THE QUESTION

Before going to sleep my son and I have some quiet time. We talk, pray and just reconnect in the quiet darkness. Sometimes we giggle at the baby singing to himself his favorite "Poop" song. Most times I ask him what his favorite part of the day was. I want the last thought before going to bed to be a good one. And sometimes he hits me with THE QUESTION.

THE QUESTION is the one I am never prepared for and don't really want to answer. Last night it was about, the 'girls'.

Here's how it went down (and I mean really downhill):

Squiggle, adjust, cuddle. Sudden flip over to face me. (Uh oh...here it comes...THE QUESTION.)

"Mommy?"

"Yes, buddy."

"Why can't we touch girls chests?" (OMG. Really?)
Pause.

"Well," stammer, gather, think,"because it's not appropriate to touch a girl's chest." (Wait...does he even know what inappropriate really means?)

"Why?" (Oh boy...here goes.)

"Because you are a big boy and you know how to act. Only babies can touch their Mommy's chests." (His future wife will thank me for his enlightened and supportive stance on breastfeeding. You are welcome future daughter in law.)

"Because they are babies they don't know nuffin. Right?"

"Right," (Brainstorm!)

"You know babies run around naked sometimes?"

Giggle, "Yeah! Like Caden before a baff."

"Yes, that's right. Do you ever see Pappy or Daddy run around naked?"

Bigger giggle, "Nooooooooo!".

"That's because they know it's not appropriate. So that's why they don't do it."

(Score one for the mommy. Shoulda stopped there. Didn't. Shoulda. But didn't. Had to throw the next thing in. For whatever reason I cannot come close to fathoming. Oy.)

"And when you get married, you're wife will let you touch her chest."

"Oh." Roll over, squiggle and go to sleep.

I think I have figured out where THIS question came from. He is tall enough that when he reaches up for a hug that his hands land, well, on my 'girls'. I politely take his hands and put them around my waist and encourage him to not do that. On one hand (no pun intended, really) I don't want to discourage affection, on the other I don't want him to think he can just grab any significant woman in his life.

Anyway you look at it, I hope our discussions about the 'girls' is over. Until the next time he pops THE QUESTION.




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The Only Thing That Never Changes

The only thing that never changes is that everything changes. In just a week everything I thought was up is down and down is up.

The Depression Gorilla has moved back in. (Please see PPD Chronicles.) He's not howling night and day, but he's brought some luggage for a bit of a visit. I didn't notice him lurking in the corners until I slept through an entire day. I also began to forget what I was doing, why I was doing it and stopped caring if I did anything ever again.

When the therapist did a depression assessment, I was confident I would score well. I was working. I was taking care of the kids. I was surviving. I scored nearly as high as I did when I was in the depth of post-partum, unable to get off the couch. Nearly as high. Really? Yep.

When the therapist did an anxiety assessment, I was confident I had it under control. Sure I didn't sleep most nights. Those chest pains out of no where were just from caffeine. The racing thoughts were just because I have a full schedule. I scored high enough that the kind Dr. took a deep breath before giving me the score.

When the therapist did a stress assessment, I was confident I was in control. Sure we have moved, gained and lost a total of 4 jobs in the past year. Sure our income has been cut by 75%. But I was in control. Normal stress is 300. I am at 536. High enough that the good Dr. recommended I get pharmaceutical help.

In one day, everything changed. It was if the scales fell from my eyes and I saw the light. I saw that I am white knuckled, grasping the edge of the cliff, wishing I could fly. I had to fully grasp the ginormous stop sign in front of me before I hit it headfirst.

The depression gorilla has moved back in with some luggage. With prayer, a skilled and empathetic therapist, a community of believers and a little bit of chocolate, I need to unpack those bags. Then I can evict his hairy butt once and for all!

Instead of being down that the game has changed so suddenly and completely, I am encouraged. Instead of being ashamed I need help from so many for so much, I am filled with thankfulness and gratitude for those who stand with me.
Instead of wallowing and being stuck in this mess, wrestling with the depression gorilla until exhausted; I am filled with a strength in knowing that greater is He that is within me than ANYTHING that which stands against me.
Instead of fearing the future, I am hopeful. When one has flirted with the bottom, the only direction to go is up.
Instead of being ashamed that I am a mother with challenges, I am joyful that I have children who want to make meatballs with me and can't go to sleep without hearing me sing and squiggling in for a cuddle.

The only thing that never changes is that everything changes. And for that I am truly thankful.




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A Burrito As Big As My Arm

So I finally made the life altering decision to take off a little (okay, a lot) of weight. I have shed so much emotional 'weight' in the last couple years that it was time.

I am, what I like to call, substantial. I have a coffee mug someone thought would be cute to give me which reads, "I'm not fat. I'm fluffy." It bears a rather large cat with a grimace. That's what I did when I received it, grimaced.

People say, "She has such a beautiful face. If she could just lose a few pounds." Really?

My whole life I shopped in 'that' section. You know the one, in the back, where the clothes resemble feed sacks and contain a lot of denim and really, really large print.

I don't want to shop in that section anymore. I don't want to be in the back. I want to be in the front, I think. At least I would consider being in the front. In the front of my emotional, spiritual and 'real' life.

I'm in day 10 of the Curves weight management and health plan thingy. It has meant great sacrifice. Sacrifice of sugar. Sacrifice of convenience. Sacrifice of being full in my tummy to be full in my heart.

That is why I ate half of a burrito as big as my arm. The burrito was a reward, a break and a victory. A reward for sticking with it. A break from counting, weighing and recording. It was a victory because I know I can go right back to taking care of myself and back on plan. Before I would have felt guilty and would have given up. Not anymore.

I can eat half a burrito as big as my arm and still win the battle. The battle of the bulge. The battle to keep whole, sane and happy.

It was a darn good burrito. It's a darn good life.




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