Day 365

A day that used to feel so far off has arrived.  Day 365.  The Earth has orbited the sun one more time, and while a lot has changed, a lot has stayed the same.

Newborn photo session,  2 hours before the seizure on 8/2

A year ago yesterday, I woke up and had a blissful morning.  I still look back at those first 8.5 days of Ben's life as the most blissful week I'd ever experienced.  He was a terrific little monkey...eating and sleeping- no muss, no fuss.  Cam was starting to warm up to her little brother, and basked in her new found title of "big sister."  Of course, I don't need to rehash what happened later that day. There were so many unknowns that first night, so many terrifying "what ifs."  Looking back on that day, and the subsequent months, it feels like I'm outside looking in- kind of like watching a Lifetime movie.  Very surreal to say the least.

August 2/3- middle of the night- took this to show Kenny at the hospital

A year ago today, I woke up in the same house, but a different life. For the short term, that meant living with Kenny's family to help with the kids (10 days postpartum in this situation was just an added stressor), and learning a new vocabulary.  In the long term, it meant learning to accept the fact that things weren't going to go back to the way they were. At first, I felt so desperate to go back in time; feeling that weighed down for the rest of my life felt like a prison sentence.  For months post op, I would ask Kenny constantly if he felt okay, if he got enough sleep, if he remembered to take his medicine, etc.  But somehow, over time, I grew more comfortable.  I'm not sure if that is the right word, but these days the only thing I ask is if he's remembered his medicine in situations where he might forget (like if he goes out after work).

August 3, reunited with the babies 

This morning I woke up in the same house I did a year ago.  Ben isn't a little newbie anymore.  He's a walking, talking little boy.  He screams when I change his diaper (because it requires being still for 35 seconds), he plays peek-a-boo with himself and anyone else who'll join in, he says "uh oh" when he purposely drops his food on the floor for the dog, he says "bye bye" and blows kisses when you leave, and smiles with pride whenever he accomplishes something (even if its something you don't want, like climbing 2-3 stairs before you can get to him).  I spend a lot of my day saying "no no!" and redirecting him...over and over and over again.  Just like any of my other mom friends would be doing.  Like the first 3 months of his life weren't a total blur of everything that starts with the word "neuro."  In some respects, I feel great that things are mostly so normal.  In others, I feel a lot of guilt that Ben's first year was spent trying to get there.  It took me a long time to get back on track after we moved home.  In hindsight, I wasn't ready to be on my own just yet; but feeling clouded by everything that had happened, I think I just didn't have the tools to communicate that.  In the end, though- or in the "year after"- we count ourselves lucky.  It could have been worse. A lot worse.

Night before surgery, post pre-op MRI

As for Kenny, he's doing GREAT.  It's been 10 months to the day since surgery, and you'd never know it other than the scar that remains.  His last two MRI's came back clean (other than the little bit of tumor they had to leave in), and since it's now been a year since his first and only grand mal seizure (knock wood!), he can resume driving- a freedom he's missed very much.  We have put our house on the market; AND are in attorney review on the home we hope to raise our kids in.  A year ago I would have told you we were contemplating a ranch- since stairs + seizures usually don't go hand in hand.  But with a year free, we kind of went full throttle in the opposite direction- the house we are buying not only has stairs...it's a split level...with 5 levels.  As my therapist says, "Feel the fear, and do it anyway."  It's not easy for me to do that, but when I repeat that to myself and take a deep breath, I can usually switch gears from fearful to hopeful.

It's been a crazy journey, this year.  I have to say, one of the weirdest things about it, is that when I look at my kids, I realize that they have no clue what went on.  I have the distinct memories of running to the phone to call 911, in what felt like slow motion.  I remember the look on Kenny's face when he came out of the seizure.  The look on his parents' faces when the doctor first uttered the word "tumor."  The beaming smile on the neurosurgeon's face when she emerged from surgery. That horrible feeling in the pit of our stomachs when we realized he couldn't speak for days after the surgery. And the pride on Kenny's face when he was finally able to answer all of the one word questions they asked him for his neuro exams at Sloan.  I'll never forget any of it.  But my kids...they'll never really know.  The irony of it all being that they were our motivation.  When Kenny was in the hospital we constantly showed him pictures and videos of them.  Ben, then only 2 months, started smiling like crazy all of a sudden; like a little ray of sunshine.  Cam soaked in the city life and loved every second. Her infectious giggle keeping us all afloat.

Cam's Thanksgiving celebration at school, 7-8 weeks post op

 Nowadays, my day looks like anyone else's.  Kenny works from home a few days a week, but I generally wrangle the kids Monday through Friday.  He works. I mother.  I feed my kids. I dress my kids. I wrestle with the tantrums. I chase the walker who thinks the steps are his next conquest in life.  I take my daughter to swim lessons, I rock my son to sleep.  I clean my house, I run my errands, I take my kids on play dates. Nothing about anything I do day to day seems out of the norm anymore.  At this time, fingers crossed God willing and knock on wood, you'd never know that a year ago was a horse of a different color.

Ken and I would both like to thank anyone and everyone who were there for us, reached out to us, said a prayer for us, or even just thought of us and wished us well every so often.  Having the support of so many made such an impact, I really can't even express it.  Thank you, thank you, thank you- from the bottom of our hearts, for lifting us up, and helping us get back to being that smiley little family you see below.

Ben's 1st birthday, 7/24/13

These hips don't lie...

When I was in middle school, I started to notice that my previously childlike frame was growing more...buxom.  I seemingly had boobs overnight (I was even accused of stuffing my bra...loudly...in the middle of the cafeteria...ugh), and then I noticed my jeans getting tighter even though my tummy wasn't getting any bigger.  Nope, my hips were starting to show my Italian heritage.  I remember lamenting about it in 8th grade in the locker room one day after gym class.  I looked around at all the other 8th graders who all still seemed to be so...narrow.  Me = hourglass.  Most other girls = rulers.  A classmate of mine told me I had a fabulous figure (if you know who you are, and you remember this conversation, my almost 32 year old self now appreciates the comment even if 12 year old me didn't).  I don't think I realized until that moment that I had a figure.  I was 12 or 13. I still had braces.  I still would rather do almost anything than make out with a boy. Don't get me wrong, I liked boys (a lot of boys- you might even say I was "boy crazy"), but I had zero interest in doing anything other than holding hands (I may or may not have gotten dumped a few times over my "prudish" ways- I gotta say, I regret nothing).  

Over the years, I've struggled with my weight.  I got depressed in high school and put on a lot of weight. I fell in love my senior year (with my now husband) and lost a ton.  I gained back some in college when we spent 5 nights a week drinking and ordering fried chicken and pizza.  I've fluctuated all over the place through the years.  One thing has always remained, whether I was a size 2 or a size 12- and that's those big hips.  When I was younger I had no appreciation for them.  I saw nothing sexy about them.  I banged (and still bang) them into corners almost constantly. For one thing, it's hard to dress them; especially nowadays when my upper body is SO teeny tiny (I'm now a pear shape, I suppose- with a super tiny upper body and those same big hips with a little bit of mommy belly thrown in).  I can never find pants that fit exactly right on those hips without a gap the size of Texas on the back side.  

Then yesterday, as I balanced a full laundry basket on one hip and my 20+ lb son on the other, I realized these hips are damn useful.  Not only am I able to balance lots of extra weight on them when I'm doing a million things around the house, having such big hips helped allow for really quick, uncomplicated childbirths.  My Cami girl was a 6.5 hour labor, 3 pushes; and, well, Benny flew into the world after a 2.5 hour labor and one push (I'm not even really sure you could say that I pushed...is it called pushing when they are pretty damn adamant about joining the world that fast??).  And the pants? Well, when I DO find pairs that fit correctly, those hips fill 'em out pretty nice.  I'm not sure if Cami girl will inherit these Italian hips of mine, but if she does, I hope she can come to appreciate them the way that I have as an adult.  And...to the girl who mentioned my figure in middle school- thanks again :)

I'm not so broken, after all.

So, there's this pile of pants that had been sitting in our bedroom closet since the beginning of July.  They were my "iron pile" of Kenny's work pants that I'd been meaning to get to- but at the end of my pregnancy, putting on flip flops felt like an Olympic event, so on my feet ironing for even 10 minutes wasn't happening.  I had planned to iron them many times...before Kenny went back to work from paternity leave (we all know what happened next), then maybe one of the days when I wasn't living here I thought I'd just do it, or maybe before he returned to work after the brain surgery...but I just didn't.  I couldn't.  That damn pile of pants was the weirdest of small hurdles for me.  They stared at me from my closet for months.  The last shred of things I was supposed to do before everything started.  One day, last week- on my second cup of coffee when I have my ultimate energy buzz- I finally did it.  I couldn't stand the thought of peering into that closet one more night before bed and seeing that pile of pants.  I dropped Cam off at school, grabbed the ironing board and the pile, and quickly zoomed through the 7 or so pairs.  As soon as I was done, I carried them right upstairs and placed them in the closet with the rest of his clothes, where they belonged.  I know it sounds stupid (and if not stupid, definitely odd) that it was so hard for me to finally iron those pants- and I honestly have no clue exactly why it was - but I was so excited it was done that I texted my best friend about it.  Yes...I texted her that I ironed pants.  That sounds boring even to me, but it felt great.

I thought about blogging about it immediately when it was done.  But not really knowing the relevance of the unironed pants, it pretty much seemed like I was going to blog about my wifely to do list.  Not exactly riveting- not to mention, I really had it in my head that I was done (at least for now) blogging about my tough times. I wanted to go back to fluff.  I wanted to write about getting in shape and my cute kids and leave the tough stuff at the back door.  Then yesterday, at the gym, I was in the middle of a serious workout, and a song came on my iPod that I've been avoiding for months.  I was obsessed with it at the end of my pregnancy, and it reminds me of this amazingly perfect day we had at the beach about 36 hours before Ben was born.  It was seriously a perfect day.  80 degrees at the beach, family (and extended family), happy toddler playing in the sand, long stroll along the water with the husband, little man wiggling in my tummy- movie quality beach day.  It was the perfect send off to our trio becoming a quad.  During the whole ordeal, I often thought of that day, and wished if I could be anywhere in my life, it'd be that day.  Hearing the start of that song in my iPod usually triggers a "stabbing in the heart" effect, which is usually what prompts me to quickly change the song...but yesterday, on the rowing machine (at full resistance, thank you very much), I didn't change it.  I thought of that day and it didn't hurt (as much).  And then I realized, I'm not as irretrievably broken as I thought.  

I'll back up.  I know I mentioned that I was having a hard time.  But seriously, I was having a hard time.  I felt sad (like cry in the car every time I'm alone sad), and anxious, and was only compounded by me feeling terrible that I couldn't feel happy that everything (at least mostly) turned out okay.  I felt like I was a broken person.  I tried to cut myself slack, it'd only been a few months and I was still adjusting to everything and processing everything that had happened (because when you're in it, you certainly can't process it), but it felt endless.  But then the pants...and then the song...and then I realized I haven't cried in almost two weeks.  I realized I was feeling better...still cautious...still nervous...but better.  I'm healing (YAY!).  It might be slower than I'd like, but considering that 6 weeks ago I felt like a broken person who might never feel totally happy again, the epiphany gave me boat loads of hope.  If I could give myself a big fat hug, I would. 

And back to that workout (it hurts so good, today!)...it's part of a personal challenge to get healthy and look/feel well by my birthday.  I didn't really publicize it- not because I don't intend to follow through, but for some reason it feels intensely personal this time.  I'm not doing it because I have a major milestone or because I have a dress I want to look good in (like last time), but because I just want to feel my best.  I'm on a mission to be the best me I can be.  One thing I realized through this process was that I sacrificed a lot of who I am over the years- for a lot of reasons, but mostly, because I felt ashamed.  I can't say why. I just did.  I didn't like myself, and I assumed no one else liked me either.  By my mid-twenties, I think I was a pretty well balanced version of myself...some of the quirk without all the drama (and more selective of my friends).  I wasn't "all the way" there though.  I still felt embarrassed about some parts of myself...like the fact that even though I was pretty good at my job and I did like it, most of my talents and passions were creative.  Growing up I'd wanted to act, but wanted so much to be "like everyone else" and lacking the confidence to just be myself, I never went for it.  It's true...you regret more what you didn't do than what you did.  I regret that I never even tried.  Now, at 31, that ship has sailed, but I'm done being embarrassed of who I am.  I figure to be the best role model for my kids, I need to be the best Megan first.  It's not going to be a "thing" that I write about every week, but I'm sure I'll mention it sometimes.  In the mean time, I hope to keep the healing coming.  Wish us luck! 

Wah wah wahhhh...battling the "winter blues"

Hello and happy weekend!  I'm trying my best to be in a good mood today.  I have to admit, I've been struggling with post-holiday winter blues; and my kids are both sick every other day and there are crazy people out there trying to kill everyone, blues (but seriously, the cold weather and lack of sun aren't helping).  I'm someone who would be a good candidate to move to a warmer climate (for serious), because I become terribly depressed in the winter here in blustery NJ.  It's true, I've had a lot go on since August of last year (and it hasn't slowed much, but morphed into an every day kind of panic instead of a "focused on one event" kind of panic), but this really does happen to me every year (small children and brain tumors aside).  Between the crazies and the widespread flu going on, it's truly a wonder I ever leave the house...it's so bad that when I drop Cam at school, I get a pit in my stomach that doesn't ease until I pick her up and see that she's safe.  Sad but true, this is the world I'm raising my babies in.

However, I have to say, I'm beyond sick of feeling like a Debbie Downer.  Usually, I let myself walk around with the proverbial "wah wah wahhhhh" bubble over my head until Spring, and then get to being my chipper self again; but this year, after everything, the last thing I want to feel is down (if I can help it).  It's hard enough, since I feel overwhelmed a lot of the time (it's getting better, but I'd still love to find some time in my schedule to do things like go to the gym or join a yoga class on a regular basis), but I'm determined.  Why now?  Well, there's the obvious (duh), and then there's that I've noticed my blah attitude rubbing off on my little girl.  My anxiety/ocd has her terrified of germs (both receiving them and giving them to her friends), and that's something I really didn't want to happen.  When I started therapy (when Cam was Ben's age, 6 months old), the hubby and I discussed how I needed to get better because I didn't want this kind of thing rubbing off on her when she was old enough to notice.  Well, that time has arrived.  And I've made my little girl a worry wart.  The problem being I don't know if she's innately anxious (like me), or if I made her that way, or if it's somewhere in between.  She's obsessed with an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba that talks about germs, and plays a scene over and over where little ugly germs sing about making kids sick.  I'm not really sure what to do with this, now- I've tried toning back my germ talk.  I've tried fibbing (although every other parenting story says not to fib to your kids), and telling her "other" reasons we shouldn't put our hands in our mouths all the time or shouldn't pick our noses and touch our friends...but I think the damage is done (at least for this winter).  I'm going to keep my fingers crossed that spring comes sooner than later and I can undo some it (and somehow divert her from that episode of YGG...).

As for my own self, that might be more of a battle.  I get irrationally angry at other people for not being more "responsible" (I put that in quotes since I know I might be bordering on unreasonable about it).  They send their kids to school sick (like fever and green snot and exhausted sick).  They don't use hygiene let alone teach their kids to wash their hands.  They go out in public (when they don't need to) when they have the flu.  I could go on (and on...and on...) but I won't.  There was a mom at one of Cam's dance classes who was letting her 10 month old chew on her older daughter's sneaker (her very, very dirty, been walking on the ground for like 5 months sneaker).  I know I can be extreme in the other direction but jeeze.  But I have to try to tone it back...if not for my own sanity, for the sanity of my kids.

In the mean time, making me less anxious and a bit happier is one of the steps to helping her feel less anxious and happier.  I am going to continue to try to find blocks of time to find things I enjoy (and that I found meditative, like working out), but for now, I'm going to have to settle for five minute strips to enjoy the little things.  A hot cup of coffee, my favorite song on the radio, getting to see my kids play together...all the wonderful little things that make the effort worth it.  Hopefully, some extra smiles and talking more about nail polish colors (I just painted her nails this morning- it should last a good 3 hours...) and less about the flu will have her singing about more about sunshine and wheels on the bus than tiny, ugly germs. Wish us luck!

I'm baaaaaack! New Year and a "motherlode" of goals!

It's been 3 (yes, THREE!) months since Kenny's successful awake craniotomy, but I have to say, it feels much longer.  We settled into family life much faster than I had anticipated, and while sometimes I worry that I've lulled myself into a false sense of security, it's a risk I'm willing to take for the time being.  What else can I do?  My constant worry about every.little.thing. isn't doing anyone any good anyhow.  So, instead, I've refocused my efforts into getting our act together in 2013 (which mostly revolves around my kids). 

So about two years ago, when I was gearing up to turn 30 (::sigh::, when I was a still spry 29 year old), I started this blog because I wanted to challenge myself to try new things.  Cam was a little more than a year old, and she, and life, were generally easy.  I tried new recipes, new drinks, went new places and did my best to adhere to "the list."  I didn't complete it, but I enjoyed the "challenge" and feeling of accomplishment of some personal goals.  At the time, Cam's needs were simple.  She needed love, and snuggles, and some attention.  Flash forward two years, and obviously things are different now- not only because life has become a bit more complicated, but because we have a second child, too.  I don't have time to make 25 ingredient meals or spend hours every day at the gym. I wish I remembered what it was like to go to the movies or even have time (at this point) to take an extra long shower by myself.  I guess my point is that two years ago, I had the luxury of my personal goals being, well, personal.  

Today?  My biggest goals are all mom related (or really, kid related).  Not only has Cam hit the terrible 3's with hurricane force, she's had a really tough 6 months, something we only realized recently.  In July, our little trio lived a happy-go-lucky, easy existence.  We had, earlier in the year, moved her from our room (she slept with us the bulk of her life) and I had weaned her from extended nursing (which I've talked about before).  It was tough (or at least it felt tough at the time), but she handled it with gusto.  By the second week of August she had a baby brother and slept on a pullout couch at Grandma and Grandpa's house.  Kenny and I were constantly disappearing for doctor  appointments, and then he was gone (from her world) for the better part of two weeks, where he came home with a big "boo boo" on his head.  Of course, when all was well, we moved back home, where she finally felt the effects of being a big sister (since there were no longer 5 adults around all the time).

I know things could have been worse (by far).  I know we are incredibly lucky and fortunate and every adjective possible that means "Thank the effing God(s?) above my husband is mostly tumor free and had a rock star recovery."  But my girl got lost in the shuffle of getting Ken to where he is now, and now it's her time to get back on track (well, everyone's, but at the moment, she needs the most attention).  We did a lot of overcompensating.  A lot of TV watching and fruit snacks were had to appease the daughter who we felt we neglected for 3 months, and we created a monster.  An angry, clingy, non sleeping monster.  I realized at the very tail end of the year that spoiling her was doing no good; not for us and most definitely not for her.  That's when we decided 2013 is the year we try our damnedest to get ourselves together. Our end goals are simple...health and happiness.  We always say that, don't we?  We wish ourselves and everyone a healthy and happy new year?  Well, we are putting our money where our mouths are.  

Sounds easy, right?  Yeah...ok.  That's why I'm throwing down the gauntlet (ie. challenging myself to these tasks on my blog so I am shamed into following through).  I'll break it down for you: I want my kids happy.  I want them healthy.  I want me healthy, happy and getting enough "me" time that I don't cringe when I hear Ben stirring or Cam calling for me when I'm two sips into my morning cup of coffee.  I want Kenny healthy, and into the best work/life balance possible.  I want time with friends, time with our kids, time alone and time to get back to life.  We need gym time, playground time, nap time, book time and snuggle time. Things aren't going to be what they used to be, but they can still be great.  Obviously this is going to take a lot of baby steps...

To start, we began using a sticker board of every day accomplishments we'd like Cam to achieve, like sleeping by herself, not having accidents in her underwear (she often will wait so long she goes a tiny drop and then tells us she has to go), cleaning up her toys, eating her fruits and vegetables, and not throwing tantrums.  The first week felt hopeless, but finally it sank in (and seems to be working at least for a few of the things).  We have cut out unnecessary sugar (she was none too happy about the lack of fruit snacks and Gerber snacks), amped up her fruit and veggie intake, reduced her TV time (like by A LOT), and are upping our efforts to get her outside to play more.  It's only been a few weeks, but we can see a huge difference in her attitude already.  Thank God...it was getting hairy there for a bit.  As for Ben, luckily his needs are still pretty minimal.  He's still sleeping in our room (the APA recommends babies sleep in the same room as their parents until 6 months of age, I know most people don't really go that long but he's not really interrupting anyone's sleep so we're fine with this), but I do plan to move him to his room in the coming months (something that didn't happen with Cam until she was almost 2.5).  

As for Ken and I- he's began what will likely be his work schedule for the foreseeable future (commuting 2 days a week and working from home 3).  He's still navigating how to be at his most effective for work while he's at home (I've mentioned before how he genuinely enjoys work and his job, so he really strives to do well- always looking for ways to improve himself); but he says he thinks he's getting there.  We've made our bedroom his office; inclusive of a desk facing the window and a new computer on it's way (something about needing a giant monitor so he can have multiple applications open at once...I'm usually doing something domestic like wrangling wiggly kids into their clothes when he's explaining such things).  I keep the kids mostly out of his way for the bulk of the day (with the exception of when I need to get dressed), and he enjoys that he gets enough rest and can work late without having to still commute 90+ minutes afterward.  The days he goes in are like a treat- since no cars are necessary to get around in NY he feels some independence and gets to be amongst co-worker (ahem, adults- I'd be lying if I said I wasn't moderately jealous on that point...).  We are trying to plan some nights out (and one away) so we can start getting time alone to talk about things other than who pooped, who ate, and who bathed (the kids, not us, get your heads out of the gutter).  

I, personally, am still pretty much at square 1.  Other than a new obsession with Gossip Girl, that Kenny and I watch on Netflix most nights after the kids have gone down, I don't have much (if any) time alone to do things like exercise; but I AM eating better (I actually have all 3 of us solid food eating Courtneys' on an immune boosting diet of lean meats and lots of fruits and veggies).  I'll get there, but it's all par for the course with everything.  I'm (obviously) trying to find some time to write, but with Kenny still using the family computer most days, until the new work computer arrives I'll settle for whenever I can get.  Since I'm fairly certain the gym and I will remain merely acquaintances for the coming few months (until cold and flu season is mostly over and I feel okay putting Ben in their daycare), I'm focusing my personal goals on getting our house/schedules organized and in-sync.  By the end of February, I'd like my house to be a well oiled machine.  Right now, disaster area is an understatement- but with a little elbow grease and a lot of purging, I think 2 months is a good end goal for getting it looking better and feeling easier to stay on top of.  (PS- have I mentioned how ecstatic I am to be talking about normal things???  I could squeal....seriously).  I hope to check in again soon! 

You know you love me. XOXO,

Gossip Girl. (Sorry, I couldn't help myself!)