out of Kadesh

First of all, thank you all for your thoughts, prayers, and suggestions after my last post. It really does mean so much. And I haven’t had another headache since then. I went to the doc last week and she prescribed me a medication in the form of a shot. Yes! That’s what I said – a SHOT. That you give yourself in the thigh. For a headache. I plan to administer it to myself in public at the first opportunity, preferably after a call on my cell phone. With a panic-stricken look on my face, my coffee cup falling to the floor with a shatter, I whip out a gas mask. People would be all, Get that girl, SHE’S GOT THE CURE!

In the meantime, I’m coming at you live from the front seat of the Prius, where I am trying not to look at the screen while I type to avoid being car-sick. You-know-who is fully contained back there in his car seat, which is why I can write this blog post so leisurely. Oh man, Reader, THE FREEDOM. Why have I never thought of this before? If you see a woman in East Nashville sitting in her parked car with the AC running, a baby in his car seat and a macbook in her lap, it’s probably just me blogging. The only thing that could make this experience even better would be if A) I had a latte, and B) Lance would NOT fart. There is NOWHERE FOR IT TO GO. IT’S TRAPPED. IN THE CAR. IN WHICH I AM CURRENTLY RIDING AND TRYING TO BREATHE OXYGEN.

Sheesh.

So since I have a minute, here’s a super-quick idea of what’s going on in Kadesh, y’all.

1. The Hubbs is turning 27 on Sunday. WHOA! Any ideas what  color lingerie new position to try meal to cook while naked to do for him?

2. The Bubbs can chew whole blueberries.

3. I’m finding I can survive the multiple, daily panic attacks that occur when the Bubbs momentarily chokes on whole blueberries.

4. I’ve been reading some highly controversial spiritual literature, which I’m gulping down like a person close to drowning gulps air. My world? ROCKED. It’s worthy of a blog post, so I’ll leave you with that little teaser. More to come…

5. Lance, Noah, Lucy, and I will be spending the weekend with my in-laws, and Noah will get to meet his four cousins and his aunt and uncle. I’m looking forward to the madness. But I brought my EpiPen. JUST IN CASE.

6. Noah has a Fedora! He’s so East Nashville, y’all.

Phew! I sit here with my feet up on the coffee table as Lance finishes up the first-ever batch of Roggendorff home brew. It’s been about a six-hour process, complete with all the right amount of mishaps (sticky beer spilled all over the floor, the realization that we needed to sterilize more water RIGHT as we needed it, had to run out to the store for more ice, etc.). But our good friends Amy and Daniel were here to help and keep us company, so it was fun. And with any luck, in a few months’ time I’ll be posting about the deliciousness that is the Roggendorff porter.

Unless I can’t drink any.

Oh, hi! Did you see that segue? Oh, MAN was that good. At least, it would have been good, if I hadn’t broken that smooth transition to point out how smooth a transition it was. So now you’re just like, “A segue to what? Where are you transitioning?” Just pretend this paragraph isn’t here. I’m going to leave it here because it’s late and at the moment it’s making me laugh, although tomorrow when I read back over this I’ll probably wonder why I ever thought it was funny.

MIGRAINES: A Brief History

When I was about 12, I came down with the worst headache I’d ever had. I remember lying on the couch with a cold washcloth on my forehead, moaning in agony. All the lights were off because they felt like daggers in my eyes, and my mother was sitting with me and whispering because noise felt like daggers in my ears. The pain was so bad I was throwing up. I’d never experienced anything so horrible in all my born days. I thought I was merely sick with some kind of cancerous, bone-shattering, torturous, impending-death thing. I had no idea it would be so much worse than that: the onset of a lifetime battle with migraines. (Even the word makes me feel ill. Say it out loud. Doesn’t it just sound like your imminent doom arises?)

Ok. So fast-forward 10 years, and I’m at church, and this guy says, “I feel like we need to pray for people who suffer from migraines.” And I’m all, WHERE DO I KNEEL? I mean it was so simple, the guy is like, “…something something something, and heal anyone who gets migraines, something something something else.” And I’m like, cool, that maybe worked. And Reader, I cross my heart and hope to die, IT WORKED. God healed me; it’s true. I didn’t get another migraine from that point RIGHT up until about three months ago.

BOOOOOOM.

Let me say this for the record: I don’t believe God took away His healing because I didn’t read my Bible last week. Not that I can claim to know what God is thinking, because despite the prayers of myself and my husband and family and friends, the migraines aren’t going away. And that little voice inside my head wonders why I’m having to pray this at all, since I was throughly healed four years ago. (Did I say “little” voice? Allow me to correct myself: I meant HUGE voice. ASTRONOMICAL. CRISIS. ZOUNDS.) This is all food for thought, and possible thought for another blog post. But now that I’ve caught you up on the history, let’s get back to the present.

MIGRAINES: A Day in the Life

I usually know what’s coming as soon as I wake up. The pain is on one side of my neck and shoots all the way up into my eyeball. I have, of late, become a perpetual pill popper, which I will get to in a second, but by this time I know the pills will only serve to lessen the inevitable migraine, not kill it. I switch between Acetaminophen and Ibuprofen; neither do much at this point anyway. Plus, about half an hour later the nausea starts, and I start throwing up soon thereafter. The throwing up is the worst part. I know people who can barf and feel better; I am not one of those people. The shakes and the pounding in my already-sore head follow the retching, and I scrape my pathetic body off the bathroom floor and heave it back into bed. On good migraine days, I puke once or twice, and exhaustion outweighs the pain in my head, which causes me to sleep, and I almost always feel better after a couple of hours sleep. Almost always. On bad migraine days, the ralphing is continual, sleep doesn’t come, and the migraine laaaassstttsss aaannnndddd laaaaasssstttss.

Oh, I lied. The throwing up is not the worst part, Reader. The worst part of all this is that I am out of commission for at least half the day until I recover enough to sit up on my own and eat some crackers. The worst part is that these migraines are so debilitating that I can’t take care of my son. I CAN’T TAKE CARE OF MY SON. Lance, the one who works from home in order to make money, in order for us to live in a house and have food, has to do it. Between trying to squeeze in a few minutes of work and diaper changes and feedings and keeping Noah entertained, he runs back to check on me, with my head over the toilet bowl or in bed moaning with a cold washcloth on my forehead. And all I can do is lay there listening to Noah fussing or laughing or talking or crying and I can’t be with him because I’m barely alive.

God, it’s fucking LONELY.

So I’m just thinking about how much I’m missing and how I can’t do the one job I have right now, which is to be Noah’s mom, and my overworked husband has to do it instead. And then I get angry and start crying, which makes everything SO much better. Eventually I fall asleep and wake up dazed to the sound of Noah wailing because he needs me (read: he needs my boobs) and I usually feel well enough to get up and nurse him, shower, and eat some broth or something.

And that’s how it goes. Every week. Oh, didn’t I mention? This happens ONCE. A. WEEK. In fact, I can tell you with 100 percent certainty that in the last three months, I’ve had five times as many migraines as I ever have in the rest of my life, EVER. COMBINED. I’ve done research, and worst-case scenarios are ones where women get MONTHLY migraines around the time of their periods. I’m JEALOUS OF THE WORST-CASE SCENARIOS. I’m all, once a MONTH!? Where do I sign up for that?

MIGRAINES: Searching (in Vain) for the Solution

Fear haunts me. Every day I wake up and if I don’t feel the tell-tale pinch in my neck and claw-like grip on the back of my eye, I’m overwhelmed with relief and joy. But I know I’m not completely off the hook, because there have been times when the onset of a migraine comes in the middle of the day. If I’m well all day, by nighttime I’m so relieved to not have had a migraine that I thank the Lord for protecting me. Then I’m racked with fear thinking about the night ahead of me and the morning I’ll face in a few hours. I spend my last moments of consciousness petitioning God to protect me the following day from a migraine.

I mentioned that I’ve become a perpetual pill-popper. I hate this because I’m still breastfeeding, and because your body can develop a tolerance when you take medicine all the time. But fear grips me with the slightest twinge in my neck or head. IT COULD LEAD TO ME OVER THE TOILET, PEOPLE. I end up taking over-the-counter pain killers almost every day.

I’ve been to the doctor. She prescribed me a low dose of some medication which I’ve used and which does NOTHING. The doctor talked with me about some of the triggers in my diet, such as caffeine, wine, chocolate, cheese… basically everything I love. I cut out alcohol, because I thought I noticed migraines the morning after I’d drink even a small margarita or glass of wine. But it didn’t help. I researched some more and found out low estrogen can be a trigger, which I have because I’m still breastfeeding. A major trigger also, it seems, is SLEEP DISTURBANCES. AHEM, NOAH ROGGENDORFF. But I know plenty of moms who are still breastfeeding and waking several times a night and don’t suffer for it with this horrid sickness.

I’ve thought how awesome it would feel to saw off my head. I HAVE HAD THAT THOUGHT. I decided not a good solution though, in the end. After some discussion with Lance.

I watched Noah scoot around on the floor today, and promptly got up and made another appointment with my doctor. I’m going to ask her to send me to a migraine specialist I found in Nashville. I can’t live like this, especially when Noah starts crawling. If this doesn’t end, what am I going to do? (No Megs, it’s just fear, fear, fear… stop it.) So I’m going to the doctor on Wednesday, and I’m still going to keep praying and trusting that God will have compassion on my poor husband and baby, and ME, and heal me again. If you believe in prayer, please pray for me. If you DON’T believe in prayer, please pray for me anyway.

I’ll keep y’all posted.

Dear Noah,

Well, Mommy is almost a week late getting your birthday letter written this time, but it’s all your fault. In a month, you’ve gone from a lying-down baby to a sitting-up baby, and I never knew there was a difference until now. As a lying-down baby, you gave me the opportunity to watch you from over on the sofa. But as a sitting-up baby, you need me by your side at all times, so I can cushion your noggin when you topple over, and also so I can keep you from grabbing close-by things I had no idea you could reach. In fact, as I write this, you are sitting next to me on the couch eating a teething biscuit and trying to help me type with gummy, coated fingers.

Oh, my love bug. How grown up you are, at seven months! Last weekend we stayed at your Grandmommy and Granddaddy’s house, and they have some newborn pictures of you hanging on the walls. Compared to those pictures, you are practically a little man! In the pictures you can’t hold your head up or smile or talk or anything, but now you do all of that and more. Thinking back on you as a little helpless baby worm makes mommy have seizures smile.

Some of the things you have learned how to do this month: sit up on your own, eat from your own hands, give me slobbery kisses on the cheek, and squeal for attention from random strangers sitting at the table next to ours. Mostly ladies. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that Mommy is the only lady you need. Repeat after me: girls are bad. Mommy is good. (Also, don’t pay attention to Daddy when he rolls his eyes at Mommy.)

Now that’s settled, let’s talk about what a big month you’ve had. You are one busy little guy! A couple of days ago I heard you singing from your crib, so I went in there to get you and found you holding on to the bars like you were in jail. It was so funny I had to run get your Daddy and the camera. Then just last night your Daddy called me into your bedroom, and you were standing up in your crib, holding on to the rail. Your 28-inch-long body was leaning all the way over, and if your Daddy hadn’t been standing there, you could have toppled right out. He said to me, “Guess who got himself into this position all on his own?”

So we got the tool box and set to work lowering your crib mattress before we put you to bed. It kind of unnerved me, Bubba. In no time at all we’ll be shopping for your race-car bed, won’t we?

You haven’t changed personality-wise at all this month. I keep reading about the stranger-danger you’re bound to develop at any time, but for now you’re still the charmer, smiling and flirting with everyone in sight. You’re content to let everyone hold you, and I’m pretty sure you love being the center of attention.

You have so much to say, too, and you say it like I imagine a pterodactyl might. All Mommy and Daddy can do is grin sheepishly at the other people in the restaurant who have suddenly stopped talking and looked our way to see where the prehistoric creature is celebrating. You can growl too, and laugh, and squeal, and say daa-daa.

YEAH.

No matter how many times I say “MAA-MAA” to you, you smile at me, look me in the eye, and say quite plainly, “DAA-DAA.” You’re either schooling me or mocking me; I’m not sure which. Just remember: I carried you around for nine months, I gave birth to you, I feed you with my boobs, and I still wake up one to three times every night to feed you, rock you, and comfort you back to sleep. Just remember that, pal, when you decide to be your Daddy’s little boy. (Here is another instance where you should also remember what I said before: don’t pay attention to Daddy when he rolls his eyes. Thank you.)

The biggest difference in you this month, honestly, is how independent you’re becoming. It’s a weird juxtaposition, because you also don’t want me to leave your side, so I’m having to learn how to let you be co-and-independent at the same time. Last night, for example, we were having dinner with some friends, and you were so fussy. I couldn’t figure out why, because I knew you weren’t tired or hungry, and you’re usually so pleasant. You just kept fussing and squirming, and finally I sat you down on the floor. Instantly, you stopped fussing and started making your happy pterodactyl screeches. I felt sort of guilty for having you sit on the floor while the rest of us were at the table like civilized people, but you were just so happy to be sitting there on your own, like a big boy.

I love you, my big boy. I could not love you more. Which I think every day, and then I wake up again, and realize it wasn’t true. And with that, I’ll close this letter, because you are currently trying to crawl off the couch. HEAD FIRST.

Love,

MAA-MAA

On Valentine’s Day, Lance handed me this.

I don’t even like Valentine’s Day.

But you know what I do like?

Origami hearts hand-folded just for me.

And surprises.

And ESPECIALLY….

…massages.

I cashed it in today. It was heavenly. Lance, thank you. I love you!

Some serious issues are going on in the news lately, and if you know me at all you probs know I try my best to stay away from the news. Because I can’t handle the heartbreak. One I just tweeted about the other day, and every time I think about it my eyes well up with tears, so then I have to quickly watch an episode of Frasier.

I was challenged today by the Friendly Atheist, whose blog I read pretty religiously (ha! Get it?). According to the article I read, “In Hawaii, the state legislature had approved same-sex civil unions back in April. Not marriage. Just equal rights. Yesterday, Republican Governor Linda Lingle vetoed that bill.”

Well. I truly am LIVID about these kinds of human rights violations all the time, but I don’t ever do anything about it. I kind of just don’t know what to do besides exercise my right to vote for public officials who are going to do something about it for me while I sit on my ass and complain.

Reading this Atheist blog has been enlightening, to say the least. The things Christians do that other people find appalling… well, without going into it, since this is not a blog post about all the crazy shit we say and do, I’ll just say that being forced to look at myself through Atheist/Agnostic eyes makes me feel sick. Yikes. We’re supposed to be the image of Christ: loving, forgiving, healing the sick, compassionate, just. We’re more like the image of the religious leaders Christ was so angry with, y’all. And non-believers notice.

Anyway, I was cut to the quick today when I read this on the Friendly Atheist’s blog:

“I want to see any Christian who finds this despicable to say so. Blog about it. Tell your Facebook friends. Tell your church members. Call out anyone who disagrees. If you don’t, you’re part of the problem. Don’t tell me you love gay people and think this was the wrong decision… and then sit back and say/do nothing in response. I don’t care for your apologies if you’re not backing it up with action.”

Dang.

So here’s my two cents (if it’s even worth that much): I find this despicable. I’m blogging. I’m telling my friends. Gay people, I love you. I’m for you, and I’m for your rights. And since you came to my blog, here’s what else I think: God is for you too.

I knew this summer was going to be busy, I just wasn’t prepared for it to wipe me out. Since we came back from DC it has been go, go, go around here, and I am the lazy kind of girl who likes a little laziness time for myself, which is I think why June and July have kicked my arse more than normal.

Normal, by the way, looks like this.

7am: The incredibly cute sounds of Noah singing “dee dee daa” in the monitor cut into my dreams. It’s a pleasant way to start the day, to be sure. Lance goes into his room to change him and brings him to me in bed, so I can nurse him while sleeping an extra 10 minutes.

7:30am – 8pm: A whirlwind of half-assed chores, laundry, and cups of coffee while carrying Noah around on my hip, chasing him around the floor, prying the clump of dog fur out of his hands, removing the dog’s ear from his mouth, giving him stuff to chew on, reminding him he’s not allowed to chew on the cat’s tail, putting him down for naps, feeding him, changing his diapers, trying to keep him entertained with toys, walks, songs, bounces, baths, food… and still remembering to eat lunch, drink enough water, and have time to myself for reading, praying, and sitting on the couch compulsively eating sleeve after sleeve of Milano cookies.

8pm – 11pm: Uuuuuhhhhhhhhh……

11pm: Bed.

So you see, Reader, it’s a very full day. And every day Noah gets older and closer to the inevitable day when he starts crawling, and life as I know it will be over. Like, scratch that whole 7:30 – 8 paragraph, and just replace it with “NOAH, GET OUT OF THE CAT BOX! NOOOOOO!” (Well, not the WHOLE paragraph. Leave the part about the Milano cookies.)

The point is, dude. It’s been a really busy couple of weeks.

First, my friend Caroline came to visit.

And Noah had a couple of play dates.

(Noah: “Yikes.”)

Noah had a check-up and the pediatrician told us to start letting him feed himself. And then he was all “Mrs. Roggendorff? Stop crying. Please.”

Then my brother surprise-visited for the 4th.

Then my friend Michael visited the next day!

Then Noah watched his first fireworks show…

Clarification: busy = great. What a fun month. And I don’t even like summer.

Ok y’all, I’ve been sitting here for like 10 minutes, so I gotta shag ass. Hopefully I’ll be back to documenting life more frequently now that things have calmed back down a bit…

OR HAVE THEY?