In preparation for the baby, I’ve completely weaned off my Zoloft.

My doc suggested I start in June, so I started in April. Obviously.

And this is why he is a doctor and I am not a doctor.

So now I am feeling…I am feeling….I am feeling too much, I guess.

My heart feels heavy.

My breath feels short.

Most of my days are spent going through the motions. X-ing the days off my calendar. Waiting to feel normal again.

I’ve been camouflaging my emotions, hiding the heavy ones from my sweet boy. Smiling, hugging him, making him laugh, hoping he doesn’t see the cloud hovering over my head.

I have a lot on my plate at the moment.

And it’s nothing delicious, like enchiladas.

Periodically, I’ll hear Dory from Finding Nemo in my head.

Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.

So, that’s what I’m doing.

Swimming.

Well, floating along, mostly.

And without a beer.

Total Bummer.

These hormones and me? Don’t get along.

I can’t wait to feel like myself again.

40ish more days to go.

*No one send any men in white coats to come check on me (unless they are totally hot). Because, really, in the grand scheme of things, I am OK. Still showering. Still feeding my kid. Still shaving my legs. Still writing stupid shit on the internet. This is just me venting on a tough day. Because, the writing? Definite therapy.

**Join me for my next post, where I go into detail about cockblocking a pigeon in the Walgreen’s parking lot and how I think massage chairs are weird.

I was flipping through the morning talk shows the other day when a story on Adderall abuse caught my eye.

Adderall is a prescription drug used to treat attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder and narcolepsy.

This headline stopped me dead in my tracks, because I used to take Adderall, and not always as directed.

Before I dive into this, it’s important to note that many people use Adderall for legitimate purposes, as directed, and very responsibly. I am only here to share my personal experience with it and to discuss those instances when it is abused.

I have a wandering mind. Focusing does not come easy to me. It never has.

This did not bode well for me in school.

I like to joke that I was on the seven year plan in college. I blamed it on changing my major, transferring schools, and not having found myself. Really, I just didn’t have the ability to concentrate. I became overwhelmed easily and, most times, simply gave up on whatever assignment I had that night.

The results of this, as I’m sure you can guess, were dropped and failed courses.

Then one day I began hearing all about Adderall. Suddenly, this super student pill was all over the place. And it wasn’t just for school, anymore.

Do you want to party later and longer?

Take an Adderall.

Would you like to have one too many without feeling like you did?

Simple. Pop an Addy.

Need to pull an all nighter?

Adderall to the rescue.

Oh, and how could I possibly forget the extra side effect that came with it? A dream side effect for an insecure and curvy college girl, who loved a “number one with cheese” at two in the morning. Adderall is an appetite suppressant.

I started by bumming pills off some friends.

Then, I decided I would try and get my own prescription. This made my subconscious cringe, slightly. I mean, I knew I had ADD, but I also knew I liked the way Adderall made me feel. A little too much. It made me feel confident, like superwoman. And being that I was definitely one who like to party, it helped the party last longer.

I found a local psychiatrist and made an appointment.

I was positive he would run some sort of test, or have me return a few times, before sending me away with a prescription.

I was wrong.

Within fifteen minutes of meeting him, I had my very own, crisp prescription for Adderall. I called my friends and shared my excellent news. Within a few hours, I picked everyone up, we all took a magic little pill and hit the local college hangout. We stayed out too late.

I took one before school the next day and a funny thing happened. I paid attention in class for the very first time (other than in sex ed, of course). Towards the middle of the day, I start to feel the Adderall wear off. I felt cranky, irritable, and a bit sad. Hours before my next scheduled dose, I decided I should go ahead an take another one. I mean, I did have two more classes and a ton of homework that night. I needed it.

Later that night, I had done all my assignments and then some. I patted myself on the back and decided it was time to turn in for the night. The only problem? I was so wound up from all the Adderall that there was no way I’d be able to fall asleep. So, common sense told me to take a sleeping pill and drink a beer. And so that’s what I did.

This cycle continued straight through graduation.

I got excellent grades. Pretty much perfect.

I also felt wired all the time. I drank a beer, or took sleeping pill, to help me fall asleep at night. Never wanting to eat, I lost 30 pounds. At the time I thought this was wonderful, but I’m sure my body disagreed. Sometimes I stayed up all night partying with my friends. Sometimes I took too much Adderall and my heart felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest.

But, hey, I got good grades, right?

I finished my last class and, no longer needing it, decided that my body had been through enough. I stopped taking it, cold turkey. Physically, I felt sick for a week. Mentally, it took me while to feel like myself again.

Eight years have passed since my experience with Adderall. So, when I saw the segment on television the other day, it stopped me in my tracks. It seems things haven’t changed much.

College students are still taking it to get ahead. People are dealing it. Prescriptions are being flippantly written. It still shows up to party.

But, on the other hand, college kids are taking it and it’s helping their grades improve. It’s helping them to actually like school. Adderall, and medications like it, are a godsend to many people who otherwise wouldn’t have the ability to sit through a class, finish their assignments, or get any work done.

So, this is not me saying it should be pulled off the market – I know that every drug has the potential for abuse. I just think people should be more careful about it. It’s not something to play around with. It’s a serious drug and misusing it can have serious consequences.

But, I have no idea how else the negatives can be regulated or remedied. And, thankfully, it’s not up to me. Because here I sit, with my thoughts still scattered, my projects half finished, and as unfocused as ever. I’m still searching for a something to help me through all this. I’m just much more careful about what I put in my body this time around.

Maybe one of those non-stimulant medications is the answer.

Or, perhaps, I should just concede to the fact that my closet will forever be a disaster and that I will never get all those thank-you cards written.

So, this is me in Week 33, yada yada yada.

I know the picture could use some more light, but, whatever, I’m lazy and you get the gist.

Also, I used my phone as a cover because I was having a bad face day.

So, I finally caved and bought my kid the Live Butterfly Garden.

BECAUSE OH MY GOD THE COMMERCIALS NEVER STOP.

Sorry, was I yelling?

Anyway, it arrived last week.

The whole thing has been riveting, so far.

RIVETING, I tell you.

Here, take a look for yourself.

You’re welcome.

I did witness one of the caterpillars poop.

So, there’s that.

This is our dog Levi.

We got him from the pound a few years ago.

He’s Half Lab/Half Scottie and Full of Awesome.

He has a rad under-bite.

He is the best dog ever.

Also, he loves to watch TV.

Enjoy these two clips if you have nothing better to do with your day loser.

*If you get this via email, for some reason the link isn’t showing up. Click through to my blog to witness these life changing videos.

I’ve mentioned here before about my inability to shop at Walgreen’s without wanting to waterboard myself.

Every time I step foot in there, and hear the music blaring over the PA system, its like taking a walk down memory lane.

Update your playlist, yo.

And lately, my normal sappiness surely amplified by pregnancy hormones, I feel like reminders of what used to be are sprouting up all around me.

The smells.

The songs.

The other day I was hanging with my mom at her new place here in Houston.  She just bought it, so she could visit more and visit longer once baby number two arrives.

As I walked through the complex, I kept smelling fresh paint. It reminded me of my first apartment complex in Austin. The first place I lived alone. Wanting to be older. Trying to rush things. Longing for something bigger in life (that’s what she said).

I heard someone talking about the subway the other day. It made me think of the summer before my senior year in high school, when I spent a month at American University. Taking the subway everywhere. Thinking I was such a big shit. I even remember the black dress I wore pretty much everyday.

My heart yearns for that freedom again. No one depending on me. My only worries being boys, pimples, and grades. In that order.

Nostalgia is a painful thing for me. I don’t like to go there, no matter how happy the memories are. It’s merely a reminder of how much time has passed. And that I can never go back.

A certain song will remind me of specific moment in time. It can be something so simple. Something that must have been so insignificant at the time. And now, my heart aches for it.

Don’t get me wrong, I love where I’m at now. And there will be one day, where I will smell something, or hear something, or read something, that reminds me of this exact moment. And I will want to be right back here.

I know that I’m not appreciating this very moment half as much as I should. I’m not recognizing how amazing every last second of it is. My family, being pregnant with this baby, my house that I bitch about too often, the people in my life…all of it. I want so badly to appreciate it and soak it all in completely, because one day I’ll wish I had.

Why is it so hard for me to live in the moment?

Why don’t I see the beauty of things until they are long behind me?

There will seriously be a time when I ache to get back to the days of my kid pooping on the floor and my dog eating it.

Yes, that really happened.

Twice.

Do you believe in God?

Are you religious?

Is it hot in here? I seriously should have just gone ahead and shared my super easy, anyone can do it, fish recipe with all of you and called it a day.

Religion is so complicated, and discussions on it, so heated. So, I’m going to navigate these waters very carefully and hope you still love me at the end.

Disclaimer: All of the following beliefs are entirely my own. I truly, truly respect all other beliefs and religions and find them fascinating to learn about. I surround myself with people of all different backgrounds. Because, really, how boring would it be if we were all the same?

I was raised in the Catholic church.

I attended a Catholic school.

I assumed I would always be Catholic, much like my name would always be Allison. It was all I knew and I didn’t really know I had a choice.

Then came a time, when I was twenty or so, that I began to notice many of the Catholic teachings went against what I believed in my heart.

Slowly, it began to bug me more and more and I found myself moving further and further away.

Later, I realized it was not only Catholicism that didn’t jive with me. Organized religion, as a whole, simply did not mesh with who I was as a person. The constraints, and what I interpreted to be judgment, of many religions didn’t seem to fall in line with what I believed.

So, where does that leave me these days, you ask?

In a place I feel really good about.

I still pray. I consider myself a spiritual person. Some might say I’m agnostic, if we must label it, because I don’t mind saying that I’m not sure what’s out there, or that I don’t know what happens after we die. And, as much as I would love for there to be something, I don’t think there is anything wrong with simply saying, “I don’t know.”

I truly believe, in my heart of hearts, that if there is someone out there looking out for all of us, I’m not going to be on his or her hell-list simply because I didn’t follow this religion or that one. Or because I eat meat on Fridays. Or because I believe everyone should be able to marry who they love.

Deep down, in my opinion, its all about the simple things. Like how you choose to treat those around you.

Fortunately, my husband’s beliefs are pretty similar to my own.

I suppose, in a sense, we have our own religion.

Be nice. Don’t judge. Respect others and be tolerant of their beliefs. Lend a hand. To each his own. Don’t be a jerk. Have compassion. Leave this world a little better than you found it. Always share your food with me.

Also, we attend the Church of Brunch and Mimosas every Sunday.

And, while I am at peace about where I stand on all of this, I’m now facing a completely different dilemma.

My son is getting to the age where he is going to start having deeper questions than, “Mommy, which of our dogs has a penis and which one has a vagina?”

Things like, “Why don’t we go to church like Bobby, mommy?” And, “Do you believe in God?”  Or, “What happens after we die?”

I often struggle with how to answer these.

On one hand, when he’s little and scared of things that go bump in the night, I don’t want him to feel like there is nothing out there. That seems like such a lonely place for a kid.

I want him to have something or someone to talk to when he’s scared, or when he’s struggling with thoughts and feelings that he isn’t quite ready to share with me.

But, when its age appropriate, I also don’t want to lie to him about my beliefs.

There will come a time, when he is older, that I will share my own feelings with him. I want him to know that its great to question things and come to his own conclusion. I’ll also let him know that his father and I will support any religion or belief that he might feel drawn to or that he wants to explore.

For example, if the kid wants to alternate religious services every Sunday to see what each one is like, I’ll stand right there with him. Or kneel next to him. Or chant, hum, and mediate right along side him.

Because, like I said before, to each his own. And this applies to my children, as well.

As for the people I surround myself with, I love the fact that, no matter how different or similar our stances are, we welcome and accept one another for exactly who we are.

Now, I would love to hear from each of you.

Does religion play a major part in your life?

Do you tell your kids what to believe or do you tell them what you believe?

If your partner has different beliefs, how do you reconcile this when it comes to your children?

And what about your friendships? Are you friends with people from all different beliefs or do you tend to stick with those people whose ideas align with your own?

Whew. I know this was long and wordy, but we made it through!

Thanks for sticking around!

Can I get an Amen?

Hello?

Mornings are hard these days.

Especially when your child wakes up at 4:50 a.m.

And you’re pregnant.

And you’ve just weaned off your trusty, blue, feel better pill.

Today started out rough. L was in rare form, running all over the house, throwing things, spilling things, not listening to a word I had to say.

You know, being a toddler.

It didn’t help that I woke up on the nervous breakdown side of the bed. It seemed, from the the moment I opened my eyes, I had a lump in my throat. No matter how hard I swallowed, it remained. Stuck there. Waiting to burst into tears. To be set off by the mundane.

After what seemed like an hour, and I’m sure it was more like ten minutes, of trying to get my child to please please please put your shorts on so we can leave for school, I turned into the toddler of the family.

I raised my voice at him and stomped my foot on the ground.

One stomp for every word that came out of my mouth.

PUT (stomp) YOUR (stomp) SHORTS (stomp) ON (stomp) RIGHT (stomp) NOW (stomp)!

I regretted it the moment I did it.

At first he looked startled.

Then, with all the innocence of a child, he bust out laughing and said, “Mommy! You stomp your feet!”

He thought I was playing a game.

I was about to breakdown crying and yelling, and he thought I was playing a game.

I spent the rest of my morning with him stomping around, but this time the good kind.

“ARE (stomp) YOU (stomp) READY (stomp) TO (stomp) GO (stomp) TO (stomp) SCHOOL (stomp)?”

He stomped his words right back at me. Laughing and giggling and, “Oh mommy, I love this game!”

The lump of impatience in my throat had now been replaced by a lump of regret.

Regret for laying my shit on my kid.

Because it’s not his fault I am pregnant. It’s not his fault that his mommy feels like a basket-case because she stopped taking her Zoloft.

Nothing about his behavior has changed.

I am the one who has changed.

I can’t wait to feel like myself again.

Whatever that is.

Of course, I spent the entire drive to school telling him how much I loved him and that he was the best little boy in the whole wide world and on and on and on.

He told me to turn the radio up and roll his window down, then he pointed to some birdies and told me they ate worms.

I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown, feeling like a bad mom, and he is happy, not feeling the weight of any of this.

Thank goodness.

I pulled up to the drop off line at school and glanced inside the waiting cars.

I wonder if any of these other moms played the stomping game this morning.

*If you receive my blog via email subscription click through to see the video. I know, I know. Such a drag.

Week 6: Holy shit. No way. Seriously? I’m pregnant.  So excited! I think. I guess I came home from New Orleans with a little something more than a hangover and hotel toiletries. Also, I am drunk right now. Let me ask Google if that’s bad. OK, Google says lots of people get drunk before they find out they are pregnant and to please stop asking it the same questions because GAH. Time for a 9 month detox starting tomorrow. Eww.

Week 7: What the fuck am I doing? I can’t have another baby. I can barely even handle the one I have. I am so bloated and OMG DO MY TITS HURT. Also, I hate everyone and wish I could stop crying.

Week 8: Can’t. Stop. Puking. I hate your face and your face and yours and yours. and you, YOU, I hate your penis because it DID THIS TO ME.

Week 10: Seriously? Will I ever go potty again? Is this a joke? I have George Micheal in my head all day long. Just replace the dance with poop, as in, “I’m never gonna poop again…”  I can’t stop singing it. Really. Related, my family hates me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XN2X7B0mk_k

Week 13: Pimples have taken over my face. And other really weird parts of my body. I wonder if they have facials for your butt. Buttcials. Huh. Stupid hormones.

Week 16: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY BOOBS? They are huge and is that a vein? Was it there before? Holy shit, look at my nipples. They are actually the size of Texas. But, not the shape, which would actually be sorta….cool? Also, I wish I could stop crying.

Week 19: Oh, this is fun. Being pregnant with a toddler. My morning coffee needs a touch…more…arsenic.

Week 20: The itching. GOD THE ITCHING. All over my body. It’s like I have fleas. I look like a crack-head. Walking around scratching and picking at myself all the damn time. But, I’m not on crack. Obviously. That would so not be good for the baby. Also, I wish I could stop crying.

Week 23: According to the internet, my baby is now the size of a mango. And now I want a mango. I want to eat my baby. Great.

Week 28: OB appointment today. Must shave legs and groom Allison, Junior so I don’t go in looking like a 70′s porn star. Cannot see anything below my belly. Holding my breath and winging it…. ouch ouch ouch omg so much blood…

Week 29: Have fully weaned off of my Zoloft in preparation for baby. Hmm. This isn’t so bad. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?

To be continued….