The clouds have rolled in with rain. The smoke has cleared. And any considerations about air conditioning seem moderately laughable as my hands resume their puckered purple posture. Not that we don't still have warm afternoons from time to time, but then they tend to be crisp, glorious and preciously temporal.
Despite the ongoing goings on, I am finding it increasingly difficult to know what to say about our lives, in a sense because Chaya - by far the most interesting feature of our little family unit - becomes more and more her own little person. And I feel increasingly ill-equipped to tell her story. She definitely tells it better at this point, even if she plays it closer to her chest with newer people (Seriously she turns into Homer just around bedtime and can get through her own personal Iliad before settling into bed at night).
I can merely marvel at the little monster-cherub's daily revelations (and sometimes cringe when those revelations are clearly to be used for future evil). And us? We're so boring! It's all just crank crank crank when my brain can't quite somersault over the lexophilia of old. Little to say. And yet, hunker down for a wordstorm! It's been a while.
I won't dredge you through the deep abyss of potty training, which seems to be our current parental rite of passage. Needless to say, Chaya's figured out that it's a great way to get to watch Potty Monkey (youtube has so many amazing forms of "entertainment" but at least the parents in this video aren't abusive in their "help") instead of going to bed or other responsibilities. She can quite literally go hours sitting on the toilet without producing any human byproducts, possibly including spit, sewat or tears. I often have to limit her "training sessions, because there is a cap on how long I can linger hunched over on the bathroom floor and I worry she'll hold it forever just to milk some more screen time. But we are not in a hurry. Diapers are incredibly convenient. Let nobody doubt that at 3 a.m. in the morning.
August was rapid-fire flurries (producing so much smoke that the air got outright toxic by most measures and we all suffered indoors for a good week, but also metaphorically in more fun ways).
Chaya pulled off her first flower girl gig in Chicago last month.
She was brilliant, of course. So stellar, her light, that she could barely be bothered to sleep the entire time we were there. The second night, she was exhausted enough to crash, but then rolled herself straight off the bed just as mommy had hit a good level of REM sleep. A second attempt at sleeping with mommy led her to wake up howling (nightmare memories I'm assuming). Then at some point she went from freaked out to maniacally overtired. We had a tortured remainder of the night, occasionally soothed by walks around the hallways and golf tv before Andrew and I eventually just pretended to sleep while she ran around the room, ping balling and chanting and trying to climb all things. She did NOT feel like sleeping on the plane until roughly 2 minutes after landing. It was a magically experience all in all. Andrew and I ... may have eventually recovered from the sleep deprivation and excitement. But we're thinking it'll be a while before another grand trip.
We also had our annual visit from Chaya's cousins.
I failed to capture photos of them all together. But rest assured they joined us at the obligatory Red Robin Birthday excursion along with a couple of lovely mellow mornings together. Chaya watched closely and took notes when the wrestling matches between brothers got WWE quality.
And time marched on. Actually before all that excitement, kiddo officially turned THREE!!! WHEEEE! Old enough to actually know and repeat her age! That feels like a milestone somehow.
I also aged at some point in there.
Physically, at least. But I've also reached a milestone in which I really have no idea how old I am. Mid to late thirties now I believe.
We've also had an adventurous September so far.
There was the ubiquitous Labor Day hike to Deception Pass (with bonus visit from grandparent and triple bonus cookout in which she momentarily decided she liked green pepper - a VEGETABLE!!)
There was a Caspar Babypants concert at the Salmon River Festival.
There will be another round of Caspar Babypants this weekend. Chaya is invited to come along, but honestly these concerts may be as much for the parents.
And all the while words get clearer. Idylls become more elaborate. Her imaginary friend (I hope), snake still comes to join her most evenings. This seems to be a good thing in Chaylandia.
The greater Wright unit? Where we at? Same place. Still.
We're not moving...in 2018 at any rate. I'd alluded to a few stirrings that would have taken us elsewhere. Largely they were stirrings, but based on my evolving acceptance that (1) Andrew will not find desirable work closer to home (2) the traffic around Everett is worsening by the day, and takes what sounds like a tidy commute into ultra-frustration territory (3) work opportunities in the Valley ain't so good for me either, although I would be considered a high commodity GAL if I could get myself together to get the training knocked out, (4) Andrew and Chaya are much closer now, and his presence is really important to all of us; (5) whatever vicious cocooning that accompanied my splash into motherhood has slowly diminished and I feel far less terrified of a future unknown.
Nonetheless, we are shelving the immediacy as Andrew focuses on attaining his PE license. This is the closest thing to the Bar Exam in his profession. You can be an engineer and not be a PE obviously. But being a PE means you are licensed with the state and have special regulatory super powers. It makes you far more valuable individually and within a company. Andrew's already passed the preliminary Engineer-in-Training Test before Chaya was born. He was then required to spend a certain period of time under the supervision of an already licensed PE. All together he's just finished the requirements, or will have by the test in April 2019. He'll spend all day with a pen and paper, answering questions (probably - he has to be admitted to take the test first and that requires tons of hoops and the like) and then immediately jump on several planes to fly to Alaska in order to jump on a helicopter and go hella-yeah-heliskiing with his brother. Because, when your brother finally gets to be an attending pediatric neurosurgeon, sometimes there are perks to his newfound financial security and high dopamine levels.
As for me,I've graduated from PT for my back. Not nearly healed, but managed. Daily yoga - at home with a crazy youtube version at whom I can swear if it gets too crazy - and prescribed exercises definitely minimize the pain. I still get intermittent headaches. When a bad one hits, I think about getting the nerve block that's on order for me. Then they go away and I forget I contemplated such things. I obviously just need my own little set of needles and blocking juice for when the urge hits.
I tried to slowly wean down from my omeprazole (reflux/heartburn medication). There's this thing called "acid rebound" that happens after somebody's been taking acid suppressing medications like omeprazole. Basically their body adjusts, as they tend to. So, yank the suppression and body goes into hyperdrive producing acid. It's a reaction that happens even in perfectly healthy adults after taking PPIs for a month or more, but the degree varies a great deal. Naturally, I'm exceptionally reactive and just cutting a pill in half every other day turned my esophagus into Northern California in the summertime. It was starting to hurt my teeth again so I am going back to my full dose. This is frustrating but I have an endoscopy scheduled in December and an appointment after this. Perhaps I may pin a doubtful star upon it for some answers. And I remain on a very low dose relative to recommendations.
I've said goodbye to a PT, so I've taken up another form of therapy: Therapy-therapy. I've been poking around this idea for a while, but it can be hard to fit appointments in (and therapists are usually quite booked). I like my new therapist so far.
Will therapy cure my ills? Andrew seems so optimistic that he even suggested that if I started therapy I may need fewer medical follow ups I am decidedly less in the "all in the head" category, though I recognize that stress and most conditions have a circular relationship.
I don't think my physical issues are psychological. I don't even think of myself as a classically stressed person (I don't necessarily get racing thoughts, I don't hyperventilate, my heart rate and BP decidedly do NOT raise, and I don't actually have as much a sense of doom/panic as my twisted sense of humor may imply). But my nervous system is genetically hyperreactive to stimuli, and that means not being in a beautifully lit, comfortable cocooon with classical music humming and positive loving friends dropping by for short hugs before leaving me to my own fairy dust can have a pretty significant toll in physiological wear and tear. Emotions (mine or other people's). Pain. Noise. Smells. Etc. All are more intense and potentially more draining. And I do think that can have a toll on my well-being.
My therapist suggested within five minutes that I was an HSP (Highly Sensitive Person), without my even mentioning that part of my experience, or suggesting I had flirted with that descriptor before. So we'll work on how to navigate the world as a sensitive person. Learning all kinds of tricks to stimulate the vagal nerve, which does seem tied into reflux and perhaps my vasovagal spells in the past. Ways to stimulate run from fun to weird: humming, singing, laughing, and hugging loved ones all sound good,. But stimulating the gag reflex? Ice baths? No thanks.
I fear I will be a challenging patient. I tend to be the kind of person with a fair degree of self-insight, but I wonder if I get to a certain limit of my own insights and encounter far greater resistance than others. This is just a wonder, but we'll see.
Honestly, I am in a way better places than I have been in a few years, even if my health issues are more annoying. I'm feeling much mellower and more balanced with my meditative practices. I'm working on breathing. So hopefully therapy can just double-down on that and help me develop further ways of self-caring, advocating for my boundaries, and still living with others. Yadda yadda yadda.
But besides, I probably have fewer medical appointments because doctors in many specialties have currently washed their hands of me, absent some glaring operable defect. Which brings us back to practicing mindfulness and patience anyways. So shrink that head, baby.
Meanwhile we've totally abandoned Konmari (the lifechanging joy of tidying up definitely cleared some space in our closets, but man going through papers and komono just doesn't spark any joy to me thanks).
We're on to BUJO! Or Bullet Journals.
Looks elaborate doesn't it? It can be! Some people buy special $20 journals. Others have fancy markers and stickers and ribbons! I mean this could be fullscare art. Or smug minimalism. The sky's the limit!!
Andrew hopped on the train with his usual determination. I figure it's just a slightly more structured version of my symptoms journals and freestanding journals. I won't go too into details. Really it mostly involved starting with a table of contents, including a little calendar, keeping a daily log, and interrupting that daily log with pages dedicated to various things you want ot focus on. More or less. Also the hip fetishization of analog media like pen and paper. Because we're elder Millenials damnit. The clothes worn in our MTV videos and occasionally at our elementary schools (with some clucking that it was "too old for us") is now featuring itself in Target with unabashed retro tackiness! Let us embrace the page while reloading our Facebook twenty times in a row and murmuring "careful" at our collective children.
Chaya does not have her own BUJO yet. But she's made some very fascinating insights in her various journals so far.
Very few of them about snake.
At any rate. That's more catch up (ketchup?) than anyone can probably stomach in a single pass, so I leave my remaining readers with a shake of gratitude and turn to my Bullet Journal to I don't know, log my day with a variety of fancy bullets and markers!
No comments:
Post a Comment