The Therapist Takes Her Own Advice: Confessions of a Grinchy Mom

It’s that time of year again. Time to trim the trees, light the menorahs and buy gifts for the holidays.

I have a confession to make. Though I love the holiday season, I’ve become increasingly anxious about gift giving and receiving. It’s true. You might say that makes me a Grinch, but the whole idea of buying gifts that people neither want nor need frustrates me. The idea of receiving gifts I neither want nor need frustrates me more.

I think this anxiety harkens back to my childhood when Christmas morning was ruined by a gift that went horribly wrong. I won’t go into details but suffice it to say don’t give your partner a donation to their school for their primary gift unless you know that is what they really want. To be fair, the receiver of this gift could have helped her cause by telling the giver what she might like for Christmas in the first place.

So now when people don’t tell me what they want, I get annoyed. I’m terrible at just choosing something. I do not need the pressure of trying to guess what someone else wants for the holidays.

But what am I going to do? I’ve tried suggesting that we only give gifts to the kids. That backfired when everyone else showed up with “just a little something” for everyone when I didn’t get them anything. I felt horrible.

Don’t even get me started on the children. It seems every year my kids get very excited about some hot new toy. Every year in my quest to insure they have a happy holiday, I get said toy, and inevitably it is tossed aside almost immediately.

This year, I thought it would be nice if we give the kids experiential gifts (acting classes, show tickets, etc.). But the moment I mentioned this idea, my kids and my husband looked at me like my heart was 3 sizes too small.

I’m not trying to steal Christmas, I’m just trying to be reasonable. I want to lessen the notorious holiday stress that everyone talks about. Plus, I don’t want my kids to think the holidays are all about presents. At the same time, I don’t want to be a Grinch.

The fact is I’m not alone, so many people get stressed out during the holidays for whatever reason. I just want this season to be about spending time together and less about the gifts. Still, I don’t want to be a humbug. I want my kids to have fun.

So this year I will compromise. The kids will get a combination of presents under the tree and experiential gifts. The adults have agreed to do Secret Santa so I only have to worry about guessing for one person…yay! And I will find things to do as a family to celebrate the holidays that don’t involve presents.

Everyday I will remind myself of how excited I got as a child during December. I loved the decorations, the smells and the sounds. I also loved the process of exchanging gifts. If we all are mindful of the holiday wonder we experienced as a children, maybe we can recapture some as an adult. Here are some holiday stress busting tips to that may help, too.

Deep down I know that gift giving is done in the spirit of love and generosity, and without any malice whatsoever. My young sons still believe in the magic of the holidays, and I don’t want my Grinchiness to ruin that for them.

Hair Color, Nail Polish and Princess Shoes

I was thrilled earlier this summer when I was asked to put a ponytail in my child’s hair. As the mother of 3 boys, it was something I didn’t count on. My 11 year old has grown his bangs out to look like a Youtuber named Dan TDM. The bangs were getting in his eyes so he asked if I could pull them back with a ponytail holder. My girly self was so excited to be “doing hair” that I immediately complied. Recently, he asked me to bleach his hair and dye it blue. It was so much fun to bond with my son and allow him to find new and interesting ways to express himself. His hair has now faded to an interesting shade of gray blond.

His next foray into self-expression was with nail polish. He liked the iridescent gray color I was using so I painted his fingernails the same color. The next thing I know my 5-year-old son asked me to paint his nails, too. They loved their manicures and wore them with pride. The little guy even said, “I want you to do my nails every time you do yours, Mommy, and I want the same color.”

My boys have asked for make-up when they saw me applying it. They’ve tried on my shoes, they’ve carried my purse, they’ve worn dresses and they’ve even pretended to be pregnant.

In a world of the “You Do You” mentality, I never expected either of them to get much flack for this choice. Maybe a question or two from a peer, but that’s it. So I was very surprised when Harry, my 5 year old told me his camp counselor said “I want to take that stuff off with nail polish remover.”

I was livid when I heard this. How dare this young man make my son feel bad for painting his nails? He’s 5. This is not a gender statement, and even if it was who cares? It’s not his place or his business to pass judgment.

For the record, my boys have asked for make-up when they saw me applying it. They’ve tried on my shoes, they’ve carried my purse, they’ve worn dresses and they’ve even pretended to be pregnant.

That’s what children do. They experiment. They try on roles to figure out what works and what doesn’t.

The nail polish situation probably bothered me more than it bothered my son. Still, it had to be addressed. The camp director was surprised and very apologetic, and she assured me it wouldn’t happen again. I was satisfied with that.

The next day when I took my two-year-old shoe shopping, he chose shoes with a picture of Frozen heroines, Anna and Elsa. When he proudly walked into school the next day wearing his “princess shoes,” he got nothing but compliments.

Like all children, my sons are going to make a lot of choices and they will encounter positive and negative feedback along the way. I know I can’t protect them from everything. I wouldn’t want to. Like all parents, I have to ride the line between when to intervene and when to let them fight their own battles. As they get older that line will become more and more blurry. My goal is to continue to give them enough love and acceptance so they feel safe to express themselves now and in the future.

Mindfulness in Three Easy Steps

Recently, when I informed my 11 year old that he had to set aside his afterschool plans for fun with friends to attend his acting class his mouth tightened and tears filled his brown eyes. I was shocked to see this from a boy who loves this class and has never wanted to skip it. When I questioned his unusual reaction he said “I just have too much to think about. I can’t handle one more thing.” His mind was filled with the current happenings in his life, field day and other end of school celebrations, but his thoughts also went to future events. Day camp in a few weeks, his first time at sleep away camp, and the start of middle school were among the topics occupying his brain and increasing his stress. He described endless thoughts swirling in his head making it difficult to concentrate.

It occurred to me that learning about mindfulness might help him to better manage his thoughts and reduce his stress.

It’s funny, in my work as a therapist, I’m constantly teaching clients to use mindfulness skills, but I’ve never taught my own son. I broached to subject and he loved the idea.

First, what is mindfulness? It’s one of those words that’s thrown around, but many people don’t know what it means.

Mindfulness is paying attention to the present moment with acceptance of the feelings, thoughts and physical sensations that may arise.

The opposite of mindfulness is MINDLESSNESS. When you go through life mindlessly, intense emotions, powerful sensations and agitating thoughts build up to the point where you can’t ignore them. It may feels as if they come out of nowhere, overwhelming you and leading you to do anything to get a moment of relief…have that cookie, smoke that cigarette, check that text. On the other hand, with mindfulness, you notice experiences in your body and mind bit by bit as they happen so you can better tolerate them.

The question is how do you practice mindfulness? In his Ted Talk, Dr. Judson Brewer, psychiatrist and mindfulness researcher, describes practicing mindfulness in three simple steps notice, get curious, let go and repeat:

1. Notice: Become aware of thoughts, feelings and sensations as they happen. When you do this you will realize there is a constant stream of thoughts and sensations going on at all times. Don’t try to stop the flow. Just notice.

2. Be Curious: Curiosity allows you to take a step back and observe what is happening in your mind and body just as a scientist would collect data during an experiment. The goal here to neither analyze nor avoid what occurs. Just be open to whatever comes up.

3. Let go: Thoughts, feelings and sensations naturally enter our awareness, peak and dissipate. You have never had a thought, feeling or sensation that didn’t eventually go away. The key is to let it go. When you try to avoid, suppress or otherwise ignore it will keep coming back again and again.

When my son practiced being mindful of his thoughts he saw that he was worrying about many things he had no control over. As he continued to practice he was able to let the thoughts go, and he’s starting to feel much better.

https://www.ted.com/talks/judson_brewer_a_simple_way_to_break_a_bad_habit?language=en

Why do Parties with Kids Always End in Disaster?

I love having parties at our house and it also scares me to death. A few weeks ago, in honor of my undergraduate alma mater’s participation in the Final Four (Let’s not talk about the game because the University of Oklahoma lost miserably to Villanova) we had a little gathering at our house. My husband was thrilled. He loves nothing better than presiding over the kitchen while several friends and family members eagerly await his offerings. He got to use his emersion circulator, his mandolin and his deep fryer. For him, the only thing better would have been to incorporate the smoker into the mix.

Our sons loved hosting their friends. They ran around the house wearing costumes, playing hide and seek and having epic light saber battles. Not one iPhone, electronic or computer game was used the entire night.

It was a great mix of people. We enjoyed introducing friends from different parts of our lives, and everyone got along famously. I, the mother of a 2-year-old, a 5-year- old and a 10-year-old, got to engage in the illusive adult conversation for several uninterrupted minutes. It was fantastic.

As we were saying our good-byes at the end of the evening, my husband and I were patting each other on the back congratulating ourselves on a successful party.

Then (cue the horror movie music), we went upstairs.

It looked like our house was ransacked by intruders who never found the goods. The pillows, sheets and blankets were ripped off the beds and strewn everywhere, closets were open and contents pulled out and dumped on the floor, furniture was moved. Legos, art supplies, puzzle pieces and books littered the floor. It seemed as if someone just pulled things off the shelves and dumped out all the baskets. Empty juice boxes and candy wrappers were mixed in with the toys.

Worst of all, my son’s bunk-bed slats were taken out one by one so if someone got on the top bunk they risked crashing down probably on the head of the someone on the bottom bunk.

When we asked our older boys how this destruction came to be their eyes grew wide as they shook their heads in disbelief and reported absolute ignorance of any wrongdoing.

I must admit this wasn’t a complete shock. After our first party in the house, I found someone had been in our bedroom. Inside our unmade, then clumsily remade bed, I found a pizza crust. Inside my closet, still packed boxes were smashed and there were shoeprints in my soaking tub. After that, I locked my bedroom when we had guests.

The thing is these are not bad kids. Individually, they are polite, kind, upstanding citizens, but when they get together something happens. A mob mentality takes over and it they seem to feel like anything goes.

While it’s happening, we grown-ups are just so thrilled to be able to talk to one another without much interruption. We try not to think about the devastation we might find at the end of the night.

Truthfully, it wasn’t terrible. I love that the kids were playing together, getting along and not staring at screens. As summer approaches these gatherings are going to happen more and more often. I need to figure out how to balance my fear of destruction with my desire to let the kids be kids.

Maybe the key is to not take it personally. Last night as we walked among the debris, I was not just angry, but hurt. How dare these children treat our home like this? We welcomed them, fed them, even gave them homemade chocolate chip cookies and they thanked us by wrecking the joint.

This morning I can look at the situation a little more impartially. Of course, the children were not trying to upset me. They were just having fun. My husband and I are not going to stop inviting people over for fear their kids might make a mess…even a big one.

The fact is life is messy. Our goal is not to keep the house perfectly clean (it never is anyway). Our goal is to make connections and memories and to enjoy ourselves. If we make a mess in the process, so be it…I’ll just make the kids clean it up.

Confessions of a Blogging Therapist

Finding a therapist today is a little like online dating. It's not that much of a stretch; therapy is a relationship after all. For it to be effective, the client needs to be at least as emotionally vulnerable with a therapist as with a potential partner. Things get personal in therapy from the very beginning. People often reveal more in the first few sessions with a therapist then they ever do in other relationships. In order for clients to be comfortable, they want to feel a connection with the therapist before they commit.

In contrast, from the time most therapists begin school we are cautioned against too much self-disclosure. There in lies the dilemma. How do we compete in this “dating game’’ without sharing part of ourselves? The truth is we can’t.  So we put up profiles on Psychology Today (the Match.com of the therapy world) for potential clients to peruse in the hopes of finding “the one.” Many therapists have turned to blogging to close this gap.

I started by churning out listicles, blogs with titles like 6 Ways to Retrain Your Brain After Depressionand 8 Tips for Conquering the Dark Side of Early Motherhood.  It was easy and garnered a certain amount of traffic, but didn’t feel like me. There were tons of other therapist bloggers writing pretty much the same thing. I needed to do something different to stand out from the crowd but that also was authentic to my own voice. How could I connect with the people without revealing too much and compromising myself professionally? 

Then it hit me: I should be doing the things that I suggest clients do, but don’t actually do myself…like meditation, exercise, healthy eating and yoga. By spending a year taking my own advice and blogging about my successes and challenges along the way I could connect with potential clients by modeling the importance of self-care. 

So in the spirit of Elizabeth Gilbert’s year long “search for everything” and Julie Powell’s Julie & Julia, I decided to spend a year taking my own advise. 

It seemed like a harmless enough endeavor.

In the beginning, everything was great. Meditation relieved my excess stress, the new exercise and eating habits helped me finally lose the baby weight. I never felt better.

Then things started to change. It turns out the year I chose to document became the hardest year of my life.

Documenting the ups and downs allowed me to watch seemingly hopeless situations become manageable or even positive. I learned establishing healthy habits is tough during the best of times. During times of intense stress, it becomes almost impossible. 

When it comes to sharing, there are some personal taboos.: politics, religion and sex to name a few. For me those topics are private. I also don’t want to be that person who “overshares” on social media. Still, some people might think I’m sharing too much in my blog. If you feel that way, that’s okay. Maybe I’m not the therapist for you. There are many others out there. 

Through the experience of writing this blog, not only have I provided a window into my life for potential clients, I can also now empathize with them on a deeper level.

Initially, this project was a marketing tool created for other people, but it now it’s something I do for myself, too. It’s funny, in setting out to write about self-care, I found the act of writing to be the most healing. 

Source: Should Therapists Use Social Media? | BlogHer

My Unusual Relationship with McDonald’s French Fries

I drove through McDonald’s today and I got a cheeseburger and fries. As I bit into a French fry, I had a flashback to childhood…a powerful sense memory of sitting in a McDonald’s in Norman, Oklahoma with my father. It was a scene repeated again and again and again throughout my youth. I’m sure many of you share a similar experience. However, few of you have parents as connected to McDonald’s as my father. He went there on a regular basis. Every day he wasn’t working. When he retired, he went everyday. He knew the staff and they knew his order (a large water and a large ice-tea). No food. He brought his own…homemade bread my mom made in a bread machine and a banana. It got to the point where he could walk in and sit at a table and they would bring his drinks to him. I’m not joking. He got table service at McDonald’s.

My dad was eccentric and he had an amazing ability to get his needs met. For him this was a necessity. He had cerebral palsy, which caused him to walk with a limp, and gave him the use of only one arm. His disability made carrying a tray of liquids particularly precarious. When he got older and had to walk with a cane it became impossible.

His limitations didn’t stop him. He still managed to run over 30 marathons including the New York City and the Boston. In fact, it was during a road trip to a marathon in Sudbury, Ontario, Canada that his passion for McDonald's was sparked.

girl_eating_french_fries

It was the summer of 1981, I was 8 and my brother, JJ, had just turned 7. The three of us (mom was in nursing school so she couldn’t come) drove from Oklahoma to Canada in Dad’s green Chevy Impala. That was the summer of Juice Newton singing Queen of Hearts, Blonde singing the Tide is High, The Pointer Sisters singing Slow Hand and McDonald’s.

We’d eaten at McDonald’s before, but now we did almost every day. We spent the day on the road playing the license plate game, pretending to be astronauts in the backseat and listening to music. We’d stop for Happy Meals at lunchtime and at the end of the day we’d swim in a motel pool. My brother and I were in heaven.

Never in our lives had JJ and I spent so much uninterrupted time with our dad. We were a team, we were road trippers, and we had a goal. As I write this, I remember that Dad was running this marathon in honor of Terry Fox, a Canadian runner who lost his leg to cancer.

In 1980, Terry Fox set out to run across Canada to raise funds and awareness for cancer. He died before he could finish his run. I think Dad felt a kinship with Terry Fox, as both were disabled runners. We even had t-shirts made that said “Oklahoma Remembers Terry Fox” to wear on the day of the Sudbury Marathon.

Dad came to running by happenstance when his mother suggested he should try to lose a few pounds. He committed to it and it became a passion. He ran every morning. Almost nothing stopped him. When it was raining, he ran. When he had a blister the size of a fist on his foot, he ran. When it was 100 degrees out, he ran. The day I was born, he went running while my mother was in labor.

In high school, I was called to the office to be told that dad was in the hospital with a broken hip. He fell on the ice while running. When he recovered, he was back at it again. Running meant a lot to him. He was so proud to be an athlete. It was something that made him extraordinary…something besides his disability.

He never wanted cerebral palsy to hold him back, and for the most part it didn’t. Though it was understandably frustrating at times.

When a medic saw him limping across the finish line of his first marathon, he ran to dad saying “Let me get you to the medical tent.”

Dad said, “I limp because I have CP.”

The medic said, “Then lets get you there right away!”

Dad said, “Unless you have a cure for CP in that tent, I don’t need it.”

Of course, the guy was only trying to help, and Dad appreciated help. Still, he prized his independence.

As he got older, his body began to fail him. The years of running had taken a toll. Doctors told him he should use a wheel-chair, but doing so would have meant the end of his independence, and he refused. He wanted to continue to live his life without having to completely rely on someone else.

Everyday, he would drive himself to church and then to McDonald’s. That was his routine. It made him happy.

Dad died in August 2013, I learned I was pregnant with my 3rd son a week later. Since then my life has been a whirlwind of new baby, new house, new town, etc.

Grieving his death was shifted to the backburner of my mind. I didn’t have the time or emotional reserve to process it. Plus, the idea of opening up that can of worms was frankly terrifying.

As a therapist, I know that kind of emotional pain doesn’t just go away on its own, but as a person I know it was so much easier to avoid it. It was something I did almost automatically…until today.

When that French Fry triggered the flood of memories and feelings it was actually a relief. I enjoyed remembering Dad as he was in his marathon running heyday. It was nice to learn that grieving isn’t all pain and sadness. I know this was only the beginning of the process. It probably won’t always be pleasant, but I’m finally ready for it.

The Therapist Takes Her Own Advice: All Parents Need Support

I just lost it on my sweet little 4-year-old boy, Harry. He was eating his breakfast very slowly. I had reminded him several times that it was almost time to get dressed to which he responded several times “I’M STILL EATING MY BREAKFAST!” After the 3rd or 4th time, I lost it. I yelled. He cried then I cried.

As I got him dressed and hustled him out the door I told him I was sorry for yelling. We got down the hill to the bus stop just as the bus was pulling up. I hugged him. He got on and looked back at me with a very sad face. I waved and blew kissed to him as the bus drove away, but he still looked sad and a little confused. I’m heartbroken and so ashamed of my behavior.

I’m the grown-up, the protector, the helper...but I’m also human.

I’m not excusing my behavior. I wish this morning had gone much differently, but it doesn’t help to revel in guilt. Doing so would just perpetuate the shame, increase the stress and make it more likely that I’ll lose it again. Instead, I want to investigate how my behavior happened.

I was awakened at 5:30am by a toddler in a cranky mood. He spent the morning “airing his grievances.” He didn't want to be put down, but he didn’t want to sit on my lap. He wanted to eat, but he didn’t want to be in the highchair or eat anything I gave him. Needless to say, I was already on edge. So it’s no wonder I got so upset when big brother wouldn’t get dressed.

I don’t think my children are unusually defiant and I don’t think I’m unusually sensitive. I think it’s the situation that’s flawed.

Parenting happens in pairs or alone when what we really need is a community. Not just a community of people who live near us, but a community of people working together to help each other. Sounds like an impossible utopia, doesn’t it?

Humans are communal beings. We are hard wired to live and thrive together and yet so many parents are thrown to the wolves. We do it all, or most of it, on our own.

No wonder so many of us feel so often at our wits end and then so ashamed for not being better.

We need real support, real respect, real camaraderie...not judgment and competition or worse isolation.

Years ago, I worked on an inpatient psychiatric unit. It was a hard job. The only way I was able to do my job effectively was because I had a team to support me. If I was having a hard day I knew there was always someone there for me. How many parents can say the same thing?

It’s not surprising so many of us end up yelling at our kids at times. I don’t pretend to have the all the answers to this problem, but what I do know is that all parents could use more support. All of us need safe place to talk about our parenting mishaps without judgment. All parents need someone to vent to, someone who can remind them that parenting is a hard job. All parents need support.

When young Harry got off the bus at the end of the day, I hugged him tight and apologized again for yelling this morning. He said “That’s okay, mommy. I just thought you lost your mind.” From the mouths of babes...

The Therapist Takes Her Own Advice: Juggling After Baby Number Three

June 2014

Three months ago I was nine months pregnant and worried because I needed a c-section as the baby was breech. I had the c-section. It wasn’t all that bad. In fact, it was nice to know exactly when the baby was coming. We were able to plan rather than making frantic 3am calls to friends who agreed to help with our older sons. There is a scar, but its in a place that won’t show even in a bikini…not that I plan on wearing one any time soon. The real difficulty for me is juggling the baby with the other two boys.

The baby is at an age where he wants to be held all the time, and he usually wants to eat while he’s being held. My 3 year old wants the same amount of attention he’s always had. He’s understandably frustrated that his baby brother gets so much of mommy’s time. He’s become defiant…his favorite word is no, he flies off the handle at the slightest provocation. In my sleep deprived emotionally overwhelmed state, I find myself losing patience with him regularly.

My 9 year old has said he wishes he could have me all to himself. He’s also heartbroken that we are moving this summer. He will leave the school and friends he’s known all his life. He’s able to verbalize the frustration that his 3-year-old brother is acting out.

I really try to make time everyday for each of them individually, but it doesn’t always happen. Sometimes, when I have a minute, my older one can’t be interrupted as he’s in the middle of building a world in Minecraft. Then at bedtime he wants to snuggle, but the baby is screaming to be fed.

It’s maddening because I simply cannot meet all their needs. I’m leaving them feeling shortchanged, and I’m feeling like a lousy mother. This is not the parent I want to be.

Fast forward 17 months:

It is amazing to see how life has changed since June 2014. At the time, I was nursing a 3 month old, potty training a 3 year old, selling a house and soothing a 9 year old who didn’t want to move so I forgot to post it. It’s pretty interesting to look back on a struggle that felt so overwhelming at the time, but is only memory now.

My tiny infant is now a walking talking toddler, my middle son is a confident pre-k student taking the bus to school and my grieving nine year old is now a thriving 5th grader who loves his new house, new school and new friends. The kid has a much more active social life than I do.

This flashback serves as a reminder that for better or worse nothing is permanent. There were many changes going on in our lives back in the summer of 2014. Not to mention the big unknown of where we were going to live in a few short months. It’s no wonder we were all so overwhelmed and afraid. But, life moves forward and we humans, it turns out, have an uncanny ability to adapt.

The Therapist Takes Her Own Advice: Bye-bye Breastfeeding

My baby is now 17.5 months old and for the majority of that time, I have been his primary source of sustenance and soothing. He never took a bottle. I tried different formulas and I pumped, but he just couldn’t get used to drinking from an artificial nipple. He screamed bloody murder when anyone tried to foist a bottle on him. (By the way, I have a very gently used top of the line breast pump if anyone wants it.) Forget the rubbery sippy cups, he just chewed on those. If any liquid accidentally got into his mouth he would just let it spill out onto the floor, the same goes for a regular cup and a straw…until recently.

I’m happy announce that my baby can drink from a cup and sip through a straw! But lets back up to the weaning part.

I was very conflicted about the prospect of weaning. I love the closeness and the ability to comfort him. Still, it was really getting to be difficult for a variety of reasons.

The little guy does not like having anything covering his head so I often ended up flashing people when I nursed him. Plus, he recently began massaging the breast he wasn’t drinking from. Not just a little nuzzle, but full on up the shirt under the bra nipple massage action. This is actually very normal behavior, but it made me very uncomfortable. So I would take his hand out of my shirt, he would sneak it back. It felt like I was at once nursing and trying to keep him from going to second base. This was particularly fun while nursing in public.

I tried to cut back little by little, but I’ve always nursed on-demand. When I started to deny him, he would scream…for hours or as long as I was in his vicinity. When I left the room he was fine…little stinker.

Eventually we decided the best bet was to send him to grandma’s house for a few days, and that did the trick. A hop, skip and a weekend later, he was weaned, and I was on the couch using a bag of frozen tortellini to sooth my engorged breasts. Did I mention it's really not a good idea to stop breastfeeding cold turkey? Thankfully, a little Sudafed and some cabbage leaves (seriously) dried up my milk supply.

This is an important step, but I must admit it’s bitter sweet for me. On the one hand, I have my body back, and my toddler has become more affectionate. He offers more hugs and kisses, and he will now snuggle with me without trying to nurse (which he never did before). On the other hand, I miss the profound connection, and comfort we both got during the nursing process. He is my 3^rd and final baby. I will never again give birth or nurse another child. I’m mourning the passing of this stage of life.

That said, it’s exciting to see how he’s growing and changing, and I look forward to watching his on-going progress.

On a side note, other day I got on the scale and saw that I was up 5 pounds. I hadn’t changed my eating or exercise habits. How did this happen? Oh, wait. I’m not burning calories by breastfeeding.

The Therapist Takes Her Own Advice: Unto the Breech

  So I’m 38 weeks pregnant today.  I just come from the doctor who told me the baby is not only around 8 lbs, 15oz, but he is also breech.  The first part is not surprising as his brothers were both big boys as well, but breech…yikes.

If this guy doesn’t get into position, I’ll have to have a c-section.  This was not in my plan.  I wanted to go into labor naturally, and have a regular delivery.

This is really disappointing, but I suppose I have to practice what I preach.  I often tell clients who are expecting to make a birth plan, but be ready to throw the whole thing out the window if something changes.  Having a safe birth is far more important than following a birth plan.

Still, it’s going to be so hard to start life as the mother of 3 after having surgery.  Already, I feel guilty about the sacrifices my other two will have to make.  My 8 year old is being forced to share his room with his 3 year old brother until we get a bigger house.  This is not a tragedy, but it’s really annoying for a guy who is used to having his own space.

My 3 year old is not going to know what hit him when the baby comes.  He’s not going to like sharing his mommy with his baby brother.  He’s not going to like that his brother gets to breastfeed and he doesn’t.  He’s not going to like that his brother gets to sleep with mommy and he doesn’t.  He’s not going to like that his brother gets to use a Binky and he doesn’t…the list goes on and on.

If I focused on all that could go wrong, I might lose my mind.  For now, I’ll focus on what I can do.  I’ll talk to the boys about what to expect, and reassure them that they are and always will be loved.

By the way, I haven’t given up on getting the baby to move into a head down position.  I’ll try anything…acupuncture, visualization, headstands, etc.  If you have any suggestions please send them my way.

And at the end of the day, if he’s still breech, I’ll work on acceptance.

THE THERAPIST TAKES HER OWN ADVICE: MY FATHER’S FINAL STRUGGLE, PART 2

Last September, my father fell and broke his neck.  This fall impaired his ability to swallow, and he developed aspiration pneumonia several times. Then in April, Dad had surgery to correct the problem, and we were finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.  After all the recent turmoil, Dad seemed to be on the road to recovery.

Following surgery, Dad was moved to a rehab facility to rebuild his strength.  After spending so much time in a hospital bed, he had almost lost the ability to walk and his ability to talk was also severely impaired.  Still, we had hope.

It was slow going.  Dad was easily exhausted leaving him and the physical therapists frustrated.  He started to refuse treatment.

Then we learned that some of his pain medication had been discontinued while at the hospital.  No wonder he refused treatment.  His medication was restarted and hope was rekindled.

Still, he was not improving.  The nursing staff was becoming more and more frustrated saying Dad wasn’t trying hard enough.  They decided to discharge him.  They gave Mom one week’s notice to find another placement.

Mom couldn’t take him home as the house was not wheelchair accessible, and mom couldn’t care for him alone.

She was able to place him in a nursing home.  Though the care was good the place was to depressing (and expensive).  If he stayed, mom would exhaust all her savings in about 5 or 6 years.

Thankfully, my brother and his wife agreed to move in with mom to help care for Dad, and construction began to make the house wheelchair accessible.  We pinned our hope on the day Dad could return home.

But it was not meant to be.  Dad started developing pneumonia again, and his body became weaker and weaker.

On August 3^rd, I got a call that Dad was nonresponsive, and I should come right away.  I booked the earliest flight I could, for 6am the next morning.

That evening, I went to a family party with my father’s brother and sisters and their families.  While there my brother called to tell me that Dad was awake and alert.

I told dad I loved him, and I was on my way.  Everyone at the party was thrilled to hear that the situation did not seem as dire as we originally thought.

But, the next morning as the car pulled up to LaGuardia, my phone rang.  It was 4:45am. My mom told me that Dad passed away.

When I spoke to Dad, he had just been anointed by his priest.  His responsiveness was the last burst of energy that often comes before death.

At first, I was disappointed that I didn’t get to say goodbye to Dad before he died.  Then I realized that the phone call the night before was our goodbye.

He knew I was with his siblings so they could share in the experience.  He also knew that I was on my way to Oklahoma to be with Mom.  He could go in peace.

THERAPIST TAKES HER OWN ADVICE: MY FATHER’S FINAL STRUGGLE PART 1

  As I have mentioned in previous blogs, my father has been ill this year.  Last September, fell and broke his neck.  He was just walking to his car, and he tripped.

My father was born with cerebral palsy, which means he walks with a limp, and he doesn’t have the use of his right hand.  So falling was not unusual.  But before you feel sorry for him, know that he has also run over 30 marathons (one of which he won) so his disability did not impede his ability to live his life.

After the fall, he had surgery (thankfully there was no paralysis), and he went back to life as usually.  It seemed there was no permanent damage done.

Then in December, he was hospitalized for pneumonia.  He recovered, and again went back to his life.

However, the pneumonia recurred in January, and it was then that the doctors discovered that his swallowing reflex was damaged. Every time he would eat or drink some of what he swallowed went into his lungs.

He was no longer allowed to eat or drink on his own, but instead he was fed and hydrated through a tube….boy did that piss him off.

Even with those precautions, he got pneumonia again and again.  He would be discharged from the hospital to rehab then he would have to be readmitted for pneumonia.  This cycle went on from January to April, during that time he never made it back home.

In April, Dad’s situation looked dire.  His kidneys were failing, and he had contracted mrsa.  Plus, he was physically and emotionally exhausted.  He was ready for an end to this terrible cycle.  I flew to Oklahoma to say goodbye to my father.

Just as everything was looking bleak, he doctor who had done the surgery on Dad’s neck stopped by when Mom was there.  She told him that since the surgery Dad has lost his ability to swallow and has had many episodes of aspiration pneumonia.

The doctor was certain that another surgery could fix the situation, and for the first time in months we had hope that dad would recover.  We all breathed a sigh of relief.

The Therapist Takes Her Own Advice: Goodbye Sheldon Leonard Shackney

It’s been just over a month since our cat, Sheldon, stopped eating.  Since then, we’ve been savoring the time we have with him.  We’ve been feeding him with syringes of fortified food from the vet.  He’s gotten vitamin B shots, steroid shots, appetite enhancing tablets and many loving thoughts and prayers from family and friends. For a long time, he seemed very content sitting at the foot of our bed in his regular spot.   He purred when we entered the room, and he eagerly accepted pets and nuzzles from us.   Whenever possible, I’ve taken my laptop upstairs to be with him while I worked.

Sadly all that changed yesterday afternoon.  Rather than sit contently on our bed he started crying non-stop.  He was clearly trying to tell us something.  After speaking to our veterinarian, we realized he was telling us he was ready to go.

So this morning we said goodbye to our sweet, lovable Sheldon Leonard Shackney.  My husband, David, took him as I couldn’t get out of work.  He held Sheldon’s paw as  he passed away peacefully.

Then as David drove home, he called me and we cried together on the phone…this man who has cried so few times in our life together (when our son’s were born and when we first found out Sheldon was ill) cried with me over the loss of the best cat in the world.

When the tears were spent, David walked me through the whole process.  He told me the vet asked if we wanted Sheldon’s ashes so we could sprinkle them over the place he liked best.

This standard question caused David to burst out laughing…startling the vet.   When she asked him why he was laughing he said “I love Sheldon, but I don’t want his ashes sprinkled at the foot of my bed.”

The Therapist Takes Her Own Advice: PMS and Pizza a Dangerous Combination

  February 23, 2013

Okay, so we have now entered the time by which I have failed most previous diets…only to restart them a few weeks later.  I’m officially having PMS.  I can feel it intensely.  My ability to be satisfied with a salad…even a hardy salad with roasted vegetables and hummus is extremely compromised.  My craving for carbs is intense.

To keep myself from eating an entire bag of pretzels, a whole loaf of bread or a dozen donuts, I’ve been satisfying my carb craving in little ways, one tortilla on fajita night instead of none, adding whole wheat noodles to my soup, etc.  It’s been working for the most part until…

Yesterday, I took my almost 2 year old, Harry, to a playdate where pizza was served…Pizza  I love pizza.  It’s my favorite food.  I once worked as a pizza delivery driver just to be around and eat more pizza…I loved that job.  Pizza is the food I crave when I have PMS.  So there I was, watching everyone eat PIZZA, and I was going to be strong, stick to my diet, not fall to temptation.  That lasted about 10 minutes, and then I gave up and gave in.  It tasted so good, and it made me so happy, and guess what, it was okay.

The world didn’t end, nobody died and it didn’t erase all of the progress I have made this month because I didn’t let it lead me to the traditional downward spiral.  I didn’t then have chicken parm for dinner or go through a drive-thru for a midnight snack.  It didn’t erase my all the progress I’ve made this month because it didn’t become a pattern of behavior.  It happened, I enjoyed it, my craving was satisfied, now I’m moving on.