Rebalancing the Moments

I am disdainfully aware that I have acted rather bitchy to everyone around me today...actually, for about a week or so...or longer. Not to make excuses, but well, I DO have a few dang good ones:

1.) Hormonal wacked-outness (yes, that is a medical term...kind of) derived from 8 weeks of pregnancy and then a miscarriage

2.) That whole week of abruptly stopping my medication because I thought I had a viable pregnancy going on. Anyone who has quit their meds cold turkey knows EXACTLY what I'm talking about. I have just now been back on them for three days, and while things are improving, I suppose they have not reached the bitch-b-gone potency that my family is hoping-begging!-for

3.) I'm still upset about the miscarriage. Even though it was not a planned pregnancy, we would have been very happy to be parents again. Logically, I know this is for the best. I probably would not be mentally stable enough to handle another young one-it's hard enough dealing with one toddler!-and financially, it would be more strain than we really need in our lives. But tell that to yourself when you see all the healthy newborns on Facebook; all the many MANY "We're Pregnant!" announcements that just seem to be popping up on every corner of the social network. I am so thankful and blessed for the three children that I have. That is three more than many women will ever have. I shouldn't be selfish and pout about something that I really didn't need to happen right now. I guess it's just that damn biological clock always reminding me I am getting older and women in my family go through menopause earlier than natural, and gosh darn it I have the best little names picked out for more children that I still want to use...sigh, hormones!

4.) I feel guilt. Guilt that goes beyond the wanting another child when I know I shouldn't. This guilt comes from the wondering. If you have ever had a miscarriage, you know that guilt trip you take yourself on. You decide that this and this and that and that is what caused the miscarriage. For me, I am convinced that it was the psychiatric medication I was on, namely Paxil, that has been known to cause birth defects during the early stages of pregnancy. Obviously, if we had been trying to have another baby, I would have weaned myself off of all my medications months before , just as I did with my last child. But I didn't know. And throughout the chaos of our recent move and everything, my method of birth control failed me (or maybe I failed it, who knows). My theory is that the meds probably caused some chromosomal abnormalities that were not compatible with a healthy baby and the pregnancy terminated itself. And as my always-blame-myself-for-everything train of thought goes, it is my fault that this sweet little baby did not come to be.

5.) I'm just simply overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with all the life changes that have been coming about lately, about all the things out of my control, and about all the things that are within my control that I can't seem to get an adequate handle on. I need a time-out, but who has time for that? For a few days we were having this awesome deal around here, prescribed my therapist, for me to have a full hour to myself each day to do whatever the hell I wanted with no outside responsibilities. And it was fabulous! My fiance gladly took our son off my hands and I was free to do whatever-read, write, sleep, clean (I almost always chose to clean) and he even kept him a little over the one hour slot a few times. It was H E A V E N ! ! ! I love my son to bits, but it helped me so much to have a little time to reconnect to who I am outside of being a mother. My whole life is wrapped around this role, and I gladly perform that role, but I am better at that role when I can catch a freakin' break here and there! So yeah, the hours of heaven were helping. My whole focus for the day was improving. I was able to read Curious George twelve times in a row with more gusto and less yawns, sighs, tears of anguish. I was "getting there". Back to the point of knowing my role and loving it too. And then I just randomly decided to take a pregnancy test because my period was three weeks late, and things kind of changed from there. No one's had time for the leisure hour. My therapist nagged me about that last week, but unless she wants to personally come watch my son for an hour each day it's just not going to happen. My fiance is behind on school work and has been sleeping poorly. It's not his place to have to babysit my identity problems when it costs him his own sanity. He may disagree, but that is my stance on it, and I refuse to make him my doormat. I'm not THAT much of a bitch! He does still help out with our son a ton more than I would venture to guess most dads do, so I have no reason to complain.

Trust me, this is not a moan-and-groan post. It is not a list of reasons why I have bitch rights, nothing of the sort. It's a post to say "hey look, I'm human. I run a blog and a Facebook page to help inspire other women (and men, and whoever else tunes in) to keep going when the road gets bumpy and to realize your worth as an individual, limitations and all, and to do the best you can despite your symptoms, circumstances, etc. But I am human. And some days I may not sound as encouraging; some days I may sound pretty damn cynical, but regardless I am still here to care about others, to do what I can where I am. Sometimes that little bit doesn't seem like much, especially when I go months without writing a new article (SHAME!) or I'm not as quick to answer emails as I more often tend to be. I don't consider myself a leader of any sort. I am not an expert on mental illness. I am not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV (and god that was so cheesy I'm going to gag). But I do know a lot about the ups and downs that we all face; bipolar or not, this world is a bitterly mammoth pill to swallow a good portion of the time. But there are a lot of sweetnesses to be found along the way as well. Sometimes the pillow feels just right under your head as you doze off to sleep. Sometimes you don't burn dinner. Sometimes you can take a deep inhale outside and smell every memory from your whole life that's given you a reason to believe that life is worth living.

People like to tell me when I am having a bad day that there is always tomorrow. I'm a realist (NOT a pessimist!) and know that not even one of us is promised a tomorrow, or even five minutes from now. What we have is this moment, and we have a whole train of junk behind us. But I promise you, if you take the moment by moment approach-not in the way of thinking there's no point in doing anything because it may not get finished-but in the way of taking a step forward each moment, a mountain hike with the clock, if you will, then at the end of the day you will see that you had a whole bunch of moments you made matter during those ticks and tocks, and maybe you will rest easier knowing that you did all you reasonably could-no more, no less.

Yeah, today I've been bitchy. I was made aware of it, noted it in my mental notebook, and made a point to turn the bitch dial down a few notches. I apologized to my family, and ate something (I had forgotten to eat and hadn't had any caffeine-more valid excuses!), and I feel a little more mellow now. Truth be told, the Klonopin probably helped too (I had forgotten a couple of doses of that too...ah, so many excuses). Whatever the case, I have a few more moments to spend today and I plan on making them count for more than the previous part of the day did.


Original post regarding pregnancy:

Life will always, always throw curve balls.

Scratch that. Life IS a curve ball.

After fretting with all these "bipolar" symptoms-the rage, the meltdowns, the excessive moodiness...after the doctor changed my medications and I felt I was on the right track again...

I found out this morning that I am pregnant.

Yes. I know what causes that ;)  Certain precautions aren't so bullet-proof.

Needless to say, none of the three medications I am on are safe for pregnancy, so I am to not take them anymore and hope for the best.

Most likely, my OB will place me back on a low dose of Zoloft. That worked well enough with my last two pregnancies and it is considered a safer alternative to other options. I'm pretty bummed, considering how well the Paxil was helping with social anxiety. Even today, I felt at easy in a semi-crowded Walmart. That hasn't occurred in F O R E V E R!

I am more than a little OH MY GOD FREAKING OUT, A FOURTH CHILD, WHAT THE HELL, AM I REALLY THAT CRAZY about things.

But all in all, as the shock has been chiseled down throughout the day, and the fretting has exhausted itself, I am able to say that-despite the unexpected twist of fate-I am happy. My partner is happy. My daughters are happy. My toddler son doesn’t know what he’s in for in a few months  but he’s just dancing around being a toddler for now. I love my family. If I had the money and wits I would have ten kids. As it is, this will probably be the last (a certain procedure will likely ensue the birth of this one). Mood wise, who knows what I’m in for. But here I am. Pregnant.