I threw out my back picking up a child. Being an older mother sucks.

He was hitting his brother as they were standing on chairs at the kitchen counter while I was trying to do something, I forget what.  It was something important like paying bills or calling clients back.  I picked him up and turned to the right to put him on the floor and that’s when my back spasmed and I spent the rest of the day high on Aleve and muscle relaxants.  Washed down with a swallow of peppermint schnapps, because it was the only thing I could reach where I was stuck in the kitchen crying.

It hurt so bad it make me want to throw up.  The kid is almost 5 and 42 pound.  I used to be able to throw a bag of dog food that size over my shoulder and walk half a mile to the car in the Walmart parking lot.  Not anymore.  One tiny child and I’m crying.

By late afternoon I was feeling a little better until Gina called and said I sounded drunk.  I explained that I was more tired of the pain than drunk.  And not drunk, but waiting for the pills to wear off because I had been useless all day.  By evening it was better and I thought maybe I would survive.

Until the husband said “You shouldn’t be picking up children, you’re pushing 50.”

Then I just wanted to smack him across the face, which took my mind off my back.

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Menopausal MOM with minions (preschoolers)

That’s what I should change the name of this blog to.  The symptoms of perimenopause do not go well with a 3 and 4 year old.  Here are some examples:

I got a massage this morning.  That sounds relaxing and indulgent, but it’s more work and sometimes painful.  She finds the trigger points that hurt and pushes them out.  Sometimes I work hard not to hold my breath.  She saw my legs today and said “You have as many bruises as my kids.”  Yes, and my hormones are so out of whack every month that I bruise easily every time one of the boys jumps on me or ninja whacks me in the legs with a book or a toy drill.

My hair falls out in clumps just before my period for two months now.  My doctor said I’ll just be one of those old women with sparse hair.  I’m 46!  I’m not 62!  And it grows back in.  NO, my estrogen is just bottoming out every month and my hair falls out.  But add to that two little boys who like to hold my hair when they are getting their butts wiped, or lovingly pet me in a little boy pulling hair kind of way.

And then there is the nap time problem.  Just as they’ve grown out of taking naps I’ve grown into them.

I got myself a fitbit last week and the one thing I discovered is that I sleep horribly.  7 hours and 3 of that is restless and 45 minutes of that is awake.  Then I realized that it’s tracking hot flashes.  I wake up, throw the covers off, go back to sleep, get cold, wake up, pull the covers back on.

Any other woman going through this would be like, well, I’ll get 9 hours tonight and nap tomorrow.  Not me.  The 3 year old sat on me today as I was laying on the couch and kept poking me in the nose to make sure I was awake.

Bald, tired, and bruised.  That’s me.

Another Penis Story (when it’s ironic that I should be telling menopause stories at the same time)

Their father put them to bed but then the 4 year old wanted to whisper something to me.

I only want to talk to you about my pee-pee Mom, not Dada.  Just you.

Okay, so did Dada ask you something about your pee-pee.

No, but I want to talk to you, Mom.

So what is it?

I found a little ball on my pee-pee.  Let me show you.  Whips out his parts.  And grabs ahold of a testicle to show me.  What is this?

It’s a testicle Honey.  There are two of them.  All boys have them.

What is it for?

Hmmmmm, I don’t have the words that you would understand yet.  It’s part of your private parts.

Does it hold my pee until I have to go potty?

Okay sure.  That and other things.  Did you just find this today?

Yes, I play with it in my bed all the time.

There you go, another lovely episode of Little Boy is Infatuated With His Penis.  Brought to you by the old mom who has hot flashes almost every night now and says things like “Don’t hug me so hard, my bones are fragile.”

More penis stories

Little boys are so weird.  Already obsessed.  The 4 year old has begun falling asleep with his hands down his pants.  Last night when I tucked him in and rearranged his blankets just so, which meant pulling them all down and starting over, he was down there rubbing away.  I said “What are you doing?”  And he got so embarrassed.  LOL.  Poor little kid.  It’s like his own personal sleep aid.

Then this morning he was so sick.   We all are.  I let him snuggle on my lap in the recliner, with my oldest child sitting next to us.  I wasn’t dressed yet and had this thin v-next t-shirt on.  Next thing I know he’s rubbing my nipple with one finger.  “Stop with the nipple rubbing.” I said to him and the 21 year old started laughing hysterically.  I think she comes here for the hilariousness of my life.

I think the poor thing is also constipated.  For the two days I was truly down and out with the flu, I don’t think his sister made him drink anything.  So the husband was going to town for supplies this morning and I asked him to get some Fleet suppositories.

“Where can I find them?” he asked.

“In the poop section.”  I answered.  “Blue box maybe, they have orange handles.  Spelled FLEET..”  Seemed pretty clear to me.

“But where’s that?” he asked.

“With the laxatives,” answered the oldest child again.

“Where?” he asked again.

“Rite-aid?”

He looked surprised and that’s when the oldest child started laughing hysterically again.  “He thought you meant here.  You would have a Poop Section Mom.  That is so you.”

There is nothing wrong with making sure a person is regular.  Next time they ask me for some smooth move tea or want me to look at their turds to see if whole piece of whatever are normal or if I see the face of Darth Vader, I’m going to remind them that pooping is EVERYTHING.

Why Moms need Coffee and Wine: Introducing Julian the Wolfbaby.

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This is Julian.  He is 34 months old.  He took a bath before bedtime last night and I let his hair dry in a mohawk.  This is how he woke up and no matter how much hair product I use to keep him from looking like Baby Wolverine, this is his look today.  I will use Julian the Wolfbaby as an example of why I need coffee and wine, sometimes at the same time.

I just read a blog on why moms need coffee and wine, but it was too vague.  Nothing is vague while raising a wolfbaby and his older brother, Jude who is 4 1/2.  And these are just the toddlers.  I will explain the need for coffee and wine by bulleting the past 24 hours.

-Julian the Wolfbaby sometimes takes a nap after lunch.  Sometimes means that when I lay down and almost fall asleep too, he will pop his head down the stairs and say “Mom, I have to tell you something.”  The Wolfbaby opened his door (which is difficult), took down the baby gate, and played in my room upstairs for an hour before coming down.   I forgot to drink another cup of coffee and had just closed my eyes.

-We took a ride to the animal shelter to see the kitties.  Jude threw up in the van on the way back.  Fish cracker puke on him, his car seat, his backpack, the van, and my purse.  I need another cup of coffee to do 5 loads of laundry to wash out the vomit.  I will need wine to not care that my vehicle smells like vomit and to not replay the scene in my head while I sleep.

-Julian the Wolfbaby likes to stand on the couch and scream at the top of his lungs.  Like shriek.  My eardrums hurt when he hits the perfect note.  Then he giggles.  I need to go to my safe place in my head, which is anywhere with wine, to not react by screaming back.

-Jude now complains that the van smells bad and then glares at me like I did it.  The thought of having wine tonight keeps me from glaring back.  Almost.

-Anytime I feel like sitting down, reading a book, watching tv., or just staring into space, small bodies or toys or sometimes cats or books come flying at me.  I have been hit in the face unexpectedly so many times  that I duck at hibachi grills.  Coffee keeps me from getting black eyes or stitches.

-Julian rides his tricycle inside.  I have to have quick reflexes to avoid having my ankles bashed.  Only another cup of coffee can make me superhuman fast on my feet.

-While I am fairly certain that Julian has never seen a zombie, he likes to pretend to be one.  He says he wants to hug me and then bites my shoulder.  If my toes are easily available he will latch on.  He bites his brother.  He bites his older sister in the butt as she makes a sandwich.  I wonder if wolf pups bite this much.

-Their father likes to bounce them before bed.  This involves throwing them into the air and shouting “BOING, BOING, BOING” very loudly.  Is there enough wine in the world to not jump every time someone yells BOING or POOPERMAN SAVES THE DAY.  And then if I happen to be on the couch that they want to jump to, I get body slammed.  Until this time, I have been able to calm myself, but now some serious PTSD is kicking in.

-After the boys are in their shared room for the night (We have 7-9 people in a 3 bedroom house depending on the day), Jude starts to yell.  The Wolfbaby has crawled under his bed and is making monster noises.  I need that little bit of leftover caffeine to run up the stairs, pull Julian out from under the bed and threaten him.

-A glass of wine takes the edge of the PTSD and allows me to laugh at the ridiculousness of Jude and Julian the Wolfbaby.  Another glass makes me want to sleep because I’m too tired to stay up any longer.  I stumble upstairs and check on the boys one more time because Julian hasn’t learned blankets yet.  I kick something solid in the dark of their room and discover Julian the Wolfbaby asleep face down on the floor.

-A 45 year old should not have children so small and energetic and downright maniacal.  Maybe when I was 20.  Although I seem to remember lots of coffee and wine with the girls too.  It’s all kind of hazey, just the way motherhood is supposed to be.

 

Is the Mirena a Good Idea? Can the Mirena just Fall Out?

I thought it was a great idea at first.  More effective than a vasectomy.  Hardly any maintenance.  5 years of not taking pills.

Hell, yes.

Can it fall about without anyone knowing it?

Hell yes.

I did everything I was supposed to do.  Had it checked on 6 weeks after insertion and it was right where it was supposed to be.

But it disappeared, vanished, teleported to someone else’s cervix.  I don’t know when or how and I didn’t cramp or bleed or feel it coming out.

How do I know it’s not there???

I thought the steroid nasal spray was making me ill.  That is one of the side effects.  And then I thought the antibiotic for my ear infection was making me ill.  That is one of the side effects.  Every afternoon around 3:00 I get desperately ill.  Couch laying ill.  Groaning and wishing I could die ill.

I could sue them if it was still in there, embedded in a wall, tearing a hole through to my bladder.  But it’s GONE.  The ultrasound person said she’d never seen one just disappear before and that it might have gotten caught on a tampon or come out if I was constipated.  Steroid nasal spray makes me constipated.

How can birth control just fall out?

What other birth control can cause such harm?

What other birth control fails and tears through a fetus, breaks apart, puts hole through things, requires surgery to take out?

They say it’s more effective than tubal ligation or a vasectomy.  But it seems they aren’t counting the times it vaporizes, POOF.

I keep looking around at the floor thinking I’m going to see it lying there.  “Oh, there you are!”

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$800 just for the IUD, more for the insertion, $600 for the ultrasound to check on it.  $270,000 when it goes POOF.

Don’t do it!!!!

Being a mother the second time around. Things I never thought I would say.

I find myself at home again, doing dishes, cleaning various poop, and chasing a baby around who laughs at me when I say NO.

Didn’t I do this before?  Shouldn’t I be at the age when the kids start to move out, there’s less hair in the sink, and I get to buy comfortable toilet paper?  I was really looking forward to some Charmin.  Last night Nick went to get me a glass of wine  . . . after I held up my empty glass and waved it around . . . and he was surprised that my wine box is almost empty.

Well, yeah.  If I’m home alone with the kids 6 days a week I’m going to go through a lot of WINE.  That’s just a given.

I’m also going to find myself on the front lawn saying “Where are my nipples?” and looking in the window wells and under the shrubs for a package the post office said was delivered on Thursday but didn’t show up until Tuesday, so I can blame the post office for looking crazy.

My oldest daughter is across the country of course, but I am already so PROUD of her.  Not for getting a job, paying her own rent, or signing up for medical insurance.  No.  I am proud of her for saying to the Post Office lady:

“I never thought I’d be mailing my own tooth.”

Now, who does she sound like?

I’m a little jealous that she got to use that line, but I did get to hand the dentist here a box and say “Here’s Haley’s tooth.” Not quite the same.

How did Haley know her titanium implant out?  Well that’s a story for a different day, but she said she did it doing yoga.  Leave it to Haley.

It’s 8:30 a.m.  Is it too early for wine?