Prozac in heaven

We euthanized Tucker two weeks ago. He was our 90 lb, 9 year old goofy, neurotic, 80 mg of Prozac a day, forever puppy Golden Retriever. Out of all three of our dogs, he was all dog. Chandler and Pacey are thinkers. You look into their eyes and realize that there is more to them then just a dog. Tucker, on the other hand, was not a thinker. He was all dog.

Tucker was a son of a somewhat loose bitch that was bred twice by a full Golden and a Shar-Pei. Half the litter were full Golden and the other were mixes. Tucker was one of the full Goldens, but sometimes I wondered if any of the Shar-Pei crazy genes made their way into his DNA.

Bryan really wanted a Golden Retriever. I was not a big fan of the idea. Still in vet school, Bryan was renting a room in the Alpha Psi house. A ROOM...not an apartment...a ROOM. He already had one dog. (Did I mention that he was living in a ROOM?) I was insisting that the space was too small for two dogs...especially one that was going to at least reach 60 lbs (I really underestimated his weight). Bryan, of course, didn't listen to me...it wasn't like we were married or even engaged...yet. Don't tell him I said this, but this is the one time I'll say that I'm happy he didn't listen to me.

Much like Lennie from "Of Mice and Men", Tucker was a big oaf that didn't know his own size. His great loves were his "babies"--plush toys for dogs sometimes with squeakers and sometimes without. Pacey had no interest in the toys. She's too good for a stupid toy. Furthermore, a toy is not food. Chandler just tore them apart. Being the part border collie that he is, he wanted to figure out how the squeaker worked hoping to invent a new and improved squeaker. Tucker, on the other hand, would lovingly carry them around in his mouth...periodically laying to groom them ever so gently. The only time that Pacey would want one of these toys was when she felt like bullying Tucker. If you gave one of them to Chandler, they would be torn up with stuffing all over the house in a matter of minutes. Tucker? One toy would last for years. We had several of these babies. When we opened the door for him to come inside, he would bulldoze his way in and obsessively patter around the house searching for all his babies. He wouldn't stop until he found them all. There could be four or more at a time and he would stuff them all in his mouth and carry them around...his security blanket. He may have been a little OCD (did I mention the Prozac?).

When I became pregnant, his fear of hardwood floors (did I mention this?) was put aside because he now had a job. Tucker sensed that there was something different about me...sensed a vulnerability in me that was not there before (not to mention my belly was growing exponentially). He became my bodyguard barely leaving my side. I would leave the room...he would leave the room...I went upstairs...he went upstairs. It didn't matter if it meant walking on hardwoods or not.

We always kidded around that with our luck, Tucker would be the last one to go. However, it didn't turn out that way. He wound up being the first one to go. He had an innocence about him that made the decision harder than I thought. With the other two, I believe they will give us knowing looks and realize that it is time. With Tucker, I don't think he would have ever realized that it was time. Despite his bleeding liver and splenic tumors, he still acted like a completely goofy 90 lb puppy with a couple of episodes of being really lethargic and depressed.

Frustrating though he might be at times, he brought us much joy in the form of laughter. Now, I think of him running around in a heaven filled to the brim with plush toys...plenty of pregnant women to guard...where the rivers are full of Prozac.

Remote control

Dear James,

I woke up this morning and realized that your first birthday has come and gone. Shit. You know that movie with Adam Sandler, "Click", where he has a remote control that he uses to control his life? ... ok, maybe you don't know that movie yet since you are only 1. Basically, he fast forwards through his life. This is exactly how I feel about this past year. Someone pressed the fast forward button without me knowing.

You have gone from a 7 lb 3 oz little blob of pee, poop, and tears....and have become a 24 lb walking, giggling, smiling toddler. While there is still pee, poop, and tears, it is intermixed with "dada...mama..tucka, tucka, tucka...", belly laughs, and lots of smiles. Just one year ago, you were lucky to find my boob and now you can point to your head on command. We are so proud!!

The slow motion button on our family's remote control might be out of order. I want to savor each moment with you--especially now that you want to hug and snuggle with me. I know that there will come a day when snuggling with your mom will be deemed uncool....and perhaps a little creepy. Until that day comes, can we please get that slow motion button to working?

Love,
Mommy

Confession number 4: Rules of engagement

During pregnancy, future parents are given a dizzying list of do's and don't's (mostly don't's) that MUST be followed for fear of being deemed unfit and your baby immediately taken away from you until further notice.

1. Don't co-sleep.

• So I don't routinely co-sleep with my son--kinda have the fear of rolling over and smothering him. However, I can understand why some parents do. The occasional times that I have co-slept with my son, typically in the early morning bleary eyed hours where we both fall asleep nursing, I find it comforting. What is better than waking up with the sweet cherub snuggled up at my side? My husband at times finds us spooning as he wakes for work. He feigns jealousy of me sleeping with another man--a rather short bald toothless man...
  

2. Don't use a bumper on the crib.

• First they say use a bumper to prevent little arms and legs from getting stuck. Then, they say bumpers increase the chance of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). Soon they'll tell us to not even use a crib--just put the baby on the floor in an empty room.
  

3. Don't let the baby sleep at night in the car seat for fear of never getting used to sleeping on his back.

• Hey-you gotta do what works for you. For us, the car seat has worked wonders. And if he is 18 and still sleeping in his car seat...well, his college roommate can deal with it.

4. Don't give the baby any bottles prior to 3 weeks and definitely never ever give the four letter word (FORMULA) to the baby if you are breastfeeding.

• Whatever dude. Once that vice grip attaches to your nipple, you are begging for just one break. As my pediatrician said, don't be a hero, give the nips a chance to toughen up. When you need it, take that formula break!
  

5. Don't let baby sleep on his/her stomach.

• As with item #2, information and recommendations are constantly changing. My parents were told that sleeping on the stomach was best. Then, my sisters were told side sleeping was best. Now, back is best. Soon, they will recommend contraptions that keep them standing up while sleeping.

6. Don't let baby sleep in his/her own room until he/she is at least 4-6 months of age

• Well, this cramps relations with your partner. Even so, my son is 4 months old now, and I can't imagine him out of the room. There is comfort hearing his nighttime noises right next to me.
  

7. Don't let baby fall asleep in your arms. The baby must learn to fall asleep on his/her own.

• I'm not even going to comment on this.
  

8. Don't shake the baby.

• Here's the thing. You go to these childbirth classes where they make you feel like that when you have the baby you will become an evil psychotic monster. You will no longer be able to control your reactions. You will have the urge to shake your baby. I don't know how many times I had someone say to me...if you get frustrated, put the baby down in a safe place, and walk away for 10-15 minutes. Maybe it's just me and everyone sensed that I might go nuts...
  
• They also make you feel like the slightest bobble of the head will induce Shaken Baby Syndrome. No you really have to violently shake a baby...

9. Don't leave a baby crying for fear of baby not developing trust.

• Ok, so first they tell you to walk away from the baby because you are too nuts to handle him/her. Now they tell you that your baby will never trust you if you leave her crying. I'm seriously confused.
  

10. Don't keep any hard round food around....or really any object close to baby.

• Apparently EVERYTHING is a choking hazard. I find myself panicking as I watch J attempt to fit his whole fist in his mouth...

11. Don't wash the baby's clothes in regular detergent.

• You can ONLY use Dreft. For those who may not be familiar with Dreft, it is the the most overpriced laundry detergent that has completely monopolized the baby detergent industry...It runs approximately $50/gallon. Sometimes Babies R Us will send a 50 cent coupon for it.
  
• If you don't use Dreft, I've heard that your baby might grow an extra arm...or something like that.

12. Don't install you car seat yourself.

• You cannot read directions. You are a complete moron.
• Statistics show that 85% of all car seats are installed incorrectly. Really? 85%? 85% of us cannot read directions or are a complete moron? I wanna know how they came up with this number?
  

13. Do have an escape plan in case of emergency. This escape plan should include escape from a second story and if you have pets, include them in your plan--ie must have a harness and a pulley system to get them to safety.

• Seriously....we were told this in our child safety class. We have yet to work these details out.
  

14. Do provide adequate tummy time or baby will never crawl.

• You know the saying "you have to crawl before you walk"? Well not so much anymore. Since babies spend so much time on their backs, many skip the crawling phase and go straight to walking.
  

Before anyone calls child social services on me, I do follow most of these "rules"--I just found the list a bit overwhelming!! The important point to remember is that as long as you are not putting your baby in harm's way, do what works for you. Especially in the first few months, it is all about survival mode. If the only way baby will sleep is to sleep with you, so be it...if it means sneaking a bottle of formula to baby to give yourself a break, so be it...If doing these things means that it will prevent you from going nuts and shaking your baby...then so be it.

Confession number 3: Dialysis

I have never wanted to be a stay at home mom. However, as the start date back to work rapidly approaches (1 week away), guilt and anxiety have now filled my body to the core and I desperately want more time. Am I going to miss all those special moments and milestones? Our little peanut has pretty much been with me 24/7 since conception (about 1 year ago). Now I'm supposed to just let him be away from me 8-12 hours a day Monday through Friday? Snippets of him in the mornings...evenings...weekends...

I feel as though someone has come in and said to me, "I'm sorry, but we are going to have to remove both of your kidneys".

"Really?" I say, "Aren't kidneys pretty essential for life?"

"Yes, but don't worry, you will be on dialysis mornings...evenings...weekends..."

Sucks, big time.

Confession number 2: What the fuck happened to my bellybutton?

I used to have a nice shallow belly button. My husband on the other hand has a deep dark pit --like 20,000 leagues deep. I have often been afraid that if I stuck my finger in there that I would never see it again. Not even the likes of Captain Nemo would be able to save my finger from the monster that lurked.

However, after the birth of my son, my belly button now rivals the depth of my husband's. It plunges from the surface of my belly into an abyss. Will it become the Bermuda Triangle of navels where important items could be lost without a trace? Does my belly button have a chance of returning to its former self?

As I sit here and mourn the loss of my former umbilicus, I wonder to myself : am I really this vain? No, of course not!...Ok, well...maybe a little. Maybe I am as shallow as my previous belly button, but when you've had pretty much the same body for most of your adult life and then it undergoes this major transformation, it's a little shocking.

It's not all bad though. When the woman at the bra shop measured me and revealed that I was no longer a measly 34B, but now upgraded to a double D, it was shock and awe. My husband could not have been more proud (I'm surprised that he didn't have a status update on Facebook bragging about his stacked wife). I apparently am going to have to nurse the baby until he is 18 to keep the girls in their current state.

The truth is though, I wouldn't trade this time for anything in the world--Bermuda Triangle or not. As always, just trying to take the good with the bad. In this case, the good far outweighs the bad.

Now, if I could only find my car keys...

Confession number 1: The Magic of Smiles, Coos, and Zoloft

Tom Cruise can kiss my ass. I suppose if had become in touch with my inner thetan, I would realize that postpartum depression does not exist...mind over matter...stop being so glib, Jen. If only Tom had been driving by during my depression...he would've been the only one who could've helped me!

What a crock of SHIT... Truth be told, I did have a touch of the dreaded postpartum depression. On the third night post op c-section, I lay there in the hospital sobbing...thinking ridiculous thoughts like: "I'm not strong enough to handle this"..."I'm not good enough for my son". It progressed from there when I arrived at home. In the past, I have been prone to some moodiness, maybe a slight depression--nothing too significant. During my pregnancy, I had some emotional days where I raged against my husband and sent myself to my room...sobbing hysterically. Damn those pregnancy hormones...and damn those hormones post pregnancy.

Once I arrived at home, it was all I could do to keep myself from crying. I never had thought of hurting myself or the baby or anyone else...I did have thoughts of running away...asked myself why we decided to do this...blamed everyone for not telling me how hard this was going to be...blamed everyone for my chapped cracked painful nipples...

Not many women really talk about their depression...and I am one of them. My husband was able to figure it out--how could he not since he walked in on me multiple times while I was sobbing...he would have to be the emotional equivalent of an earthworm not to notice. My parents were staying with us and could sense that something was wrong. I attempted to put on the brave face for them, but sitting at the dinner table with a glossed over look on my face while hardly touching the fabulous gourmet meals that my dad was spoiling us with may have tipped them off.

Fortunately though, I did not suffer long with depression. Into my 2nd week postpartum, both my husband and mother suggested talking to the doctor. As if reading my mind, I received a call from on the nurses to check up on me. And poof, after an appointment with the nurse practitioner, Zoloft was prescribed .

By the third week postpartum, things kicked in for me. By "things", I mean the Zoloft...but what also started happening was realizing how precious these times were...catching glimpses of a smile...getting squirted in the face with a fountain of urine...hearing coos and squeals of delight...getting doused with spit up (hey--it happens)...and finally not just getting mere glimpses of a smile, but actually him smiling AT me...in response to me...

My heart melted...and I fell in love.

PS: Although I'm still annoyed by him, I have slightly forgiven Tom Cruise for his craziness...merely for his role in Tropic Thunder...