From the monthly archives:

July 2009

I am a great father

by Alex on July 29, 2009

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Here’s why: When I picked up my son, Bing, because he was screaming his head off like he was in the final stages of starvation, and told him, “Don’t worry, I’m going to feed you,” and then, to soothe him, held him up in front of me and made the faces and noises he loves, and he THREW UP RIGHT INTO MY OPEN MOUTH, so that I tasted baby bile and regurgitated breast milk and it spilled all down the front of my shirt, I neither reciprocated and vomited into his mouth because the little fucker deserved it, nor did I throw him across the room and shriek in revulsion because I could not “man up” and swallow. No, my first thought was, “Shit, I forgot to burp him.” Then I imagined the scene from his perspective:

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Bing’s shitty morning with the dumb giant

Okay, I’m on my back in my happy place and everything is pretty chill because I’m in a fresh diaper and wearing a clean shirt (the one with the boats on it), but something is wrong—you know that feeling? The wrong feeling? Like when someone drops your head the last inch to the mattress or you just know they’re gonna walk out of the room and leave you in the crib without your ugly doll? And then I figure out what’s causing it: the electric sun is not singing. Sing, sun, sing! I command. But there’s no response. I feel empty. I don’t cry often, but man, when the sun doesn’t sing even when you’ve got a clean diaper and a boat shirt on, you’ve run out of options. Time for the waterworks. I cry for a long, long time. Really long. Forever long. Hey, I’m crying over here? What does a guy have to do to get noticed? Service is miserable in this place. I consider crapping my pants, but that’s risky because sometimes it’s not stinky enough to create the kind of urgency I need at this juncture. Finally, my giant shows up with that obsequious smile of his—like I don’t know he was hiding out in the break room arguing politics with some douchebag on the innernuts—and transports me across the room to the comfy spot in the puffy place with the blanket. He puts the artificial boob in my mouth and I drink. Nothing like expressed breast milk to put things in perspective. I decide not to fire him. I really kind of like him. Maybe I’ll start calling him that gibberish “dadadadada” name he keeps blathering at me. Also, I’m not sure how easy giants are to come by. My other, Doot, and I have two of them, a male and a female. I know, it’s extravagant, but hey, we need them. We’ve even discussed trying to get a third. Or moving somewhere with better healthcare. I sent a letter to Nana requesting asylum in her house, but I’m afraid it may have been intercepted by one of the giants. They’re pretty wily for brutes that can’t babble properly.

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While I’m in the puffy place on the blanket, I see Doot in one of the giant swings. He spots me and the artificial boob. He is pissed. It’s in the rules that we get as much boobz as we want and, to be honest, I’m worried about his consumption. He gets pretty squirrely when he doesn’t get his drink—sucks his thumb and whines. Frankly, it’s pathetic. Milkaholism affects the whole family. Anyway, Doot is thirsty. I can practically hear his tummy tiger growling. So I knows he’s scared, because the tiger might get big and eat him if he does not get his own fake boob. He screams: “WHAeAyA AgAiAvAeA AmAeA AsAoAmAeA AoAfA AtAhAaAtA AwAhAaAtA AyAoAuA’ArAeA AdArAiAnAkAiAnAgA AIA AnAeAeAdA AiAtA AbAeAfAoArAeA AmAyA AtAuAmAmAyA AdAeAcAiAdAeAsA AtAoA AeAaAtA AmAeA!”

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In a blatant display of favoritism, the giant responds to Doot immediately. The artificial boob is yanked from my mouth the instant it is empty (and it was only a half booble) and I am shunted into the other giant swing while Doot is rescued and given his own fake boob. To think I was starting to like that giant. I’ll say “Mother, I love you best,” and present her with a rose and a sonnet before he gets one “dadadadadadadadada” out of me.

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Then, sitting in the swing—I do some of my best thinking here—it occurs to me the giant has two hands. In fact, I’m sure I recall him holding boobles for us simultaneously. I could STILL. BE. DRINKING. I start screaming. I call the giant every bad thing I can think of: taco pits, stubble face, no boobs. I scream so loud the boob giant hears and calls up from whereever she is, probably out getting her boobs refilled, to tell the dumb one to feed me. He waits until Doot passes out (pathetic) and then comes to get me. He comes over cooing and making burbling noises, eyes wide with that goofy open mouth smile. He picks me up and it makes me so mad I get ill. So I puke into his mouth and instantly I feel better.

But I’m still considering emigrating to Nana’s.

{ 10 comments }

Many posts in one

by Myg on July 27, 2009

Or, What I read today while having my alone time (read: on the toilet). Not in order of importance, nor by any means a comprehensive list:

  • I didn’t get to go to #Blogher09, though following Twitter all weekend I almost felt like I had. Well, not really, as I was alone for most of it with the babies, which is definitely not much like Blogher, plus, there was much less SWAG involved, and less elbowing of babies in the face over said SWAG. Anyway, this post was really just great, especially as I’m definitely planning to attend next year when Blogher hits Manhattan:
    BlogHer ’09: The Top 10 Things I Learned as a First Time Attendee
    by Lee at Moms without Blogs. I especially loved #1, but I don’t want to put any spoilers out here. Let me just say it’s something I really needed to hear today in re: myself and this blog here. Thanks so much for sharing the insights.
  • This article at NPR, Moms debate ethics of “blog-ola” has me head scratching a little. Like, wow, what would it be like for people to send me free shit or pay for trips and conferences and etc? Would that be a really horrible thing that would destroy my blogging soul? Dear prospective marketing departments of big brands: I AM TOTALLY WILLING TO FIND OUT.
  • I love bullet points. No link, just heaven in text.
  • This review of Booyah, an MMORPG for iPhone, by Wagner James Au. I would have totally tried it out but couldn’t download it for my iPod Touch because I need a microphone, which my first generation iPod Touch doesn’t have. That’s the thanks I get for being an early adopter. So Apple, please send me a new iPod Touch with the mircrophone and the camera so all 4 of my readers can hear me rave about it. I will totally pimp my shit out for Apple gear, I don’t care what it is, no lie (see above bullet point on selling my soul). And yeah, I so totally need another thing on the internet to steal what little time I have for sleeping.
  • On a far, far heavier note, today I also read this post on prayer and intercession by Catherine Connors (aka @herbadmother). This I read in response to the tremendous outpouring of love and well wishing for @MckMama and her very sick child, Stellan. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve cried this weekend following this story. How many times I’ve picked up Bing or Doot and just held them to my chest, breathing them in, weeping into their warm bodies. I think Catherine Connors felt a little bad for twittering about this post today, which talks about why she doesn’t pray for intercession, though she does pray for others’ well-being, and I understand her anxiety. Many praying folks do pray for their version of God to do something on behalf of someone. She was simply talking about why that doesn’t help her, and I for one found clarity reading her words today. Because praying for intercession, which is something I also do, does not actually jive with my view of the way things probably are. So I’m often conflicted in my prayer, and believe it or not, prayer is something I do a lot given how anti-religion I am.  I found myself praying a lot for Stellan today, the little boy with the racing heart whom I’d not even heard of before Friday. And I also found myself just praying for God, whatever that means, to be with Stellan and his family in such a way that they really feel it. Because that’s all I can do.
  • Because I couldn’t end on too heavy a note tonight, I want to shout out to one of my best blogging pals Tatiana 1. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY and 2. No shit!

Speaking of shit, my alone time is coming to an end for the evening and I bid you all fond farewell. Until we tweet again.

{ 3 comments }

The truth about twins

by Myg on July 24, 2009

IMG_1916It was one of those Very Shitty Days when neither baby would take a significant nap, which wasn’t the worst part, the worst part being that the longer they went without napping, the more wretched their moods became. They take after me, after all.

It got so bad today I had to just put them down in their cribs, screaming, and walk away.  I was actually getting pissed off. Like, at them. There’s little that I’ve experienced in the world that compares with the feeling of being pissed off at them, either. I mean come on. They’re babies. How do you get pissed off at babies? It’s not like they like being miserable and overtired. But today there was something about the persistent double whining, uhhnnn uhhhhnnnn ggggnnnuuuuhhh mmgggnnnuuuuhhh, lasting hours upon hours, a tide I could not with my best mommy tricks stem, getting louder and louder and, could it get louder? Oh yes! It could! Until it crescendoed all the way into desperate double wails of misery. And then the coughing, sputtering, choking on the cries. Jesus Maria and Jose already.

When I felt that anger well up inside of me I had to just walk away. Had to. Because for a second there I got desperate myself, and in that second I could glimpse into the world of a child abuser, no lie.

It scared me.

(And many thanks to those of you out there on Twitter who provided me much needed back-up in the midst of my angst; this means you @Jells, @averygoodyear, @mommyisrocknrol.)

To compound matters, their father is escaping this weekend again to work on his MFA thesis, which is due 8/3. He’s panicking about getting it all perfect, of course, while I’m panicking about being left alone with my sons for 48 hours. I feel no small amount of pathetic for that, either. Which leads me to the truth about twins.

Twins are really, really, really, really hard.

A friend of mine is the father of 22 year old boy twins and when I was pregnant he warned me that having twins would kick my ass. Ha ha, I’m sure, I said.

A few months ago I told him, I know you said it would kick my ass, but shit, this is really kicking my ass hard. I’ve been around, done a lot of things. I’ve worked in psych hospitals, crisis centers, juvenile detention, toured in a rock band. Did a lot of hardcore stuff, you know? This doesn’t come close to any of that.

He said, My dear, I was in COMBAT in Viet fucking Nam. Having twins? Harder.

{ 10 comments }

How to quit smoking, for real

by Myg on July 21, 2009

I forgot my 7 year quit anniversary, which was back in June. This is the first year I’ve forgotten this, and I suppose I’ve got the perfect excuse but, being a mom, I’ve also got the perfect reason to get on my knees and thank the almighty that I’m no longer pwned by the nicotine demon. So to celebrate, however belatedly, I’m going to share how I did it. Oh and yes, I did it WITHOUT GAINING WEIGHT. In fact, I LOST WEIGHT. (This fact is so monumental, it seriously deserved the cap lock.)

First of all, let me tell you that my smoking habit was intense. I began smoking in 1984, when I was just 15 – a freshman in high school. Sad, I know, but true. I worked my way into a pack a day habit by college, which I pretty much maintained until I quit when I was 33 years old. That’s a lot of cigarettes, a lot of time, and a lot of feeling like shit.

I wanted to quit and managed to quit successfully for two years during that period, from when I was 25 until I was 27. At 27, a serious bout of depression led me back to cigarettes and though the depression got better, the addiction stayed steady for five more years.

During those five years I tried quitting many, many, many times. And I just couldn’t do it. I tried cold turkey and behavior modification approaches, always with the same result – I was a fucking wreck, and I continued to smoke.

Nicotine is, unfortunately, an excellent stress management drug. When I was stressed – and working in psychiatry and juvenile justice, when wasn’t I? – I could have a cigarette and the chemical reaction in my brain was all “Aaaahhhhhh.” Nicotine has the damning effect of being both a decent sedative AND a stimulant, so while helping to ease my frazzled neurons, it was also giving me a much needed lift. In fact, smoking would be perfect, if it wasn’t slowly killing me, and possibly those around me, and maybe even you.

I didn’t really want to die or get sick from smoking, so I had to do something. Maybe you’re in that place now and you have to do something too. If so, I offer the steps below and a whole lot of hope that you can get this done.

If I could do it, I’m telling you now, you can.

And I have to say this. I am NOT a doctor or a medical professional. I am a licensed clinical social worker, which qualifies me to do psychotherapy. This is not psychotherapy. Hell, it’s not even advice. My advice? QUIT SMOKING.  What follows here is simply the story of how I quit, and why I believe it worked so well. If you want to try this, you will need the blessing and assistance of your own physician, which you should be able to easily obtain.

That said, I offer the following steps to get you off your butts.

1. Find your motivation.

Nothing, nothing happens in this world without us being motivated to make it happen. Some of us are motivated by fear, some by rewards. On this occasion, I was motivated by a combination of fear and guilt. I had promised my husband I would quit smoking before our wedding, which was about 4 months away at the time. I love my husband, but my love for him and my own desire to quit really were not enough to get me through the agony of nicotine withdrawal. I needed something drastic to shake me loose, and as life would have it, something drastic did happen.  My brother got very, very sick.

My brother was extremely disabled from the time he was 6 months old, and at this point he was in his mid thirties. He had a bout of pneumonia, something that happened to him all to often as he got into his adult years. But this episode had him in intensive care, on a respirator.

I recall going into the hospital to visit him. He wasn’t aware of my presence at all, and I’m glad because I was hysterical at the sight of him.  I can still see that alarming image of him, unconscious, on that respirator. I thought myself some special kind of asshole to treat my body the way I did, especially my lungs, when there he was, trapped in a very disabled body, now fighting for his life, having his breath drawn for him by some cold medical appliance.

It was my moment of clarity.

Now, I pray that you don’t have this kind of experience. But I do hope that you have something in your life that gives you that perfect view of reality and gets you motivated to change. Maybe it’s wanting to be around for your kids. Maybe it’s a person you love or simply know who is now fighting cancer. Maybe that will be enough for you to think, hey, I’m really an asshole** for smoking and I’m going to do something about it. For real.

**Calling myself an asshole over and over again helped ratchet up my guilt, which helped me quit. This may not work for you, I realize. No, I don’t think you are an asshole for smoking. I think you are addicted to cigarettes, like I was. Thinking it was my fault, however, helped me realize I could actually do something about it.

2. Recognize the truth

Nicotine is a drug, that’s all. When you smoke, you are administering a drug whose only purpose is to get you to keep using it. This realization pissed me off, which was a big help. When I would smoke, leading up to my quit date, I would think “I’m taking a drug that’s going to eventually kill me.” It was the truth, and it helped me de-symbolize what smoking had become to me.  It was no longer a comfort, an old friend, a peaceful moment. Smoking was me slowly killing myself. Once I saw it that way, I had to decide that I wanted to live.

Go ahead and get dramatic with yourself in this situation, because you know what? It is a life or death situation. It’s just usually a long-term threat to your life, not an immediate one, which is what makes it such an evil thing. When you want to smoke, you want to smoke NOW and shit. When you get lung cancer or a stroke, you probably get it years from NOW and shit.

If the effects of smoking were immediate, like say, a bullet to the head from a loaded gun, you probably would never smoke.

Aren’t cigarettes a bitch?

3. Don’t fight alone

It’s human nature that we are more likely to succeed at something when we make a commitment to someone else. It’s all about ego, which I have plenty of, and the need to save face. You can totally use this to your advantage.

That promise I made to my husband really helped me in this regard. I also told everybody – I mean EVERYBODY – that I was quitting smoking. I told all my professional contacts, including my boss, my adolescent clients, parents of my clients, in addition to family, friends, strangers in the grocery store, just to help up the schmuck factor should I try to back out. I also joined NJquitnet.com (terrible name, I know, but a decent online community), so when it was 2am and I was freaking out, there would be a place and people to turn to.

After so many failed attempts at smoking I was desperate, and I understood that my army of supporters and will power alone would be no match for the chemical party smoking threw in my brain and in my body.  I needed something to help me fight the chemical fight, not just the mental fight. So I also turned to my physician for help. She was an excellent ally, and worked with me on a plan and gave me a prescription for Wellbutrin. Which brings me to the next ingredient in my quit smoking pie:

4. Take the right drugs

You might be thinking, Wellbutrin? Isn’t that an anti-depressant? And you’d be right.

Wellbutrin is a trade name for bupropion, which happens to be the same exact medication as Zyban, which is marketed as an anti-smoking medication. It’s the same shit, only my insurance would cover the anti-depressant and not the anti-smoking drug. Stupid ass insurance companies.

Wellbutrin worked very, very well for me because it does something, and I don’t understand what exactly, but something with the part of your brain that deals with compulsive behavior. My smoking was very compulsive – meaning the second I thought of having a cigarette, I had to have one. It would take an enormous amount of will to NOT have a smoke as soon as I thought about it. I couldn’t do that 10-20 times a day succesfully without serious help.

This here is the key: it is/was my compulsive behavior that was the almighty bitch for me – NOT the nicotine. I was addicted to the nicotine, yes, but once I was able to get help with the behavior part, I could simply titrate the nicotine down until I was off of it.

When you quit with bupropion, you simply take it for about a week while you still smoke. After two days on it, you up the dose. The worst part? This increase in the dose may give you anxiety symptoms – bad ones. Heart palpitations, sweating, racing thoughts, feeling scared. They all happened to me, but, since I knew they were side effects of the medication increase, I just dealt with it. The good part is that those side effects typically only last about a day or so. It was very worth it for me, however uncomfortable I was weathering them for the 24-36 hours they endured.

Then after a week on the medication, on a pre-chosen date, I just stopped. That was it. No agony. No crying. No hysteria. Wellbutrin magically made this compulsion problem disappear for me.

It was, no lie, a fucking miracle.

I stayed on Wellbutrin only short-term, like about 8 weeks total. Why? Well, the drug is not without side effects. One of them is complete ditziness, which got sort of pronounced at around the 8 week mark. Also? It lowers the seizure threshold, meaning you are at higher risk for seizures if you take it. This was almost a deal breaker for me with Wellbutrin until my doctor put it in perspective. She said, hey, seizures won’t usually kill you. Cigarettes will. And, the risk of seizure at the dose you take for this is quite low, certainly much lower than your risk for all kinds of terrible health problems with smoking. Anyway, once I was not smoking for seven weeks, I felt like I had patterned my new non-smoking behavior enough, broken the curse, so to speak, that I was safe to come off it. I did, and all was well.

Wellbutrin was not the only drug I used to quit. I also used badass old nicotine itself.

I did not use “the patch,” and I really don’t know why anyone would. I’m not a physician or any kind of quit smoking expert, per se, but anecdotally I can think of 5-10 people I personally know who tried quitting with the patch, but not a single person who actually quit for more than a few weeks.

For me, smoking was not just about getting nicotine – it was also about having something in my mouth (insert crude joke here).  Simple consistent delivery of nicotine through my skin was not going to give me any kind of replacement for smoking behavior, and it wouldn’t come close to mimicing the way I administered nicotine with cigarettes either. With cigarettes you don’t get a steady dose of nicotine for 12 hours, like with the patch. You smoke, you get the hit. The closest thing to this was nicotine gum, which I used with great success, if I do say so myself.

But here’s the catch – I did not use it as directed. I used far less.

When you start to use nicotine gum, they typically tell you to take one every hour, etc. etc. etc. depending on the amount you smoked. My personal opinion is that this system is designed to get you to use too much of it, keeping you on the gum for far too long.

Instead, I waited until I got a nicotine craving. Then I used one piece of gum. My GOD the rush I got was enough to really cement the “nicotine is a drug” concept. One little piece of gum would  keep me craving-free for hours – far longer than a cigarette would have. In the beginning I was chewing maybe 3-4 pieces a day. I gradually spread the time out between gum chewing – much easier to do than with cigarettes. Then I stopped craving the gum. I was off it entirely in about six months. For another six months I kept a few pieces on me – just in case. But I never needed them.

Please keep in mind, you should not try nicotine gum of any sort without first talking to your doctor. There are real side effects and long term risks associated with the gum and you need to be aware of them before you make a decision try it as part of your quit plan.

5. People, places, things

If you have any familiarity with 12 step parlance, you’ll recognize “People, Places, and Things” which really refers to minding the things that trigger your addiction. You can’t avoid all of your triggers, but if you can avoid major ones it can really help.

Back when I was in clubs seeing bands, something I did every weekend for many years back when you could smoke indoors in NYC and NJ, I was constantly smoking. And when I would drink, which wasn’t all that often, I would definitely be smoking. So for about a year I avoided both clubs and alcohol, with the exception of my wedding, wherein I did drink many Cosmopolitans. But, I didn’t smoke. I didn’t miss alcohol, really, and I didn’t miss the clubs much either. In fact, I got the side bonus of my tinnitus getting better. And really, not smoking felt so good after the first weeks I just became more and more committed to it.

6. Get out of the ring

The best piece of advice I ever got about quitting smoking came from someone unspeakably dear to me who has been in recovery from alcoholism/drug addiction for over 25 years. When I asked him how he did it, he had a very simple, elegant explanation.

He said, If I fight against my urge to drink, I’m going to lose. The only way I can win is to not fight. I just have to get out of the ring.

Get out of the ring.

How does one get out of the ring, exactly? Your best bet is distraction.  Think about something else. It needs to be something that can really engage you. For me? I couldn’t really type or play guitar while smoking, so those things helped. I wrote a lot (I had a blog in 1998, and I updated that bitch by hand, yo). There are plenty of activities you can’t very satisfactorily do with one hand. Find something that you really get lost in. Be creative. Or dirty, perhaps. Hey, whatever it takes.

7. Keep going

Who was it, Winston Churchill? He said If you’re going through hell, keep going. Well, same thing here. There will be rough times, and you must keep going. The longer you go, the easier it gets. It’s that simple. Your mind needs a little time to practice the new behavior, to carve new neural paths in your grey matter, for real. Keep practicing and never give up.

To help keep me going, I kept reviewing the benefits of quitting smoking:

When smokers quit — What are the benefits over time? (from the American Cancer Society)

  • 20 minutes after quitting: Your heart rate and blood pressure drops. (Effect of Smoking on Arterial Stiffness and Pulse Pressure Amplification, Mahmud, A, Feely, J. 2003. Hypertension:41:183.)
  • 12 hours after quitting: The carbon monoxide level in your blood drops to normal. (US Surgeon General’s Report, 1988, p. 202)
  • 2 weeks to 3 months after quitting: Your circulation improves and your lung function increases. (US Surgeon General’s Report, 1990, pp.193, 194,196, 285, 323)
  • 1 to 9 months after quitting: Coughing and shortness of breath decrease; cilia (tiny hair-like structures that move mucus out of the lungs) regain normal function in the lungs, increasing the ability to handle mucus, clean the lungs, and reduce the risk of infection. (US Surgeon General’s Report, 1990, pp. 285-287, 304)
  • 1 year after quitting: The excess risk of coronary heart disease is half that of a smoker’s. (US Surgeon General’s Report, 1990, p. vi)
  • 5 years after quitting: Your stroke risk is reduced to that of a non-smoker 5 to 15 years after quitting. (US Surgeon General’s Report, 1990, p. vi)
  • 10 years after quitting: The lung cancer death rate is about half that of a continuing smoker’s. The risk of cancer of the mouth, throat, esophagus, bladder, cervix, and pancreas decrease, too. (US Surgeon General’s Report, 1990, pp. vi, 131, 148, 152, 155, 164,166)
  • 15 years after quitting: The risk of coronary heart disease is the same as a non-smoker’s. (US Surgeon General’s Report, 1990, p. vi)

That’s a pretty good deal, if you ask me. Nevermind the obvious things like all that damn money you don’t have to spend on cigarettes in the first place. Another good list of benefits is here and there’s a mention of how quitting helps increase your fertility, for those of you struggling to conceive. I won’t even mention smoking and pregnancy, which you already know is bad news. If you’re thinking of quitting when you get pregnant, then consider that quitting might help you get pregnant faster.

It’s good to find ways to reward yourself for quitting. Setting your smokes money aside for awhile and using it on something you enjoy is not a bad technique – I did this back when cigarettes were in the $5-6 a pack range and stuck the money in a jar on top of the refrigerator every day. Seeing all that cash accumulate really did help keep me smoke free.

The Short Version:

Here’s my quit plan, in a nutshell.

  1. Find your motivation. Make sure it’s very, very important to you. Figure out whether you’re more motivated by rewards or negatives like guilt or fear. Use whatever works.
  2. Don’t bullshit yourself – smoking will kill you, sooner or later.
  3. Make a big deal out of quitting with everyone you know, up the schmuck factor if you fail.
  4. Talk to your doctor about using a combination bupropion and nicotine gum to curb compulsive behavior and nicotine withdrawal.
  5. Eventually get yourself off the nicotine gum – this is really important.
  6. Don’t go to places or do things that will drive you nuts if you can’t smoke.
  7. Find things to do that you can’t smoke while doing them. Four showers a day? Sure, why not?
  8. Keep reviewing all the glorious things that will happen and the perilous pitfalls you will now avoid, thanks to quitting. Oh, and do find ways to pat yourself on the back, like paying yourself not to smoke with your cigarette money.

So, that’s it. That’s how I did it, and I’m certain that you can do it too, if not by following my quit plan, then by devising one that will work even better for you.

When I was in therapy myself during most of my twenties, I often lamented my inability to quit. I felt like a major asshole, a loser, a weak minded git for being unable to stop. I was afraid and I felt out of control. My therapist, who said many helpful things to me over the years said probably the most powerful thing to me of all at this time. He simply said, “When you’re ready, you’ll quit.”

He was right.

So I say that to you now. If you want to quit and have tried and failed, please, please don’t think all is lost. Don’t believe you can’t do it. Just know that you’ll do it when you’re ready.

And, you will know when that is.

PS: HEY WHAT ABOUT WEIGHT LOSS/WEIGHT GAIN?

I know, as a woman who gave birth to twins six months ago and is still hanging onto way too much preggers weight, that’s not a small consideration.

I did lose weight, that is no lie, in the weeks and months after I quit. I lost about ten pounds. The reason is twofold. First and foremost, I worked out. This was something I did for a short time in the months leading up to my wedding because, hey, I was having a wedding and I needed to fit in my wedding dress. Talk about motivation. And there’s no doubt that working out also helped me feel the benefits of quitting much sooner – I was rapidly increasing my physical abilities while also lowering my stress, well, as much as one can lower one’s stress in the months leading up to a wedding. I can just imagine how batshit I would have been if I didn’t have that outlet, given the insanity of quitting smoking in the months before my wedding.

The reason my weight loss was at all possible, I’m certain, is because I did not replace cigarettes with food. And the only reason I didn’t replace cigarettes with food is because I didn’t have that compulsive behavior problem, thanks to the Wellbutrin, and because I used the nicotine gum when I had cravings.

Given the same techniques in your unique context, please be advised your mileage may vary.

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Because everyone can use a good laugh

by Myg on July 17, 2009

Bing’s giggle chat with Nana from Myg on Vimeo.

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Turn Onz

by Myg on July 16, 2009

And we’re back with another Girl Talk Thursday! Let me just get this out of the way, I’m not participating again JUST to win sex toys from Eden Fantasys. I’m participating again because the topic is about sex, again, and who doesn’t like to write about sex on their blog?

So the question of the day is turn ons, what are yours? The depressing thing is that I had to think long and hard (oh, yes I did) about what my turn ons are these days, because as a new mother (how long are you “new” for with your first kid/s?) of twins, the action over here is sparse, to say the least. Apologies to Mr. Wisermom.

So from what I can remember, anyway, here they are:

  1. Kissing. All kinds of kissing, but mainly kissing full lipped, some tongue (but not too much), face held or a simple full on embrace. Locking lips does it for me, under almost any circumstances.
  2. Also, neck kissing.
  3. And back kissing.
  4. Kissing the back of the neck? That will get you engaged. Or a home cooked meal.
  5. And kissing pretty much any other place, other than the hyperbolic ass kissing. I hate having my ass kissed.
  6. Watching my husband do mundane sorts of manly things, like yard work.
  7. Watching my husband play guitar, though it’s been far too long since I’ve had that particular pleasure.
  8. Watching my husband with his kids makes me want to make more kids.
  9. Okay, as non-controversial as can be, I suppose it’s obvious that I’m attracted to my husband.
  10. The Tudors.
  11. Power. Not like all rich and political, though that works too. A simple shitload of confidence will do. Must explain why I love rock guys, and why I’d be a terrible dominatrix, contrary to popular belief.
  12. Strength. Sort of like power, only in the very literal “lifting heavy stuff” sense.
  13. Strength is even better when applied on my behalf, like when my husband carries something heavy for me.
  14. No, I’m not kidding or feeling even a trace of sarcasm.
  15. Hotel rooms. I obviously haven’t travelled with kids yet.
  16. Public displays of affection. Not seeing them by others, though. I  know, it’s a bit hypocritical. Oh well.
  17. ATVs. Don’t ask.

I’ve written three endings for this post right now without satisfaction so I’ll end it this way:

And they lived happily ever after.

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A random photo and a fix for Cradle Cap

by Myg on July 14, 2009

I don’t know wtf is going on with me, but there’s a poverty of recent photos of the boys. I keep all photos of them organized in iPhoto with albums “month 1, month 2, etc.” and month 6, which we’re in right now, was empty up until today when I threw some pictures from my niece’s 5th birthday party in there. Here’s one of the boys from Saturday:

Five and a half months

Do they look bigger to you? They look bigger to me, and they also seem to have a lot more hair. I should probably start to wash it or something.

Oh, and speaking of washing their hair, Doot had some fairly nasty cradle cap, which I seem to have cured by simply brushing his hair and scalp lightly, then massaging his scalp with petroleum jelly, and then washing his hair with baby shampoo. Flakes gone! So much for his “like a delicate pastry” look.

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To pea or not to pea

by Alex on July 10, 2009

Today WM presents three videos. I’m calling this triptych “To pea, or not to pea: The birth of an aesthetic sensibility.”

Above is Doot’s introduction to sweet peas. Yes, they’re organic. No, we didn’t grow them; they’re handy single-serving packs from the big baby food conglomerate and, yeah,  they’re about $0.70 a serving, pretty danged expensive when you’re on a frayed shoestring budget. However, they are very convenient, and to New Jerseyans, convenience is everything. (Cue the DKs reference “Give me convenience or give me death.” Yes, I understand the irony.) The other justification I have for my laziness is that while we’re trying out solid foods, I’m not going to buy a bunch of stuff and have it rot in the fridge when they only eat a little bit of it. Their parents already have that problem with the produce intended for adult consumption. I have utopian visions that eventually when all four of us eat the same produce we will eat our way through large heads of leafy green lettuce and buckets of succulent cucumbers. It may be on pizza with lotsa mozzarella, but a boy can dream.

Up to this point, the boys have taken to solids like wombats to sedgegrass. Other than an unfortunate episode with prunes (expelled from both ends in force), they eat rice cereal, sweet potatoes, oatmeal, and bananas. Based on facial expressions and enthusiasm, sweet potatoes and bananas are the favorites. Hello sweet teeth.

Doot is not into peas. Check out his expression. He had downed a bottle not all that long before when he was introduced to them, so we thought perhaps he just wasn’t that hungry. So I tried them again yesterday. He may be a sweet pea, but Doot is not into them.

The development of facial expressions and nonverbal communication at five months is impressive. You can really tell the difference, when, just a couple of minutes later I offer him some sweet potatoes. Yep, the kid is hungry, all right. Ixnay on the legumes, hello beta carotene.

Next week: escargot

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So, I found a new blog I like: Mommymelee. This I discovered, as I discover many things these days, through the social networking genius of the year, Tatiana of A Very Good Year. Anyway, Mommymelee sponsors a thingy called Girl Talk Thursdays and while I normally do not have my shit together to jump in on these things, I couldn’t resist the topic. Pr0N! P 0 R n 0 g R a P h Y!

I don’t know if I’d feel as compelled to bang out a post on this if I hadn’t recently been caught up in my new favorite soap opera: The Tudors. The Tudors, a Showtime series about King Henry VIII and all his fucking (for those of you as tv deprived as I have been lately), isn’t technically pr0n, no, but with just a little extra effort and a little less history, it sure could be. And if you think millions of women and a decent showing of guys wouldn’t pay top dollar to see Jonathan Rhys Meyers in a p 0 r n 0, you’d be entirely, utterly wrong.

After reading a few Girl Talk Thursday posts, I realize how out of the loop I am on the whole adult entertainment front. More than once I’ve seen reference to some tricked out adult film called Pirates, and what? I’ve never even heard of it. Probably because Netflix doesn’t do adult film, and I spent most of the last year pregnant or exhausted and in case you hadn’t heard, while pregnant I had pre-term contractions and was placed on “pelvic rest” meaning no sex, and no goddamned ORGASMS from November until the twinkies were born in January. Do you know what it does to a woman to go without orgasms for 8+ weeks?  I’m embarassed to tell you, but, my body sort of forgot how to have them.  That’s really sad, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I’m working on remembering. And I’ll leave that there.

But then let me get back to the Tudors. Oh! Wow, there is a lot of fucking in that series. And all of it historical, so technically, it’s educational. Of course it’s not all fucking all the time, which may be problematic for some fans of the adult film genre. But, Jonathan Rhys Meyers! If you’ve got a half decent imagination, you can get by on the upper half shots just fine.

My big statement on the topic is this: if it makes you happy and it isn’t fucking you up in some way, enjoy it. I know for me, I’d be better off watching more pr0n and eating less junk food.

Hey. I think I just figured out my new weight-loss plan…

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The Big Baby Sleep Post

by Myg on July 8, 2009

I am at the office and I forgot my fucking glasses and right about now the laptop LCD is all spotty and giving me a royal headache. This is pissing me off as it’s happening on top of the fact that once again I got very little, broken up sleep.

And I am so frustrated about not sleeping. I swore when I had these kids I wouldn’t complain, I swore it. I wanted them so badly and had to wait so long I was going to savor every second but fuck all if I can bear this shit any longer with a smile. I can’t do it.

But you know what? My boys individually are not unreasonable in their sleeping, I think, and according to all that I read. They get up either once or twice a night to eat, and according to Weissbluth’s Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, up until 9 months, that’s reasonable. (I’ve looked into a lot of different schools of thought on the whole sleeping thing, and I tend to go by Weissbluth because of all the stuff out there it seems the most grounded in research. I also have several friends who swear by it.)

It was with great anticipation I awaited the release of his latest work, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Twins. I advanced ordered! I’m sorry to tell you, it was fairly disappointing. It omits most of the substantive work of the original Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child (which is definitely worth reading), boils down his sleep training ideas into a chapter, and then adds a long section on his surveys of parents of twins, that basically tells you that if you are a) 35 years old or older and b) got pregnant using Assisted Reproductive Technologies (and both would apply to me) that you are more likely to experience Postpartum Depression, have babies who don’t sleep well, and be more frustrated by the experience.  And I’m all like, knowing this helps me how, exactly?

Dr. Weissbluth, did you think I’d be all, hey, wow at least I know that most women in my boat are as fucked as I am? Well I might be thinking that, but you know what? That’s not helping. In fact, it makes me feel like somehow this is all my fault because of my age and my infertility. So, in the future, if you’re going to publish research in a book about helping your kids sleep, how about emphasizing the shit I CAN DO SOMETHING ABOUT? Otherwise, I just feel like I’m fucked, and goodness knows that’s not helping my feelings of frustration, is it?

He might be right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Here’s the deal with my kids’ sleep. Keep in mind they are 5 1/2 months old and were born 5 weeks early, so they’ll be 6 months on 7/22, but developmentally they’ll be 5 months on 7/25. Got that? Good.

Sleep Arrangements:

We have two cribs and a futon in the nursery. The boys sleep mostly in their cribs. Doot sleeps on a Tucker Wedge due to his GERD. If you’re dealing with baby GERD let me tell you, the wedge changed our lives.

One of us sleeps in the nursery, the other in our bedroom. We alternate who sleeps where, because whoever is in the nursery is getting shitty sleep, though nobody in our house is getting unbroken 8 hour sleep except the dog. Why do we do this? Because to prevent SIDS, The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that parents share a room with their babies for the first six months, but not a bed. We are not huge into bed sharing anyway because we just don’t sleep as well and they don’t sleep as well either, though the cuddling is super nice. But we are not hugely opposed to it, either.

Sleep Routine:

My boys go to sleep at 6:30 at night, and then they wake up once or twice a night to eat. Lately, Bing has been waking up almost exactly 30 minutes after he falls asleep. Then he cries, cries, cries until I come and lay down with him for awhile. I put him next to me on the futon, but mostly ignore him. We lay there in the dark quiet room and he sometimes babbles awhile at the ceiling, then either gets quiet and sleepy or just falls asleep. I try to put him back in his crib while he’s drowsy but still awake so he can learn to soothe himself to sleep. He almost always wakes up as soon as I pick him up to put him back in bed. Usually, he will go back to sleep for several hours then.

Last night Bing woke up at 11:30pm and had a bottle of breast milk, and again at 5:30am, at which point I nursed him and we both fell asleep together on the futon. But at that time in the morning he just doesn’t sleep well with me next to him. He wakes up every twenty minutes, rooting. If I put him back in bed, he cries. But if I leave him on the futon and leave the room for a few minutes, he crashes.

As for Doot, he usually wakes up once in the middle of the night, last night it was 2:30am. He eats, then sleeps until anywhere from 5:30-7:00 in the morning.

So if you look at it this way, they are not doing too badly. They go to bed fairly consistently around 6:30 at night. They each wake up once or twice in the night to eat. But with twins that has us waking up at 11:30, 2:30, 5:30 and then around 7am for their normal wake up time for the day.

Quite frankly, it sucks. Or maybe it’s just my attitude that now sucks. I don’t know anymore.

Yes, I’ve tried “one up, both up” meaning, when one wakes up to eat, wake the other up to eat. But this doesn’t work for us, because Bing is almost always the first one up and if you wake Doot up to feed him, he’ll start waking up every 3 hours. Otherwise Doot can sleep anywhere from 7-10 hours overnight. We get up less overall if we don’t wake the babies up. Period.

How about “Crying it Out” (CIO) versus attachment parenting, etc?

I will admit, we tried some crying it out with some mixed results.

First of all, Doot usually cries a little bit every time we put him down to sleep. But he cries for less than 5 minutes and then finds his thumb and falls sweetly, soundly asleep. I am certain he’s crying simply because he’s far too tired, and so help me jesus, I know exactly how the kid feels.

Bing is a different story. We were letting him cry it out, and he was crying about 30 minutes, then falling deeply asleep. It was very painful to let him cry for so long, but it seemed to be working so we stuck with it. Some nights he’d cry for 30 minutes, some nights not at all.

Then he got a little tooth poking through on the bottom, and he has been getting HYSTERICAL in the crib. Like I cannot bear. Like I could hear him coughing, gagging, sputtering from all the hysterical crying (though Doot, god love him, slumbers oblivious just four feet away).

So I go to him then, after about 30 minutes of unbearable torture for me, and I pick him up and he sees me and just gives me this wild, excited grin like I am Lady Madonna herself and I’m just like, kid, I love you so much it hurts.

We lay down on the futon, he babbles at the shadows for several minutes and I just relax, listening to him talk himself down.

Okay, I’m not complaining.

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