I Survived the First Day of Preschool

Today was Eli’s first day of preschool.  I knew I would be a wreck even though I kept telling myself I would play it cool, that I was in control of this situation.  In my mind I knew that as long as he kept it together, than I had half a chance of keeping it together.

I managed to keep things bright and cheery this morning even though I’m sick (again), and didn’t sleep most of the night.  This is not easy to do when you feel like you can barely stand up. 

Eli surprised me as we were getting ready to leave, yelling into the other room, “See you later, Dad!  I go to cool now!”  He stood there clutching his red canvas tote the preschool provides to all the kids, and truly looked excited to go. 

This might go well, I thought to myself.

And it did, right up until we got to the door of the classroom and Miss Ronda came out with a huge bottle of hand sanitizer and wanted to squirt some of it in Eli’s hand.  Apparently, this is not the way to say good morning to him on the first day of school.

He immediately started fussing, hid behind my leg, then clutched it.  I could feel myself starting to lose it, wondered how the hell I was going to get him into that classroom so I could make my getaway and cry in the car.

I bent down and let Miss Ronda put sanitizer on my hand and explained that it’s like lotion (we almost never use sanitizer).  He started to cry and giggle at the same time.  Miss Ronda asked him about his shirt, and ten seconds later he was holding out his hand letting her squirt sanitizer into it (I’ll say I wasn’t pleased with this routine, but that topic is for another day). 

Next thing I knew she was whooshing him off through the threshold of the classroom, not making eye contact with me (smart), and not letting me say goodbye to him (really smart).  I wandered down to the other door to the classroom.  It was closed and has one of those windows where you can see in, but the kids can’t see you on the other side. 

I waited for about thirty seconds, didn’t see Eli, couldn’t hear him crying/screaming, wanted to see Eli very badly just for peace of mind, then decided I needed to get my ass in gear if I was going to make it to the car without letting everyone see me cry. 

I could see another mom ahead of me, making the same dash to her car.  I could also tell she was bawling about halfway there and for some reason that comforted me.

The teachers left “goodie bags” in all the kid’s cubbies for the moms.  The “poem” attached to the outside:

You bring to us your child so dear,

Not without a touch of fear.

You both might want to shed a tear.

We promise we will love them here.

We’ll teach them they are a special one.

We’ll teach them school is lots of fun.

We’ll teach them how to share and play.

We’ll teach them something new each day.

Relax, go home, feeling free,

To have yourself this cup of tea,

Within days, you will see,

School is where they want to be!

So I didn’t get past the first stanza without becoming a blubbering mess.  When I got in the car I briefly felt like I was going to hyperventilate as the wall of questions came crashing down:  Was he okay?  Did he know I was coming back?  What if he got upset and they couldn’t calm him down?  Who were those kids?  Were they going to be nice to him?  Was he going to be happy there?  Was he going to hate it?  Was he going to hate me for leaving him there?  How could I leave him there? 

I couldn’t believe I had just… left him.  Just like that.  I took off, in a hurry.  It went against every mothering instinct in my body to leave him.  I felt horrible.

I know there are going to be so many more moments like this.  Moments where you have to let go.  Little by little by little.  Or, on some days, a lot.  Today was a lot for me.

When I came back to pick him up, the class was on the playground and he was in the sandbox, surrounded by toys.  He looked so happy.  He was only mildly excited to see me (this was a relief, actually).  I knew it meant he had been just fine.  In fact, I had to convince him to leave those cool new toys behind, had to remind him that Dad and Sophie were excited to see him, couldn’t wait to hear about his first day at school. 

The rest of the day was a challenge.  Every time I left the room he got upset.  He’s been super clingy.  This pulls on my heartstrings, and I wonder how things will go next Monday when I drop him off again.  I hope I will be stronger. 

I know it will get easier, for both of us.  Beyond that, all I can say is that it was a big day, for all of us, and we did okay. 

Tired of Tired

Seriously.  Whenever anyone in the last, oh, two years has asked me, “how are you doing?” the automatic response is, “I’m tired.”  At which point people nod along and say, “Well, you’re ________.”  (responses may include: pregnant, moving, solo-parenting, dealing with another newborn, the mom of two young kids, crazy)

Or, I’ll get a wary look.  A look of, “your baby isn’t a newborn anymore, get over it,” kind of look. 

Here’s the thing:  I am more tired now than I have ever been in my life.  Every cell in my body is screaming at me on a daily basis I am so fatigued. 

I don’t have time for this. I certainly don’t have the patience for it.  And for a long time, I simply tried to ignore it.  I figured that once Sophie slept better (and for the most part, she sleeps well now), I would somehow follow suit and begin to sleep through the night.  No dice.  Basically, since I became pregnant with Eli, I haven’t slept through a night.  Worse, I haven’t slept longer than a five-ish hour stretch.  That ain’t right.

Look, I don’t want to tell you I’m tired.  I know you don’t want to hear it.  No one wants to hear it, least of all me.  But I can’t avoid it.  It follows me through my days and nights.  I try to beat it.  I try to trick it.  I try to make myself so tired that there is no way humanly possible that I won’t sleep through the night.  And then I don’t.

It’s easy to say I have insomnia, and that wouldn’t be untrue.  But this thing, this tired thing, goes beyond that.  Sure, there are all the usual suspects that I’ve covered countless times in other blog posts.  But surely, most of those challenges have passed, so what gives?

I’ve been seeing an acupuncturist for several months now, for lots of reasons, one of which is: Make me feel like my old self.  Or at least a version of my former self. 

I had to laugh a few weeks back when Kristen, my acupuncturist, said to me, “You sure are an interesting little mix of things.”  I know she was referring to all the various, sometimes disparate things happening in my body that she is constantly trying to pinpoint, rein in, calm down, etc.  But I took it to heart, and wholeheartedly agree that in general, yes, I’m a mix.  Interesting?  Maybe.

Our talk continued beyond that, and although it was something she had brought up before, we hadn’t really talked in length about adrenal fatigue.  She says I have adrenal fatigue, without a doubt.  What is adrenal fatigue?  In its simplest explanation, it is the fatigue of your adrenal glands due to prolonged stress on your body (and this “stress” could be from any number of factors).  For more info, go here.

It’s also worth noting that Western medicine rarely, if ever, recognizes adrenal fatigue, rather attributing it to something naturalists have dreamed up to sell more supplements, etc.  This attitude is insulting on many levels, least of which is the habit of Western medicine to slap a convenient “diagnosis” on you and then prescribe some kind of bullshit medication for you to take the rest of your life.

But I digress.  It’s always a relief to finally figure out what is happening in your body, to have something to point to and say YES! that is exactly how I am feeling.  Of course this is quickly followed up with, “Well, now what?  What can I do to feel better?”

Most treatment for adrenal fatigue is practical advice along the lines of “getting a lot of rest, reducing stress in your life, simplifying your life, gentle exercise, supplements, healthy diet.”  Nothing too shocking, but somewhat laughable when you live in a household with two small children. 

The most important part of this treatment is diet.  So for the time being I am doing my absolute best to not eat: gluten, dairy, pork, most red meat, sugar, potatoes, corn, tomatoes (NOOOOOOO! This has honestly been one of the bigger challenges), and peanuts.  I have also had to swear off (again) Diet Coke.  People, you know this is my vice.  If I go out to eat Mexican food there damn well better be a fountain Coke to go with that meal.  These are the dilemmas I face, and I have to admit, it’s getting easier.

I’ll delve more into the dietary issues and the complications that arise in another post.

Beyond the changes in diet, my biggest “change” has been trying to cultivate consistent quiet and/or down time in the evenings.  As anyone with children can appreciate, the evening hours are my now-it’s-finally-quiet-I-can-get-shit-done time.  For the longest time I would spend every evening getting all the household stuff done, or working to check some other random task off my To-Do list. 

 

Most nights, all I really want to do is lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling (there may or may not be drool involved).  Or maybe I just want to watch a movie.  Or read a book.  Or go outside and simply sit.  It frustrates me that I have let myself get to a place where I feel guilty for relaxing, for taking a quiet moment for myself.  It’s tough to turn off that obnoxious little voice in my head that starts in, “You know… you really should be doing ________.” 

No, no I shouldn’t. 

So even though I have babes that certainly aren’t newborns, I have tried to revert back to some of the suggestions given during that time, namely: rest when they rest.  This was easy to do when I was sick and could barely move off the couch anyways, so naptime became my rest time, too.  In fact, getting sick and having it take four weeks to feel better has been the eye opener I needed to truly admit to myself: Your body is shutting down.  Stop ignoring it.

I’m only a few weeks into consciously “treating” my adrenal fatigue.  It’s daunting when you look at the recovery time associated with severe adrenal fatigue (18-24 months).  Despite this, I am so desperate to feel rested that I would do anything to move towards recovery, however long it may take.

So you’ve been warned.  I may give the annoying “I’m tired” response for a bit longer, but as soon as I feel even a little bit better I’m sure I’ll be coming up with all kinds of ridiculous things to say to you.  Aren’t you excited?