My Dami, My Boy

        I was looking through the pictures I took on our recent adventure back to the home
        state, and realized something.

       My little boy isn't as little as his appearance may lead you to believe.


       I know it sounds cliche, but it's something that truly is just dawning on me.
       My baby is growing up, his behavior is maturing, and he is so incredibly charming for
       a very nearly 8 year old boy.

        It's amazing what two months can do to you as a mother.  Thinking about it now, I can hardly
        believe that I really drove him the 586.7 miles to his father's house for the summer.  And yes, I
        googled it. I'm his mom, what do you expect?
        I don't know what my favorite part about picking him up was.  It's a toss up between
        surprising him while he was watching a movie in his room; and riding the bumper cars with him
        at the county fair (above picture). 



       Anway, back to the epiphany I was origionally mentioning.  Looking through the pictures I took
       while I was in town I realized two specific things that led me to the conclusion my son is
       growing up.

       #1   Last year's trip to the fair was a disaster.... meaning, I was throwing out "the look" left and
              right and constantly threatening that we were "going to leave and no one was getting cotton
              candy!"  This year was NOTHING like that.  Damian was awesome the whole time. 

       #2   As soon as I saw him it felt like my heart exploded.  Not to be mushy, but that is literally
              what it felt like. The sudden realization that my baby boy... my ONLY boy was nearly 600
              miles away from me for 70 days, washed over me like the ocean coming over the sand when
              the tide rolls in.


I'm now currently trying to work out a way to keep my children this little forever. The best idea I've came up with though is telling them to stop growing. To date, this doesn't seem to be working..... Go figure. 

So dear invisible audience of mine... When did you first realize your little one wasn't as little as you believed them to be? 

       

Sometimes I Wonder If I'm Insane

It has been four months, 3 weeks, and 2 days since we have seen or even heard from Aubrie.  The toll it's taking on Alex and our children is nearly beyond repair.  Lydia pretends to play with "her" every day almost, and Damian just flat out says, "well we never get to see her anyways."
 I'm sure by now Penelope doesn't even remember her.
  I wonder if she misses us, but mainly if she even remembers who we are.
 Will I still be able to hold that sweet little baby in my lap; with her purple fuzzy "blank" and all of those darned monkeys; and sing "You Are My Sunshine" until she falls asleep?
Does she even still need Monk and Coco and Chimpy?
            .. and the purple sock monkey I got her for her birthday..
         ... does she even group that one with the others or is it lost in the shuffle of the rest of her toys?

I could go on forever about the thoughts that cross my mind.  All the things I wonder about how she's developing.  My heart hurts thinking about it.


Dearest Aubrie,


   I am sending you this letter for an important reason.  First I think it is important for you to know that it has been soaked in slobber, due to the one billion kisses that were slathered on it by three little monsters that miss you fiercely. Also, notice that is scrunched quite a bit as well.  Why? You ask.  Well my silly dear, that is from two breath-taking squeezes that were inflicted upon it by two big monsters.
    Now, on to business.  I am sending you this letter because there is an awful big piece missing in our family.  We miss you so much my sunshine.  If only you could see how big your little sister is getting, and how much she is like you.  She is a tiny piece of you that can never be taken away from us, but still will never completely fill the void that your absence leaves. 
   We think of you every single day,  Some nights, my sweet girl, we see you in our dreams. 
   Lydia, I believe, misses you the most.  She still imagines what it would be like if you were here with us.  She brings you with us everywhere. 
   I know in my heart that we will be together again.  There is know doubt in my mind that you will live with us and our family will be complete.  I know it's what's best for you.  Just as I know you need all of us to be happy.

I love you.

Meggy

And the Madness Begins...

    Woke up with the notion today that despite all my best efforts, I have become a crazy person.  No matter how hard I try I just can't seem to shake the feeling that there is something wrong with me.  So armed with a laptop, a stomach full of hopeless, angry feelings, and the intention to get to the bottom of my animosity towards life, here I am.  I don't think when I turned on my laptop that my intention was to begin a blog.  However, after doing some research on PMDD and discovering the eerily, similar symptoms I experience for 8-10 days every month, I've decided this would be better therapy then taking medication.  Since I haven't actually been to the doctor, and been officially diagnosed, I can't say that this is a disorder I suffer from, but rather something I can relate to.
    I know the feelings of hopelessness and exhaustion all to well.  As a teenager, I was diagnosed with depression and put on anti-depressants.  This led to an addiction to prescription pills, and spiraled into several other problems as well.  I kicked the habit at age 16, when I found out I was expecting my son.  Now a mother of four (three of my own, and one beautiful step-daughter), I have battled baby blues and even a full blown case of postpartum.  Being that my youngest daughter is now 14 months old though, I have stopped considering the feelings that I get every month to be in any way related to her birth, and am now desperate to find a solution to my problem.  A problem which consists of more than just anxiety and mood swings.  During really bad days, I can't find the energy or even the desire to get anything done.  I become very short-tempered with everyone around me, and turn into a person even I don't recognize.  My fiancee jokes about how much hostility can come out of a person as tiny as I am (5'1, 109lbs).  But even on normal days, I can't find the humor in it.  It use to be easy to deal with this overflow of emotions, as I'll call it.  I would simply grab my mat, find a quiet corner, and hammer it all out through the power of the Primary Series.  However, I now can't find solace even within my practice, and my mat sits collecting dust.  Then there's the idea of taking a pill every day.  But, this gives me flashbacks to younger days, and I know that this is not my answer either.  So, in my mind, I'm left with this option, and this will be the one that I explore.  I will write through the pain, the confusion ... the hopelessness.  I will have faith that through this "therapy" and the power of prayer, I will get through these feelings and I will find beauty within the crazy.