I wrote a book! A whole book. That I wrote!

When I’m not momming, adulting, working, blogging, Netflixing… I’m writing.

And after all the YEARS of writing, back tracking, trying to be one of those elusive “pantsers” who bust out a novel in the month of November. The sheer amount of sticky notes, index cards, notebooks, napkins, lost and found thumb drives, thousands of words written and deleted, cups of coffee, my questionable Google searches that always end up with explanations along the lines of “I promise I’m not a murderer, I’m writing a book” or “I swear I’m not pregnant, I’m naming a character.”

Through all of that.

I WROTE A BOOK.

Yes. I did title my first draft as “HOLY CRAP! MY FIRST DRAFT ON PAPER!”

I’m a writer!

I actually finished writing my first draft back in August. And since then, it’s been reading and re-reading THOUSANDS of words that I wrote.

And yes, I’ve been shamelessly posting all about it on Facebook. #noshame

Since that moment there have been many, many, many, mixed emotions.

“Crap. Utter crap.”
“Oooo, that’s good.”
“THIS WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY!”
“Whyyyyyy”
“Please, Mom. Don’t ever read this.”
“This is the most magnificent piece of crap I’ve ever seen in my life.”

I go from feeling like all those years of writing Harry Potter Fan Fiction had made this my purpose in life. To wondering why in the hell I actually spent so long doing this.

I guess that’s what happens when you edit your own work.

Yes… lots of edits coming

But before the editing process, a.k.a the process of realizing you suck at grammer, typing, and speaking in general… there is the part where you print.

I’ve known I’ve had a crapton of words written. Believe me. When you hit 86,000 words or 20,000 words, it kind of smacks you in the face.

But when you actually print it out. It’s a whole different story. (Enjoy that pun)

I got paranoid thinking I hit print twice when my printer just kept pumping out page after page.
I took pictures like I’d just rescued a puppy from the animal shelter.
I stroked the pages.
I creepily stroked the pages some more.

But I’m allowed.

Because I wrote a book!

Hello There!

Hi all!

For the last 3+ weeks I have been waging a battle against my blog. Now, I’m not a techie kind of person. I am slowly learning how things work on a very superficial level. I know some very basic html, my theme was created with a click and drag program, so on an so forth.

So, of course, when I could get into my blog, it was panic moment.

As in, staring at a computer screen freaking the heck out.

I could log in, but that was about it.
I could view my blog… and seeing the 80+ extra page views I had on my pages was purely because I kept going to it making sure all of my stuff was still there.
I couldn’t even get to the dashboard.

Nothing.
Nada.
Zilch.

I was in panic mode 100%

But thankfully with some help of a fantastic forum of people… I was able to get back into it. With a few new plugins, my stuff is safe.

Worst case scenarios started coming through. Like some super secret hackers like Helix (I’ve been watching way too much Arrow, ya’ll) had broken in and started messing with things.

Of course, that wasn’t the case. But my overactive imagination definitely went there.

So we’ll be back on our regularly schedule programming here soon!

Caffeine hates me

There are three very specific things that I drink regularly.

Water
Coffee
Tea

I’m not a soda drinker. I might have a 20 oz soda once every couple of months, and even then it goes flat before I have a chance to drink it all. I’ll drink juice or milk about the same amount. I don’t like sweet drinks, something about that cloying syrupy taste drives my nuts.

So it’s no surprise that when I do drink something it’s one of the three things.

You all know I’ve been trying to get more water into my system, which unfortunately means my number one drink of choice is coffee.

I can easily go through a pot of coffee myself. Josh and I can bust out two pots of coffee with little issue. I could blame my HP 9 3/4 mug because it’s so big it holds about 20 ounces. Seriously, I’m not kidding. It holds the same amount of coffee as my HP travel mug. But in reality, I just freaking love coffee.

If I don’t get the amount of caffeine my body is used to I get those lovely little caffeine withdrawal symptoms.

Headache, irritability, lethargy… oh my.

But the headaches, man. They get so bad that my eyeballs start to hurt. And then, of course, I sit here thinking “I NEED COFFEE” which ups the ante and so on and so forth.

Apparently, the recommended amount of caffeine per day is only about 400mg???

And also apparently, each ounce of the brand of coffee I drink has about 12mg of coffee per ounce. I’ll let you guess how much I’m getting, though I can say it’s at least twice the recommended amount.

So, I’ve decided to detox.

Although, that word sounds like I’m being a drama queen. Detoxing? Really? But hey, if the shoe fits.

I’ll be setting up a doctor’s appointment here soon, not just for the coffee issue but for just a general physical. And figured I might as well bring up the vast amounts of coffee I’m drinking and see if there are any tricks I can do.

But while I’m here…
Anyone have any ideas on how to cut back on the caffeine without feeling completely like crud?

Skin Care Madness

I used to have great skin. That’s not a bragging moment, that’s the cold hard truth. When I was younger (read:teenager) I thought I was having a huge breakout when I’d get one or two pimples every couple of months. And that was even with me hardly ever washing my face, I was pretty good with just using Stridex face wipes. That was it. Glorious blemish free skin. Which of course, at the time, I was thrilled about.

Now…10 years later.

WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FACE?

I have pimples.

As in, wayyyy more pimples than I’ve ever dealt with. And they’re constant little bumps that just hang out and never disappear.

I’m not 100% sure when the pimples came. Could have been wearing make-up more than “oh! It’s prom!” or this GODAWFUL IUD, or maybe I’m just getting older but things have changed.

So yeah, pimples. All over my face. It’s ridiculous. And regardless of the sheer amount of Googling I like to do for random issues like that (chicken skin, breaking hair, how to get rid of rough foot skin – I warned you, I’m disgusting) I never really looked too far into skin care.

My skin care regimen was simply go to the department store and grab any bottle that was for “normal” skin that promised to get rid of black heads and carry on my merry way… which included washing my face whenever I remembered.

Yeah. Maybe I’ve found the culprit?

Well, while on the hunt for a new planner for work we made a little pitstop into Sephora. And a simple question of “Could you help me find a shade of foundation?” turned into a 45 session of gadgets that tested skin type, color, and a pretty informative lesson on skin care.

So here’s what I learned:

1. I DO NOT have normal skin (thanks a lot online quizzes) apparently I have Oily Skin
2. Apparently Josh has known this and was very informative with his “she always wakes up super shiny” #thanksjerkface
3. My perfect shade is Urban Decay All Nighter 7.75 (and might I add it’s FOURTY FRICKIN DOLLARS – but ohhh so worth it)
4. What the hell moisturizer is for and
5. I probably shouldn’t be washing my face whenever I think about it. “Twice a day and follow with moisturizer”

So they loaded me up with some samples, a bottle of face wash (which, yes… I have been using), and sent me on my merry way.

Now, it’s probably too soon to see if anything has changed on my face dramatically. But I’ve been taking care of my face skin more in the last 10 days than I probably have in my entire life. Washing it twice a day, actually taking off my make up, using moisturizer… the whole 9 yards.

I have noticed little changes. Like I don’t wake up as oily, probably because I’m not going to sleep oily and covered in make up. And a few of my littlest spots are fading, but it’s not some instant change.

Perhaps, I should have looked more into skin care earlier? Hindsight is 20/20 I suppose.

But the guy I saw in the store said I should see huge results in 6 weeks, so we’ll see?

Here goes nothing!

Confession

My last post was September 29th. We’re looking at two months here, folks. I know I had promised to write more frequently, to be more consistent. But the last several months have been hard.

Ever since I had had Jordin I didn’t feel like myself. I blamed it partially on the stressful year I’d had. It’s practically impossible to feel like yourself when your life is flying off the tracks. So I ignored it. And ignored it some more.

Then, finally one day I was messaging my best friend over good ol’ Facebook, complaining.

I don’t feel like doing anything.
I just want to curl up in a blanket and watch Netflix all day long (which I did, quite often)
I feel like I’m failing at everything
My stupid boobs won’t work. I HATE pumping, pumping hates me. I CAN’T FEED MY BABY WITHOUT FORMULA?!?!
I don’t even have the motivation to shower
I just spend all day pumping, taking care of the kids, and doing nothing much else.

Just a lot of complaints. A ton of tears. And just generally feeling like crap about everything.

Her response “Have you thought to get checked for Postpartum Depression?”

Light bulb.

It made sense. What else could explain these unfamiliar feelings? I don’t have depression. I’m a pretty happy girl. Overly anxious most days, sure, but never depressed. I had damned good reasons to feel sad, confused, scared, and worried with everything that had been going on. But I have never found myself being actually depressed.

But for months I was crying all the time. Feeling like a failure. Feeling bitter and resentful towards everyone and no one at the same time. I would assure myself that Josh could handle everything with work and home if I just wandered off for a few weeks. I would snap at Josh for the smallest, innocuous, comments.

For example: I had just had a breakdown to Josh about not being able to take a shower that day because Jordin was on a roll. All he said was how about I go take one. “I’ve got Jordin. Go take your phone, listen to music, take a shower.” I flew off the handle. Tears, snot, and shrieking followed about how insensitive he was! I can’t, I have to pump! I don’t have time! Are you saying I smell?! Yada yada yada. Bless his heart, he let me have my mental breakdown. He rubbed my back as I mashed my face into his stomach, sobbing and snotting all over his shirt….calling him every name in the book. Once I calmed down he led me into the bathroom, waved away my apology, and made a pot of coffee for when I got out. God, I love that man.

I had absolutely zero motivation to do anything. I got to the point where I didn’t even want to leave the house, which completely clashed with my desire to just pack up and disappear for a while. Forget the nice weather. Forget it all. I just want to sit in my ugly green chair and do nothing.

So after some long heart to heart discussions, I took some steps to get this figured out.

And in the last month or so, I’ve been doing so much better. I’m not 100%, but I’m no longer logging 7 hours every day on Netflix, eating Ramen and Mac and Cheese and chocolate because I have ZERO motivation to actually get off my butt and cook myself a healthy breakfast and lunch. I’m not sitting around with headaches because I can’t force myself to get up and fill my water bottle.

But I am shaving my legs more than twice a month…because I have the motivation to actually do more than just jump in and out of the shower. AND I am wearing more than just pajamas all day too.

Have you ever spent MONTHS taking off the dirty pajamas, showering, and changing into clean pajamas? I have.

I’ve even started writing again. I just hit 68,000 words last week!

Things were definitely heading into “Who is this homeless chick?” territory.

Don’t get me wrong. I still have those days. A few days ago, for example. I blazed through 7 episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. Didn’t shower. Didn’t change out of my pjs. Just didn’t do anything productive. But the following day I dragged my sorry butt into the shower. SHAVED. Wore real clothes. And I did some writing, played with the kids, and did the dishes…plus an episode or two of Grey’s. Not the most productive day, but infinitely better.

And look at me today. A blog post.

So that’s my confession. Postpartum depression.

Postpartum

It’s no joke. It’s scary to not recognize yourself during the time that you should be enjoying and embracing change. It’s terrifying to wake up one day and not want to move or do anything. And it’s heartbreaking to realize just how many times I had wondered if Josh would ask his sister or a stranger to watch our kids while he was at work…if I decided to just walk down the street and disappear for a few weeks.

I’m not usually one to admit when something to this degree is wrong. I’ll keep it deep deep inside so I don’t inconvenience anyone. But you know what? I’m going to inconvenience the heck out of people. Because I’m feeling better.

Because I’m proud of the fact that I’m inching towards normalcy. I’m proud of the fact that I’m smiling and laughing and joking more than I’m crying and snotting.

And I’m ecstatic over the fact that I’m proud of myself.

So, please bear with me. I’m trying my best to be me, I’m trying my best to take charge of my life again. I won’t blame you at all if you leave this blog and stop reading because “Holy crap, she posted three times last week, and only once this week. SLACKER” because this time around I can’t promise that I’ll be consistent. Because I just don’t know.

What I do know is that this too shall pass.

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