I’ve mentioned here and there that I suffered from childhood abuse related Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in college, and again as an adult after an (unrelated) assault.  I was honestly surprised by my diagnosis in college because, like many people, I had no idea what a mental illness was.  I had a lot of classic PTSD symptoms: I startled very easily, I had nightmares and disjointed flashbacks, I was distracted and unfocused, I was alternatively emotionally numb and disassociated or hypersensitive. Looking at all of that laid out, it’s pretty obvious that I was struggling, but because I had gone so long with the secret of my trauma, it seemed normal to me.

It was such a relief to find out that it wasn’t normal. That most people don’t go through life feeling that way. It maybe wasn’t as much of a relief to learn this while living on a very (very) conservative, Christian campus, but that’s an entirely separate post. Or posts. Or book.

Obviously, being made aware of my illness didn’t solve it. It got a lot worse for a while there.  I went on medication and got intensive therapy. The combination of those two things, time, and a lot of support from my parents, made me healthy again.

And although I am well, and have been for many years, PTSD is something I carry with me, in a way – somewhat like being in active recovery for an addict. I try to make sure I do things, or don’t do things, that might bring back symptoms.  I try to eat well, for example. I have a major sweet tooth, but I really work to balance my treats with protein and lots of produce. I try to get some regular exercise, although, I’ve been very bad about this between having a high needs newborn and the winter going on so long. But it really is an important part of staying healthy. I had one doctor tell me that 30 minutes of aerobic exercise three times a week is as effective as taking an antidepressant (for many – I am not a doctor don’t sue me, OK?). I also avoid things that might trigger me – TV shows about abuse, rape, or suicide, in particular, tend to give me bad dreams. Loud noises can still really agitate me more than they should, so sometimes I steal away for a few minutes of quiet and deep breathing.

Public opinion is somewhat changing on how people view mental illness. It’s not quite as taboo as it once was.  But it is also still the explanation for a crime, or the punchline on a sitcom way more often than it should be. People are still people, no matter what diagnosis (or lack thereof) they carry with them, and still deserving of respect and compassion.

I, uh, don’t really have a nice wrap up for the post. I’ve written and rewritten over the course of many days and am still drawing a blank on a “the more you know!” ending. So take this picture of my goofy baby and enjoy your Monday.

Anyway, one of the big things that I’ve been struggling with since Luna was born was dinner. I am getting a few meals a week from our local MOMs Club, which is so totally awesome, but that still leaves us with other days that we still need to eat. (What’s the deal with dinner, anyway? Needing to be consumed daily.) And yes, John would be perfectly fine and supportive and whatever if I decided to do frozen pizza or Lunchables every night, because he’s awesome like that, but I’m not. I like good food. I like cooking, too, for the most part.

SO! I’ve been relying heavily on a few go-to meals that require little thought and little work. Win-win. In fact, I’m almost embarrassed to post these, because they’re not even really recipes, but I’m going to just in case anyone else out there wants some yummy and (mostly) healthy go-to meals for crazy nights.

Lazy Pasta!

I’m sure just about everyone has a recipe like this in their repertoire, but this is mine. It’s even better in the summer when fresh veggies are more readily available, but honestly, even winter time tomatoes shipped from Mexico taste good when put in this, so..

1. Boil some pasta. We’ve been fans of plain old spaghetti noodles of late. Drain and toss with a little bit of olive oil (to keep it from making one big lump if it finishes before other ingredients).
2. In a small or medium saucepan, melt some butter and olive oil over low heat. Add a few cloves of chopped or pressed garlic. Heat, but don’t let the garlic burn (golden is OK, though).
3. When almost ready to eat, add toppings of choice to the butter mixture. My favorites right now are: spinach, tomatoes, zucchini, and chicken from whatever meal I have it leftover from. I’ve also done it vegetarian with no meat, and maybe some pine nuts if I have them.
4. Put the pasta back in the pot, if already drained, and pour butter mixture and toppings in. Stir. Serve with parmesan if wanted.  (Remove all vegetables for the picky toddler in your life, unless you LIKE scraping dried spinach off your walls.)

Taquitos!

Ok, this is so simple that I can’t believe I didn’t think to make this up myself. I adapt this from the Weelicous cookbook (which is totally great) based on what I have on hand. Oh, look! Here’s her official recipe.

1.  Combine 2 cups of protein (meat, black beans, whatever) and 1 cup of shredded cheese in a bowl. Toss with a teaspoon (or so, to taste) of taco or Mexican seasoning (I often make my own with chilli powder, garlic powder, onion powder, cumin, and salt). 
2. Optional: If you have a non-picky child or are making this for grown ups, add bell peppers or spinach or onions or corn or whatever.
3. Put a spoonful or two into a small flour tortilla and roll tightly.  Spray or brush tops with olive oil.
4. Put taquitos into a 400 degree oven and bake until the tortillas are crisp and brown on the edges, around 20 minutes.
5. I serve with “dip-dip” (plain yogurt or sour cream) and salad of avocados and tomatoes (and sometimes corn, if I remember).

That’s it. Lazy Pasta finds its way to our table at least once a week, honestly. Sometimes I can sneak peas into it and get Xander to eat those, but meh, I’m trying to be zen about him only eating simple carbohydrates for his toddler years.

***

I’m sitting on the couch, nursing the baby. He’s chatting with his trains and lining up his pretend food by size and color. “Hey, Mr. Mama!” He says, breathless with excitement, “you like a banana?” I open my eyes wide with exaggerated happiness. “Yes! I love bananas, Xander!” He laughs. “Oh. Good.” He puts a wooden banana on a plate. “Hey, hey Mama! You like a cookie?” We repeat this until his little plate is too full of wooden food – a banana, a cookie, an egg, some apple pieces, and a rouge section of train track. He carries it with two hands, walking impossibly slow for a two and a half year old. “Mama. Here. I make salad.” He waits with big brown eyes until I take a giant pretend bite and exclaim, “Oh, this is the best salad I’ve ever had!” He laughs again (I’d never stop saying that if it would make him laugh every time). “Mama loves Xander!” he says. And I do.

***

He stops playing right in the middle of changing Charlie the Purple Train’s diaper when he hears the garage door go up. He immediately begins screeching and galloping around the room. “It’s Daddy! It’s Daddy! Daddy’s home! I so happy!” He runs to the top of the stairs and jumps up and down with so much force that the windows actually rattle. When John starts to climb the stairs he screeches again, “DADDY!” John drops his laptop and bends over, “I need a big huggie, Xander, can I have one?” Xander stops dancing. “Yes,” he says after a moment of thought. He laughs loudly when John tosses him into the air.

***

I listen in while John gives him his bath. He explains what each toy is thinking at any given moment, intermittent with protests against washing his hair. (“I no like hair! No hair! The ambilance goes over here!”) When the bath is done, and the pj’s donned, he runs out of his room, blankie in hand and pacifier in mouth. “Hey Mr. Mama! I wanna watch a show.” I feign surprise, even though we do this every night, and I already have his favorite episode of Blue’s Clues cued up on the TV. “Really?” I tease. “Yes! Watch a show with faffie! And Mommy.” He sits next to me while his sister nurses again, and wraps his dimpled fingers around mine. “I hold hand, Mama”

***

I hear his little voice bleat in the middle of the night. John rushes in because Luna spends the night attached to me. “I need Mama!” he cries. I gently detach Luna so I can trade places with John. In the dark of his room he tries to stop crying. “Mama lie down?” he pleads. I shouldn’t, I know. I should wait until he’s calm and then leave him, awake, to fall back asleep on his own. Instead I gently nudge him over so I can fit on his tiny twin bed. He leans his head against me and I sniff his curls. It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, but I stay a little longer. I like the weight of his body leaning against mine. The tickle of his hair on my cheek.  He seems so big during the day. Too big when he tries to “help” me hold Luna – all elbows and knuckles against her soft newness. But here, in the dark, in his big boy bed, in his stripey pj’s, he’s small again. He’s my little boy who just wants his mama a little big longer.

And so I stay.

I rotate between pajamas and sweatpants. I dread leaving the house (while at the same time cannot WAIT TO LEAVE THE HOUSE). My hair, while clean, is never styled, but rather pulled back in what I pretend is a fashionably shabby pony tail. If I’m lucky I can pull some crock ingredients out of the freezer at night and throw them together the next morning. But, more likely, at 4:45 each evening I’m diving in the freezer for some frozen fish and sniffing last week’s saved rice to see if it’s still good. (Though, I am still the lucky recipient of some Meals for Mamas from our local MOMS club, and they are saving my life, and my husband’s.)

I foolishly accepted another 5-week teaching position that started this week, then flubbed the dates, forgot to reply to an email, and lost that job. (Thankfully, however, I am not off the rotation for good – my supervisor is incredibly forgiving.) I’m upset at the loss of income, yes, but more so I’m totally irritated with myself for messing up. This is not like me. I am not a flake.

Luna has been challenging in the way that many newborns are – fussy and wanting constant contact. Add to the mix a diagnosis of reflux and a suspected reaction to dairy (yes, even in baked goods *sob*), and honestly, this baby is so rarely awake and not either nursing or crying that when it DOES happen, John and I hardly know what to do. Night time is … decent, for the most part. We’re co-sleeping, which I know is not everyone’s cup of tea, but it means I get SOME sleep and Luna can eat whenever she wants to. It’s working for now.

Xander is watching more TV than I would like, because I don’t have the time or the free arms to come up with fun scavenger hunts for Sanskrit signs, or whatever, and it’s flipping SNOWING STILL, so I can’t even send him out on the patio to write on the walls with chalk. So. Joe from Blue’s Clues is his best friend at the moment.

I’m desperate for some time, some actual time, when someone is not literally hanging off of my body or whining in my ear or both and it just seems so bleak, sometimes.

I know it won’t last. I know I need to cherish the moments. Whatever. We’re all about survival right now.

I honestly think that the arrival of the sun and warm weather is going to make a big difference. I am depressingly over the snow, the cold, the gray. I want to go outside. Even if it’s with a crying baby strapped to my chest in the BabyHawk, at least there will be fresh air and something to look at other than our walls.

This post sounds dreadfully miserable, I know. It’s not as bad as that. I mean, yes, it is, in a way, but it’s also great. I have two kids, and it seems that this is all I’ve wanted. I have a baby who actually nurses well, and seems to like it. Xander LOVES his sister, and begs all the time to "touch the baby Luna." John manages his time the best he can so he’s home often, able to step in and play with Xander while Luna cluster feeds in the evenings.

And while she’s hard, yes, Luna’s head still smells like powder. Her hands are still like starfish.

Anyway, updating has become this Big Thing in my head that I need to do, and the longer I put it off, the more it looms, and in order to prevent it from becoming this insurmountable task, I’m going old school lazy and giving you bullets. As Xander would say, TAH-HAH!

• Xander!
  • Xander is, well, about what we expected. He loves Luna. Loves her. “Want to touch the baby Luna!” is a frequent refrain around here. Which is oh so sweet, yes, and also terrifying because TODDLERS ARE CLUMSY GIANTS. I don’t want to give him a total complex, so I let him pet and kiss her, all the while just cringing over her wee, squishy head. He’s also a total and complete ASS with me and John. He’s fully in the terrible twos (yes, I know, “just wait until he’s three!”) and screams over everything, says no to everything, won’t eat unless it’s coated in sugar or in a cracker form, hits us over his timeouts, you know, HE’S TWO.
• I don’t feel like I’m handing him particularly well, but I’m trying to cut myself some slack: it’s very hard to entertain a toddler while nursing a newborn who always (a.l.w.a.y.s.) wants to nurse, so yeah, we watch more TV than we should. I’m tired and hormonal and tired so, no, I don’t always reply with his screaming “NO! Don’t like mama! Go away!” with an understanding, “Oh, I’m sorry you’re angry, sweetheart, let’s talk about it.”  But I do try to make sure to give him some Xander Only attention each day, and to make sure he gets praise and compliments in addition to the constant “Shhhhh” ing.
• Luna!
  • Luna is a newborn, so in many ways, there’s little to say about her. She is the poster-child for Dr. Sears’ attachment parenting. She likes: nursing, being worn in the BabyHawk (so she is close to the bewbs), sleeping next to me so she can eat all night long. She doesn’t like: anything else that doesn’t involve the above three things. It’s easier and harder. I know exactly what will calm her down (nursing!), I know she will nap if I put her in the BabyHawk, I know she will cry if I change her or hand her off to John to shower. But it’s also hard because, you know, I have other things to do. Like shower. SOMETIMES. Or read Xander a story, or just go in a quiet room and stare at the walls without anyone TOUCHING ME or NEEDING ME. But I know that it won’t last for very long, so I’m trying to savor what I can and just survive what I can’t and try not to get too smelly.

• The pediatrician heard a heart murmur at her 2 week appointment, so we are going to the cardiologist later this month to have it checked out. Most likely it is a benign murmur – I have one myself, and will require nothing more than to be observed and recorded and then ignored. I’m still a wee bit nervous about it, obviously, because she is my baby and so little and well, you know. But I’m mostly trying not to think about it until it’s time.
• John!
  • John is awesomely John and he’s home on Spring Break now (ha ha ha ha – spring! I WISH) which means I’m taking gross advantage of him and not letting him get a moment’s peace. This morning he took Xander out for cupcakes before I lost my everloving mind at the gazillionth rendition of The Wheels on the Bus.
• Me!
  • Other than smelly! (It’s not THAT bad. I don’t think.) I’m actually pretty good! I was much more of a wreck in Xander’s early days, honestly. Less sleep because I was 1), doing that whole crappy feed AND pump every two hours thing and 2), afraid of co-sleeping. I have not pumped once for Luna – I just feed her when she’s hungry – and I’m much more confident in my own ability to make choices like co-sleeping (and to do so SAFELY, obviously). Sleeping with her next to me (or propped up with her on my chest) means we BOTH sleep much better. I wake up when she needs help latching on, or to be changed, and then we both go back down. Fin. This makes me a much better parent.
  • I’m not super great at leaving the house with both kids – it’s a hugely daunting task – so mostly I don’t. I’m lucky enough that even when John does have work, he’s home often during the day so I can wait for a time when he can watch one or both of them before running to the store. Or I let HIM run to the store.
  • I accepted a teaching job that starts in 2 weeks and I’m not sure that this was a wise choice. It is so hard to find any time at all to do something, let alone something that is actually REQUIRED to get done. But this time, unlike when I was still pregnant/delivering, I’m only taking one class, so hopefully it won’t be too overwhelming.

And that is where we are. Now that I’ve broken the wall of not posting, maybe I’ll be a bit more regular again. But, maybe nott.

We are all adjusting to life as a family of four (five, sorry Tonks. AGAIN.). Luna is such a different baby than Xander was, which shouldn’t be surprising at all, but is. If she’s awake, she’d better be nursing. If she’s asleep, she’d better be nursing. Ha! Oh, my. She hates being set down, being away from the boob, and pacifiers. She’s mixed about swaddling, but we kind of force it on her because, COME ON, I gotta shower at some point, right? (RIGHT.)  She’s starting to have those periods of quiet wakefulness and oh, I love it. She just opens her eyes and looks around the room. When her gaze falls on me I swear she tries to smile (but mostly it turns out like a surprised O! shape).

Before too much more time passes, I thought I’d share the story of how Luna came to enter the world. Well, just part of it. Nine months of that story is rather dull, in my opinion.

So. Friday night, the first of this month, I was scrambling to finish some grading that had to post by midnight, and grumbling my way through more irregular Braxton Hicks and prodromal labor pains. Nothing felt DIFFERENT, though, so I wasn’t paying much attention. I promised myself a big bowl of chocolate ice-cream when I finished. So, I did my best to ignore Twitter and powered through thirty-ish partial essays. By the time I finished, it was past 11 and I was too tired for ice-cream (HERESY!), so I just went to bed.

… and proceeded not to sleep. I had a few stronger contractions, but, again, nothing regular, and nothing I couldn’t breathe or talk through, so…you know. MORE OF THE SAME.  And, yeah, it must be admitted that I was not taking this gracefully. I was whining and crying and cursing and telling John how much my life sucked and would always suck because I’d always be pregnant and it wasn’t faaaaiiiir.

Around 2AM the smoke detector went off. Just twice. Enough to wake us up completely. Well, I was already awake (pregnancy insomnia, yo – SUCK IT). It went off enough for me to poke John awake and demand he go look at it. I’m kind like that.

He did, and it never made another peep. Around 2:30 I gave on sleeping and took my pillows out to the couch to sulk some more. And then…my water broke. I told John, who was still awake from the fire alarm check, and he started to call our babysitters and neighbors so SOMEONE could come watch Xander, because I was being stubborn and refused to put him in the car to come with us (not to hang out, but to meet our sitters there and buy us some time). I was also trying to convince John that despite every warning from every doctor in the practice, I was CERTAIN that we had plenty of time. PLENTY! I wasn’t even contracting yet! See? AM FINE! Let’s hang out and wait.

Luckily, our neighbor listened to our middle of the night message and high tailed it over to our place to hang out while our OTHER sitters drove over. Still though, you know, NO BIGGIE. JUST LEAKING AMNIOTIC FLUID EVERYWHERE. Let’s get a snack!

Got in the car, went back inside for an extra bottle of water (I was parched, OK?), and John proceeded to speed and run red lights (cautiously! Don’t worry! I mean, we live in VT, which is on it’s own not crowded, but even less so at 3:15 AM.). I continued to tell him it’s not a big deal, really, we have time! Don’t get a ticket!

He, wisely, ignored me.

We got to the hospital at around 3:20, spent 10 minutes getting from the ER entrance to our room, and Luna was born at 3:48.

You guys. It was intense. I mean. Xander  was fast, too. Three hours from water breaking to delivery. But less than an hour!? I didn’t really think that was possible. Of course, yes, I’d been in labor for weeks, I was dilated to 5 for at least a few days. But still! An HOUR!? Total? Obviously, no meds, no IV for my Group B Strep, no “waiting” to push. I think the worst part, in all honesty, was the post delivery stitching. Done by a med student. Who tried to tell me that it hurt because the numbing solution “didn’t work.”

BUT ANYWAY. That was it. The whole shebang. Like last time, the actual delivery and pushing parts are a little fuzzy (you do tend to get rather, uh, FOCUSED on the task at hand).  But I do remember yelling “I don’t want to!” when my midwife prompted me to give another push. And I do remember (only somewhat shamefully) kicking the stitching med student and yelling at her to “JUST STOP IT.” I may have said please. But I doubt it. John told me later he’d never heard anything quite “like that” in regards to my yelling. I guess I’ll never manage to have a L. Ron Hubbard approved Silent Birth. But, again, NON MEDICATED PUSHING. You try not yelling.

The post delivery time was kind of weird this time. I mean, we had Xander to think about. So John split his time between me and Xander, and I just sorta…hung out in the hospital, continuing to dial the number for room service until I had acquired quite the collection of meal trays. I was close to having to stay for an extra day or so, because I had some delayed bleeding issues, but that got resolved quickly, and Luna was healthy despite the lack of antibiotics (it’s not like she hung out in the birth canal for all that long, after all), so we got to leave after a little over 24 hours.

And that’s where we are now. Home. As a family of four (FIVE. TONKS. GOD.). And it’s still pretty mind-blowing that I am mother to CHILDREN. More than one. A son and a daughter.

But, of course, it’s mind-blowing in a wonderful way.

Yes, like Harry Potter.

Kind of.

In part.

Just like last time, picking a name was always at the top of my list of Things To Do while pregnant. I always want to have something to call my babies other than Baby.

Before we found out that she was a she, I had thought I was having another boy. I mean, I already had one, so it just made sense. Orion was always going to be part of his name, had she been a he. Ezra Orion was my favorite. Xander and Ezra. It just sounds so cool, doesn’t it?

I was less decisive about the girl names. I liked Lorelai (Gilmore Gilrs forever!), and Maya and Violet had always been high on our list for both pregnancies. But none of them felt like MY baby’s name. And then we found it that she was definitely a girl and they seemed even less like her name.

One night, looking for inspiration, I read through the online Harry Potter Lexicon (oh, shut up) and made a list of all the names in there that I liked. Arabella was cute. Cassiopeia. I added Luna as kind of an after thought. I always loved her character, but I also liked the sound of the name. Luna. It’s lyrical. And it’s the name of our moon, which makes my former Space Camp Counselor Nerd heart happy. (Could I reveal any more of my total geekiness in a single post?)

I thought, though, that John would shoot it down. Not because he’s not a Harry Potter fan, he is (though, you know, not as much as I am) (SHUT UP), but just because it seemed kind of “out there.”

When I read him the list, he stopped me at Luna. “I’ve always liked that name. Let’s use that one.” WELL ALRIGHTY THEN.

Luna it was.

Everly I picked when we couldn’t really decide on a middle name. Beverly is the name of my grandmother – my mom’s step mom, and she is such a key person in our family. I didn’t love the double B alliteration with our last name, though, plus I kind of liked the idea of her middle name starting with my initial. So we dropped the B.

Luna Everly

I have so much other stuff to write about, but, you know, that first week with a baby is mostly about lactating and weeping (I do not handle the plummeting hormones well. At all.). But now I’m a bit more stable, albeit exhausted, and am even finishing up those online classes this week (I had a stand-in last week). So maybe I’ll get around to writing about her birth (LESS THAN AN HOUR. It was, uh, intense.), or Xander (he is simultaneously being totally awesome and a total train wreck), or how completely different this baby is than he was (she cries when she’s hungry! then she eats! I AM NOT PUMPING AT ALL OMG!!!).

But only if I get a nap in first. Naps will always win these days.

Luna Everly, 7lb 15oz, 19.75 inches, and an even speedier exit than her brother.

We are home and happy and she’s really so much more than I could have ever wished for.

Ok, fine, stay put if you MUST.

Anyway, I had my weekly check today. Not much to report. Still hanging around, dilated to 4CM and 80% effaced. Which, you know, means nothing and also everything. Basically, I’m not there yet ,but am reminded (YET AGAIN) that when active labor starts, it’s gonna go fast! So don’t wait.

Which sucks. I mean, it is what it is, I know this, but it sucks. Because it means I can’t NOT pay attention when I’m having contractions that I know aren’t THE contractions, because of how quickly they can turn into THE contractions. I have to pay attention. And also? They still do hurt, even if they’re not the active labor ones. They still hurt, they still leave me exhausted and vaguely disappointed because, you know, no baby. (And yes, we had a second fake-out trip to L&D after FIVE HOURS of contractions 2 minutes apart.)

In theory I know that it makes the “real” labor faster and easier for me (well, so I’ve been told), but having a month of this with an unknown amount of time still to go? BAH.

Anyway, that’s my complaining. It’s what I do, these days. That and eat donuts. Which, no offense to Vermont, but your donuts kinda suck. I’ll still eat them, don’t get me wrong. But I miss Donut Corner, yo. (Though, truth time, when it’s negative eleventy million degrees out, I miss EVERYTHING about SoCal. Everything. Even I-15.)

I now have 1.5 outfits I can wear that cover my belly, which means at least once a week we cannot leave the house because I have to wash something.

Xander is being his ridiculous and awesome self and seems very excited to meet his sister. He’s also freaking out a little, I think because of all the up in the airness of it all. But God, he’s just so damn great. Unrelated to my gestating or anything, really, he is this full on PERSON. He tells me stories and plays imaginary games and he has EXPLODED with words. Sentences! Complete ones! He has them. He will come find me in the kitchen, dawdling over a cup of coffee, grab my hand and say in a singsong voice “Hey mama! Come here! I show you something!” And then he shows me the box of stickers he upended in his room. “A real big mess,” he sighs.

I can’t believe I get to have two of these.

What a full term belly looks like. AKA OMG SO HUGE.

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