not feeling as bloated as the first time around. I'm feeling sweaty and hot-flashy... constantly! Pregnancy isn't sexy the last month.... at all... :)

Mentally: I jump all over the place. I feel confident one day and freaked out the next. I keep thinking "I have to figure out social security stuff, birth certificate stuff, insurance stuff and be responsible for another human being!!" It's a very sobering, freaky thing. Some days I feel like I am deserving of another little boy in my life and other days I feel like I am not ready. 

What I'm craving: Not much since my nausea has been acting up again (what the heck?) so it's a lot of greek yogurt, graham crackers and juice. Nothing else sounds very good... :) Though Hot Tamales (the candy) have been on the brain a lot recently.

What I'm missing: Sleeping on my tummy. I can't wait to lay on my tummy again. 

What Cohen is thinking: He is so adoring of his mama and her belly. He kisses my belly and rubs it constantly. I think a lot of my joy comes from watching him being sweet to his little brother and explaining to me how he "knows more" and will help him be a "man." I can't help but think about the important role Cohen will play for Baby T. Cohen is going to be such an incredible big brother. He is such a wonderful helper.

What I'm enjoying: My last few moments alone with Cohen. I get choked up thinking about the last five years we've had together just the three of us and often just the two of us. So much is changing and at times my joy feels a lot like grief.

Baby's weight, name: We have a first and finally a middle name picked out. We are going with an "A" name but you'll just have to wait until his entrance to find out what it is! We love his name and we love what it means to the both of us. Baby is in the 90th percentile so perhaps an eight pounder??

I'm enjoying these last few weeks of movements. It's the absolute best part in my opinion. Since Zac and I have agreed this is my last pregnancy, I am trying to enjoy even the heartburn.... :)

My next update could be about our little guy.

Surreal. 

Remembering the Good

I can hardly believe I am on the home stretch of my second pregnancy. I truly thought this pregnancy would go on forever, but it really hasn't. I have enjoyed, even in the wee early mornings, every kick and stretch from this little guy. He'll be six pounds by Monday and knowing that if, for some reason, he were born tonight... he'd make it. He'd be ok.

Um.... what?!!!

I have been doing a lot of reflecting about what this transition will look like for me. I have blogged about it some but mostly I have felt Mary-ish, pondering it in my heart. Everyday Cohen and I go on adventures I begin to think....

Is this the last time we'll ever go to Wal Mart, the mall, on a hike... just the the two of us?

I'm comfortable with Cohen. I know him. I know when he's five seconds from a tantrum, I know his quirks, his pet peeves, his favorite Avengers star (Hulk), his humor....

His everything really.

Now this little guy enters the picture.

I'm terrified of post-partum depression again, of receiving 30+ stitches again, of a terrible labor again, of feeling hopeless again.

It's a terrible nostalgia.

I'm also feeling very protective of Cohen, his feelings and how he is going to adjust. I've only had eight months with this little guy and 5+ years with Cohen. It's hard not to feel like you're doing one a disservice by spending so much time with the other.

I've tried to release a lot of the anxiety that crawls and sits on top of my brain. Zac is so good for moments like that. He gently (sometimes more assertively) reminds me of the importance of being grateful.

One of the sweetest moments I've had with Cohen is after we were watching Star Wars. We talked about the myriad of characters, and he wanted to talk extensively about Darth Vader (the coolest). I asked him if he was a good or bad guy. He of course said BAD enthusiastically, but then in all seriousness he looked at me and said...

But mom, at the end, he remembered the good.

Hm.

I think about him saying that weekly. It was bad until he remembered the good.

"First" Day of School

This morning was a real tear jerker for me. It wasn't suppose to be, in fact, I had worked myself up so that it wouldn't....

But alas, it did.

Cohen had the opportunity to shadow his new kindergarten class at AACL. We had talked about it last week, and he was so excited to try on a new class. He was sure he would have "homework" since he was in a big boy classroom and couldn't wait to meet all of the kids. We got to the school early so we sat in the car and talked for a few minutes before heading inside. Cohen had no nerves. I did. I felt like I was starting my first day of kindergarten. Cohen was joking around and I sat a bit nervously. It was strange.

I suppose I realized the importance of this particular transition in that moment. As parents, we spend years with our kids at home often times wondering....

When in the world can I send them to school??!

Cohen has been in preschool for a couple of years now but today felt different. It felt... bigger. I felt like I couldn't hide Cohen from the world anymore. He would see it now with his eyes. 

I'm sure you feel the same way, to a degree, when your child graduates from high school. It's a bittersweet experience. Grateful, proud, excited, nervous, anxious, detached...

Perhaps, a bit sad?

I've watched Cohen coo for the first time, roll over, learn to army crawl, take his first steps, go to preschool, see the ocean for the first time, learn to laugh, put on his clothes, articulate his feelings, paint his name on paper...

So there we were, walking into the front office. I filled out paperwork smiling to the cute receptionist as I heard laughing and screaming from the kids in the hallway. The receptionist and her big toothy grin guided us both down the hall, through the kids, over the backpacks and around the corners. Cohen grabbed my hand halfway through. I knew he was trying to brave. What he didn't know is that I was fighting back tears myself. 

Mommy was trying to be brave.

We walked into his classroom where there were big Mac computers, puzzles, games, toys, alphabets, numbers and more odds and ends than I have ever seen. We made our way outside to where the kindergarteners were playing on their very own playground. With only sixteen kids in Cohen's class, we were greeted with enthusiasm. The teach sat up, smiled and shook my hand. 

Cohen let go of mine.

We chatted. Small talk. I tried to eye the kids. 

Would they be nice? Behave? Treat Cohen fairly? Sweetly?

The teacher briefly showed me where they would be, I gave her Cohen's snack and then looked for Cohen to say goodbye.

He was gone.

He chatted to a little girl and then sprinted up the playground set. I eyed him for a few seconds. I didn't want to be the mother who called her child over a million times to come kiss her. 

I remarked that he was incredibly independent, we chatted about pick up time and then I left. I walked outside and watched him play on the playground. He didn't see me there. He didn't need to hold my hand this time. 

He was ok.

I got in my car and sat for a little while. That's when I started to cry. 

Kids grow up so fast. The cliche is so true and in that moment, I knew it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled he's in school and that he is becoming more independent.... a little man.

My grief came from the realization that time is precious. Our words are precious. Our conversations are precious. Our laughter together is precious. 

So I drove away. Confident of that I have done my part to prepare him for big boy school.

I'm so proud of who he has become and truly, what kind of mother he has helped me become. Baby T will receive so many of the benefits that come from all the years I spent with Cohen. Learning, trusting, seeking and observing.

My Coco has a very unique, special place in my heart and someday I hope to share that with him.

A mother's love is unlike anything I've ever experienced.

I'm learning how to not only ride this train but guide, conduct and understand it as well.

Blues

I'm getting the mid-last-trimester blues. I got them with Cohen. I find myself getting them again with this little guy.

Cohen greets me almost every morning at seven with a marshmallow, piece of chocolate or other candy confection in his hand... practically begging me to discipline him. This comes after waking up every two hours to a kung fu master kicking my bladder and keeping me up at night.

For some reason, I don't know if it's a pregnant thing, but I'm feeling like I have to chose joy more continuously these days. Saying yes to faith. No to flesh. Yes to flexibility. No to the expectations I have for myself.

So there I am staring at a hyper bright eyed almost five year old, with a piece of candy hanging out of his mouth.

"Can I eat this mom?"

*YAWN* *squint* *arch back* *grunt*

"MOM!"

*more squinting*

"No Cohen, you can't but since it's halfway gone you might as well finish it but you have lost T.V. privileges. You know you're suppose to ask before you eat candy."

Then he stomps away. Probably to yell, cry, scream or all three on couch. I then realize I took away the one thing that could distract him for thirty minutes while I slowly wake up.

That stupid piece of candy just punished me too.

Some days I feel like a great mom, most days I feel like an average mom. Some days I count down the hours until bedtime and then the second I hoist him into bed I fall asleep holding his hand wishing it would never end.

I'm emotionally frustrated. Terribly pregnant. Wondering, why in the world am I bringing another person into this world? Just one child exhausts me.... now two?

What in the world am I thinking?

It's my mid-last-trimester blues, I suppose. Preparing for new life yet terrified of what that means.

Sometimes at night, Zac will catch me staring off into space and he'll ask....

"Where are you?"

I always says... "Swear things won't change."

He can't. Because they will. That's what sort-of depresses me.

I know a lot will change and I'm fearful of what that will look like for me as a mother, wife and friend. How I will cope being a mother of two instead of one. How I will nurture a marriage with a new baby.

I like routines.

Mines being shaken up and it brings on the blues.

It's a weird line I walk. So anxious to begin this new journey and so anxious realizing how much has to change.

Doubt and Shame (no more)

Well known psychologist Erik Erikson once said, “Doubt is the brother of shame.”

I read that once in a psychology class years ago. Probably sitting in the back row corner rattling down some scribbled notes, I knew I wouldn’t use later. These two words have plagued most of my life. 

Doubt and Shame.

They are cut from the same cloth, once almost always latches on to the other.

This is what I was feeling tonight. Doubt and Shame. Like two mean friends who never seem to leave me alone, poking me in the back... over and over. Reminding me that they are there. 

Tonight, I give up all of that shame and doubt. Yes, shame and doubt will now become little “s” and little “d,” as I can not allow them to rule a very hidden side of who I am.

Fifteen years ago, at the age of nine, I was diagnosed with Trichotillomania. Literally meaning “crazy hair puller.” It started out harmless and suddenly I found myself on a flight to a medical center in Minnesota sitting in a big leather chair as a fourth grader, staring at an older woman doctor who kept asking “Why do you keep pulling?” I just stared out the window.

I didn’t know why I pulled my hair out. I didn’t know why my arms would go numb from pulling patches upon patches of hair at the top of my head. I didn’t know why my little girlish body had bald spots on her head. All I knew was the shame and doubt of ever getting better, of ever being normal like the other girls. 

My mom made charts, gave me rewards, took me to therapists and got angry. I don’t blame her. She didn’t understand. She just saw me hurting myself before I even left elementary school.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with this disorder here are some facts.

Trichotillomania is hair loss from repeated urges to pull or twist the hair until it breaks off. Patients are unable to stop this behavior, even as their hair becomes thinner.

Trichotillomania is a type of impulsive control disorder. Its causes are not clearly understood.

It may affect as much as 4% of the population. Women are four times more likely to be affected than men.

Symptoms usually begin before age 17. The hair may come out in round patches or across the scalp. The effect is an uneven appearance. The person may pluck other hairy areas, such as the eyebrows, eyelashes, or body hair.

• An uneven appearance to the hair

• Bare patches or all around (diffuse) loss of hair

• Bowel blockage (obstruction) if people eat the hair they pull out

• Constant tugging, pulling, or twisting of hair

• Denying the hair pulling

• Hair regrowth that feels like stubble in the bare spots

• Increasing sense of tension before the hair pulling

• Other self-injury behaviors

• Sense of relief, pleasure, or gratification after the hair pulling

• Feeling sad or depressed

• Anxiety

• Poor self image

I was young and intuitive. Mad at myself for being different. Mad at myself for not knowing what was wrong with me.

I remember one day in fourth grade when I was pulling (it was also a subconscious turned conscious issue). I looked down on the floor and realized I had probably pulled a good 200 hairs out of my head. I raised my hand to go to the bathroom and took my scissors. I stood in front of the short raised mirror in our elementary school bathroom and stared at all the little hair trying to go back at the top of my head. I cut them all off with my little scissors. I sobbed chopping off the little hairs on my head. I felt ugly and broken. Something a ten year old should never feel.

Shame. Lots of shame.

My Trich ebbed and flowed. I would have seasons that I wouldn’t pull at all and others where I would have massive bald spots on my head. I hated myself. I hated my body. I had one doctor tell me that Trich has been considered in some circles as “self mutilation.” I kept asking myself why I just couldn't get it under control. And here I am, an educated almost mother of two children, who still suffers from it.

As I got older I looked for a reason, a “why” if you will. I never truly got an answer to why this was happening to me. The Mayo Clinic states “The cause of trichotillomania is unclear. But like many complex disorders, trichotillomania probably results from a combination of genetic and environmental factors. Also, abnormalities in the natural brain chemicals serotonin and dopamine may play a role in trichotillomania.”

My nature and personality that makes me prone to depression and anxiety, mixed with trauma and a genetic predisposition created a recipe in my brain to pull the hair off my head. 

I’ve kept this secret for fifteen years. Though I’m grateful I have done enough therapy and self care to prevent myself from losing all my hair or making it really noticeable, I live with it everyday.

Thankfully, most of my adult life I have had my Trich under control. In fact, I didn’t tell Zac that I struggled with it until late last year. My pregnancies have made it worse, which is why I now reminded of it more. Hormone levels? Increased anxiety? I’m not sure but I do know it has gotten worse. You know the seemingly never ending battles of life? This is one of mine.

The big Shame and Doubt plague once again.

I’m one of the five percent of the population who feels like they are bizarre, strange and unable to really accept the reality of life.

It’s an on going struggle. For fifteen years I have had this impulse disorder seeping its way into every part of my life.

So why does this matter?

I suppose I want to be a beacon of light for others who have struggled, for others who battle this very shameful impulse disorder and ultimately who need to know they are normal and beautiful the way they are.

I spent a lot of time years ago trying to diagnose myself with other problems, blame my parents, blame myself, blame my genetics, blame my circumstances but ultimately, a lot of this was out of my control. What I do have control over is how I respond to the sadness, doubt and shame I feel when talking about it. 

Often, we criticize what we don’t understand. Makes sense. I have had plenty of people tell me... “Well, just stop.”

If only it were that simple. The psychosomatic biochemical pathways in my brain are wired differently. Perhaps some synapse doesn’t fire correctly (who knows) but ultimately, I feel more comfortable and in control with my Trich than I ever have. It’s not perfect but I don’t let it destroy me. I don’t let it control me. I don’t sweat and cry before going to get my hair cut. I let the hair that is growing back stick up without pushing it back. I allow myself to move on from a bad pulling session and not let it hold me down.

I am learning to embrace the imperfections that keep me humble and rely even more heavily on the one who created me.

He has seen it all, every day of those fifteen years, and still just sees me apart from my own insecurities.

I have a lot of great resources for those struggling or have children who are struggling. My own advice to you if you do have children strugggling is be patient and love no matter what. I know fear can make it’s face known but someone with Trich already shames and belittles themselves enough.

I'm not sure how this helps me but I'm tired of it being something in my life that I can't talk about. I don't want to keep it a secret anymore. It's my own self care.

I accept who I am and hope that above all, that can be an inspiration to someone else.

If you would like information, advice or someone to talk to about TTM, I truly am a wealth of knowledge. Email me! 


mackenzietamayo@aol.com

When A Realist Dreams

Zac and Cohen left for a couple hours this afternoon. It was a much needed break as I'm one of "those" that needs quiet time. I still remember being one of the only kids in grade school who loved nap time. It's how I recharge, refuel and reenergize. I even love folding the laundry in silence.

My mind began to wander as I folded tiny jeans, work pants and yet another towel. I shifted my weight side to side and began to wonder... what next? 

Little baby coming. Big baby growing. Husband changing jobs possibly. Me becoming a full time mommy for awhile. 

This realist started to dream a little bit.

This is what I saw.

Not sure what it all means yet. Reflecting on that today.

But what do you dream of when you close your eyes?

Six Years Away

My last post on divorce garnered quite a bit of attention. I had over a thousand views in one week, lots of comments and even more private messages.

If I've learned anything from that post and my own processing regarding divorce, children and grace it is this:

1. Talking about divorce makes people very uncomfortable. 

I suppose I did not recognize the kind of backlash that comes with having a strong opinion about a topic that surrounds itself with negative connotations anyways. It's like... we know that divorce hurts people yet when someone comes out and says it, it's like they have taken a vicious beating. Perhaps it's a reminder of failure. Perhaps being on the defense is more common. Perhaps honesty isn't really what we want to hear.

2. Divorce is a million shades of grey.

I recognize that there are a myriad of stories. There are a million explanations. There are many circumstances that individualize themselves in every person's story. I was reflecting on this though and came to the conclusion that no matter what shade of grey... much of divorce is a gradual process. Is it not? I would argue that 90% of divorces are a slow, decaying process. Most people do not wake up one day and want to leave their husband/wife. 

Red flags. Right?

Poor choices. Right?

Attempting a go at a relationship that was never suppose to happen. Right?

Rushing into a committed relationship without doing the "homework." Right?

Now. I know people change, life changes, kids happen, jobs ebb and flow....

But what did you think marriage was?

Red flags. Poor choices. Rushing into a commitment. Believe that she/he will fix my "problems?" 

Zac always makes fun of me. I am obsessed with research. If he makes a claim about something I'll ask "Do you have research to back that up?" So now, whenever I dive into a intellectual conversation about ____, Zac always remarks... "So I'm sure you have research to back that up....

Yes, I'd say.

I found a report from the University of Chicago that talked about "happiness" in marriages/divorces. Now the study is a bit dated but I think it makes the point I'm trying to convey.


Divorce never solves your "I'm unhappy" attitude.

"• Unhappily married adults who divorced or separated were no happier, on aver- age, than unhappily married adults who stayed married. Even unhappy spouses who had divorced and remarried were no happier, on average, than unhappy spouses who stayed married. This was true even after controlling for race, age, gender, and income.

• Divorce did not reduce symptoms of depression for unhappily married adults, or raise their self-esteem, or increase their sense of mastery, on average, com- pared to unhappy spouses who stayed married. This was true even after controlling for race, age, gender, and income.

• The vast majority of divorces (74 percent) happened to adults who had been happily married five years previously. In this group, divorce was associated with dra- matic declines in happiness and psychological well-being compared to those who stayed married.

• Unhappy marriages were less common than unhappy spouses. Three out of four unhappily married adults were married to someone who was happy with the marriage.2

• Staying married did not typically trap unhappy spouses in violent relationships.

Eighty-six percent of unhappily married adults reported no violence in their relationship (including 77 percent of unhappy spouses who later divorced or separated). Ninety-three percent of unhappy spouses who avoided divorce reported no violence in their marriage five years later.

• Two out of three unhappily married adults who avoided divorce or separation ended up happily married five years later. Just one out of five of unhappy spouses who divorced or separated had happily remarried in the same time period."

So what exactly am I trying to say here?

My frustration comes from individuals who simply don't want to do the work. Who chase their own dreams and ignore the vows they made to their spouse and to their children. I value commitment. Children value commitment. 

Another longitudinal study looks at the long term effects of divorce on children. "It was found that, whereas divorce had more adverse effects for boys, remarriage was more disruptive for girls. The stability of the long-term adjustment of boys and girls differed, with externalizing being more stable in boys and internalizing more stable in girls. Children in divorced families encountered more negative life changes than children in nondivorced families, and these negative life changes were associated with behavior problems 6 years following divorce."

This study showed me two things:

1. The effects of divorce come at every stage of life.

When children are young or perhaps out of the house, a parent may perceive that his/her divorce effects only him/herself. That the kids will be "fine" because they have two parents that love them even though they chose not to be in a relationship any longer. Parents who get along after a divorce save children some hassle; however, the long term effects of grief never go away.

2. Divorce is a no win.

Whether or not you divorce for the right reasons... in my opinion chronic physical, sexual, mental, emotional, spiritual abuse, chronic infidelity or chronic addiction are all reasons I have seen that merit a divorce. God desires us to have peace but he didn't say we all deserved to be happy all the time. Even in my own parent's life, peace was brought on many levels but the undercurrent of grief returns over and over.

His grace is sufficient but you can not escape the consequences no matter what the circumstances.

So why do I write about it?

Because I'm a victim. Because I'm a wife. Because I'm a mother. Because I'm someone who is tired the selfishness of my peers. Because I'm someone who has worked through a lot of grief. Because I'm someone who needs to be the voice of the two... four.... ten year olds that don't have a voice. I'm what six years away looks like. I'm the walking confessional of pain that plants itself in a child, grows into a weed as a young adult and then must be toiled at as an adult.

I'm sorry if I seem harsh. That is never my intent. 

Just tired of the passivity. Tired of the nonchalance. Tired of watching children victimized by selfishness.