Vocabulary Vixen

March 3, 2015

Ah, Parenting.

Filed under: Diapers,humor,Parenting,Reflections — VocabularyV @ 11:44 PM
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Parenting is a wonderful journey. At times it is mind-numbingly infuriating, but overall it’s pretty great. It’s a learning process, this parenthood business. While the child is learning how to live and function, the parent is also learning along with the child. What works for one week may completely backfire the next week. It is an ever-evolving process. We must be quick on our feet, for the instant we think that we have fallen into any sort of ‘routine’, the little one will be happy to throw a gigantic monkey wrench into it. My child LOVED to have her diaper changed in the beginning. She COULD NOT STAND even one drop of pee on her diaper and was incredibly vocal about it. I thought: “How wonderful! Potty training will be a breeze with this one!” She was great until about 11 months old.

One day, my daughter decided that she didn’t like getting her diaper changed anymore, and woe to the person who thought that they could change her diaper with ease. She cried, twisted, and writhed during her diaper changes. This once mundane, easy, routine task became a dreaded chore, and quickly. I would grit my teeth and get ready to hold her down with one leg while I quickly changed her diaper. Or tried to. More than once, she would escape and leave a gross little poop trail in her wake, or kick her leg into the poopy diaper before I could get it out of the danger zone. This has led to much anger and frustration on my part, as all I want to do is prevent her from sitting in her own mess and getting a gnarly diaper rash. Yes, this happened too. She has refused to mention that her diaper was poopy until it had worn into the skin and caused an awful rash.

In the aftermath of a few aforementioned horrible rashes, I had to step my game up as a parent. I had to evolve with my child. What used to work wonderfully now made her cross. What used to make her cross still made her cross. I was at a crossroads, and I, too was incredibly cross by all of this. By the end of any given day, I was tired, frustrated, and just plain wanted a drink once I got her to bed. While an occasional drink is great, feeling this way every single day is about the easiest way to begin the descent into alcoholism. This isn’t something that I wanted to do. I was exhausted, and something had to change. I considered calling her pediatrician to see if this was within the realm of normal infant behavior, or something worth exploring further (like an ear infection). A quick Google search later, I realized that this was a phase and that I would need to adjust my approach to her (and now my) vehement distaste for diaper changes.

I started with the basic suggestions to give her a toy to play with while changing her diaper (that worked for approximately one second), doing silly voices (two seconds), putting the diaper on my head first (it was a suggestion, and I was desperate. It distracted her for two and a half seconds), etc. My success was pretty spotty at best, but it was something. For over a month, I endured DiaperGate 2015. What eventually worked was a combination of things. It really depends on the day. No, not the day, the moment. Sometimes, she’s completely chill during the diaper removal, then totally spazzes out when I put the new diaper on. Others, it’s the opposite.

I came to realize a few things:

First and foremost, the most effective approach to this situation is to stay calm. At the time of the Google search, I realized that I needed to chill the heck out – my frustration only escalated her frustration.

I quickly learned that I needed to be proactive about her diaper status. Gone were the easy, lazy days of my daughter telling me that her diaper was wet or dirty. I had to step up my game in a serious way. I had to learn to stay keen and vigilant and activate my DDD (Dirty Diaper Detector – my nose).

I realized that in a way, she was still communicating with me about her diaper, just doing it differently. I noticed that she had started grabbing her diaper when it was wet, and if she had stopped what she was doing to grunt for a little bit, that usually meant that she had pooped. I started asking her if she needed her diaper changed before I checked her. This seemed to help the situation.

After checking her diaper status and finding that it did indeed need changing, I started telling her that it was time to change her diaper, then grabbed a diaper and the zinc ointment. (I used to use coconut oil for her sensitive skin, but since DiaperGate 2015, I’ve had to up my game.) Then I’d lay her down while talking to her, and start.

Overall, instead of getting frustrated with her and mourning the loss of my easy-diaper baby, I adapted and accepted the fact that parenthood is an ever-changing process. Our babies grow, and we grow along with them. Whether it’s learning patience, or learning which foods to feed, it’s constantly evolving and as infuriating as it can be at times, I love it. This week, my daughter is one year and one week old. The thing that I noticed? She’s suddenly not minding her diaper changes NEARLY as much as she was a week and a half ago.

September 28, 2009

That lovin’ feeling (expanded)

Oy, I know it’s been a little while since I’ve written. I’ve been distracted by a slew of marital issues and such, and so I’ve sort of dropped the ball in trying to keep sane and my head above water in all of this. I will not delve too deep into the martial issues, as there are some things that don’t belong on my blog. But, there have been things and events that I’ve had to deal with.

I love fall. I love parts of it, I love fall when it’s warm and pretty when the sun wraps its wisps of rays around the Iowa area as it slips away into winter. I love it when it’s cooler than 110 in the shade. I don’t really love it when it’s unshakeably cloudy and rainy. This fall, I really feel like we got kicked in the head with “HEY, IT’S AUTUMN! “. The weather is cooler, the clouds are oppressive, and the sense of impending doom and hopelessness is creeping in. After a very slow start to the summer, and then a rocky summer, I’m not exactly ready for this already. But it is what it is, and I can no more stop that than I can stop the wind from blowing. So, I try to just make the best of every day and go from there.

I’ve found myself in a horrid juxtaposition between things in life. I feel like I’m clinging to a spiked wall that’s above a lava pit, and that although I’m stabilizing, the lava is getting awfully hot. I’m going to have to work on things and do things that I don’t really want to do. This is why some people avoid therapy. It’s hard. It really forces one to sit down and assess what they are doing and where they are going in life, and the main lesson that I have learned is: “Everything you know is wrong.” Whew, that one is a hard pill to swallow. I’ve made some great progress, but sheesh! IT. DOESN’T. END. Sometimes, I just want to take the whole bottle of whatever it is that I can find to go to sleep and forget about it all.

Now, for those that know me personally, and for those who don’t, the subject I am about to broach next is a bit on the tricky side. It’s kind of sticky, but it’s something that also must be talked about. It is a piece of the mental health puzzle. It’s a matter of being comfortable with who I am, what I’m doing, and where I’m going in life.


August 11, 2009

The good, the bad, and the in-between

I’ve been taking it easy, trying to slow down, relax, and figure out what makes me tick, vs. what turns me into a bomb.

Right now, I am positively bored out of my skull and my brain is actively gnawing on itself to keep occupied. This is an odd sensation, but one that I must confront and deal with, because life isn’t all about “The Next Thing.” It’s about living now. If I spend the rest of my life shooting for these goals of making X dollars per year, buying a house, having 2.3 children and a white picket fence, sure, that’s grand and all, but it’s not going to make me happy in the long run. Why am I so pessimistic on this one? I am 1.5 years post-grad in a college town that’s saturated with BA’s, and though I work damn near a 40 hour work week, it’s not in my career field, and, and, and, I guess that I just assumed when I got out of college, life would be better. I would make more money being a degreed individual, and I would make ends meet on a regular basis.

Hello, Reality.

Reality is something different. It’s been something that I’ve had to come face-to-face with over this past year and a half, and I’ve narrowed things down to a few basic ideas: Living for the future is great, but now is what’s important. It’s okay to have goals and strive for them, but losing myself in the process deflates these highs of achievement pretty quickly. I’ll achieve a large goal, say finish college or get promoted, and once the high of getting what I shot for wears off, I’m left with a gnawing, empty void. A gnawing, empty void that I’ve filled desperately in the past with 100 extracurricular activities, all in the name of “When I get X, I’ll have life on Easy Street, and I’ll be able to relax and have fun!” The truth of the matter is, I don’t relax. I haven’t “just relaxed” for awhile, unless my brain has forced me to do so in the form of a screaming, crying mess. I don’t know how to just relax, and the sad part is that I don’t know how to “just relax” and be happy while doing so. Hell, I don’t even know how to be happy at this point, but I sure as hell am trying!

I’ve really had to force my efforts inward, and what I’ve found is kind of disturbing. I’ve had to deal with these issues, behaviors, thoughts, and patterns and face them head-on. I am trying to figure out how to manage my illnesses and come out on top. I am taking an active stand against these crappy patterns and behaviors, and standing up for my right to be a happy, healthy, and functional individual.

Last night, I had to physically force my obsessions out of my head. I imagined a bulldozer clearing away the imaginary dirt, germs, bugs, and cat hair in order to give my brain a clean slate to work with. It took quite a bit of physical and mental effort to do this. But y’know what? It’s me taking a stand against these relentless obsessions and negativity in my life in the name of something better. It is a Herculean battle that I wage, but I’m stepping it up. I’m winning.

Part of winning is recognizing how bored my brain actually gets, and what the hell to do about it. What I’m going to do about it is something that I’m actively working on, day in and day out. I’m really trying to find the balance of what’s too much activity and what’s not enough. Obviously, I can’t constantly be burning the candle on both ends. That never works, and it always leads to a breakdown. I’m pretty well working full-time at the coffee shop, and that suits me just fine for the moment. I would prefer a little more income, but using that as my overriding motivation for EVERYTHING doesn’t really work, either.

When I do finally find the balance of mental health and wellness, I’ll be sure to let the world know. That will be the day that David kicks the shit out of Goliath.

August 7, 2009

I kick some SERIOUS ass!

I’ve been on a mini-hiatus as I endured a 5-day stint of anxiety-driven insomnia. I was able to sleep maybe 1-2 hours at a crack, and I had to work my full-time job while attempting to remain stable.

I succeeded.

To give a little background on my sleeping habits: Insomnia for more than one day is completely new to me. I am normally an olympian sleeper. If there were Olympics for sleeping, I would win the gold medal. I’m not narcoleptic, but I do enjoy my nine hours of sleep per day/night. I’ve occasionally in my life had 1 day bouts of being unable to sleep, usually because I’m excited for some reason or another (Christmas when I was young, etc), and any longer than that, I *will* make up for it the next day by “Power Napping” (A 5-hour “Nap”, which, I know, is more of a Sleep, but oh well!). I have had periods where I will sleep too much and just still be tired. That is because I would rather sleep sometimes than deal with everyday life.

Let’s rewind to last Saturday. I’d sort of effed-up. I’d had two days off, and I stayed up much later than I should have playing video games (not that my husband complained in the LEAST!!!). I went to work at 8:00 AM. My god, the possibilities!! I stayed up until 4:00AM. Whoa!, and that shift was anxious all-around. I was working with people that aren’t slackers, but they’re just plain not quick, and when there is a huge line of guests going out the door, speed and efficiency is key! But, I figured that I would either take a nap or go to bed early within the next day or so. No big deal.

I didn’t sleep terribly well that night, and when I did, I had a terrible, vivid dream about cockroaches coming to invade my domain, and when I found them, I sprayed stuff on them, but there was a little orange kitten in the way that got sprayed by the insecticide and got really sick. I was ashamed of myself for not checking more thoroughly for any other kitties that might have been in the vents (in the back play room of the house I grew up in). And then the cockroaches were super-cockroaches so I had to upgrade the spray, but I had to take care of the kitty-cat that I’d just gassed, and it was horrible! I woke up that day very anxious, and I had to concentrate on keeping medicated. I could feel the blackness welling up on me and getting ready to suck me in. I had that panicky, heart-thumping, shaky feeling I can only describe as headed downhill into a serious anxiety attack.

So the next night, I wasn’t really able to sleep either. By Sunday, it still wasn’t really that big of a deal. I was tired, but hey, I’ve gone through worse. I just figured that I’d sleep later that day or that night. I got home from work, relaxed awhile, and then tried to lay down and take a nap. I wasn’t able to do it. I laid in bed for two hours. I might have slept very, very lightly, but not enough. My mind was racing, and it kept going back to weird Obsessive-Compulsive La-La Land. I think I forgot my meds that day. I can usually feel it when I forget them, and I definitely felt that I was hanging on by a thread, and that that thread was fraying. I didn’t have a mental meltdown by any means, but I still felt dark, panicky, and anxious.

I should mention the experiment that I’ve been performing on myself. I have been looking to see exactly what it’s like when I’m focusing on nothing but one job, and I don’t have fifty other extracurriculars going on. For a long time, I used all of these extra activities to run away from my disease. It is much more comforting for me to be WAY TOO BUSY, because then I don’t have time to deal with all of this painful stuff that I’ve been going through lately and writing about. This has been part of it: to slow the hell down and figure out what makes me happy vs. what doesn’t make me happy.

I can say that this experiment has definitely proven to me that I do indeed have a *very* active mind! My brain moves through so much information on any given day that it’s ridiculous. So remaining completely unoccupied outside of my one job is probably not going to be the most beneficial for me. That is why I’ve decided to take on a few activities, like reading, writing, and drawing, to sort of get what’s going on in my brain out.

So basically, to continue the story about my week: I progressed further and further without sleep. I would lay down for a nap or to sleep for the night, and I was UNABLE TO DO IT. This went on for several days. Five, to be exact, and I knew it was dangerous territory. My sole mission for this week was to avoid a meltdown. My hand still kind of hurts from the last one. I also knew that the lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll as I was falling deeper and deeper into the darkness.

I started with that terrible cockroach dream. This was not the first dream that I’ve had of cockroaches lately, and I’ve noticed that it’s been a recurring theme. Combine that with a lack of sleep, a lack of meds, and this panicky anxiety, and I realized that I was diving headfirst into my next obsessive-compulsive manifestation. They change over time, really. But, to this day, I have a hard time really being outside in the wilderness, which is something that I love, and the last time I went camping, I basically had to drink myself into laying face-down drunk in the grass to make it through the night. So, this new obsessive-compulsive thing IS NOT COOL. I found myself contemplating whether or not I should inspect every nook, cranny, and crevice for potential entrance points and basically dust my kitchen with Boric Acid.

This is not a good idea for three reasons:

#1, Boric Acid must be used carefully, it’s NOT good for pets, and although relatively benign for humans, it’s only *relatively* benign. There is still a danger involved. Its a poison.
#2, I realized that if I started there, where would it end? My experience in dealing with obsessive-compulsive disorder for ten years is that once I start acting on those compulsions, it is merely a temporary solution for anxiety relief. The thought will repeat itself, and I will have to repeat the cycle.
#3, While handy to at least give a visual look-over for cockroach evidence, the time involved in dealing with an obsession and then compulsion is utterly ridiculous.

Still, though, my thoughts kept straying back to the little asshats. And back to them. And again.

Finally, I had to sit myself down and tell myself:

“Hey, there is ABSOLUTELY NO RATIONAL REASON FOR THIS!!! I haven’t seen any cockroaches at work for several months now, due to persistent visits from “The Man”, and although I live in an apartment complex, I am WELL familiar with what they look like and what evidence they leave in their wake, and I have literally SEEN NOTHING whatsoever to indicate that they have taken up residence in my apartment. Yes, there are a few stray crumbs, but I have cleaned them up, and there is just no plausible, rational reason for this!!! WHAT THE FUCK GIVES?!?!!!!”

I figured it out. I know what gives. It’s me diving headfirst into obsessive-compulsive la-la land. This is a familiar pattern. I dealt with this ten years ago when I first dove into the OCD deep-end with the head lice issue. Once I realized this, I decided right then and there that I am NOT doing this. There is no rational, logical reason behind it, and I am NOT going down this road again. I am making an active decision to separate myself from my disorder, realize that it’s my disorder talking, and move on. Once I spiral out of control into this OCD nightmare, it’s hella difficult to bring me back. What I *can* control is my med levels, and knowing that I am headed into mental WELLNESS, NOT more mental illness. And I REFUSE, REFUSE, REFUSE to fall prey to my disease again. I am exuding EVERY bit of effort that I’ve got toward living a life that is not chained down by the wholly fear and dread in my brain.

So I made that decision, I regulated my meds, and I feel a whole lot better. It still took me two or three days to accomplish all of this, and I was only finally able to sleep once I took care of one of my friends. That was a weird experience. But the important thing is that I took a STAND against my problem, and I FUCKING WON!!!

Once I realized what I’d actually accomplished, I also realized something else: I kick some SERIOUS ass! In a hardcore way. I took my problem, recognized it, and then beat the shit out of it by using rational thought and recognition.

I also realized that this is definitely something that I should feel really, really good about. I’m winning. I’m winning the battle. And I am one seriously determined woman. The sights have been set. I am going to beat this. All-around, I am going to win. Hardcore.

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