A couple days ago, Liliana said to me: “Mama, can you go to my school and ask my teachers to take off the January month and put up the February month?” She is not a fan of January, but for very different reasons than me. She wants it to be April because she doesn’t want to be four anymore, she wants to be five. And she wants it to be February because Valentine’s Day is in February and she has been counting down the sleeps until February, thinking that the whole month is a giant Valentine’s Day Festival.

I am looking forward to January being over for different reasons. For some reason, I don’t know why, January is the month of The Sad. Most friends of mine who suffer from depression (and some who don’t) agree that January is the hardest month to get through. It gets dark early, it gets light late, it’s usually overcast and cold, and it’s the month after all the jolliness of Christmas. Here in Saskatchewan, we have had the most beautiful January. It’s been sunny and warm (negative single digits and a day of +9C. PLUS NINE! IN JANUARY!) and we only had one week where the temperatures dipped below -30C. But still. This month has sucked.

Depression is like quick sand. The more you fight it, the deeper you sink. At least that’s how it is for me. It’s easier to get through the bad depressive times if I just let myself go through them. If I try and distract myself, go out, socialize, try not to be such a hermit, I come home completely exhausted from all the putting on a happy face and I’m a complete bear for my family. It’s not fair to them. It’s not their fault that I’m losing my mind.

I’m pretty sure this is Noah’s least favorite month, too, because he’s the one who gets the brunt of it. He’s the one who has to scrape me off the floor, tell me that I’m not a complete failure, and deal with my ice-cold demeanor. He always has to ask if he’s done something wrong or if I’m just having a down day. (Nine times out of ten, it’s the latter.)

I am sick of spending the whole day vibrating with anxiety. Because I have to abstain from nursing Preston for six hours after I take my anti-anxiety med — which is really annoying since I really hate pumping milk — I do my best to hold off. I go into a Netflix-coma during nap time to distract myself. (I’ve been on a safe-for-nursing anti-depressant for a couple months now, which has helped a lot, but it’s not a cure-all.)

I feel bad that I’m not the only one that this affects. It affects the four other people who live with me, too. When I’m having a particularly bad day, Noah’s good at sending me for quiet time when he gets off work, which is quite wonderful. It’s a lot easier to cope now that he understands depression more — that it’s an illness, not just a bad mood I can snap out of (although I really wish that’s all it was).

(Side note: The doctor I was seeing for a while in Regina told me that the best way to get over my depression was to think about women who are worse off than I am — in abusive situations and such. She obviously knows nothing about depression because I’m not depressed about/because of my life circumstances. My husband doesn’t make me depressed, my kids don’t make me depressed, my lack of something-or-other does not make me depressed. Some circumstances make the depression worse, yes, but I think that doctor seriously needs to go to a mental health seminar or five.)

I hate feeling like a failure. I hate all the self-loathing. I hate not being able to look in the mirror. I hate feeling apathetic. I hate avoiding being in public. I hate nightmares. I hate the dread I feel when I get out of bed in the morning.

There’s hope, though. My meds are working. January is (almost) over. Spring is coming, and after that, summer. I don’t have to leave my babies to go back to work. The kids have a week off coming up. I’m making plans for the year ahead (running a 10k with Kami in May! seeing my whole family in Summerland in August!).

The (proverbial) sun will come out, tomorrow.

“Poison.”

“You thought that up pretty quick.”

“I saw it on Bones.”

“Would it be quick or slow?”

“Probably slow. Or maybe quick. I have to think about this.”

“You kind of scare me, you know?”

“It would be an untraceable poison.”

“And what if you didn’t use poison?”

“I’d off you and then just get rid of the body. No body, no murder.”

“But you can’t lift me. I’m too heavy.”

“I’d cut you into pieces.”

*shakes head*

Blog posts can’t be used as evidence, right?

Okay, well, I will share two with you. I did not let myself use the word “daily” in any of my resolutions, because if I did use that word, if I miss one day I’m already shot. Anyway. Here are two. In one photo.

1. take more photos with my real camera
2. re-read the Harry Potter series

I have a goal to, one year, take a photo every single day, but I’m not making it a resolution, because that would be too much pressure. So, taking more photos is easier to do than taking daily photos. I’m reading the Harry Potter series with some friends and I’m already halfway through the first book. Because I cheated and started early. Because I have no patience. And I’m not the only one who did so, so I don’t feel so bad. Noah thinks I’m a huge nerd for reading Harry Potter books but I DON’T CARE.

How about you? Did you make any New Year’s Resolutions? Or do you think they’re dumb and WHO WOULD DO THAT TO THEMSELVES?

Oh, this year. It has been a hard one in many ways, but has also been the most incredible as well. Last year Noah and I did something that neither of us had done on purpose before. We decided to have a baby. I know how blessed/lucky/fortunate we are to be able to decide to have a baby and actually be able to have one. I have so many friends who struggle with this and it hurts my heart thinking about it. This is a subject very near and dear to me, being that my first pregnancy was very unplanned and very unwanted by everyone involved. (The whole being-pregnant thing was unwanted, not the baby. The baby was wanted from the first moment I learned of her existence.)

My pregnancy with Liliana was also unplanned, even though it happened when I was married. It was much more emotionally difficult than my first. I’d thought that the next time I had a baby, it would be a happy occasion, not one that heaped more shame and this-is-your-fault-ness on me. By the time Liliana was born, everyone was stoked about her arrival and it was a joyous, happy occasion, but the pregnancy itself was an emotional hell for me. I decided I never ever wanted to put myself through that ever again.

Two years ago, when Noah and I were going through marriage-ending hell, he mentioned something about wanting another baby. Not in a marriage-saving way, but in a family-completion way. I thought he was insane. Nobody had ever said anything like that to me before. My pregnancies with my girls had been met with disappointment and anger. I’d never done this having-a-kid-on-purpose thing. Many months later, when we were living in Saskatoon, he brought the subject up again. Nine months AND ELEVEN DAYS later, Preston was born.

So how does this tie in to being more of a grown-up this year? I had a baby this year on purpose. I felt more grown-up being ready to have a kid on purpose. It’s something that grown-ups do, right? The whole deciding-to-have-a-family thing? It’s an immature and irresponsible thing to get unexpectedly pregnant, right?

(This isn’t to say that anyone who gets unexpectedly pregnant is immature and irresponsible, that’s just how others made me feel with my previous pregnancies. It’s how I felt.) (Although I’ll admit that being pregnant at 17 is immature and irresponsible, I like to think that I was mature and responsible in how I dealt with it after the fact.)

My pregnancy with Preston, although it was, by far, my toughest physically, was my most wonderful one emotionally. I went through a lot of emotionally hellish things while I was pregnant, but not related to the pregnancy itself. Noah was over the moon when I showed him the positive test. He was excited to hear about every prenatal appointment and he dreamed with me about what our child would be like. He was so much more impatient than I was when our due date came and went and then eleven more days went by. I love that we got to do that together.

We are done having babies now, and I am so grateful that I got to experience it this last time. (I feel like I have to mention that I’m grateful for my girls, too, but you already know that.) It’s funny, though, that even though we’re done with the whole having babies thing, we’re not done naming them. We have names abundant and speak of these hypothetical children often. Apparently both of us are insane.

As for the how-have-you-remained-childlike aspect of the question … have you met us? There is your answer.

Anyway, what I wanted to tell you was that this anniversary was our best ever. I mean, we didn’t do much to celebrate it, what with my recovering from Monday’s surgery and the whole I-hate-being-away-from-my-baby thing, but the reason it was so significant was because this past year has been our best ever. Good things and bad things have happened in our lives, but that has nothing to do with why this year was good or bad for us. This year was good because we were good. Our relationship was good. It was better than it has ever, ever been.

The years 2009 and 2010 were very, very rough relationally. I didn’t think we’d make it through. I was actually 100% sure we would not. But, somehow, only by the grace of God, we did. We’re here. And we’re not just here, we like being here. I might even say we love being here, but that word is still growing on me. (Wounds, man. They are still healing.)

The here and now and good did not come easy. We hit rock bottom and then we kept going and then we went down a little hill and then we got hit by a bus. And then a semi. And then we were sprayed by a skunk. I think you get the picture.

So, with nowhere to go but up, we started from scratch. It was very slow going, as we had a lot of hurt to work through, and sometimes I wanted to throw in the towel, but I’ll tell you that it was worth it. We’re not at a place where we get along perfectly all the time and there’s never a disagreement ever, but does anyone ever get there? We’re both doing our best. Fighting for a common goal.

If you’d told me six years ago the journey our marriage would take, I probably would have run away screaming. But here, now, six years in, I’m glad I didn’t. I kind of like it here.

we fell on hard times
this isn’t the ideal
we’re miles from home, doing the best that we can
I wont do this without you
wont do this without you so take heart
’cause you know that you have mine

Six years ago, we became husband and wife. I’ll be writing a post about this on Monday, as this anniversary is quite special to us.

Noah took yesterday, today, and tomorrow off so that he could be with the kids and take care of me for the first couple days. He was pretty stoked about this, as he is one of those guys who would make a great stay-at-home dad. He cleans, he does dishes, he does laundry, and he absolutely loves caring for his baby (and the other two).

I was asked by two different nurses if there was someone who was staying with me, and it made me kind of sad I had to be there alone, but I have a lot of anxiety about leaving my baby, and there’s no one else I’d rather leave him with than his dad. So, company and anxiety or loneliness and peace of mind? I’ll choose the latter every time. And, I didn’t have much sitting around waiting kind of time, so it really wasn’t so bad.

When the surgeon came to meet with me, we had this little conversation as he was going over the consent form with me:

“… and don’t do any heavy lifting for a week or two.”
“Is 23 lbs okay?”
“Twenty-three pounds?
“That’s how much my baby weighs.”
“Well, maybe get him to crawl to you.”
“He doesn’t move yet.”
“How old is he?”
“Almost seven months.”
“A 23-lb seven-month-old? Maybe you should get some help for the first little bit.”

He and the resident seemed to be quite shocked at the size of my little guy. I say “seem”, because I had already taken my glasses off and could not see them. I couldn’t see the consent form either, which means that I took his word for what was on there and then signed my life away.

The nurse checked my height and weight from the pre-op form and asked me, “Were these stated by you or did they weigh you there?” WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY, LADY? Then, when I was on the table with the doctors and nurses and anesthesiologists, the doctor asked me how much I weighed. READ MY CHART, MISTER! Now everybody knowwwwwws. But, when the surgeon called Noah to tell him how everything went, he said something like, “Well, there are two things we like to see, someone who’s thin and a good-looking gallbladder. It’s a good thing your wife is thin, because her gallbladder was quite inflamed.” Thanks, doc.

I don’t remember much after “this is going to make you sleepy”. When I woke up, I was offered toast and accepted it. It took me a long time to eat that toast. For one thing, I kept falling asleep, mid-chew, and for another, my mouth was so dry that I had to take a huge gulp of water just to get a small bite down. It was quite annoying. I think the surgery took longer than it was supposed to, or maybe I just took a long time to wake up, but the nurse originally said that I might be out of there at 11:30am. But, when I looked at a clock for the first time after waking up, it was already 1:00pm. I didn’t ask many questions, though. It was done and that’s all I cared about. I’d heard horror stories about the hospital I had my surgery at, but everyone was so kind and funny and I can’t think of anything that could have gone better.

(My proofreader/husband told me, after he read this, that the surgeon called him at 9:10 to say he was finished and give the report, which means that the surgery was quick and my waking up was not. Apparently I was tired.)

Recovery has been … okay. I’m sure it would be a lot easier without kids, but I kind of like having those three little goobers around. Twice today while I was laying in bed feeding Preston, he kicked me in the belly button, where my most painful incision is (I have four). I had thought that laying in bed to feed him would be the best, as it hurts too much to sit up and feed him, even with pillows, but maybe there just isn’t a best way. I put a thin pillow between him and my belly after that, and that seemed to be alright.

I can’t lift Preston and that has been really hard on me. I have to let Noah get him every time he needs to get picked up and although Noah is awesome with him and Preston loves his daddy, I feel quite useless. I’m very independent and I like to do everything myself, so relinquishing control has been difficult. I even got to have a babysitter on Monday night. Noah took the girls to swimming lessons and I wasn’t supposed to be left alone or left in charge of a child, so Russ, my father-in-law, came to look after me and Preston. He was paid in baby snuggles.

Noah is taking the morning shift tomorrow and my friend Chris is coming over tomorrow afternoon and Thursday. She is being paid in Nutella and coffee. I like to take good care of my babysitters. As of right now, I’m walking like an old lady, I’ve been wearing the same shirt for nearly 48 hours, and I can’t shower until Thursday, at the earliest. My poor family.

Anyway, if I’d known of a good friend who wanted to photograph a birth? I definitely would have invited her. And this is why life lists should be public, so that you can say, hey! I can help you with that one! And now, I will write mine. You know, just in case you want to fund one of my other-side-of-the-world trips. I tried to make it as realistic as possible, meaning that there is nothing about bungy jumping or sky diving or scuba diving because those things will NEVER HAPPEN.

1. run a full marathon
2. get a piece of writing published in print
3. find something I like about winter
4. own a home
5. beat Tetris
6. solve a Rubix cube
7. take my kids camping (real camping)
8. travel to a third-world country and help in a tangible way
9. finish reading Les Misérables
10. visit every province/territory in Canada
11. shave my head
12. re-pierce the tragus part of my ear
13. get a literary tattoo
14. learn to use all the buttons/dials on my camera
15. bake a perfect, fluffy loaf of bread
16. watch every episode of Star Trek
17. walk on the Great Wall of China
18. turn my blog into a book (not to sell, just to have on paper)
19. learn to speak Dutch
20. be debt-free
21. plant (and tend to) a garden
22. go back and get a black belt in TaeKwonDo
23. play the saxophone well
24. read the Bible from cover to cover
25. read the complete works of Shakespeare
26. visit an Irish pub (in Ireland)
27. set foot on all seven continents
28. attend a blogging conference
29. create a font
30. host Christmas
31. write a book
32. make a photo wall
33. meet every one of my bloggity friends
34. do a stand-up comedy routine (in front of people)
35. see the pyramids
36. get paid to write Here!
37. sky dive
38. ride a horse (by myself)
39. learn to play guitar
40. own a piano (again) (and learn to play it better)
41. have an entire room dedicated to books (so … a library)
42. take a bike trip to the Queen Charlotte Islands Haida Gwaii
43. volunteer at a Crisis Pregnancy centre when all my kids are in school
44. take a photo every day for a year
45. tour a brewery
46. unplug my TV for an entire month
47. learn to make jam
48. take a photography course
49. go to NYC
50. see a Broadway musical
51. go on an unplugged vacation
52. learn CPR
53. ride a camel
54. learn the origin of/meaning behind 100 phrases/cliches
55. rent a house boat
56. ride an inner tube down a river
57. deliver a baby
58. fit back into my wedding dress
59. learn Photoshop
60. transfer all photos to digital
61. go paintballing
62. swim in the Dead Sea
63. tour a winery
64. have a pink mohawk (even just for a day)
65. act in another play
66. complete an Ironman triathlon
67. learn how to can/jar stuff
68. run a half marathon
69. take the kids on a service trip to a third-world country
70. get a dog (and like it)
71. renovate a bathroom
72. visit the Louvre
73. design a t-shirt (and wear it)
74. join a book club Harry Potter!
75. secretly give someone (who really needs it) $1,000 cash
76. speak at a blogging conference
77. spend New Year’s Eve in Times Square
78. sleep in an igloo
79. milk a cow
80. go back to Holland
81. print and put into albums photos from 2005 on
82. get a degree
83. own (and have a place for) a hammock
84. have my vision corrected (laser/lasik/whatever that is)
85. go on a vacation with each one of my children, just him/her and me
86. see the northern lights again, this time with my kids
87. grow my hair long and put it in dreads (and then do #11.)
88. buy Noah a Christmas present that is not on his List
89. go through the storage room boxes and get rid of everything I don’t need
90. learn to play poker
91. do a vlog
92. go on a vegan/gluten-free/sugar-free diet for a month
93. ride in a limo
94. visit the homes of all my siblings
95. learn to light a fire without a match
96. be able to do a chin-up
97. develop a photo the old-fashioned way
98. nurse my baby for more than a year
99. go to a Patriots game with Noah
100. cure cancer
*added 11/3/11 101. park the van and take public transit for a month

My aunt Jane and cousin Chloe sent me this photo a week or two ago. (Thanks ladies!) It’s my mom and me in 1983. I can see the resemblance in the dopey slack-jawed expression.

I was working on a whole post about the incident, but I got sick of it, so here’s the short version: I was writing on the couch in uncontrollable pain – unable to talk or breathe, Noah called 911, an ambulance came, the paramedics were witty (which, if you know me at all, I liked), went to the hospital, got morphine, got more morphine, was told to pee in a cup and came out with an empty cup (whoops) (also, not the first time that’s happened), was sent home, came back a couple hours later for an ultrasound, sat in a gross waiting room, spoke to a doctor, was told to see a surgeon to talk about removing me gallstone-infested gallbladder. Super.

I saw a doctor at a clinic on Tuesday and he referred me to a surgeon who called yesterday and is seeing me next Tuesday and will decide if and/or when to schedule the gallbladderectomy. (Yes, I know that’s not the proper term.)

So, yea, that’s been going on.

Besides my moving into the ER and making sure I know all the hospitals in the city intimately, we’ve been loving this Saskatchewan summer. We’ve hung out with friends, spent a lot of time at the splash park, jumped on the trampoline, run through the sprinkler, and gone on tons of walks/bike rides. On Sunday, we do something we also do every summer: bring Kaylie to camp. As much as “only” having two kids for a week will be swell, I’m going to miss her. I do every year.

It’ll just be her and me in the car on the way there, and just me on the way back. I had intended to make it a family affair, but Liliana didn’t really enjoy the trip to Regina last week and so we decided that she and Noah would stay behind, and then I figured it wouldn’t be fair to submit Preston to the torture of a three-hour round trip, so I’m leaving him behind too. (This is going to be REALLY hard for me, but I know it’s better for him.) (Have I mentioned how much I hate leaving my children? Especially when they’re so little?)

Kaylie is sooo excited, though, and she’s trying out a different camp than the one she’s gone to the last two years. She saw a promo video for this one at church and decided to switch, since her cousin isn’t going to be at the other camp this year anyway.

One question though, why do they not have summer camp for four-year-olds?