Earplugs again

Today I got out my earplugs again.

I didn’t sleep well last night — I was probably up from about 2 to about 5 or 6. Then I had two hours of babysitting, which went well but is still tiring. Amy only slept a half hour for her morning nap.

So when she was still talking, and sometimes crying, perhaps because she’s got this new habit of throwing her beloved blanket out of the crib, I was getting irrationally angry. Part of me said it would be safer not to try to go in and comfort her because I was irritated enough I might yell or be rough. Part of me said it would be good for her to learn that when she throws her blanket out of the crib, it doesn’t come back.

I put in the earplugs so her sounds (both the contented babbling and the crying) wouldn’t aggravate me further.

And I continued working on her one year scrapbook, thinking again about the irony, that it can be fun and pleasant to do something about Amy even while I’m irritated with Amy herself.

She slept about an hour. Not long enough — for her or for me. But we’ll be okay.

Miserable little rash

Poor Amy keeps getting fresh rash. It’s not huge, not scabby or broken or anything, just persistent / recurring. Honestly, if you saw it, you wouldn’t think anything of it.

I did some reading today, and found over and over again that changing frequently and exposure to air are the most helpful things you can do for a diaper rash. We thought we were changing pretty frequently already, but we’re going to keep working at it. And the old comforter is back in place for naked time after diaper changes.

I also found some other ideas that we’re going to try:

• Use a cup of vinegar in the final rinse when washing diapers.
• Change detergents — we buy stuff with no dyes and perfumes, but perhaps the store brand isn’t as good as the brand we tried before.
• Use diaper cream LESS frequently — 2-3x a day rather than with every change — allows skin to breathe.
• Dress baby in a diaper without a cover for more breathability. The Bummis wraps we use are not like the old days’ rubber pants — they are fairly breathable. But a plain diaper is even more breathable. This will require leggings of some sort, though, since the weather’s colder now. I’m working on knitting a pair — this time I found a pattern.

There have been some unhappy incidents lately. Amy has been so miserable, apparently with the rash, that she screams the old bloody murder scream on the changing table, whether you’re touching her or looking at her or not. Twice I’ve yelled back.

I don’t like that I get angry and think things like “It’s JUST a diaper change!” or “There’s nothing wrong!” — feelings are not rational and I shouldn’t require that she provide an acceptable reason for being upset. At the same time, my feelings don’t have to be rational either. I do need to keep working at appropriate expression and safe metabolizing of anger, but it’s okay to be angry. And yes, being screamed at is annoying, no matter what the reason.

Today we are all making progress. There already is a difference in the redness of her rash. And even though she screamed again at one change, I talked us both through it, explaining to her (and reminding myself) that I know she’s not crying to annoy me, but because she’s upset, and that she has a right to her feelings and I choose to have compassion and respect for her, and that I have a right to my feelings when I find her behavior annoying even though it’s not her fault.

Sure, because I’m the anxious type, the thought crossed my mind, what if this means I need the full dose of Risperdal. But no, this is not a four- or five-day pattern of escalation. It’s just some elevated triggers (Amy hasn’t cried like this in months) and elevated response to them, and I’m doing better already.

Emotions are weird

I like being able to have emotions.

But sometimes they’re weird and / or annoying.

Like when you put the baby down for a nap around 3:30 and you still hear occasional talking at 4:45, half an hour before you need to leave to take the baby to meet her daddy for dinner at the dining hall.

It’s not crying. She seems perfectly content to just sit there and talk to herself.

If she doesn’t sleep, she doesn’t sleep. She usually copes pretty well with missed naps. Not great, but not unbearable.

So getting mad about it doesn’t jive with rational mind.

Wise mind patiently sits here and tells me that rational mind may have analyzed things just fine, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be angry or that it doesn’t make sense over in emotional mind. After all, this non-napping is unexpected and unwanted.

Wise mind also reminds me that it’s possible to feel an emotion and not let it dictate my behavior.

And Amy keeps saying “uh-oh”; I wonder if she’s tossed one of her things out of the crib or something.

I’ve been feeling on edge a bit lately, anyway. We’re still new here, and making friends and otherwise adjusting (and finding a church) takes time and plodding and risks and all that. And yesterday was odd and Mark has to work late again tonight (had a football game last night, too), and I was only able to make one of the doctor appointments I need. (I have two days when Mark has fall break and can be home to take care of Amy. Amy doesn’t know anyone here well enough for me to ask someone else to watch her.)

This morning, though, we had a little outing. I met three other moms at the coffeeshop and we enjoyed hanging out, eating scones, and watching each other’s little ones.

I can’t believe she (apparently) didn’t sleep at all for this hour and a half.

Please let it not be another poopy diaper. So tired of poopy diapers, especially these ones where it’s all slimed and doesn’t shake or scrape off nicely. One or two a day, fine, but not every diaper…

There’s some cries mixed in with the talking, now.

———

Edited to add:

Now it’s 5:12. Three minutes before we have to leave. Guess who is silent, perhaps asleep?

———

Edited to add:

It’s now 8:31.

Indeed, she was asleep when I went to get her, and was not happy about waking up. She’s pretty quick to adjust, though. And it was just a nice wet diaper, not poopy.

Dinner was not great, but we all seemed to mellow out as it went on. It’s hard to strike the right line between complaining and bottling; I suppose I should try to just state what I’m feeling, in an informational way.

When Amy and I got home, I spread out the old comforter and let her play naked. Just as one big rash was finally almost completely faded, another one struck. Humph. I’ve been using my wool soakers, too, for more breathability. She had some frustrations, mostly about me keeping her on the comforter, but mostly played just fine.

And when I sang Old MacDonald, I started to hear “I-O,” maybe even “E-I-O” just after I sang those parts. Throughout the song she was watching intently, and moving her lips, perhaps imitating.

She was not happy about getting a new diaper on, calmed down for her bottle, and was not at all happy about being put to bed, but almost immediately went to sleep.

Ahhhh…

Dreams of hostility

Every once in a while — two recently, one last night — I get these dreams full of rage and hostility and rejection and confrontation and complete lack of understanding / respect and defiance and denial. I’m on both the receiving and giving ends of these emotions and turmoils.

Leaves me a little breathless and sad in the morning.

And a little confused. Are the other characters representing themselves? Themselves in the past or in the present? Or are they representing aspects of myself? What does it mean to see myself as these other people? What exactly is it that my dreams are telling me I need to work through and metabolize?

Some ideas…

I continue (as I likely always will) to fight to understand what it means to be a self and how I am to live as a self without disregarding others. This struggle applies to everything — how I think about whether or not I want or am willing to accept another child(ren), how I interpret and communicate with Mark and other people in my life, particularly navigating gracious honesty.

There are things I want to be a certain way, and I have little hope of seeing that happen. Blocked goals / frustrated desires often provoke anger.

There are things that stop me in my tracks, things that flabbergast and bewilder me, things that should not be, things that don’t make sense.

And yes, there are things in myself that are in conflict, things that are difficult to sift through, interpret, evaluate. It is hard to discern the voice of God, the voice of my real self, and the voices of the past and the inner critic and fears and rational mind and emotional mind and wise mind and superego, ego, and id, or whatever else you want to label the various inner voices.

Which brings me to a question for Austin or Beauty or both or any other DID person. Do you see the various parts / alters in your system as aspects of your true self — do you see even a hint or glimpse of the possibility of integration? Or is it more like they’re other people, separate from your true self, so that wholeness would mean their death rather than their integration?

An exciting new sippy cup!

I’m feeling rather thwarted today.

First of all, I didn’t get to sleep as early as I’d have liked last night. Not that I’m blaming anyone who was up late grading papers; not his fault that he has that much work to do. How I wish I were one of those people who could sleep easily, who isn’t disturbed by noises and lights, who doesn’t need to wait until everyone else is asleep before she can sleep herself. But I am aware that I do sleep a reasonable amount every night, and that is something to be grateful for.

Then, after some things that went just fine (which we must not mention because we are in a Bad Mood and must minimize the positives — which I will list anyway because I will not let the Bad Mood win: I woke feeling sufficiently rested, got to eat my breakfast and get dressed and make the bed in peace, Amy woke fine and took her bottle fine and ate her oatmeal fine and played mostly fine and I got to spend some time online while she entertained herself with some kitchen chairs and other toys) — after that, we headed out on some fun errands.

First stop, the secondhand kids’ shop, The Lennon Drop, which claims to open at 10:30. I wanted to see if they had a booster seat that would be just as portable as Amy’s current one but would be more supportive and seat her higher. And I wanted to see what the store was like, and maybe ask if they’d be interested in carrying some slings if I were to make them. Amy (in the sling) and I stood, walked back and forth, read a book, etc for about half an hour and gave up at 11:00, which is her usual naptime. We still had other errands to do, and I was miffed at having my time wasted for me. I wonder when they did open. There’s probably some mitigating explanation, but I’m still miffed.

Next, Walmart, since there are no non-big-box stores in Plymouth, to get some shampoo and a second sippy cup for Amy so that she can have one for water and one for formula. A new sippy cup! How exciting! Maybe I could find one she’d like better than the one she already has, one that’s easier to drink from, maybe even one with handles! I looked and selected very carefully.

Meanwhile Amy was showing no signs of falling asleep in the sling, so I put her in the cart.

And I went to pick up my prescriptions — the last remaining refill from the psych nurse in Ithaca. We have yet to clear things up with our new insurance about this psych stuff. When I called, I was told they would send us a form we could fill out about pre-existing conditions. It has never arrived. When Mark called, they said they would cover this last refill, but apparently didn’t tell him anything about getting coverage for a new psychiatrist here. And then Walmart told me the refills were rejected by insurance, and I almost left, even though I only have one of one pill left. But then I “heard” Mark asking if I showed them the new insurance card, so I did, and this time it went through just fine.

Home again, and Amy had her nap an hour later than usual. Lunch went fine except for one thing.

Amy is not anywhere near as excited about her new sippy cup as I was. She is not interested in the purple handles. She does not care about the soft spout that is more like a bottle. She tried it long enough to find out she could indeed drink from it, but never again, never more.

And no, it’s not that she wasn’t wanting the formula. Bitter crying and protest if I brought that sippy anywhere near her face. Bitter crying and protest if I set it down again.

Maybe if I hold her.

Nope.

Maybe if I go sit in the chair with her on the Boppy.

Nope.

Sometimes, even when you are aware that your annoyance is pretty irrational and silly, and even when you are doing a very good job at talking yourself through it, sometimes it erupts anyway.

And that sippy cup went flying across the room (my throw, not Amy’s).

I stomped after it and poured the formula into a bottle and fed it to Amy and continued to fight within myself about my feelings (emotional mind) and my reason (rational mind), trying to find and take hold of wise mind.

After a while I was able to cry some, and to talk to Amy about what happened, and then to even make smiles. As much as I hate the idea of making my mouth assume a shape the rest of me does not feel, it does work — it doesn’t make me feel all happy and hunky-dory, but it does take the edge off and help me get a better grip on wise mind and the positives I know are there.

In the same way, I picked up our book and read to her, and the sound of my voice calmly (pretty calmly, anyway) reading also helped me settle into wise mind.

We will be joining Daddy for dinner at the dining hall, because he has dorm duty tonight. I wonder if he will get all his work done today or if he will be up even later once he gets home. I’m sure all this heavy workload is stressful enough for him without me reacting to it, too, but the reality is that it does affect me, and it’s an issue we both must face and work through.

“her anger makes me mad”

Yeah. It’s pretty impossible to not be influenced by other people’s feelings, or to not influence theirs in turn, and it can spiral back and forth pretty quickly.

Are you looking for advice?

I’d suggest mindfulness — be aware of what you are feeling, and let the feelings come and go as they will — don’t try to hurry them along or keep them close. Don’t blame yourself for your feelings, however irrational or intense they may be.

Also remember that you don’t have to act on your feelings or blame the person who’s triggered them — you can be mad about her anger without punishing her for it.

Two dreams

These are dream stories — not real events.

Betrayal

I pull up to the mall and stop my car at the curb by the entrance, then realize of course I can’t just leave it there, I have to park. There’s a space nearby, and a truck sitting near it — I ask if he is going to use the space, and he says yes. For some reason, this throws me into a suicidal rage, even though there’s another space right next to that one and the inconvenience is paltry.

In the department store a woman follows me, concerned, trying to get me to talk about it, trying to keep me from acting on the suicidal part. I don’t think I had any intention of acting on it, but I was in no mood to be talked to by some stranger or really by anyone. I storm around and manage to get away from her.

Later I am at a meeting of some artsy people. It might be a commune. It might be a therapy group. It starts off being about food or recipes, then gets to where each person has their particular artistic self-expression, and they get together to share their works, make works for each other, and talk and listen to one another.

I get pretty involved in the group, which leads one member to comment with surprise — they’d expected me to be more skeptical or aloof. This comment annoys me even though it seems to express a positive; I don’t like to be talked about, guessed at, evaluated.

I think another member offers me an art piece that she did specifically for me in response to something I talked about.

At some point discussion turns to something I disagree with. I try to express and explain my disagreement, in a conversational, communicative way, not trying to force my views on anyone, just inviting the others to consider a different point of view and add it to the ongoing discussion. I am inarticulate, choosing words poorly, and the group attacks me for my views. I keep trying to explain why what I believe is not so horrible and remain inarticulate. I’m cast out, possibly in danger — even as I attempt to leave or escape, I think I still reach out to a member, still trying to explain, still looking for someone who might understand and accept me.

I wonder if the group represents my DBT group, which sort of also represents the world in general; fear of betrayal, of being so warmly accepted and included with hope and promise, then too quickly and completely rejected when I do nothing more harmful than share a different opinion.

Mark’s job

I didn’t record this dream in the morning, so the details and chronology are very fuzzy. Mostly the dream was about being in the place we are moving to for Mark’s new job. The main issues seemed to be physical / medical danger in the buildings he’d work in, and sleep and bathroom issues (privacy, appropriate bedding, interruptions)

It’s hard to feel the intensity of a dream so barely sketched. It makes perfect sense for me to have fears related to such a major transition. I’m not sure why the sleep and bathroom motifs were so prominent in this one.

Anger, laughter, compassion.

You know what’s weird?

Today a new friend came to visit.

Amy chose that time to be ridiculously fussy. I had to interrupt my lunch and some chores to take care of her. She fought sleep for a long time even though she was clearly tired.

And yet, I didn’t really get mad. I almost actually found it all amusing.

I don’t think laughing at her misery is a great idea*, but it’s a step forward away from anger, and towards compassion. And it’s a recognition that her misery is temporary, doesn’t make me a failure, and doesn’t need to push me away.

*I hate being laughed at — especially when I’m experiencing some strong emotion. I don’t like being ridiculed, being told that I’m overreacting or too sensitive or that I’ll get over it or anything like that.

Time

Half an hour of Amy screaming really gets to me; the earplugs help a great deal but it’s still stressful.

Imagine what it was like for Mark that Tuesday I ended up in the hospital, after crying almost continuously from 4:30 a.m. until maybe 8:00 p.m. I didn’t cry as loud as Amy does, and I probably sounded more terrified than angry or tortured, but still.

Why is it so very maddening when she cries like that — when I’ve done the same thing — when she’s obviously tired, has a clean diaper and warm clothes on, has a full tummy, a pacifier, a swing, a cuddle — I understand that little discomforts loom large to a baby and that there are things that could upset her that I can’t figure out or help with, and yet I get angry when she won’t just fall asleep. I wonder if it makes me feel incompetent, not good enough for her.

Guess who usually takes an hour or more to fall asleep and still doesn’t sleep through the night? No, not Amy — me.

But I don’t scream about it, even when I’m not taking Ativan.

I keep writing about this because it bothers me and makes me think and reflect, not because it happens all day or every day or because nothing good ever happens. I should probably write more often about the good things.

Earplugs

The first time I tried earplugs was during the first week after Amy’s birth, when my sleep deprivation and anxiety were attacking each other, and when all my crying made my head feel congested without the earplugs, and a mile under water with them — did not work.

I tried them again the other day, not for sleeping, but to better tolerate it when Amy is screaming — then I can do whatever she needs, if I can figure it out, or at least be in the same house with her if I can’t figure it out.

Joe says he used to put in earplugs and get comfy in a nice rocking chair and just hold his kids when they screamed and there was nothing else to be done. It’s a nice idea, but I can’t seem to do it. If I’ve done everything else I can think of, I have to leave her alone to cry; I can’t rock, hold, or walk her to sleep. It makes me too angry. It’s safer to leave her alone, but that doesn’t mean I like doing so.

Today it’s been nice and warm and sunny, after a rain melted about half of the snow. Amy and I had a pretty good morning, and then we went out to do some errands. She fell asleep in the sling in one store, and slept in the car on the way home, too. And we played when we got home, and then when she started to cry I changed and fed her, and played some more, and when she was obviously tired — but not overtired — I put her in a swing.

It didn’t matter if the swing was running or not. If the music was on or off. If I sat there with her or not. If I gave her the pacifier or not (she accidentally pulls or knocks or spits it out). And so I left her alone. I went back a few times to try each thing again, and to tell her I was sorry she was feeling lousy and having a hard time getting and staying asleep, but she still screamed until she fell asleep twenty minutes later.

Twenty minutes doesn’t sound like much. It is, though.

Twenty minutes of knowing she was crying herself hoarse while I’m not psychologically able to hold her kind of takes the joy out of the nice morning and outing we had before.

You’d think that someone who often feels abandoned would be so much more likely to hold their kid all the time — in a sling all day long, nursed, rocked to sleep, and so on. But it’s the opposite… I’m terrified and angered by anyone needing me that much. Joe says it has to do with having internalized my sense of being abandoned, and so I’m more likely to act as an abandoner than otherwise. Sad.

The good thing — the extent to which I’ve abandoned her is really very small — it’s just when she’s screaming and there’s nothing else I can do for her that I have to leave her alone, and even then I tell her what’s going on and reassure her that I am nearby and I love her.