Maui, baby!

The last couple of days have been so tiring but so fun! When we landed in Maui, local time was 9:55. Making it 12:55 back home. Then it took like a half hour to get my bag from baggage claim (that seriously sucked!) and we ended up stopping at the beach on the way to my dad's house. We probably got to my dad's sometime around midnight. Making it three in the morning back home. Bubba was so exhausted that he was terrified of the water. It probably didn't help that it was dark, as he's not a huge fan of the dark. He insisted upon sleeping directly on my chest our first night here.

The next day was better. We didn't have to spend the entire day cooped up! Hooray! It was bubba's first time at the beach, and it was exactly as fun as it sounds! He's such a water bug, you can't keep him away from it. He also loves the sand. He was building sandcastles just yelling "yay! yay! yay!" the whole entire time. When he decided he was exhausted, we went home and took a three hour nap. When we woke up, we drove to the other side of the island because some friends of my dad's had come in for the day off a cruise and we were driving them back, so we went to dinner over there and I got to see the largest tree in the United States! It was planted in 1857 to celebrate the 50 year anniversary of the first Protestant mission to Maui (by order of the Queen!), and today has, if I remember correctly, 16 trunks not including the main one! Every time a branch gets too weak, the tree shoots another branch into the ground to hold the weak one up and it keeps growing! Isn't that cool?! No, just me? Okay then.

Today was super cool also. I learned to surf! Okay, not really. I learned to stand up on a surf board though! I got 31 seconds before I fell off, that was my best time. I did it until every single muscle in my body was shaking with the effort. I never realized the amount of just full-body strength that a surfer has to have. You have to get going (it makes it easier to get up) by paddling and trying to get a wave to carry you. But you have to paddle with your arms, and that hurts. Then you have to push yourself up (using your arms!) to a standing position, then your legs have to steady you while the ocean tries to kick you off your board. It's exhausting and exhilarating. I kept trying to look at it from a scientific and mathematical perspective, because every thing in life boils down to math. But I had to let go of that and fight off my basic instincts. When my brain was screaming "do not try to stand up! this board is wobbling and halfway underwater and if you try to stand up you will fall and hit your head on a rock and die!", I stood up anyway. And I didn't fall immediately. Once I did, I didn't get hurt. I gained more by taking the chance than I would have if I hadn't. It was beautiful and wonderful and amazing.

I can't think straight with all of the excitement in my head, so I'm going to leave this where it is.

Also Merry Christmas!!!!

I lost some, but I gained more.

Two posts in one night, is it Christmas?! Well, kind of. I decided I wanted to post a follow-up to my "coming clean" post on December 7th.

I was right. I said in it that I would lose people, and I was right. The very next day, someone I considered to be my best friend posted some very rude things on Facebook about me, closing with "everyone has problems, I guess yours are just more important."

That wasn't the goal. The goal here is to destigmatize mental illness by talking about it. It's not that mine is more important than anyone else's, it's that I decided to open up in the hopes that it would help others open up.

So I erased her from my life. And I erased everyone associated with her, because I don't have to have friends who are going to sit there and listen while she talks bad about me. I faced some serious backlash. Angry messages, people blaming me for my friendship with her ending. I ignored it all. I know I made the right choice.

I lost six people that I considered close friends, even more that I liked. Do you want to know what I gained?

BETTER friendships. Less than a week after posting that, I had a lovely brunch with a friend that I rarely get to see but love dearly.

And then there's my best friend. My sister. We've battled everything together. Our parents got divorced around the same time, we got a surprise sibling within six months of each other. We also battled mental illness together. We're still battling it together. We both know that, though we live in different states, we can call each other when things get bad and the other will drop everything. In April, she was having a hard time and was really depressed (she also had a cute parasite living in her, and now he;s my cute nephew). I walked in my mom's room at midnight on Monday and said I didn't care what it took, I needed to be there. Friday at midnight, I knocked on her door.

My last post was about holiday anxiety and my son's food allergy. I followed that up with a petition. In a break from cleaning, I checked Facebook and saw that she shared it. And I started crying.

My old friends hadn't even known about bubba's food allergy. Forget about caring. But not my sister. She wrote that it was important because her nephew has a life-threatening food allergy. She doesn't live it every day, but she cares enough to help me change it. Knowing that you have someone, even one person, who cares is a beautiful thing.

So yeah, I lost friends. I lost a lot of friends. But the friendships that I do have are stronger because I opened up to the people I love. The people who love you will stay. The people who won't don't belong in your life. As with all things, quality is more important than quantity. I'd rather have the few wonderful friends that I do, than have lots of people who don't care.

Every single day... "I get by with a little help from my friends."

<3

Holiday anxiety/food allergies

This past week has been a little crazy. Every year, my wonderful job gives us two weeks off at Christmas, because we're a Lutheran school so we celebrate very openly. This can sometimes put parents in a bit of a rough spot, trying to decide between taking time off work or maybe hiring someone they might not fully trust to watch their kids. This is where I come in. Early in the year, I let parents know that I'm 100% available to watch their kids when we're off -- any time we're off. I admit, my reasons for doing this are selfish. I love the kids I take care of. Two weeks with no contact from any of my kids is torture after seeing them five days a week. So the past three days, I've had a total of four children that are not my children. Plus my own. Oh, and I have I mentioned that I had my sweet baby sister? Yep. Six kids, in my tiny apartment, ages from less than a year to ten years old. I LOVED IT. Each child that I watched is absolutely wonderful (including my two, I love them to biitttttssss) and they each have their own distinct personalities, and that is so beautiful to me.

But now I'm off. No more kids for me (insert frowny face here) BECAUSE.........

I'M GOING TO HAWAII FOR TEN DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!

While I'm absolutely ecstatic about this opportunity, I'm also a little anxious. Okay, a lot anxious. The holidays are always a time of anxiety for me (ahh, I forgot to buy so-and-so's kid a present and I know I never ever see them but now they'll hate me forever and I should just crawl in a hole and die), but they're even more so. Why? One word.

NUTMEG.

I mean, yes, there's the anxiety about flying from SLC to LAX for our connecting, then landing in OGG at 9:55 local time (aka one am our time) and then a three hour layover in Denver on our way back, WITH A TODDLER who does not like confined spaces. And then my step-brother, who has never flown before, is seated away from us (please let people be nice and switch seats). I'm anxious enough for the entire plane, I'm pretty sure. But there's nothing I can really do from the air. The main thing I'm worried about is once we land.

In other cultures (the lovely people of Hawaii included) they use exotic spices to flavor their food. I learned that the hard way when I made homemade curry. I have been absolutely obsessing over making sure I have all of bubba's medications. Both sets of epipens? Both his inhalers? A back up for both his inhalers? His singulair? His benadryl? His zyrtec? Motrin and tylenol, just in case? Does my dad have a humidifier? How am I going to use bubba's essential oils? WHAT IF HE HAS AN ALLERGIC REACTION BECAUSE HIS INSURANCE BASICALLY DOESN'T WORK OUTSIDE OF THE SALT LAKE VALLEY?! That's something I just learned, so that's fun. I'm trying to remain calm.

The reality of having a child with severe allergies that don't have to be listed as an ingredient is that you can be as prepared as is humanly possible. You can pack all the medications you want, check every single label before you let something near your child, and ask every single server or cook to tell you exactly what is in anything you order, but it still might not be enough. Maybe the label-er didn't put any of your known panic words (aka words that indicate the ingredient your child is allergic to) on the label, maybe it's a pre-mixed package of spices like at KFC and the cook doesn't know exactly what's in there. Something could still happen.

This is why it's so, so important that everything be labeled with EVERY. SINGLE. INGREDIENT. Guess what, Coke manufacturers? I don't give a damn about your secret recipe, or if it remains a secret. I care about my child staying alive, rather than dying over something that could have been prevented.

Yep, I'm still on this crusade. I created a petition, aimed at the FDA, to require companies to label every ingredient they use.  Besides being used in food and drinks, nutmeg is also made into an oil and used in medicines and cosmetics. Every time I buy chapstick or fill a prescription, I'm gambling with my son's life. Please take a minute to sign the petition and share it. It doesn't hurt you at all, and it could save my son's life one day.

Coming Clean.

The contents of this post aren't pretty. I'm not going to sugar coat anything in this post. This post is going to be raw and emotional and real and if you can't handle it, I suggest you get out now. The contents of this post have only been relayed to one other person in my life. He subsequently dumped me. That was four months ago. I expect to lose people because of this. But I think that's why I'm writing this. The stigma behind mental illness needs to disappear, and that can only happen when people struggling with mental illness are truthful about their illness. Be it depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or whatever else, be honest. Don't sacrifice parts of yourself, don't hide yourself away because you want people to like you. Be real.

I want to start this off by saying that I love my life. I have a beautiful apartment that I am able to afford all by myself, thanks to my wonderful job that I love so much. I've never held a job that I could truly say I loved until this one. I've never woken up excited to go to work, or thought about work on my days off. Until now. I love what I do and I love the school I work for, and the children and parents I work with. To top it all off, I have a crazy, beautiful, wonderful son that I have the privilege of raising. I love my life. 

But it wasn't always like that. I would like to point out that (most of) the events I'm coming clean about happened over a year ago. But that doesn't make them any less a part of who I am. So I'll start at the beginning.

When I was fourteen, I fell in love for the very first time. He was almost sixteen, and he was everything my parents hated. We thought for sure that we would get married and grow old together. Right before our two year anniversary, he cheated on me. We split up. His act produced a daughter, a beautiful little girl with eyes exactly like his. We got back together. We moved in together. We put plans for a wedding on the fast track. Then, I couldn't do it any more. His depression had so overtaken him that he could hardly get out of bed. He never went to work, he didn't like to play with his daughter when we had her, he didn't want to do anything. There was a time when all his friends came over to see him but he was so depressed that he wouldn't even leave our room. So I hung out with his friends all night. I was supporting us, and I couldn't do it any more. A week later, along came a smooth-talking ex and somehow I found myself married to him by the next weekend. But that's a story for another time.

A year and a half later, he committed suicide. It wasn't my fault. We had hardly spoken in that year and a half, but he had seemed to be on the right track. He was expecting his second child, a son.

I got a text from a friend. It was late. She said she'd been seeing Facebook posts with RIP (insert name). Seeing as there were multiple people with his exact name, I didn't think anything of it. I told her to let me know if she knew anything for sure. An hour later, I got a text. I remember the exact composition of the text. It was 10 at night, and the text said "he shot himself, dude."

Then the messages started pouring in. "How are you holding up?" "Are you okay?" "Do you need anything?"

People I hadn't spoken to since high school. I was pissed. Why do they suddenly want to talk to me? And why SHOULDN'T I be okay? We weren't together. We weren't even speaking. I realized, after the fact, that I was in shock. I realized that, because it hit me the next morning. I woke up and immediately started sobbing uncontrollably. I went to work anyway. I think I stayed twenty minutes. I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't function. The week passed in a blur. I don't remember anything. Until the funeral. 

It was made very clear that while no one was going to make a scene, I wasn't welcome. I didn't care. I walked up to his casket. I wanted to slap him and scream at him to wake up. I wanted to crawl in his casket with him and refuse to move. I did none of these things. I hugged his parents, much to their displeasure. I sat down. I cried more. I went to his grave site. I stood in the back of the crowd and left before his casket was lowered into the ground. 

When I was alone, I went back. I went back to where he was buried and I screamed at him. How dare he be so selfish? How dare he leave his daughter and not yet born son? His sister? His brother? His parents and grandfather? And finally, me. How dare he leave when I couldn't follow him?

I always swore that should he ever leave this Earth, so would I. Not because of some weird eternal love thing or anything, but because he symbolized everything that was good in this world. No matter his own inner demons, he would drop whatever he was doing to help someone else out, no matter the cost. He would cheer you up, all while inside he was haunted by the desire to leave this world. Ask anyone who knew him. They will tell you how wonderful he was, and not just because he's dead. Don't get me wrong, he could also be a huge jerk. After all, he cheated on me with my (former) best friend and had two children with her. But that's really the only thing I could ever be mad at him for. I wanted to leave when he left, because him leaving would signal to me that there was no more good in the world.

But I was nine weeks pregnant when he committed suicide. I couldn't take my child's life just to take my own. And once he was born, I couldn't leave him without a mother. Instead, I screamed at my ex at his grave whenever I got the chance. I still do, only now it's because I'm a parent and I don't understand how he could leave his children.

After bubba was born, I had horrible post-partum depression. I recognized that I needed help when bubba was about three months old and I couldn't cope anymore. I had contemplated placing him for adoption and promptly committing suicide. So I went to my doctor and got a handy prescription for sertraline (zoloft) and it did wonders for my depression. It also cost me my boyfriend. I got to the point where I didn't need it for depression any more, so I stopped taking it. And I got my boyfriend back. My anxiety got to the point that I knew I needed help, help in the form of medication. I approached my boyfriend about it because I didn't want to break up again, and he informed me that if I took the pills, I could kiss our relationship goodbye. So I stayed off them. And had at least an anxiety attack a week. And then depression came back and, while I would never ever act on them, so did the suicidal thoughts. 

I would just like to express, again, that I WILL NOT commit suicide. Absolutely, 100%, WILL NOT. When you have depression, your brain tricks you into thinking you're worthless. Couple that with anxiety making you feel like every tiny thing is the end of the world and you've got yourself a destructive brain. When the tiniest insignificant thing happens and feels like the end of the world, your brain whispers "you wouldn't have to deal with this if you were dead." That's part of the reason I will never own a firearm. It's too easy, and most suicides are impulsive. 90% of people who survive suicide attempts never attempt it again. 

Now we're at the end of the story. My ex got a headstone over the summer. I wanted to show it to my boyfriend, so we went to the cemetery. It was the weekend of the 24th of July, and there were fireworks going off everywhere. A little over a month before, we had bought an engagement ring. I thought this was the real deal, so I wanted him to know every last bit about me. So standing in the cemetery road, I confessed to him. He actually agreed to let me get back on the meds because he didn't want me to be so sad. 

The next day, we got into a fight because he was being disrespectful towards his mother and started to take it out on me. He left me at his parents' house, refusing to apologize, then cut off contact with me for three days. He only spoke with me to dump me. I believe that he couldn't handle knowing how deep my depression ran, so he took the fastest road out.

Him dumping me was the best thing that ever happened to me. Within three months, I moved out on my own. In a place close to the job I love, which he kept pressuring me to leave because he wanted me to make more money. I pay my own bills, I put food on my table, and I'm the only person that I have to report to if my house is a mess. I am so proud of myself that it makes me want to cry. 

That doesn't mean that my depression has gone away. 

At this point, I have exactly one person other than my mother or my son that I consider myself truly close to, and she's basically my sister so there is no severing that tie. She's been there through all of this. She knows all of this, not because I've told her, but because she can read it in my tone of voice. She knows where my head is at, and she's still my best friend in spite of it. In spite of me pushing her away, in spite of the differences in our lives (and the states we live in), she is here. 

I'm rambling here. I should stop rambling. I'm really nervous about this post. If my level of crazy is too much for you, I understand. 

The Festival of Trees and Curry Powder.

As I may have mentioned a time or two, I have pretty horrible anxiety. Especially if it's coupled with depression. I have a confession. I hate people. They're everywhere and they all suck. Okay, maybe not. I hate people in large gatherings, particularly if they act like they've never left the house before. Those happen to be the only kind of people at the Festival of Trees. They're everywhere and they have no sense of common courtesy. In large crowds, my anxiety becomes overwhelming. Last year, we had to leave the Festival of Trees because I almost had an anxiety attack. Back then, we didn't really know I had horrible anxiety and my mom thought I was just being a brat. This year, I was trying to hold myself together for the small one, but he didn't really understand why he couldn't have any of the stuff we were looking at and just kept getting frustrated. We decided to take him to the kid's corner, but it was really for older kids. We were getting ready to leave and my mom wanted to get him a treat, so I agreed, Until I saw the graham crackers. That sent me in to a bit of a panic, remembering that he could react to any thing at any time because I still don't know what he reacted to in graham crackers. I also left his epi-pen and benadryl at the house, so I was kicking myself for that. He got an apple instead.

I tried so hard, guys. I tried so hard to keep him from having a reaction. And I failed.

I found a recipe on Pinterest that I wanted to try. Coconut curry shrimp. As expected it was amazing. Bubba got food everywhere, I ate until I was ridiculously full, everyone had a grand ol' time. Until I took his messy shirt off. Hives. Hooray. I didn't give him benadryl at first because I didn't want to if the hives weren't raised and he didn't seem to be having trouble breathing. By the time I came back with his pjs, they were raising. I put him in bed and set to Google. I thought maybe a coconut allergy, since he doesn't normally have coconut and I'm allergic to pineapple. I thought tropical fruits must be the key. Until I Googled curry powder. See, I thought curry was just a plant, and that's what's in curry powder. I was wrong. Curry is usually coriander, tumeric, cumin, fenugreek and chili peppers. Guess what else it *can* have in it. Did you guess nutmeg?

DING DING DING.

THERE'S NUTMEG IN CURRY POWDER.

After bubba fell asleep I double checked the ingredients. Yep, there it was, clear as day.

I'm so mad at myself. I check the labels of everything before it even gets to the cart in the grocery store. To be fair, I bought curry powder before we discovered his allergy. But I should have double checked.

So now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to buy plane tickets to every single place that you can find the tree that grows nutmeg and mace, and I'm going to burn them all down and laugh over the flames, knowing that I never have to worry about nutmeg again.

(in my dreams)

Parenting is hard.

Buuba had a bad day today. He had Swedish fish for breakfast. He was with grandpa, grandpa does what he wants, I get it. However, it makes it harder on me. See, bubba is a great eater. He would pick vegetables over anything sweet nine times out of ten, With his food allergies (so far nutmeg, something in graham crackers and something in Asian food) his diet doesn't include things that have excess amounts of sugar, artificial colors or flavors or anything like that, so he has a very low tolerance. And Swedish fish are not an organically occurring, organically colored food. And they have tons of sugar, So yeah, today he had a bad day. He was bouncing off the walls, being defiant and just generally being a tiny terror. Things are a little crazy at work lately too, so my anxiety level has been pretty high. I'll admit that I wasn't as sweet and soft to him as I should have been. The terrible thing about parenting is that no one understands your child like you do. When your child is misbehaving, you know that there is something wrong but on the outside it just looks like you have no control and you let your child walk all over you. That's not the case with bubba. We have very strict limits and very strict expectations. It helps that, generally speaking, bubba is a very good boy. He always says please and thank you if he wants something. He helps clean up, and generally uses soft hands and soft words with people.

Today wasn't one of those days. Today was a day when he ran around like a crazy man, He acted like I've never told him no in his life. Instead of saying please and thank you, he threw himself on the floor. Instead of using soft hands, he was hitting and biting. Instead of helping clean up, he was making a bigger mess.

I get so stressed out when he acts like this because if I think he's being a terror, what do other people think? As I mentioned, other people don't know that he was on a crazy sugar high and reacting to things not normally in his diet.

The problem with today, though, was that I was so worried about what other people were thinking that I forgot to worry about what bubba thought. When I yelled at him, was he scared? When I pulled him down from the top of a high stack of chairs he had climbed, did he think I was being too rough or that I was trying to hurt him? I don't want my son to ever have to worry about those things. My goal is to parent him in a way that makes him feel safe, but also lets him know that he has boundaries that he can't cross.

I'm scared that today he didn't feel safe. That today mommy was too busy worrying about what other people thought and trying to make sure he didn't hurt himself or others, and in the process forgot about his feelings.

So tonight, we cuddled on the couch. I indulged his every whim to sit on my lap, or to hold my hand. We snuggled and played to our hearts content until it was time for bed.

That's the beauty of co-sleeping. No matter what our day is like, my baby boy can go to bed knowing that mommy has her arms wrapped around his beautiful sleepy self, and he is safe.

So today was a bad day. Not just for bubba, but for me. Not in levels of stress, but in levels of parenting. I will make today the exception to the rule. Moving forward, I'm going to yell less. I won't say I'll stop because sometimes he scares the crap out of me and it's a knee-jerk reaction. I'm going to take extra care to be gentle with him when I pull him out of somewhere he's not supposed to be. He's old enough to express pain so I know that I didn't hurt him by accident or anything, but I don't want him to think that one day I will.

He's my baby boy. Parenting is hard, but it's so worth the crazy days and the terrifying moments when you get to look over at your baby's sleeping face and know that he feels safe and loved.

Don't sweat the small stuff.

When you have anxiety and depression, the smallest things can send you flying into a rage and thinking the world is going to end. For example, I went grocery shopping tonight. It's bubba's night with his dad, so it's just more convenient to go shopping when I don't have him. I wanted to get a sauce to cook some chicken in, and bubba's almost out of cereal. He can only have certain types of cereal due to his allergies, so it's sometimes difficult to find something that he can have. So, I went to the aisle with the salad dressings and couldn't find the one I needed. Not the biggest deal, I can get it somewhere else later. Then I went to the cereal aisle. Nope, nothing he could have. I wandered aimlessly, and ended up frustrated. I had a simple list of five things, and this store did not have three of those five things. Instead of remaining calm like a normal human being, I got so angry that I left without buying anything and was just pissed off. Then when I got home, it had been way too long since I laid out the chicken for my dinner (like, twelve hours, yikes.) and I couldn't use it anymore. Instead of making something else, I got even angrier and decided to just go to bed. I was giving up on the day.

In came my mom. She convinced me to go get free pie, because it's free pie Wednesday and I like pie. I also got french fries because my paycheck was a little bigger than usual and I got a little child support, so I actually have enough money to pay my bills, put gas in my car, buy groceries and still have a little left. And I deserve french fries. Then she convinced me to go back to the store. She helped me look for things, still couldn't find them, concluded the store was dumb, and convinced me to go to Wal-Mart. I hate Wal-Mart. I don't want to stand in line for an hour to buy five things. But the one by me isn't actually crowded at all and we didn't wait in line longer than five minutes. And I spent less than $100, got everything on my list plus a few other things we needed, and some rare treats for us.

My mom understands my anxiety and depression more than anyone else. Probably because she's also struggled with it and knows how it is. Even then, she sometimes tells me to "just calm down" even though I literally can't. She copes how she can, but she can almost always calm me down and bring me back to Earth.

She also bought me a tiny crockpot because I was complaining about how big mine is. (I DON'T NEED A TEN QUART CROCKPOT. WE ARE A TWO PERSON FAMILY. THE ONLY WAY WE CAN PUT AWAY FOOD IS IN THE FRIDGE BECAUSE MOMMY MADE TOO MUCH AGAIN). To be fair, I was not single when I got my crockpot for Christmas last year, and J demanded the biggest one we could get because he loved to eat.

Also, slice two chicken breasts into strips and throw them in your crockpot with a can of sliced carrots (don't drain the water), one bottle of sun dried tomato salad dressing and some frozen peas, cook on low for 4-6 hours. Trust me and thank me later.

On being single (and being a single mom)

I'm back, maybe. Since I moved into my new place, I didn't have internet until Monday, and it's way too hard to write everything out on my phone. I could promise to be better about blogging all the time, but we all know that's not going to happen. However, I've had thoughts recently, on being single and being a single mom.

The longest period of time I've been single is... well, now. And between my son's father and my recent ex. It's the exact same amount of time. Five months. You see, I've always had this obsession with love. I always believed in "happily ever after", that there was someone out there for everyone. I've also always believed that if you love someone, you fight to make it work. That's how relationships are. It's not all fluff and sunshine, it's hard work. So when I met J, I wasn't looking for anything. I had a newborn that consumed my life, and that was that. But J made me believe that he was my ticket to happily ever after. That, as long as we worked hard and loved each other, things would work out. I was better to him than I've been to anyone that I dated, but it wasn't enough. Because I was better to my son. When he walked away this last time, I didn't even care. I told him to keep his reasons and shove them where the sun doesn't shine. I was done being played with, and that was my road to recovery.
I haven't had a single anxiety attack since then. I've come close, but I've been able to talk myself down. I've moved out, on my own, and created a beautiful life for my son and myself. I haven't received a drop of child support since August, and I've still done it. My house is constantly messy, I have a toddler and I hate doing dishes. It's not full of the nicest, newest things. But you know what it is full of? Love. And laughter. And pure, unbridled joy.

I'm happy being single. To be totally honest, I'd rather not put up with someone else's crap. And I'm thrilled to be a single mom. I get this beautiful, tiny boy all to myself. It's difficult, don't get me wrong, but it's the best thing in the entire world.

A little bit of everything.

I know my posts are sporadic and I've been MIA for like a week and a half but I have good reason. That reason is a little bit of everything.

Bubba's allergist appointment was supposed to be tomorrow morning. I've been equal parts exhilarated and apprehensive. While I want to know every last thing he's allergic to, I also know that the procedure is painful and would be confusing and traumatic for him. I reasoned that it's better to do it while he's too young to remember, and that was that. Bubba also had his 18 month check up on Monday (can you believe he's so big?) where I was informed that Medicaid was saying he is no longer covered. I assured them he was, and we went on our merry way. Then I got home and called Medicaid and yep, they terminated his coverage. So I spent the week trying to get it sorted out and get him reinstated so he could have his appointment, but I was told today by a person in their office to just cancel the appointment. So I had to. Seriously, cannot wait for my insurance to kick in. I finally got that sorted out so it's not causing me stress any more.

Did I mention that I'm moving? Yeah, I get my keys on Monday so I'm just feeling very overwhelmed by everything that I need to pack and buy and make and it's making me crazy. Plus I'm terrified that I can't actually do it. That after all my careful budgeting and planning, it won't be enough.

Oh and I think I have bronchitis.

Other than that, everything has been peachy. Well, except my depression coming back full swing. See, I was finally able to get my anxiety under some semblance of control and have been able to talk myself out of anxiety attacks. Since that was out of the way, my depression decided to pop in and say hello. At this point I can barely get out of bed, I'm convinced that all my friends don't want to be my friends anymore (not helped by no one responding to my texts) and therefore have cut everyone off. All I want to do, all the time, is cry. I don't want to get out of bed or shower or eat or drink or speak or anything. Bubba keeps me going. I have to be strong for him. So I get out of bed every morning. I force myself to eat and to shower and to laugh and smile and talk. Eventually, doing all those things will become real instead of forced. Eventually, I'll get out of this depressive episode and be able to be happy again.

I can't believe I've being that honest about my depression, but there it is. Judge me for it or don't. It's not your cross to bear.

But I would like to end this on a happy note. I don't want to focus on the stress of moving and bubba's health (or mine). I don't want to focus on the dark times. So just remember, as I try to every day, that "most of the shadows of this life are caused by standing in one's own sunshine."
Ralph Waldo Emerson/

Hello again, dear enemy.

Anyone want to guess what bubba got a hold of today? If you said nutmeg, you'd be correct. He has this obsession lately with taking things out of the garbage and if it's a drink he tries to drink it. I turned my back for half a second at school today, and he grabbed a Coke out of the trashcan that still had a bit in it. And he drank from it.

It was a split second, I took it from him immediately. But he still got some. He then proceeded to break out in hives and started having trouble breathing. I was terrified. I wanted to give him his epipen, but then my brain decided to chime in: you're overreacting. He didn't get any. Those aren't hives, one of his little friends accidentally grabbed him or something. He just had to cough. Then struggle to take a breath. If you give him his epipen, you'll be doing more harm than good. You don't know what that thing will do if this isn't an allergic reaction.

So I left work early, obviously. I put him in his car seat and didn't give him his pacifier so that I could listen to him scream the entire drive, all the while just thinking "thank God I know he's breathing."

At that point, he wasn't having trouble breathing anymore, but he kept grabbing his belly and saying :owie". When we got to the doctor, his belly was still covered in hives, as was his back, but the ones on his face and arms were fading. They gave him some benadryl and said we were okay this time. I didn't take him to the ER because I figured if he was breathing okay then he maybe didn't need the emergency room, but a doctor's visit was still a good idea.

He's okay now, thankfully. This is going to be something I don't ever forget. The sheer terror I felt was incomparable. I just kept thinking "I should've just given him the epipen. I should've called 911. My child is going to die, and it's my fault."

But he's okay. He's breathing and kicking and being crazy. And you can bet that I'm going to fight to keep him that way.

When will it stop?

Bubba had another allergic reaction tonight. I have no idea what he reacted to as I made sure he wasn't exposed to nutmeg at all, but there it was. I was giving him a bath and all over his tiny little body was a rash. I don't know what caused it. I scoured ingredient lists, I tried to think of anything environmental that it could be.

I don't know.

And I feel like the shittiest parent because of it.

You know what's hard about food allergies? You know that until you're able to get your child into an allergist, you should make sure they avoid anything that could be an allergen. He should have fresh, organic fruits, veggies and meats. But that's not always achievable. For instance, I'm super broke and can't afford to buy him fresh, organic fruits and veggies and meat. Instead, we eat the boxed crap in the house, keep his epipen close by, and hope that we don't have to use it.

People whose kids don't have food allergies don't understand what this is like. It's been a month since I discovered bubba's food allergy and at least once a day I hear at least one of the following:

"Aren't you being a bit dramatic?"

"You're being kind of crazy about this."

"You're overreacting."

"You should be glad he doesn't have, like, a REAL allergy."

"I think it's fine if he eats (something, without checking labels)"

"Hasn't he had this before with no reaction?"

"Are you sure he's really allergic?"

And I just want to cry. These are real things that have really been said to me. No, I'm not being crazy or dramatic or overreacting. It is a real allergy. No, he's not okay to eat something unless I've made sure it's okay. Maybe he has had it before, food allergies can take multiple exposures to develop. But he probably hasn't. And yes, I'm sure he's really allergic. His doctor didn't prescribe him an epipen for no reason.

So it's been another great week. My kid had pink eye in both eyes, a double ear infection, he threw up, and then he had another allergic reaction. And it's only Tuesday. Excuse me while I go cry in to a lot of ice cream.

I hate you, nutmeg.

Today while I was on my lunch break I decided to search, again, for any information on nutmeg allergies. After sifting through the pages of results for tree nut allergies, which come up because nutmeg has the word "nut" in it, I finally found a very brief blog post about it. Someone basically just put that their son was allergic to nutmeg, on top of other food allergies, and that was it.

But the comments were wonderful.

The comments were full of responses from people who had nutmeg allergies. They listed other things that nutmeg is in that I hadn't even thought of. Did you know that nutmeg can be used to make oil and butter? Did you know that nutmeg is used in cosmetics, in medicines, in drinks, in food, in basically everything? NUTMEG IS IN COCA COLA! Nutmeg is in everything.

This allergy has me terrified. My son is so allergic that if he ingests it, he breaks out in hives in less than five minutes. And that was just the first reaction. It's said to get worse every time. Right now, it's not severe enough that he'll break out if he comes into contact with it, or with someone who has come into contact with it. But what if it gets that bad?

I'm already scouring ingredient lists on everything, but now I have to look out for makeup and medicines too? Any time he has a medicine, I'll have to ask. I'm going to contact the companies whose makeup I use and ask if nutmeg is in their products. I'm freaked out because companies don't have to label it in anything.

Let's change that. I need help, I need support, I need voices. I need people to stand up with me and say that just because the allergies that affect us are rare doesn't make them any less important. My son isn't old enough to have a voice for this. I need to be his voice. I need others who loves someone with allergies to stand with me. Let's make a change.

(here are the links to the only things I've found about nutmeg allergies: http://www.phadia.com/ko/3/11/ImmunoCAP-Allergens/Food-of-Plant-Origin/Spices/Nutmeg/

http://www.livestrong.com/article/411019-what-are-allergy-symptoms-from-nutmeg/

http://multiplefoodallergyhelp.com/less-common-allergens/nutmeg-allergy/

end blog)

Oh, fall.

I've always loved fall. Fall is my favorite season. It's not too hot, or too cold, but I can still wear big floppy sweaters and hats and eat everything in sight. This year though... This year I'm nervous about fall. Why be nervous about a season? I know, it sounds stupid.

But who wants to guess how many things have nutmeg in them? Anyone? I'll give you a hint. It's basically everything, at least in fall. Anything pumpkin flavored, everything at Thanksgiving... Too much stuff to name. I love all of this stuff. Pumpkin chocolate chip cookies may literally be my favorite thing in the food world. I can eat my weight in food at Thanksgiving. Except not this year. This year, I can't eat anything that could've come close to nutmeg. Why?

My kid is allergic. My one year old is so allergic to nutmeg that after one reaction, his pediatrician prescribed him an epipen that I have to have with me at all times. My child could come into contact with nutmeg, go into anaphylactic shock, and possibly die. Isn't that terrifying?

The season I used to so love has become a season of terror. Did you know that companies don't even have to list nutmeg as an ingredient? It's just written as "spices" in the ingredient list because it's generally a smorgasbord of different spices. But it's always nutmeg. It's such a small amount that it's inconsequential to everyone else. Not to me though. That small amount makes the difference between breathing and not. Literally between life and death.

It's been about a month since I discovered the allergy. I decided to make bubba a breakfast that I saw on Pinterest. You fry bananas on the stove and sprinkle a mixture of sugar, cinnamon, and a pinch of nutmeg on top. Within seconds of him eating it, he had a rash everywhere it had touched. I figured it was just a contact allergy, that he would outgrow it. That happened with garlic when he was little. But no. I continued our day as normal, but by the time we got to school, my son was covered in hives. I was terrified. I have no experience with food allergies. I just wanted to cry. I still want to cry every time I think about it.

So now I have to be vigilant. I can't let him eat anything at all that has not been thoroughly inspected by me personally. I've learned how to read labels. I've tried to do research on nutmeg allergies but everything I can find just says "an allergy to nutmeg is extremely rare". Well, that doesn't help me at all. That doesn't help anyone. So I've decided to.

This blog is an outlet for many things. I will always preach support for sufferers of mental illness, of eating disorders. I will always support single parents. And now, I hope to show people who have, or whose children have, rare food allergies that they are not alone. We all deserve support. We all deserve to be taken seriously. And damn it, we deserve for food to have to be labeled with EVERY ingredient. That's what I'm here for.

Let me know in the comments if you or someone you know has a "weird" allergy. I would love to hear about it and learn more about it.

I think I'm ready to talk.

When you have depression and anxiety, it's hard to talk about the things going on in your life. You worry that people will think you're making it up for attention, or that they won't care after you open yourself up because they have their own things going on. At least, that's how it is for me, and I've pushed things down for far too long. I think I'm ready to talk. You can listen if you want to. I don't really care. I just need to get out the things that have been trapped inside me for too damn long.

My anxiety isn't a secret, but maybe the fact that I can have an anxiety attack over literally nothing is. I have anxiety attacks because of fake conversations played in my head, because of worries of how other people will react to something I say. I have anxiety attacks over absolutely nothing. My mom told me she was cleaning the house yesterday and told me the upstairs hallway was a mess and I felt that too-familiar tightness in my chest. I wasn't even there. We were on the phone. I was in my car. I felt that too-familiar tightness whilst switching lanes in rush hour traffic today. Anxiety attacks can literally be triggered by anything for me.

Would any of you have guessed that my depression is currently hitting me so hard that I almost don't make it out of bed every morning? The only reason I get up is because I have to provide for bubba. I am the person who keeps him clothed and fed. If I give up, it means he doesn't get what he needs, and that is unacceptable. My child has been my saving grace.

I have an eating disorder. There, I said it. I've struggled with eating disorders for as long as I can remember. Anorexia first, then bulimia. Now? Binge-eating. I've just started owning up to it and realizing that, yes, I have a problem. I go through phases of it where I eat everything in sight, all the time, for a week or so. Then I won't eat for another week or so. Enough to survive, maybe. But no more than that. My body is so well trained for this, it's been happening so long, that because I ate more than once by mid-day, my body figured that we are binging now and I feel hungry all the time. I've eaten three meals and a small snack today, and I'm keeping a food diary to hold myself accountable. I'm putting an end to this. It's been at least ten years, and that is too long.

Last but never least, I was sexually abused as a child. I was six years old. This is something that still affects my every day life and even as I'm typing this, my brain is replaying the memory of him winking at me as I left my daycare center. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. I am thankful for that every day. But it was enough.

These are all things that are a part of me, that have made me who I am. But you'd better believe that they do not define me. It's been 16 years since I was molested. I've struggled with depression and anxiety for 14 years, including 9 years of self-harm (3+ years clean, woot woot!). I've struggled with eating disorders about as long as I've struggled with depression. But I'm done. No more. I'm getting better, for me.

And it's about damn time.

Spawn's First Haircut.

My spawn got his first haircut today. He's always had a ton of hair. Before the cut, when it was wet, it was a quarter of the way down his back. When it was dry, it hung in perfect, tight ringlets that didn't go past the nape of his neck. It was long enough that I could easily, and frequently, put it in a baby man bun. I always told him that I wouldn't cut his hair unless he asked for it. Once he could tell me that he wanted his hair cut, I would get it cut. So today I was joking about needing to cut his bangs again, and he grabbed a fistful of his hair and said "cut?" Then he started signing and saying please and thank you, which is what he knows he has to do if he wants something. I asked to double check, and he really wanted his hair cut. I told him we would do it after school, and he spent the next half hour we were there trying to convince me to leave. He was so excited. I texted his dad and my mom and they were both there. He was pointing to pictures in the salon of kids getting their hair cut and he was just stoked. I pointed to my hair (pixie cut) and asked if he wanted his hair short. And he said yes. So I found a style on Pinterest and went with it. And he was wonderful the whole time. He was playing and laughing with his dad, playing with the curls falling from his head as they were cut off. He didn't even start to fuss, not once. I, however, cried. I didn't want my baby to have his hair cut. I wanted to keep his hair long until at least his second birthday. Longer, if I could get away with it. So I cried. There went all his previous baby curls. His face looks so grown up now. He doesn't look like my tiny baby anymore. He looks like this tiny, wonderful little person that I created, and that I love more than life.

It may sound crazy that I cut his hair when I didn't want to. Most parents wouldn't have. But I told him he could cut it when he could ask. And he asked. I want my son to know that his body and all its parts, hair included, are his to decide what to do with. I wouldn't want someone telling me what to do with my body. I have no right to tell him what to do with his. It's his. He has limits, of course. No tattoos or piercings or weird stuff until he's over 18. But he can decide how he wants to dress and how he wants to wear his hair. Even if it makes his mommy cry.

No one is meaner than me.

No one is meaner to me than myself.

Today, I saw a cute boy. Okay, to be totally honest, it's not the first time I've seen him. I've actually had a crush on him for a while but I was always in a relationship so conversation was kept to a minimum because I like shiny things but I actually wanted my relationship to work. But now I'm single.

Instead of, you know, acting like an adult and striking up a conversation and maybe asking him to dinner or something, I hid. I don't mean figuratively. I mean I literally hid until he wasn't around anymore while obsessively texting my best friend about how much of a loser I am for not talking to him because damn, he is handsome. Being the supportive best friend that she is, she told me I should just go for it.

And instead of even texting her back, I started compiling a mental list of all the reasons he couldn't possibly like me back. Or know I exist.

Things like: my hair isn't long enough for me to be conventionally attractive. I have horrible anxiety and that isn't exactly a secret. I make $10 an hour. I'm a young single mom. I have a big pimple on my chin right now. My glasses are kind of funky. I breathe through my mouth. I have two hairs on my big toes. Shit like that. And then I hid until he left.

Sitting in bed hours later, I'm kicking myself. Why couldn't I have been an adult and held a conversation? But it's also made me realize something. While it's true that society has put certain pressures on women to look certain ways, there are things about me that are unconventional that I didn't even add to the list. Like that I hardly ever shave my legs and I'd been wearing the same yoga pants for two days. We are meaner to ourselves than anyone else will be, including the rest of society. I've decided to change that for myself. Next time I see a cute guy, I'm going to strike up a conversation rather than decide that person couldn't like me because of things I don't like about myself. They'll probably not like me because I'm a loudmouth and I can be bossy and I am having an affair with Netflix. I'm going to be nicer to myself, and I'm going to try to go into things assuming that everyone doesn't already hate me.

Because when it comes down to it, you need to love yourself first. And that's what I'm working on.

I'm back.

The past two weeks have been a special sort of hell for me. I had four anxiety attacks, got dumped, then couldn't really muster up the strength to get out of bed. Then yesterday, I had the actual literal worst day of my life. No break up, break down, or even my miscarriage could compare. I thought I was going to lose my job. That may not seem like a big deal, but to me it is. I love my job. I love the people I work with, I love the children I take care of, and I love what I do.

But then I made a mistake. I'm not going to go into details. No one was hurt. But I upset the parents of one of my babies. When I told them what happened, I really should have phrased it differently. I think that was what caused the most panic. As a parent, I understand completely. My bosses called me into their office yesterday morning and recounted everything. After hearing what I had to say, my boss told me that my job wasn't safe. I had been calm and collected through the entire meeting, but when she said that, I couldn't hold it anymore. The floodgates opened and the tears came freely. I went back to my room and cried, hard. Then I decided to resign, thinking that was what was best for the school. I gathered myself, ready to go do the thing that I absolutely did not want to. I would never see any of those kids again. It's horrible and wonderful being a caregiver because you get so attached to the kids and there's always a time you have to say goodbye. Whether they outgrow your class or move, they take a small piece of you with them. So I was getting ready to walk away from so many kids who all held a  tiny piece of my heart. I marched right into my boss' office and told her I was resigning. She told me to hold off on my resignation and sent me to my lunch. When I got back, my best friend M was coming out of their office. They pulled me in, hugged me, told me that I'm family and I'm not going anywhere. I wanted to break down crying all over again.

Because of my mistake, I did have to leave my babies. Right now I'm upstairs with the big kids, but I'll be back down with some of my babies as soon as my new room opens up when school starts. But because of my mistake, I also realized that I'm in the exact place that I should be. Not only am I in the right career path, I'm at the right place. No matter how much I beat myself up, I know that I love these kids and would never do anything to upset them or their parents on purpose. Accidents happen. Maybe the fact that I work at a religious institution saved me. Maybe it's because they preach forgiveness, and practice what they preach. Or maybe it's because they know as well as I do that I love those kids, and will always be extra vigilant in making sure that I don't ever make a mistake again.

So yesterday was the worst day of my life. But it was also one of the best. It's easy to feel unappreciated and undervalued in my line of work. But yesterday showed me that no one there is unappreciated or undervalued.

Also the older kids are hilarious. Over Christmas break last year, I watched one of the little boys in my class and his older sister one day. It happened to be her birthday. So today she told me that she wanted to have her birthday at my house again. Then she poked my belly and said "fat tummy" because five year olds have no filter. Then later, the middle daughter of one of my fellow teachers was staring at me (she's six) and just blurted out "why are you always so pretty?" which made me want to cry all over again. Because little kids are always honest when just blurting out stuff like that. So that was the best compliment I've ever received in my entire life.

Having friends when you have anxiety, part two.

If you read my earlier post, you'll know that today was a pretty bad day. Made even worse by the ending of my relationship, for the third time, which completely blindsided me. So what was the first thing I did? I let my friends know. My friends, who have come to my rescue when I was in sticky situations with said ex boyfriend.

So one called. And we spent an hour long phone call discussing everything else. Including how her fiance would look in high heels, and how gay an ex from four years ago is. All of my tensions just melted away during that phone call.

Afterwards, my mom came in and was talking to me about how she's starting to understand a little more about how my anxiety works. Before, she used to just tell me that whatever I was worried about didn't matter. But now she's seeing that my anxiety doesn't always make sense. I can be anxious over absolutely nothing and have an anxiety attack over absolutely nothing. She told me she's learning through me being open about it. And that's helping me want to be open about it.

So remember, no matter how much your anxiety-ridden or depressed brain tries to tell you that no one cares about you, it's wrong. I'm slowly learning that. Thanks for being along for the ride.

I fucking hate anxiety.

Excuse my language, but it's true. I fucking hate it. Anyone with anxiety will tell you the same thing. No one likes being anxious 24/7 about literally nothing. If anyone tells you differently, they're delusional.

It's like being sick, but all the time. It makes it to the point that you can't function in your everyday life. Do you want to know how many anxiety attacks I've had today? Four. Do you wanna know why? Me too. Absolutely no idea what brought it on. I was sitting in the rocking chair at work, feeding a bottle to one of the babies and all of a sudden I was overtaken with anxiety and got extremely depressed. I finished feeding the baby, and went into the bathroom and had an anxiety attack. The next ones make more sense. I was anxious about asking people to stay for me so I could go home, so I ended up having an anxiety attack while asking. Then I was anxious about the possibility of my mom being upset with me for coming home, so I had an anxiety attack on the drive home. Then when I got home, my mom said for me to take bubba upstairs and take a nap with him as he was already asleep. I don't know what caused the anxiety attack right before I fell asleep, but I do know that it led me to take a four hour nap.

That's the thing no one tells you about anxiety attacks. They're thoroughly exhausting. Actually, no one really tells you anything about anxiety attacks. Or anxiety. Because the stigma behind mental illness is so ingrained. But I'm not gonna do that. I'm here to talk about my depression and anxiety and dealing with all that shit as a single mom, because it's not easy and everyone needs all the support you can get when dealing with this.

So today, I had four anxiety attacks. I've been awake for half an hour and I feel another one coming on. Today I'm on the ground. Tomorrow, with any luck, I'll be back on top of the monkey bars.

My tiniest boy.

Do you ever have those moments where it just hits you that your kid isn't a baby any more? Those are frequent as of late. It's becoming my new normal to suddenly be hit with how BIG my boy is. My friends and I were talking last night about all the "fun" things about labor (I'm gonna pause here and let you picture my best friend with one of those diaper-pads wrapped around her, showcasing how it really does go from belly button to bum. It was hilarious.) and it just kinda hit me that it was over a year ago. I've found videos of bubba kicking the hell out of me when I was pregnant, and I've looked at his newborn pictures a thousand times just wondering where all the time went. Who said my tiniest boy could grow up? Because I sure as hell didn't.

This is the human being that my body formed. He grew, safely, inside my body for 39 weeks. At 8:55 pm on April 18, 2014, he came into this world. I remember so many of the details like it was yesterday (I'll save my birth/post-partum story for another time) and maybe that's why it hits me so suddenly. It seems like just yesterday I was looking at his wrinkled face for the first time. Then, he sat up around four months. Crawled at six. Pulled up and cruised on the same day he crawled. Mastered going up stairs at seven months. Then started talking steps. He was steadily walking at nine months. And now, at just over a year, people think he's a two year old. Because he walks so well, he isn't afraid of anything. Seriously, nothing. I've got to get a video of this kid climbing fake rock walls. He has no fear. And now... Now he's speaking. And not just a few words. He could say "mama" and "dada" at six months. I believe his next word was "please" because he knows he doesn't get anything without saying please and thank you. But now he's speaking in sentences. "I did it", "no I'm not", "I get out?", "I go?" are just a few that absolutely floored me. He's saying more and more words and phrases every day and all I want is to slow down time. I want more hours in a day. I want to be home with him all the time. It's a little hard to go to work knowing that I don't get to hear his tiny voice for about six hours. But it's all part of him growing up.

The thing is, though... I don't want him to grow up. I want him to stay my tiniest boy. Because there will come a day when his mama's hugs aren't what he needs to comfort him. When he doesn't care if I look as he tries new things. When he doesn't point his finger at me and say "don" (don't) repeatedly when I'm not paying attention to him for some reason. And I don't want those things.

I want my tiny baby boy.

Dear you.

Dear you.

I had a breakdown today. Well, multiple, really. It's the stupidest thing but... I can't listen to the band they played at your funeral. Not just the one song, the entire band. I walked out of a restaurant because that band was on the radio. Then I came home and did something stupid. I looked you up. Of course, you blocked me on Facebook beforehand, so I can't actually look you up. Just anything that others post about you. And I did. And I cried. But did you know that I can't bring myself to visit you? It's been over a year. And I just can't. Because there are so many things that I want to say to you, that I want to scream at you. But I can't. Because you're not here. You're not anywhere. You're just... in the ground. Sitting there. Sure, I've felt your presence a few times, but not in over a year. Is it because I stopped visiting? I'm sure it's not. You have things you'd rather do than watch me struggle through life.

I know you're not completely gone though. See, I still have a knick knack that you gave me for some long-forgotten Christmas. Every once in a while, bubba will wake up in the morning and only want that trinket. He'll laugh and talk to it like he doesn't have a care in the world. So I know you're here. But that doesn't make it easier to face that you're gone.

Did you know I never got a chance to grieve? No, because it was "cheating" on him. I never dealt with your death. So it hits me. Like a fucking freight train. And everything comes crashing down around me.

I forget, sometimes, that you're not here. Someone will remind me of something you did and I'll say "remind me to hit him the next time I see him." But then I'm the one getting hit, with the fact that I won't. Not ever. I don't believe in eternal life.

Do you know how many times I've wished I had a time machine? I wish I could go back and stop you. I wish you hadn't fucking done it. Do you know how many people loved you? Who cry all the time because you're gone? You touched the lives of everyone who knew you and now it's just... gone.

I miss you.

Having friends when you have anxiety.

Outside my mom, my boyfriend and my son, I consider four people my best friends. They are all very different people and they are my best friends for different reasons, but I love them all the same.

The first I've known for what seems like eternity. I can't remember a time when she wasn't in my life. Looking at us from the outside, it's true that opposites attract. She is very strong and independent. She isn't afraid to tell it like it is, even if it might hurt your feelings. Maybe that's just to me because we've been friends for so long that it literally doesn't matter what we say to each other. She's about to be a mom for the first time, and I couldn't be more stoked. We've gone through so many things together, including parents getting divorced and having siblings that were mistaken for our children on more than one occasion. Now we get to experience motherhood together.

The next, I have known for a shorter period of time but that doesn't make our bond any less important. We may not be the closest in the sense of hanging out all the time and talking constantly, but we're always there for each other. I recently had to call her late at night for a favor, on a holiday, and she was there. Then she stayed up for another hour and a half and talked to me through my anxiety. She's getting married in less than two months and I couldn't be more thrilled for her.

The third, I've known for an even shorter time but she is still just as amazing as the last two. She's an amazing mother to a beautiful little girl who I love like she's my own child. She has been there for me through so many ups and downs and I don't know what I would do without her. She's also getting married, but that's a little ways away. Which, thank God, because I'm up to my neck in party planning right now. Kidding. I love you.

Last but never least is the one I've known the shortest amount of time. She's family but that doesn't stop her from being one of my best friends. We weren't really close until the last couple of years. We were at different stages in our lives as she's a few years older than me. But then I got pregnant. And she got pregnant six weeks and one day later. Now we both have wonderful boys who have been best friends since the womb, and she has a daughter and step son that I adore. She is literally the sweetest person I've ever met. We've also worked in close, stressful quarters together for almost a year, so that helps.

All of these women are people that I love and would do anything for. I would figuratively kill for them. I mean, I love you guys, but I'm not going to prison to be Bertha's bitch.

The thing is, when you have anxiety, it's easy to forget that people love you. It's easy to forget that people care about you the way you care about them. It's easy to tell yourself that they have too much stuff going on in their life and they don't care about your shit. It's easy to push people away when they don't care about you. These women haven't let me do that to them, and I love them for that.

Let's call these ladies "C", ":K", "H" and "M". I'm sure whoever reads this knows who they are, but for the sake of their privacy I'm not going to use names.

Today I got a text from H asking if I've heard from K about Saturday. Saturday is C's baby shower so I had no idea what she was talking about and started freaking out that I had made other plans when I have this baby shower. She said K wanted to do wedding stuff and I said I had the baby shower and figured it was left at that. Then H did the thing that makes her one of my best friends. She called me out. She said I had been acting distant lately and asked if I was okay. It made me want to cry that she had even noticed. When you have anxiety and depression, you push people away. You may not even be consciously doing it. I wasn't, but when I thought back on it, I realized it had happened. But she didn't let me get away. She wanted to make sure I was okay. When my depression was telling me that no one would care if I went away, she proved it wrong.

M also has pretty bad anxiety. Some shitty stuff has happened this week and she's had to miss a lot of work. I won't go into details but I will say that she and her baby have been sick. I may have mentioned that we work in a daycare. Sure, we have substitutes but it's easier to be with someone who knows the kids routines and what calms them down and stuff. She called me after 11 pm to ask if I would go in for her tomorrow, and I had already been planning on offering because some more bad stuff happened tonight and I know she's stressed out and very upset. She must have apologized 50 times in our 5 minute phone conversation. But the thing is, I didn't even think twice about it. I just want her to take care of herself and her baby and get better.

That's the entire point of this post. I didn't even think twice. The people who care about you, truly care about you, will drop everything just to be there for you. Each of these women have been there for me in different, but equally important ways. I am thankful that I even know these women. They are so important to me and I love them all so, so very much.

So just remember: the people that you love, love you just as much. They're not too busy for you. They'll make the time. Reach out. It's a good thing, believe me.

Boys and cars.

Yesterday, my boyfriend sold his Miata. I can't say I'm disappointed. I thought that thing was a death trap, and I'm pretty sure it was older than me. It also didn't have air conditioning, or a backseat. So there was no where to put bubba, which is part of the reason why he sold it.

Today, my boyfriend bought a BMW. I think it's called "e36 m3" but I'm not totally sure, and I have no idea what those letters mean. I still think the car is older than I am. No clue. I'm sure I heard what year it is, but I can't remember. All I care about is that it has air conditioning and a back seat. The sun roof is a nice touch. 

Let me say that I know absolutely nothing about cars. If I open the hood of a car, I might be able to guess at where the engine is. I know how to check oil and that's it. Which is the entire reason it's great to date a car guy. Well, that and he'll teach our sons about cars. The downside to this is that his relationship with a car, any car, has been around longer than his relationship with you. There have been many nights that I wanted to spend with him but he had to do car stuff and I'm not really a fan of the car smell, so I stayed home. But it's one of the many things I love about him. And that he got a 4 door sedan so we can stuff the back with car seats. 

The guy that he bought the car from lives about an hour south, and we took his truck. We went down with one car and left with two cars. This is a problem if you've never let your girlfriend drive your truck and now you want her to drive an hour on the freeway in the rain. Especially if your girlfriend has anxiety driving her tiny 4 door hatchback around the city in great weather. BUT I made it in one piece and without having an anxiety attack, and for that I am thankful. I didn't hit anything or anyone, I didn't kill myself, I didn't have to pull over. So it's good.

But I don't think he'll ever let me drive his truck again.

Today, my baby grew up.

I work in a daycare in the infant room. It's a pretty sweet deal. I get paid more than normal daycares pay, plus I get free tuition. I also get to be with my kid, which is pretty awesome, right? Well, it's awesome until they move into the toddler room. When you've been with them almost every second of every day for over a year, it's hard.
Today, my baby grew up. He moved to the toddler room. He cried for two hours after drop off. It didn't help that I went in like twenty minutes after drop off to get something out of his diaper bag that I needed. Or that I popped in forty minutes after that to make sure they got his diaper change down, since he's cloth diapered.
Two hours. He cried for two hours. There were times when I couldn't hear him, like when they went outside and played in the water. I'm sure he was happy then. He was fine when they had lunch, he slept great, and was fine upon waking up. He adjusted. It will get easier.
It will probably get easier for me too, at least that's what I'm telling myself. When he cried for those two hours, I almost had an anxiety attack. I almost broke down crying myself, all day long. When he came back into my room, he gave me the longest, sweetest hug ever. Then he got down and played with his friends. He's a pretty independent kid. I love that about him. As long as he feels safe, he just does his thing.
We also had a new baby start today. He's just seven weeks old and is an absolute sweetie. I basically spent all day snuggling him. My mom also brought in bubba's swing to use in the class. We turned it, and the music on, and memories flooded back like I had opened the gates.
I remember, being so exhausted and confused and absolutely starving. Bubba was less than a week old. It may have been our first night home from the hospital. He had been up, and screaming, since three in the morning. It was nine in the morning when I finally told him that he had to cry it out for a minute because mommy was starving to death. I put him in his swing, turned the music on, and walked out of the room. In less than a minute, he stopped screaming. I thought I hadn't fastened him right and he had fallen out and died and that's why he stopped crying. I ran back faster than I thought I could with very sore nether regions. That's when I saw him. He was listening. Listening contentedly to the music, then drifted off slowly into a sweet little sleep. I watched him sleep for what felt like hours before finally falling asleep myself.

So today was a rough day. He moved up, proving that he's a big boy, but I am holding on to the notion that he is still small. When did he grow up, and how did I not notice? When did he stop smelling like a baby and start smelling like a boy? Seriously, he smells like sweat and dirt and water and outside. But you see, my mom taught me a trick. If you get just the right spot on the back of their neck, you can still smell the baby smell. So while he drifted off to sleep tonight, I buried my face in his neck and inhaled his tiny baby smell. He might be a big boy now, but he'll always be my baby.

Obligatory "getting to know you" post

Hi. I'm Hailey. I'm a 22 year old single mom to a perfect one year old boy, who I will henceforth refer to as "bubba" even though he has a very beautiful name. I was six months pregnant when his father and I broke up, so I've always been a single mom. When I found out I was pregnant, I had just turned 20. We had been dating for about six weeks, and I was four weeks pregnant. We tried to stick it out at first, but we're just different people. I was a miserable pregnant lady. My favorite part of pregnancy was giving birth. Seriously.
I bottle fed. I couldn't breastfeed, I didn't have the milk.
Bubba started solid foods one year ago this weekend, when he was 2 1/2 months old and then there was no stopping him.
He is a great big bundle of beautiful insanity. He sat up at 4 months, crawled and cruised at 6 months, climbed stairs and took steps by 7/8 months, and walked at 9. He slept through the night at 5 weeks old. He weaned himself off baby food at 8 months, and off the bottle and formula at 11 months. He goes constantly, from the time he wakes up in the morning to when he finally drops at bedtime. I never really felt like I had a tiny baby, because he's always been extremely independent. Except at night, where he just wants his mama. We co-sleep, and I don't want to hear your opinion on it.
I made the majority of his baby food (out of organic produce, usually) because it was cheaper and super easy. I'll probably post recipes.
He is cloth diapered, because he has freakishly sensitive skin. You try to use any kind of diaper or any kind of wipe on the kid, his entire diaper area breaks out in a horrible, blistered rash. Seriously. I went through EVERY KIND OF DIAPER. It took over a year before I caved and cloth diapered him, and I'll never do anything else. I love it.
We live with my crazy-awesome mom, who has been the best support system in the entire universe, and you should probably be jealous that she's not your mom. She loves being a grandma and getting to break all of the rules I set in place for bubba, because she's the grandma and I can't do anything about it. Unless it's important, then she listens. But bubba had his first sno-cone when he was just shy of two months old.
I'm a teacher at a daycare and I absolutely love my job. The babies are crazy and demanding. It's very fast-paced, exhausting work. But it's the first time I've ever been able to say that I love my job. This three-day weekend is killing me because I just want to know how the kids are. Really.
Two more things, that's it. The first is that I curse like a sailor, and I've very opinionated so if that offends you, please leave now. Thanks.
The last is that I struggle with horrible anxiety and depression. Anxiety attacks are frequent. Depression is constant. But I'm working on living life on top of the monkey bars, at all times.

Living on top of the monkey bars.

Today has been a weird day. See, I have really horrible anxiety, and last night I had an anxiety attack. After an anxiety attack, I always feel very drained. Emotionless, almost. I woke up this morning and couldn't get out of bed for over an hour. I ended up texting my mom, who was downstairs, to see if she wanted to do anything. I was hoping she'd say no. I just wanted to stay in bed. Instead, she came up and we had a serious talk about my anxiety. Then she reminded me we had things to do for my best friend's baby shower, which is in six days. It was nice to create things. Working with my hands gets me out of my head. I stopped when my son was brought home. The 4th of July was his dad's holiday this year. We went out to dinner. My mom, my baby, and me. Then we went to the park and played hard. I don't think I've been that sweaty since I was a kid. While we were there, I did something just to prove I could. I swung myself on top of the monkey bars. That's when I realized: this is what anxiety is. What depression is. What being a single mom is. Sometimes I'm wonderful. I'm on top of the monkey bars, looking at everything wonderful and beautiful around me. Most of the time, I'm slipping through the bars. I'm trying to keep myself where the beautiful things are, but I don't have the strength. I fall a lot. I find myself on the hard ground, surrounded by dirt. Only seeing the ugly things in life, only seeing the bad. I need to find a way to fall gracefully. It's coming again, the fall. Because today...

I'm on top of the monkey bars. But I'm starting to slip.