I've been thinking back on my past a lot recently. When I look at my baby girl's face, so constantly full of joy, with her little gap-toothed grin and the way her cheeks take over her entire face when she smiles, it reminds me that one of my greatest worries is that she will struggle with the darkness that I suffered when I was a kid.
I suffered two especially devastating periods of depression in my life. The first began around age 14 and lasted through my junior year of high school. I constantly thought of suicide. I screamed and fought with my parents and then had sobbing breakdowns in my room. I thought of my own head as being a black, dark and unsettled place. I sat alone and wallowed in my misery often. If I were that kid now, with the attention that has been brought to teen depression and the medication that is now available, I think I'd be able to speak up and to help myself. But back then, I stayed silent.
The second bout occurred in the second semester of my sophomore year of college. It was motivated by several things, including the end of a romantic relationship and my perceived loss of several of my best friends. I wrapped myself in a cocoon of self-pity and misery. I told everyone that I was so over college, when in reality I was so depressed that I couldn't even begin to see a way out of it. (On the upside, I wrote some of the best poetry of my life.) Eventually I chose to drop out of school, making a decision that for better or worse has influenced the course of my life.
I know that depression is hereditary, but also that it is shadowy and unpredictable. It can skip over one sibling and strike another. And because depression is something that we so often hold inside, it can be difficult to tell how badly someone is suffering. My parents always made themselves available to me, and in many ways we've had an open and honest relationship with each other. But when I was a teenager, something inside of me kept me from telling them what I was truly going through. Through my own pride, I never felt like asking for help was an option.
This is what scares me about having a daughter. I've always been a private person who finds it difficult to talk frankly about what I'm feeling, especially if those feelings are ugly and complicated. Will she be similar? Will she learn how to paste on a pretty, smiling face when inside she's hurting terribly? Will she feel obligated to feign happiness in order to make others happy?
It wasn't until my late 20s that I learned how to cope with my depression, but I did eventually learn. And these days when I start worrying about her, I remind myself that there are ways around it. What I will teach her first and foremost is that wallowing in self-pity is pointless. Sure, we all do it -- moping and being moody is practically required when you're a teenager. But I want to teach her that there are things we can do to mitigate the misery. Like going outside and being active, even if it's the last thing we feel like. Or spending time with other people, when we'd rather be alone. Most of all I want to teach her that some days, life just feels blue and when it does, it just does . And on those days you've got to just ride the wave. Hide under your covers, write furious poetry, eat some chocolate, cry and feel bad. Because eventually it will pass, and the blackness will diminish, and you will feel okay again.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Sleep On It
For Scott's birthday we said to hell with it and drove up to Sunnyvale to make nuisances of ourselves. Sunnyvale is the home of one of my dearest friends from college; she lives there with her husband. By awesome coincidence one of our other best friends was also visiting with her boyfriend for the weekend, so the six of us got together for dinner on Saturday night and brunch Sunday morning.
Sadie held it together fairly well. I'd been worried about two things: the five hour car ride, and the sleeping arrangements. During the day her tolerance for riding around in her car seat is around 30 minutes. We strategized as well as possible, timing the beginning of the trip right around her nap time (with a swim lesson earlier that morning to tire her out) and then stocking the car with toys, a couple of new books and snacks. For sleeping we brought her pack and play, a portable crib that worked brilliantly when we took her to Vancouver over New Year's.
A lot changes in five months.
The car ride, unexpectedly enough, went smooth as silk both times. She napped on the first leg, then we'd stop for lunch and a leg stretch, and pop her back in for the second half. I sat in the back seat with her and kept her occupied by switching out books and toys, singing songs, and playing games.
Sleeping...that didn't turn out so well. She wanted nothing to do with the pack and play, and when she was put in it, she screamed nonstop. On Friday night it took about an hour to get her down to sleep -- mostly because we kept picking her up and trying to soothe her. At home we'd be more likely to let her cry it out, but when you're staying in a hotel the worry that you're driving other people crazy takes precedence.
What finally worked was allowing her to pass out in bed with us. She squirmed and fussed for awhile and eventually draped her upper body on my chest, face up. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, but she was deeply asleep in minutes and Scott was finally able to sneak her into her crib where she slept the rest of the night.
Saturday was even worse -- it took an hour to get her to sleep at our friends' house, and when we got home around 11pm she'd woken up and was furious that we were trying to get her back down into the crib again. We couldn't get her to sleep no matter how hard we tried. At last, around midnight, I begged Scott to come let her sleep in the bed with us since it had worked well the night before. (I love it when he's too exhausted to argue with me.)
So she slept in between us. At some point during the night, she managed to maneuver herself into a position from which she was able to kick us both directly in the face. I don't understand how she did this -- it was too dark to see. All I know is that in the morning we were both equally grumpy from having endured a night full of face kicks. Scott's theory is that she's a ninja.
So after all that she was tired and fussy and ready to go home by Sunday. (In the pre-baby days, we probably would have talked ourselves into staying another night, but this time it definitely wasn't an option.) She only napped for an hour on the car ride home and by bedtime she was the very definition of "overtired." She screamed bloody murder when we put her to bed, and then she slept for 14 hours with another 3 hour nap today.
Oh -- the other bed anecdote I forgot to mention? We discovered on Sunday morning that Sadie was allergic to the detergent on the hotel bedsheets. She woke up covered head to toe in a bright red rash. We treated it with an Epsom Salt bath and a shitload of Aquaphor ointment, and she's better today. SEE, COLLEGE FRIEND? I SAID IT WASN'T SCABIES.
Sadie held it together fairly well. I'd been worried about two things: the five hour car ride, and the sleeping arrangements. During the day her tolerance for riding around in her car seat is around 30 minutes. We strategized as well as possible, timing the beginning of the trip right around her nap time (with a swim lesson earlier that morning to tire her out) and then stocking the car with toys, a couple of new books and snacks. For sleeping we brought her pack and play, a portable crib that worked brilliantly when we took her to Vancouver over New Year's.
A lot changes in five months.
The car ride, unexpectedly enough, went smooth as silk both times. She napped on the first leg, then we'd stop for lunch and a leg stretch, and pop her back in for the second half. I sat in the back seat with her and kept her occupied by switching out books and toys, singing songs, and playing games.
Sleeping...that didn't turn out so well. She wanted nothing to do with the pack and play, and when she was put in it, she screamed nonstop. On Friday night it took about an hour to get her down to sleep -- mostly because we kept picking her up and trying to soothe her. At home we'd be more likely to let her cry it out, but when you're staying in a hotel the worry that you're driving other people crazy takes precedence.
What finally worked was allowing her to pass out in bed with us. She squirmed and fussed for awhile and eventually draped her upper body on my chest, face up. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, but she was deeply asleep in minutes and Scott was finally able to sneak her into her crib where she slept the rest of the night.
Saturday was even worse -- it took an hour to get her to sleep at our friends' house, and when we got home around 11pm she'd woken up and was furious that we were trying to get her back down into the crib again. We couldn't get her to sleep no matter how hard we tried. At last, around midnight, I begged Scott to come let her sleep in the bed with us since it had worked well the night before. (I love it when he's too exhausted to argue with me.)
So she slept in between us. At some point during the night, she managed to maneuver herself into a position from which she was able to kick us both directly in the face. I don't understand how she did this -- it was too dark to see. All I know is that in the morning we were both equally grumpy from having endured a night full of face kicks. Scott's theory is that she's a ninja.
So after all that she was tired and fussy and ready to go home by Sunday. (In the pre-baby days, we probably would have talked ourselves into staying another night, but this time it definitely wasn't an option.) She only napped for an hour on the car ride home and by bedtime she was the very definition of "overtired." She screamed bloody murder when we put her to bed, and then she slept for 14 hours with another 3 hour nap today.
Oh -- the other bed anecdote I forgot to mention? We discovered on Sunday morning that Sadie was allergic to the detergent on the hotel bedsheets. She woke up covered head to toe in a bright red rash. We treated it with an Epsom Salt bath and a shitload of Aquaphor ointment, and she's better today. SEE, COLLEGE FRIEND? I SAID IT WASN'T SCABIES.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Just for Me
The list of words she's mastered has reached into the hundreds, with new ones every day. She knows piano, picture, purple and puppy. She knows wagon, waffle, water and window. She counts to ten (who cares if "two" gets repeated twice and five comes after eight?). She knows her colors (who cares if blue and red are interchangeable?). She sings the alphabet song (LMNOP might be a garbled mess, but at least she's trying!). Here are some of the other things Sadie says:
1. It used to be that I would habitually greet her each morning, as I walked into her room, by saying "Oh, hi." Somewhere along the line, she picked it up. Now when she rounds a corner and sees me making dinner in the kitchen, she says, "Oh, hi."
2. We have been working to teach her the concept of possession -- something she now understands and takes very seriously. "Mama beads," she says wistfully, when I walk her past the necklaces hanging from the mirror on my vanity.
3. A signed poster from TAM6 hangs above our living room couch -- one of my most prized possessions, a gift from my Mom. The poster includes images of Phil Plait, Richard Wiseman, Adam Savage -- all geeky white dudes with glasses. Occasionally she'll glance up at the poster, point to each picture, and identify each one as "Daddy."
4. More than two of anything equals "many." When she gets tired of pointing out each individual Poster Daddy, she will sometimes sweep her hand in a gesture of inclusion and finish with, "Many Daddy."
5. While she pronounces most words remarkably well, there are a few words whose incorrect pronunciation she clings to stubbornly. For the longest time, strawberries were "shaw-shees." Upside down still comes out as "Uppa-sown" so regularly that we're starting to pronounce it that way too. She still insists her own name is pronounced "See-hee."
6. If asked to do something she doesn't want to do, like turn off Elmo or eat a final bite of chicken, her response is typically the following: "No? No? No? Okay." The final "okay" does not signify resignation, but rather signals her satisfaction that you understood her: "I have no interest in this chicken. It tastes like butt, and at this moment I'd like to go back to watching 'Abby's Flying Fairy School,' so let's put an end to this farce. Okay."
7. Come to think of it, "okay" serves as an all-purpose punctuation mark to any statement.
8. She has a canny understanding of how useful inflection can be. She doesn't just ask for a cookie -- her eyes grow wide, she half-smiles and her voice lifts into a hopeful question to which she can't help but provide her own answer: "Cookie? Cookie? Okay."
9. While she understands that the Magic Word is "please," (as in, "Cookie?" "Sadie, what's the magic word?" "PEASE."), we still have to remind her every time she asks for something that it helps to tack a "please" onto the end. The exception are the two commands "up" and "help," which have been corrupted into "uppease" and "heppease."
10. She celebrates when we pull into our driveway with "we're home!" and when we walk in the door she greets the dogs with "Hi, guys." She calls each dog by name with love and affection in her voice. Right before initiating a one-sided wrestling match with whoever is closest.
1. It used to be that I would habitually greet her each morning, as I walked into her room, by saying "Oh, hi." Somewhere along the line, she picked it up. Now when she rounds a corner and sees me making dinner in the kitchen, she says, "Oh, hi."
2. We have been working to teach her the concept of possession -- something she now understands and takes very seriously. "Mama beads," she says wistfully, when I walk her past the necklaces hanging from the mirror on my vanity.
3. A signed poster from TAM6 hangs above our living room couch -- one of my most prized possessions, a gift from my Mom. The poster includes images of Phil Plait, Richard Wiseman, Adam Savage -- all geeky white dudes with glasses. Occasionally she'll glance up at the poster, point to each picture, and identify each one as "Daddy."
4. More than two of anything equals "many." When she gets tired of pointing out each individual Poster Daddy, she will sometimes sweep her hand in a gesture of inclusion and finish with, "Many Daddy."
5. While she pronounces most words remarkably well, there are a few words whose incorrect pronunciation she clings to stubbornly. For the longest time, strawberries were "shaw-shees." Upside down still comes out as "Uppa-sown" so regularly that we're starting to pronounce it that way too. She still insists her own name is pronounced "See-hee."
6. If asked to do something she doesn't want to do, like turn off Elmo or eat a final bite of chicken, her response is typically the following: "No? No? No? Okay." The final "okay" does not signify resignation, but rather signals her satisfaction that you understood her: "I have no interest in this chicken. It tastes like butt, and at this moment I'd like to go back to watching 'Abby's Flying Fairy School,' so let's put an end to this farce. Okay."
7. Come to think of it, "okay" serves as an all-purpose punctuation mark to any statement.
8. She has a canny understanding of how useful inflection can be. She doesn't just ask for a cookie -- her eyes grow wide, she half-smiles and her voice lifts into a hopeful question to which she can't help but provide her own answer: "Cookie? Cookie? Okay."
9. While she understands that the Magic Word is "please," (as in, "Cookie?" "Sadie, what's the magic word?" "PEASE."), we still have to remind her every time she asks for something that it helps to tack a "please" onto the end. The exception are the two commands "up" and "help," which have been corrupted into "uppease" and "heppease."
10. She celebrates when we pull into our driveway with "we're home!" and when we walk in the door she greets the dogs with "Hi, guys." She calls each dog by name with love and affection in her voice. Right before initiating a one-sided wrestling match with whoever is closest.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Whirling Dervish
Sadie is now a toddler in the most literal sense of the word. Typical parents must go through something similar when their children hit 12 months -- a refusal to sit in a stroller, to be carried, to even so much as sit down.
We went to the zoo yesterday and she wanted to walk around the entire place. Do you understand how large the LA Zoo is? She's drunk on her own power.
After dinner, she now goes through a lengthy period during which she decides to careen wildly around the house in circles. Watch the video below, and now imagine that it's on repeat for half an hour each evening. Not that I'm complaining! It's a fun time at our house right now.
We went to the zoo yesterday and she wanted to walk around the entire place. Do you understand how large the LA Zoo is? She's drunk on her own power.
After dinner, she now goes through a lengthy period during which she decides to careen wildly around the house in circles. Watch the video below, and now imagine that it's on repeat for half an hour each evening. Not that I'm complaining! It's a fun time at our house right now.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Nothing to See Here
I'm in the middle of a blog redesign. I always hated how that picture of Sadie just sat off-center up there in the heading. And while I'm sure I could figure out how to re-center it if I searched the internet long enough, I never liked the template well enough to make it worth the effort. So check back here soon and hopefully the blog will look a little bit sleeker and more stylish.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Work At Home
On Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, Ana comes to take care of Sadie from 8:30am to 5pm. Those are the days that I reserve for writing gigs, bookkeeping for my grandfather's business, and getting the occasional mani/pedi.
The other days it's just me and Sadie, and if Scott's out of town then that goes for the weekends, too. But lest anyone think that those are days of idle pleasure, today I ran across a schedule that I wrote out one particular Monday morning that I think sums up the tone of those days pretty well. I'm reproducing it here, so that later in life I can look it over and ponder how in the world I managed to ever be this productive without the aid of some meth and a case of Red Bull.
Amanda and Sadie's Routine: Monday, February Whatever, 2011
7:30am: Breakfast
8:30am: Play and housework* (Start laundry, dress Sadie, brush hair, straighten house)
9:30am: Snack
9:30-10:30am: Nap #1**
10:30am: Call physical therapist, complete to-do list***, return emails, laundry
11am: Trader Joe's
12pm: Lunch
12:30pm: Play outside
2pm: Nap #2, Amanda cook vegetables
3pm: Mall or park, snack
5:30pm: Dinner
6pm- Bath****
* Yes, I subcategorized my to-do list.
** This list made me nostalgic for the era when she took two daily naps.
***This is in reference to a completely different to-do list, a weekly to-do list. Yes, I am a nerd.
****I didn't have a chance to write down the last item on this list: Put Sadie to bed, eat her leftovers for dinner, watch "Chuck," and collapse into bed by 9.
The other days it's just me and Sadie, and if Scott's out of town then that goes for the weekends, too. But lest anyone think that those are days of idle pleasure, today I ran across a schedule that I wrote out one particular Monday morning that I think sums up the tone of those days pretty well. I'm reproducing it here, so that later in life I can look it over and ponder how in the world I managed to ever be this productive without the aid of some meth and a case of Red Bull.
Amanda and Sadie's Routine: Monday, February Whatever, 2011
7:30am: Breakfast
8:30am: Play and housework* (Start laundry, dress Sadie, brush hair, straighten house)
9:30am: Snack
9:30-10:30am: Nap #1**
10:30am: Call physical therapist, complete to-do list***, return emails, laundry
11am: Trader Joe's
12pm: Lunch
12:30pm: Play outside
2pm: Nap #2, Amanda cook vegetables
3pm: Mall or park, snack
5:30pm: Dinner
6pm- Bath****
* Yes, I subcategorized my to-do list.
** This list made me nostalgic for the era when she took two daily naps.
***This is in reference to a completely different to-do list, a weekly to-do list. Yes, I am a nerd.
****I didn't have a chance to write down the last item on this list: Put Sadie to bed, eat her leftovers for dinner, watch "Chuck," and collapse into bed by 9.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Good Monday
Sadie has officially been scaled back from weekly PT sessions to once-monthly. AND we got Bin Laden.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
MOTORIN!
Sadie is 19 months old now. Around the 18 month mark, she took her first independent steps. She promptly stashed this skill in her pocket and took it out again only on very rare occasions.
"So I did that," she seemed to say. "Why should I bother doing it again?"
She still whined and hesitated each time we prompted her, "Walk walk, Sadie!" She still reached out for my hand before taking a step. She still burst into annoyed tears if I refused to do so, and would fall to her knees to crawl after whatever it was she wanted. Walking simply wasn't a skill she was interested in refining.
I guess I'd always figured that on the day she finally walked without our help, she'd never ask for it again. This wasn't the case. I can understand why. It takes tremendous effort for her. She struggles to lift each leg then plops it back down again, giving the impression that they're made of cement rather than skin and bone. Keeping her balance is difficult. She has a long way to fall.
So we've continued to be patient, and to prompt her while letting her figure it out at her own pace. (I remind myself that while most kids her age don't have this problem, the twelve month-olds at the park are looking at her and thinking, "Looking pretty steady there, stretch. What's your secret?")
Then this weekend happened. Beginning with Friday, really. We went to Balboa Park with my friend Liane and her daughter Sophie to see the ducks, and Sadie walked a lot holding my hand. Then after nap time was school, which always seems to motivate her. She spent a good fifteen minutes walking up and down a ramp in the outside playground, with the help of a couple of the teachers (she's a class favorite). Then Teri brought Addy over for a play date, and the two girls played in the back yard for the rest of the afternoon.
Then, yesterday. What happened that clicked in my daughter's head? I'll never know exactly what it was. Sadie and I met Grandma and Grandpa (my parents) at UCLA and spent the morning walking around campus, looking at the Bruin statue and splashing in the inverted fountain and counting steps and eating fries at the food court and rolling down grassy hills. There were birds and squirrels and people singing and dancing and laughing everywhere. Sadie could barely stand being in her stroller. She mostly walked between us, holding our hands, chattering constantly.
After we came home that afternoon, I tried to take her for a walk in the stroller and she complained the entire time, demanding to walk. Once we got home, she got out of the stroller and that was it -- she took off across the room like it was nothing.
And she hasn't stopped since.
"So I did that," she seemed to say. "Why should I bother doing it again?"
She still whined and hesitated each time we prompted her, "Walk walk, Sadie!" She still reached out for my hand before taking a step. She still burst into annoyed tears if I refused to do so, and would fall to her knees to crawl after whatever it was she wanted. Walking simply wasn't a skill she was interested in refining.
I guess I'd always figured that on the day she finally walked without our help, she'd never ask for it again. This wasn't the case. I can understand why. It takes tremendous effort for her. She struggles to lift each leg then plops it back down again, giving the impression that they're made of cement rather than skin and bone. Keeping her balance is difficult. She has a long way to fall.
So we've continued to be patient, and to prompt her while letting her figure it out at her own pace. (I remind myself that while most kids her age don't have this problem, the twelve month-olds at the park are looking at her and thinking, "Looking pretty steady there, stretch. What's your secret?")
Then this weekend happened. Beginning with Friday, really. We went to Balboa Park with my friend Liane and her daughter Sophie to see the ducks, and Sadie walked a lot holding my hand. Then after nap time was school, which always seems to motivate her. She spent a good fifteen minutes walking up and down a ramp in the outside playground, with the help of a couple of the teachers (she's a class favorite). Then Teri brought Addy over for a play date, and the two girls played in the back yard for the rest of the afternoon.
Then, yesterday. What happened that clicked in my daughter's head? I'll never know exactly what it was. Sadie and I met Grandma and Grandpa (my parents) at UCLA and spent the morning walking around campus, looking at the Bruin statue and splashing in the inverted fountain and counting steps and eating fries at the food court and rolling down grassy hills. There were birds and squirrels and people singing and dancing and laughing everywhere. Sadie could barely stand being in her stroller. She mostly walked between us, holding our hands, chattering constantly.
After we came home that afternoon, I tried to take her for a walk in the stroller and she complained the entire time, demanding to walk. Once we got home, she got out of the stroller and that was it -- she took off across the room like it was nothing.
And she hasn't stopped since.
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