Monday, October 31, 2011

Your house is your home is your dumpster fire

So...

I'm totally still sporting maternity pants because THEY'RE SO FLUFFY stretchy. In fact, because of the pregnancy water loss (a total of 27.5 lbs in 3 weeks), they make me feel like a size 0 (though I have 30 lbs of real weight to drop...boooo). Yeah, it's a little narcissistic, but every time I squeeze my butter into a smaller tub[of normal people pants], I end up crying over ice cream while listening to 90's cryfest songs.

Something by Sarah McLachlan, I'm sure (oh, summer of 1998, you and Zach [you know who] kill me).

Don't even get me started on the higher half of my hot bod. I'm stuck wearing all the hubs's tees. Even offspring #1 is tired of seeing that big, black Chicago tourist tee with baby pieces all over it. No one tells you the horror you're left with AFTER a baby. Pregnancy is gross. Like "yeah I'm gassy, and my hands look like Walter Cronkite and I taste metal in my mouth for no reason..."

But the aftermath is worse.

OMG.

What is this hanging from my stomach? Why do I have this weird rash? Am I dying (hair falling out)? Is it me, or is that coffee commercial the saddest thing you've ever seen? What day is it? Who's Matt Brady?

GASP!

The good news is, I can see my toes again. The bad news is, they're sick. Not sick the way the hubs would use it (as in "that snowboard dude I'm totally friend-crushing on is so sick"), but sick as in they make me want to projectile vomit. It's funny how things that seem important, like taking care of one's self, don't matter at all when you've got someone in utero. Then this little person comes out and you're left with a messy, empty house the last tenant didn't take care of so you think about filing a lawsuit to pay for damages (tummy tuck, tap repair (i.e.boobies), wax stripping (what?), etc) but then you realize the former tenant can't pay and it'd come out of your wallet until he's [legally] able to pull from his strip club ones to help a sister (mother) out.

So, you forfeit, and throw on that black Chicago tee with your stretchy pants and grab another bowl of ice cream because this house needs condemned.

Dear Bert I'm so tired. And I've had too much coffee.  Or not enough. And I wonder how many people it would take to link arms and reach all the way around the world. And how does Santa get to everyone's houses in just one night? Hrmmm...

Tell me friends, what's the singles most indulgent renovation you do to make yourself feel like a brand new house?

CandylandCandylandCandyland<---Say it three times and I'll appear in your bathroom behind you...probably cleaning it.


OUT.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

I'm a writer...so I write

There was this place I once fell into, its rapture something like the arms of hell barricading me, holding me back. I fought and struggled to break free but the force kept me still. Like running through quicksand. I remember screaming at blurred faces that couldn't hear me. Because in the reality outside my mind, I wasn't speaking at all. I was numb. Empty. Gone.

It was something like five years ago I found a darkness so dark, thought I'd never see the light again. This thing called postpartum depression is real. It's not a bad day. It's not something you can wish away. It's real,  like the scars you can't see. I had next to no support system (still don't, really) and almost didn't recover. In fact, it was me who saved myself. No one else. Not my family. Not my friends. Not my husband. I pulled myself up, dragged my lonely heart into any [and all] remedies and did something that seemed impossible at the time.

I started talking about it.

Opening the dialogue let me set the pain free. I found TWLOHA. I got some Medicine. I opened up. Not because it was comfortable or because it was easy. It wasn't. I did it because my daughter deserved a happy mother.

And now, I'm doing it again. For both of my babies. And for me.

My beautiful son, Sullivan, is now 2 weeks and a day. My gorgeous daughter, Lilliana, is now 5 years and a day (yes, they share a birthday). They are everything that is everything to me and I desperately want to feel the blessings they've bestowed upon me. But first I have to clear away the clouds in my way. Like...
Loneliness.
Regret.
Guilt.
Sadness.
Fatigue.
Emptiness.
Worthlessness.
And an overwhelming sense of Skynyrd Syndrome...
("If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?")

I'm a writer, so I write. With all the truth I have in me. About pain. Loss. Grief. And everything in between whether it's easy or not. Whether it's comfortable or not. Because the Internet is written in ink. It's OKAY to tell someone you're hurting. It's OKAY to tell someone you need a hug. It's OKAY to tell someone you need help. It's OKAY to open up.

It doesn't make you weak. It makes you strong.

This is the first step and I know this too, shall pass. As long as I keep talking. From here, I will hold on with both hands to those two miracles that shared my body and kicked me awake as I slept. It's in those faces I have reason to believe I can heal.

For good this time.

Miss you. Love you. Mean it.

Candyland. OUT.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

I fell in love with another man

Remember the days when there was a nicely wrapped Candyland post about ballz, BR80s or beanbags waiting for you? Okay, so there wasn't exactly a post about beanbags, but I meant to. No I didn't. My brain is a little cluttered these days because in case you haven't heard, I gave birth last Tuesday, October 11th, exactly 5 years after the birth of my 5yo daughter, to a beautiful little man.

SULLIVAN.MATTHEW.LEONARD.GANGER

He's pretty perfect but we went through a lot to get him here. Those of you who read have been on this near 3 year journey of wishing, hoping and praying for another baby but it's not without loss, grief and frustration of not being the one in control of my fate. If you remember, just a couple weeks after a 2nd miscarriage, I found out I was pregnant again. The doctor sent me to see if the fetus was "viable," and the embryo was considered a threatened abortion. I was terrified of losing another as the pain of the first loss was still a wound not healed.

But, the baby was alive.

Fast forward through nine months of hellish pregnancy with somewhere around 10-12 ultrasounds due to baby's growth, my history and loss of amniotic fluid. I was on bed rest. My hips felt broken. It hurt to stand. But it was all worth it. In the end, though, the fluid surrounding little Sully's head and body dropped to a critical level and I was hospitalized. Before I left, the number rose enough for them to say "okay, let's wait another week and see how this goes."

I went back exactly one week later, at 37 weeks, and the fluids were lower than before. And there it was...this baby I'd wanted so bad for so long might not survive if they didn't get him out of me. I was induced the same day and by the next day, was well on my way to delivery. Those of you who've been through an induction know how HORRIBLE it is. This was my 2nd induction, so at least I knew what to expect, but not even the mere thought of Matt Brady was enough to get me through.

After the doctor broke my water, the contractions intensified to an unbearable strength, but even though it felt like it, I was not ready to push. They made me wait. For nearly 3 hours. I screamed. I cried. I asked them to just kill me. But then, the time came. And I pushed. And pushed. And pushed.

Until I almost killed my baby.

His heart rate dropped with every push I made at the wrong time and I was given oxygen so I could breathe for him. But it wasn't enough. As he came through, the umbilical cord wrapped tight around his neck and he was not breathing at all. When they carried him away, something happened that the doctors had never seen before: the cord completely snapped off the placenta and literally exploded. It was on my mom's shirt. It was on the doctors. It was EVERYWHERE.

I can't go into anymore detail because a) it's disgusting and b) it's foggy. All I remember was not getting to see or hold that little boy I dreamed of for too long...Because they were busy bringing him back to life.
Thank you to everyone who has sent me something, be it a gift, a message, an email, etc. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the support. And now, as I head back into the darkness (postpartum), I'll think of all those well wishes and try to remember the time I actually blogged about Fartypants.


I could use some farty to get my party starty right about now.

Like Miss Jackson says, miss you much. Regular blogging will resume when my brain cells have regenerated.

<3

Candyland+Sullivan. OUT.