Terrrible, awesome fullness of life

I'm feeling full.

We sent flowers to my in-laws tonight as there is no material way to reciprocate their Christmas generosity. Then we sent flowers to old friends who have borne a terrible loss this year. Pain and joy never far from each other. Our children are healthy and we can take care of them and ourselves. What more can you ask for?

For all the kvetching and complaints, we are so fortunate to have a home, even when the roof leaks; and family, even when they hurt us; but most of all friends. Good, deep, giving, sharing, sustaining friendships. I can't think of a downside.

Breastfeeding bio

I watched The Business of Being Born and my reactions are interesting to me (because who isn’t fascinated by themselves). I was completely in a birth-obsessed place for about 6 years and now I’m one step removed. It made my stomach a little nervous to think of facing all the potential and risks again. For as much as I loved being pregnant, and loved the outcome of #2’s birth, there is so much beautiful, scary, endless possibility that it’s almost overwhelming. It was a very visceral feeling to be reminded of that place and its intensity.

I am however, still in love with breastfeeding and was reminded of it today. I got a call from a mom wanting to know how to “dry up” her milk. Weird phrase, but anyway. I was so sad knowing it was 98 to 99% likely she did not need to stop breastfeeding, whatever the given reason – she had one but I don’t remember what it was. It is so precious and fleeting, even after 5 years, and knowing with that same 98 to 99% certainty that my baby is the last one I will ever nurse makes it sweeter. After the call I walked over to her and told her I was glad she liked to breastfeed. She said, “Thanks, Mom.”

So I have less than zero desire to bear another child, but, on the other twisted and ironic hand, I need a baby. Fortunately the 2-year-old baby is more than willing to oblige. Meeting her physical demands for diaper changes and nursing sessions and nighttime wakings is not quite therapeutic but it is helpful in coping with everything this year has brought and will bring. Or at least keeps me occupied. Or maybe prolactin is the ultimate anti-anxiety treatment. Or all of the above.

Rears its head

Been thinking a lot about seizures lately. When the weather first got hot I started thinking that I could put the kids in the car, shut the doors and have a seizure as I walked around the car, and all the doors and windows would be shut and they'd cook to death. Even though kiddo can unbuckle himself and the toddler and unlock and open the doors. But you never know, maybe he wouldn't want to get in trouble and lost consciousness first? Then I do get in the car - what if I drive off the road? And I had the discussion with our friends from preschool that I have this condition they should take into consideration before I happen to drive their child somewhere. And what if the baby - now toddler - doesn't want to wean because she's addicted to the various drugs in my milk? Maybe her brain needs a fix and that's why she's so insistant. She gets a therapeutic level - she'll go through baby withdrawal. She really can't live without me and my magic milk. And once she's off it her personality will do a 180 and I'll live with demon baby. We'll have to drug her forever before she kills a cat.

I was browsing the big book of prescription drugs at the pharmacy and saw that I take 90% of the maximum dose - little ol' me. That s*** ain't nothin' for the electrical activity in my brain. Bring it on!

Why is it that the night you happen to be wearing your sexy underwear your husband goes to bed at 9:30?

I am despairing. Or was. Now I think I'm just exhausted. And I can't type!

Yesterday my sister was released from the state prison. A judge gave her six more months in county today.

Bad stuff is going down. Bad, bad stuff.

It's official!

Anyone had any experience with this? Thinking I might try it.

Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing

When I was in second grade I wrote a story about 7-Up dots, those old mascots of 7-Up campaigns based on a dream I’d had; they flew through space in a washing machine and in the end I wake up from my dream. Our class made little books out of our stories and my favorite part was the “About the Author” page in the back. Mine said something like this:

About the Author

RG lives in Elk, WA.
She has long hair and green eyes.
She likes to read, party, and run away.

During my freshman English composition class, one of our writing assignments was a short story and we used Greek mythology as a jumping off point. I wrote about a little white house in a grove of tall pine trees, surrounded by large open fields of grass with dark forest at the edges. In the story a young girl leaves the house and grove and wanders the fields at night longing to escape. The plot married the story of Europa and the bull and my own childhood fantasy of being kidnapped. So the young girl is approached by a white horse in the night and rides away on its back to the forest, never to come back. So one of me had her desire realized.

My mom found the second grade story a while back and printed out a new little book for me, which is when I noticed my little biography and appreciated for the first time that even at seven years old I knew I needed to get away. It would have to be secret, sudden, untraceable, which is why it never happened.

With old s*** seeping up through the cracks, new s*** breaking us farther open, it’s just… s***. S***, s***, s***. We may be through with the past but the past is still wringing us out and hanging our a**es out on the line. I hope we’re reincarnated because I hate to think of the time, the hours and days and years, of time and energy to still not be through with this childhood and these people and that past. All the time of this life spent! My next life will have other kinds of pain, and it will be manageable and it will pass before the following life.

Of five of us, not one truly escaped the little white house, though some physically left earlier than others. A couple tried suicide. Alcohol, pot, worse. Pharmaceuticals, self-medication, promiscuity. Good marriages and bad. A couple tried to harness violence. Some of us became victims, some victimizers. How the fuck do we get out of here?!