Pick Me Up, Dust Me Off.

This past month has been one of the single most challenging periods of my life.  (I think.)  In one month, I have become totally depleted.  I think perhaps January of my intern year was the last time that I felt this bodily and emotionally exhausted--January was my 7th month as an intern, and I had just finished two consecutive months of obstetrics rotations, one of which was in Phoenix.  I was on my ICU month, and was still waiting for my first vacation that year.  One of my co-interns had already had her second vacation.  I didn't care about anything at that point--I was just numb with exhaustion.

That's how I've felt the past two weeks, only now I have a 2.5 year old who goes from happy and independent to wailing and clingy at the drop of a hat.  Since I am fresh out of reserves, it doesn't take much to set me off these days.  Elena is in parrot mode, repeating everything that is said to her or around her, only she does so at often painfully poignant times.  We visited a college friend, her husband, and her daughter while in Boston a few weeks ago.  Elena's ear-splitting high-pitched laugh was a bit too much for her new friend, who lamented that Elena's laugh was "hurting her ears."  In being the nighttime single parent for three weeks, I've said a few times to Elena in melt down mode while trying to get Nina down, "This is a sleeping bed.  You can cry, but you can't do it in this bed."

Those two things have come together recently.  When Nina starts to cry, Elena says in halting staccato, "Stop. Cry. Ing. Ni. Na!  You're hurting my ears!  No. Cry. Ing. Ni. Na!!!!"  Not soothing.  I get that now.

When we got back from Boston/RI, I thought maybe Weeks 1 and 2 of single nighttime parenting had weakened me to the point of catching Josh's 2-3 week laryngitis virus.  I had weird alterations in taste (salty, scratchy), so started slamming myself with all sorts of herbal concoctions so that I could make it through Week 3.  I had bought some sage and thyme to make tea (bunch of herb in a mug, boiling water, cover and steep x 20 minutes, sweeten with maple syrup or other), but didn't get around to using the thyme until this week.  Everyone commented on how wonderfully it smelled yesterday at work.  I looked up wearily at a coworker and said, "It's my thyme.  I just wanted to feel nurtured."

I've been living off of caffeine and borderline crappy food.  I've still been eating relatively well, though I've also become an expert at justifying my treats.  Trust me--if you were nursing two, were partnerless for three weeks, still working nearly full time, flying cross country alone with two, and trying to keep it all together, you'd find the justification, too.

But now we're in recovery mode, which started last week.  I was half-dreading seeing friends of ours for dinner their first night visiting from NY.  I felt SO BLAH.  But it must have been just what I needed.  Michele, apart from her prenatal yoga teacher training, is home with Elijah, and has been for all of his 19 months.  Our conversation reminded me of an Onion article, which I highly recommend reading.  But validating each other's mommy concerns and successes and failures (okay, let's just say "failures" since they're not really all that bad) must have been just what I needed, because I left dinner feeling hopeful and rejuvenated.  Sitting on the U of A campus on a warm sunny afternoon with Ranee, Michele, Elijah, and Josh was lovely (sorry, girls, daycare for you!) and further movement in the right direction.  I felt compelled to do a cartwheel, and then work a little on my handstand--cartwheels: the ultimate symbol of freedom and happiness.

Now this week is back to the routine since our friends have left.  Wow, have I missed the routine.  I think when you are young and/or don't have many responsibilities, routine sounds like a horrid boredom trap--the allure of safety tethering people down to pitiful little lives.  It's in the routine that I have found freedom--the freedom to know which yoga classes I can make at lunch time, the freedom to buy food and prepare nourishing meals that will fuel my family, the freedom to schedule massages and acupuncture treatments, the freedom to finally write a blog entry.  Basically, the freedom to care for myself.  If you don't have this time carved out in your life in some way, there's a good chance it just won't happen.

Today I went to acupuncture for the first time.  I'm probably cheapening Charlie's skills by just calling it acupuncture, but you get the point.  I've had "Mommy-Baby Hip Carry Syndrome," so named by me, characterized by pain along the upper portion of your pelvis on the side that you carry your child.  Coupled with my above depletion, it has made me exceptionally irritable at home.  Nina craves physical contact, and I've been happy to give it to her until the past couple of months when it just causes me pain.  Apparently I've strained my obliques and sartorius muscles on my left side (at least I'm free to use my right hand!), and all of my yoga stretching has been causing my tendon attachments to become inflamed and "frayed" according to Charlie.

So here's to being gentle with ourselves, even in our journey towards healing.  I hope we both find the time to put our oxygen masks on first before attempting to do so for others.