The day after our return from North Carolina, my sister Tracy and my brother Jeff came over to my parents’ house for dinner, along with Jeff’s wife Carole and their two daughters, Taylor and Courtney. Courtney, the younger one, enjoyed making faces to make Amy smile.
Today there are no volunteers. This is the week of phasing them out — I just have a few people coming here and there for an hour or two.
My goals for today are:
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Edited to add:
It’s now 2:45. Amy has been asleep since about 12:30 and will likely wake up soon. Meanwhile here’s what’s happened so far:
While she was still asleep I put on a dulcimer CD, had my morning online time, then moved things around in the living room so I’d have enough space to exercise. I also called the pediatrician and rescheduled Amy’s appointment.
She woke around 10:30. Changed and fed. I put her in the sling to carry her into the kitchen to prepare her bottle, and put her in it again after feeding — we walked around (inside) a bit, took pictures, and went downstairs to put her laundry in the dryer.
Back upstairs, we both had gym time: she lay on her playmat while I did most of my Pilates video, although she seemed more interested in watching my movements than batting at her toys. She started getting sleepy; fell asleep on the playmat but kept hitting the arch when those arms would flail, so I tried to move her onto a quilt, but being moved woke her up. We tried the swing next, and that’s where she’s been since.
This half-dozing trying to get to sleep thing has been the most tense part of the day so far, and it wasn’t that bad.
While she slept I put the ingredients in the bread machine, made and ate lunch (except the yogurt; maybe later), sat with the kitty and a book, folded the laundry, put out a book, a toy, a blanket, and my recorder on the bed for Amy’s next awake time, formed and baked the rolls, edited and posted the sling pictures, and here I am just waiting for her to wake up.
It’s already 3:00; only an hour and a half until Mark gets home, and all my goals are accomplished.
What, are the pills suddenly working? I don’t even remember if I took a morning Ativan or not.
I dare not expect too positive a late afternoon and evening after such a nice day so far… I dare not expect anything positive in general. Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.
I felt tense this afternoon. I got to lie down for a while, then I made dinner, which was exhausting. Then I could tell that Mark was getting a little frustrated and tired — he’d been with Amy most of the day, and was trying to watch the playoffs, and she kept not sleeping much, or losing her pacifier and then wanting it again (she sucks on her hands now a little, but that kind of sucking is different than what she needs to do to keep a pacifier in her mouth)…
I started to get anxious. But… I sat by her bouncy seat to eat my dinner and talk to her and keep replacing the pacifier, and then when she cried harder I decided to try changing her diaper. I had to sit and watch her lie on the changing table for a while, because I was distressed and crying. Fortunately she was enjoying her mobile and activity caterpillar.
Somehow I stopped crying, finished my dinner, finished changing Amy, sat with her here at the computer while I read blogs, and finally put her in her swing, where she fell asleep.
And here I am, dry-eyed. And Mark feels better for having had a break from her, even though he had to do the dishes.
Of course it’s only 7:40; hence the question mark. I don’t mean to minimize these positives, I just want to emphasize how much they cost and how small they are in comparison to the darkness.
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Edited to add:
My night was fine. I retreated early in hopes of heading off the anxiety attacks that seem to be most likely in the later evening, and it worked. On the other hand I woke up at 2:00 and every two hours after that, but so far I feel okay this morning.
Mark and Amy had a difficult early night; we talked about it this morning and decided that maybe it’s best to just accept that Amy will not really go down to sleep until around 10:30 or 11:00 and that it might be easier on Mark not to try to make it happen before that, but to just try to keep them both fairly comfortable until then. We also agreed that it would probably have been worse if I had stayed up — my early retreat meant he only had to deal with his own and Amy’s stress and not mine. By the way, once she did go down, she slept about seven and a half hours.
We took Amy to the mall today to return a duplicate Christmas present and buy Mark some new dress shirts. I carried her around in the sling, and she slept most of the time and was calm otherwise — woo-hoo! I hope we’ll be able to enjoy the sling some more.
I had a panic attack last night, mostly thinking about today, but as with most anxiety attacks, every other possible thing to be anxious about also made its appearance. I think I finally got calm enough to sleep around midnight or so.
Today Mark had a dentist appointment at 8:30, which meant he had to leave by 8, which is when I’ve been getting up, and it has been difficult for me to shake off sleep and be ready to do anything when I do get up. Also, I had no volunteer for the morning. Mark offered to come back after his appointment, but I know he needs to work instead. It’s going to be enough of a challenge for him to get this thesis written and do the job search thing without any extra burdens from me. I’m enough of a burden already.
Amy has been having a pretty good day so far. She was awake from about 8 to about 10, and had some play time between getting changed and getting fed. She napped nicely until about 11:30, and fell asleep again around 1; she just roused a bit (1:30) but I hope she might doze on and off for a while longer.
I’m having a bit of a crash, just feeling sad and alone and very defensive. My afternoon volunteer, Sarah, is coming around 3 and staying an hour and a half. Then Mark should be home, and it’ll be bathtime for Amy. And then maybe bathtime for me.
No luck on that continued dozing… oh well.
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Edited to add:
The dozing did continue after all. And the crash didn’t last very long. I decided to wash all of Mark’s dress shirts, which he hasn’t worn since he was a teacher, oh, several years ago.
Amy woke up again somewhat before 3, and I was just finishing changing her when my afternoon volunteer, Sarah, arrived. I fed her, and found her a position that seemed more comfortable for her tummy, which seemed to be bothering her. (Her in that sentence is Amy, of course, not Sarah. Ha ha ha, I’m so funny…) Then she had some more play time on the mat, then had a cuddle and fell asleep in my arms. Meanwhile Sarah and I talked about all sorts of things, and she helped me by putting the shirts in the dryer and then hanging them up when they were done.
Then Mark got home, and indeed, it was bathtime for Amy, and then bathtime for me. And now we’re about to eat dinner, kindly provided by Tony.
It has been an interesting day.
Amy has been unusually fussy for all of today’s feedings. But then she also had a nice two-hour nap (and is napping again now), and a nice long alert calm time on her playmat.
Deb has been here, helping me with Amy, with dusting and vacuuming the bedroom, and with replacing the foil on the burner pans on the stove.
She gets to go home in a few minutes, and Mark should be home in a little less than an hour.
I’ve been somewhat flat most of the day — upset with the fussiness but dealing with it, and otherwise getting by. I’m pleased with what we accomplished, but I’m still feeling the cost of what was difficult. That, and someone’s remark triggered an inner voice’s invective.
It was a simple, harmless remark — undoubtedly meant positively — about what great help I have from my church and other friends, and how wonderful that is.
But for whatever reason — some connection to the past, or to some part of me that believes everyone really hates me no matter how polite they are — I heard this:
And it’s more than you deserve, you lazy selfish b****; get off your a** and take care of your own d*** baby; what makes you think you’re so special that you should get these people bending over backwards to do your job for you and what have you ever done for anybody but yourself anyway and…
If I listened, I bet that voice could keep going for a while yet.
And since I’m sure the remarker is reading, my reaction has nothing to do with you — your remark was simply the opportunity for this inner voice to speak up. You are not that voice.
Amy is slowly getting more control of her hands. She can sometimes get her fingers to her mouth, and she can sometimes grab onto or massage things.
