Panic Face

I received a panic-stricken phone call from my mother this morning.  She was calling to do a sanity check on me.  :-)

To be fair, I can't say that I blame her.  After all, she was the one who came to my new apartment several years ago to unpack me while I sat in the middle of the living room floor crying for absolutely no reason.

She and my dad have bailed me out of more impulsive decisions than I care to admit (thankfully, the "bailing out" has never been jail-related! :-).  My "impulsive episodes" tend to be financial.  Like moving from Texas to Oregon because it was pretty.  Moving back to Texas a year later because no one stopped to help me when I got a flat tire.  (If I had been home, I would have had my flat tire changed, the tires rotated, and would probably have been provided dinner while it was happening!  Texans ROCK!!!)  I've moved an hour and a half away from work back to my hometown because I was sick of living in an apartment in the city and just needed some peace and quiet.  That move lasted 8 months, when I got sick of commuting three hours a day and I moved right back in to the same apartment complex that I had just left.  I've dropped out of college to work full time.  I've quit jobs to go back to school full time.  Yep.  Most of my more impulsive decisions made when I'm off my meds tend to be what we refer to as my "Multi-Thousand Dollar Brain Farts," so I can't really blame my mom for panicking when she saw my last post about the possibility of purchasing a six bedroom home so I can take in troubled teens.  :-)

I hope I was successful in assuring her that, while I may be a little touched in the head, I am not stupid.  No, I have absolutely no intention of buying a large home in the country where I can rehabilitate teenage gangsters through handbell choir music (although, how cool would that be if it actually worked?!?).  While I am considering renting a house (that I can afford) close to work, and possibly increasing my fostering age range and number of children slightly, I'm not doing anything until I've been on my new medication for a couple of months.  I'm pretty sure everything is going to be just fine.  I did, after all, finally find something to wear to Monkey's 1st birthday party on Sunday, so the world is no longer coming to an end.  ;-)

Time to Take the Happy Pills!!!

I've struggled with anxiety, depression, and bipolar tendencies my entire adult life.  The past couple of years though, have actually been pretty good, even with all of the insanity and emotional highs and lows that come with foster care.  I weaned off of my meds, and haven't had to take any kind of medication for nearly two years!

Lately though, those feelings of wanting to snap the heads off of anyone who dares to look at me funny slight irritability, having a burning desire to quit my job and open a group home for troubled teens impulsive thoughts, and moments where I burst into uncontrollable sobs because my Diet Coke has gone flat inappropriate emotional responses are back.  The good thing about all of this is that after 20 years of dealing with it, I've pretty much learned to recognize when I'm in need of medical intervention vs. just being an emotional "girl."  Crying during sad movies and Hallmark commercials = Perfectly normal "girlie" response...  Having a full-on hyperventilating, forced to breathe in and out of a paper bag, feeling like my heart is going to explode, panic attack because I don't know what I'm going to wear to my 1-year-old's birthday party = Not so much.

So I made an appointment to get back on some anti-crazy meds.  I figure I should probably do that before I go and do something completely irrational...  Like buy a six bedroom house...  or take in several teenage gang members and live the dream of driving around in a Partridge Family bus while making music with my new little family...  or move to Fiji and live in a shack on the beach while making a living by selling handmade flipflops made out of seashells.

Fortunately, my current impulsive ideas are more along the lines of wanting to break my lease and rent a house that I can (mostly) afford, take in one specific teen, possibly open up to a sibling group placement with one baby and one older sibling, and perhaps buy a minivan.  :-)  And course, attempt to promote my lullaby singing career on YouTube.  Monkey tells me I have talent in the lullaby singing department.  And I did successfully serenade an entire ER full of people (although unintentially) with my musical rendition of James Brown's "I Feel Good" during a recent trip to the children's hospital. ;-)

If I still want to rent a house and take in multiple kiddos after I've been on my meds for a little while, I'll probably do it.  But until I know it's not just Bipolar Girl talking, I need to try to avoid the multi-thousand dollar brain farts if at all possible.  :-) 



All He Needs to Know...

It's a strange thing to attempt to put everything you know about your child down on paper, but we've come to the point in Monkey's case where I feel like I need to do just that.  Last night, I sat down at the computer and began writing about my baby...  Everything that I could possibly think of that might help his dad when he goes home next month...  But mostly, everything that I could think of that might help Monkey...

Practical things like sleeping and eating schedules, what he's eating now, clothing, shoe and diaper sizes, medical history, etc.

Specific things that Monkey loves like his favorite foods, favorite toys, favorite TV shows, favorite songs...

And the special, "good to know" things that will be easier for Monkey and his dad if he knows them up front. Like how Monkey is extremely hot-natured, and will suffocate if you put him in a blanket sleeper to go to bed.  Lightweight pajamas only, or he'll have a fit after a couple of hours and it will take forever to calm him down. Or how Monkey wants two fuzzy blankets and his stuffed bunny rabbit to cuddle up with in his crib, or he will let you know in no uncertain terms that something is missing.  Things like how Monkey has a really sensitive gag reflex, and even though he is eating all table foods now, you still have to be careful with what you give him when it comes to size and consistency.  Warnings like "He loves the cat, but he also loves to pull him around the room by his tail.  You might want to wait until he's a little older before getting him his own kitty cat."

Sure, it may be going overboard (especially because Monkey will still be with me half of the week), but his dad really does seem to want to make things as easy as possible for him, so hopefully he'll take my novel and use it to his advantage.  The more comfortable Monkey feels, the easier it will be on everyone.  :-)

Still not sure of the next court date, but for some reason March 21st keeps popping into my head.  I vaguely remember hearing that date during the last court hearing.  In the meantime, I get to plan my Monkey's first birthday party (I've been assured he'll be with me for that), and just enjoy him and all of his silliness.  I still hope his dad doesn't panic when I give him a "Book o' Monkey" to memorize over the next few weeks.  :-)

Mortified

I am absolutely MORTIFIED right now. I was looking up this barn for a blog post that I am writing about being traumatized as a child (the stinking thing MOO-ED every time you opened the door). I didn't expect to find the EXACT toy, but I guess "VINGTAGE" toys are all the rage. "VINTAGE!" Oiy.

She's Giving Me Whiplash

These past ten months dealing with the back and forth and instability of Monkey's mom have been exhausting.  The past few weeks, she's been so all over the place that she's kind of giving me whiplash!  There are times when I get so aggravated I just want to shake her and scream, "WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!?  DO YOU NOT SEE THIS UNBELIEVABLY AMAZING BABY BOY RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU?!?  DO YOU NOT SEE WHAT YOU ARE MISSING BECAUSE YOU CAN'T GET YOURSELF TOGETHER?!?"  The sad thing is, I know she does see him.  I know she does want to get better.  She will go for three months and do really, really well.  But inevitably, the depression takes hold and she falls right back into the behaviors that made her lose him in the first place.

Since Mom relapsed right after Christmas, she has seen Monkey twice.  She disappeared for a month, and her first visit with Monkey happened to be the first week that I began transporting him.  She was twenty minutes late, came running in, scooped him out of my arms, and began hugging and kissing all over him.  Monkey freaked out because this strange woman who he barely knows (and likely didn't remember at all after a month) came in and stole him from his mama.  I ended up having to leave because as long as he knew I was there, things weren't going to go well.

The next week, she was 20 minutes late again, but she was more in control of herself.  She brought a ton of new clothes for Monkey like she tends to do after she returns after one of her disappearing acts.  She tried to let him warm up to her before taking him from me.  She was much calmer and not nearly as desperate as she was the week before.  He did end up going to her, but got a little fussy and was looking towards me.  I tried to reassure him and told him that he was going to play with toys and have fun with his Mommy, and she just got a sad smile on her face and said, "That's okay.  To him, you are Mommy."  Monkey did better, but kept trying to crawl into the lobby because he could hear me, so I left again.

Last week, Mom no-showed.

When Monkey's dad got to the office for his visit and saw that his mom wasn't there, he immediately asked, "Is she in treatment?"  I could see the hope in his eyes, and that made me like him even more.  Even though his parents are no longer together, his dad still wants her to get well.  He wants her to be a part of Monkey's life.  But he told me that he just can't expose Monkey to the instability.

I wish I could say that "yes" Monkey's mom went to rehab.  Unfortunately, we're pretty certain that's not the case.  The caseworker who supervises Monkey's visits told me that the week before, when Dad got to the office, Monkey was just finishing up the visit with his mom.  He heard his Daddy, speed crawled into the lobby and straight into his daddy's arms, and from that point on wouldn't have anything to do with his mother.  I know it really hurt his mom's feelings, but really...  What did she expect???  Monkey's dad has made every single visit that he was aware of.  The only times he has missed has been when The Invisible One went and changed times on him and didn't clarify when they were going to occur!  Monkey knows and loves his dad.  He's unsure of his mom.

Monkey's mom had called the caseworker the night before the visit and asked if she could change her visits to another day so she didn't have to see Monkey's dad.  He told her "no," because they are going to have to learn to work together for Monkey's sake.  Dad will be getting full custody, but as of now, her rights aren't being terminated.  She was upset, but assured him that she would be at the CPS office at 8:00 for her regular visit the next day.  She never came.

I think what bothers me the most is that I like Monkey's mom!  I have so much compassion for her because of everything she has been through.  Over the past ten months, I have seen her at her very best as well as at her lowest points.  I think the fact that I've seen her try so hard and succeed for months is what gives me hope that eventually she'll be able to conquer this thing and be the kind of mother that Monkey deserves.  I know she wants that.  She told me herself that she wants to be someone that Monkey can be proud of.  But until that happens, at least I know that Monkey will continue to be in good hands with a daddy who he loves and who loves him enough to want to keep the only mama he knows in his life.