I am not one who can function well on little sleep. No amount of caffeine can alleviate the wanton urge to close my eyes and drift off to a peaceful slumber. Not even the loudest most irritating alarm can get me out of bed on time. I am grouchy, impatient and often agitated easily when I’m tired. There really is no consoling me aside from just letting me go to sleep.

That? That doesn’t happen with children.

I was hesitant about having children for that very reason. I would have to forgo sleep for an unknown number of years.

Petty right? Don’t have children because they affect my ability to sleep in. Yup. Selfish.

Carter was a great sleeper as an infant. He’d wake to eat, then right back to sleep; he was the baby of my dreams. But as a toddler? He rises and falls with the sun. There isn’t enough coaxing in the world to get that child back in bed once he’s opened his eyes and seen even the faintest amount of light peaking from behind the blinds.

Doesn’t bode well with a person who loves to sleep.

Then throw an infant into the mix and I’m a walking zombie most days.

Every morning Hudson wakes at 6:30am; I quickly gather him from his bassinet (STILL IN OUR ROOM because Mike isn’t ready for him to move into his crib. *sigh*) and pull him into me as my lay in my bed, hoping not to stir Carter just yet, I quickly shove a boob in his mouth to smother his coos and squawks for food.

But my efforts are usually futile since Carter has hawk like senses and is up and jumping from the bed before Hudson even gets a latch. Seriously, that kid could hear a penny drop about 6 blocks away.

The door opens with a creak from the years of paint on the jam: then silence. Waiting for another sound, he stands in his doorway. As soon as he hears something, anything he comes running to my room, It’s wake up time Mommy! he states. Every. Single. Morning. Then he questions, Where’s Daddy? I don’t know if he expects that the answer will differ each day; but without fail, he asks.

I fade in and out of consciousness as I try and play defense. Keeping Carter from poking and tickling (which is more like shoving his needle-like fingertips into your gut) Hudson while he eats is like trying to separate a PMSing woman from chocolate. I try to coax him from the room with Hot Wheels waiting for him in the living room, or sending him to go pee - just to buy myself a couple extra minutes; but he is relentless.

I’m up. I’m up!

Once Hudson’s finished we all make our way downstairs. Hudson gets placed in his swing, the television is tuned into Dora, orange juice and Nutrigrain bar are distributed while the coffee brews. I plunk myself down in the overstuffed arm chair waiting for that sweet beep telling me my lifeline is prepared for injection. Sweet delicious coffee.

As I sip my coffee and peruse The Blogs while we relax, I peek over the top of my laptop to see Carter sitting peacefully on the couch, fingers threaded behind his head, lounging back on the sofa: the baby seeing his fingers for the first time, mezmorized in his swing.

They ain’t half bad these early mornings.

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I am an overpreparer (if that’s not a word, it is now). I have to prepare in advance or I am frazzled and out of sorts. I am not a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type gal, not at all. Sure, I can do it, but I get overly self-conscious, worried I’ve forgotten something and anxious. So anxious.

So when Catherine emailed me about joining a roundtable discussion I was over the moon. Great opportunity for lil’ ol’ me, right? I mean, there’s these bigger named bloggers and me. Granted, I sat in on Catherine’s spot, but it turned out to be an awesome introduction post for my spot at Better Than a Playdate (BlogHers Act Canada: Family Health).

But, who did we talk to?

None other then Debbie Phelps - yes, Michael Phelps’ mom.

She’s an amazing lady, very grounded straightforward and candid. It was a great talk and such learning experience being that I’ve never done anythink like that before.

Any-way. So Catherine asked me.

I was all, Hell! Ya!

And she was all, Great! I need your three questions by the morning!

*gulp*

That meant I had to prepare them.

I thought about it all day, all evening, all night. I even did a little research about both Michael and Debbie (cuz Iz all professional now) I froze, my hamster fell off its wheel; all I kept thinking was: OMG! I NEED QUESTIONS?! WHAT DO I ASK AN OLYMPIC ATHLETES MOM!?

(Because apparently they’re different then other moms.)

But I managed to come up with three that I was somewhat proud of, but still had to ask HBM for her opinion - you know, to be sure, and I was prepared with back ups incase there was one that she didn’t think was that fabulous!.

See? OVERPREPARE.

Then the morning of I was all worried that I’d forget or that I’d get the number wrong.

(Because what? It’s different DIALING THE PHONE when it’s for a conference call?)

See people. I don’t do so well when it comes to something outside my box, and though this wasn’t FAR outside that box, it was outside. Outside causes sweats, nervousness and chattiness.

As soon as I picked up the phone, I barely hear the dial tone through the sound of my heartbeat raditating throughout my skull, but once I was on hold for about 15minutes due to complications (their’s not mine, thankfully!) my nervousness had dissipated and it was kinda just like talking with a bunch of girlfriends.

I could hear the patter of fingers typing away through the line as I feverishly wrote everything on my trusty notepad. Those dang professionals! I thought. I can barely hear while I type - you know, constructing my writing gold *snort* - let alone engage in a conversation.

[Note to self: Must learn to type, talk, listen and engage if I ever hope to continue this gig.]

Everything turned out fabulous and my article has been unleashed onto the internet at BlogHers Act Canada, so if you’d be so kind to venture over and let Catherine and Katie know that they made the right decision by listening to me beg for a chance to write for them letting me come back to Playdate letting me write this article for BlogHers Act Canada. I’d be really grateful for any comments you leave there. You know, make me feel like I belong or something.

/whoring.

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Yeah, they’re back. I know I slacked the past two weeks but that’s because I was really slim on the picture taking.

Ever have one of those days where you’re just down for no specific reason? The sun’s shining, the children are behaving, your coffee was really tasty this morning, yet something is amiss?

That’s my today. I have nothing to be sad about, just am, and you know before taking anti-depressants I wouldn’t have thought for a second that something was wrong. But now? Everytime I feel sad, don’t want to do anything or I’m just bitchy I immediately begin to worry that something’s off with my medication.

Did I take my pill yesterday?

Do I need to increase my prescription?

Should I talk to the doctor about this?

What if it’s PPD? (Because *apparently* they don’t really discuss that with me.)

Maybe I just need to accept that it’s now a part of my reality: I worry about my mental state. But should I? Should I have to wonder every time something is off that I’m going fuckin’ nuts?

Since having Hudson I’ve been on a slow decline into a mildly Agoraphobic state. I don’t want to leave my house. I find comfort in sitting inside in front of the television, in front of the computer, playing indoor games with Carter.

I have anxiety when I think about trying to go out with both kids. I think the anxiety is more about losing control in public. The tanturms, even the logicstics of trying to manage two children in public. Come to think of it, I think I just hate leaving my house. For the most part, I avoid social functions and even visiting with friends. I don’t want to leave the baby just yet which, along with Mike working this weekend, caused me to back out of a Girl’s Night - which I could desperately use. I now feel guilt for it too.

Partly I think it’s because of this additional weight I still carry that seems to have settled in quite happily. I am a mess when it comes to my acceptance of my outward appearance. I am borderline plus size, again and it’s really messing with my confidence. None of my clothes fit and I barely make an effort to ‘dress up’ - since I know I’m not leaving the house - and I dress in my regular attire of jogging pants and a tank.

I know it’s not right, or normal to not want to leave the house, which then again gets me thinking, What if it’s PPD? Should I talk to my doctor about the fact I never want to leave my house?

Did I just anwser myself? I know it’s not right… yet I wonder if I should do something?

I’ve recently forced myself into two commitments - all for the sake of making myself commit and get out with people. I know once I am there I’ll be excited and so glad that I did it, but if it’s a situation where I can find an out, I will (These two commitments required money down and non-refunds and I feel worse wasting money so I’m in.)

I’m *trying* to work on it though. It’s a personal goal of mine to get these kids out and do something before the winter months arrive because it pains me greatly when I think that we’ve wasted the entire summer inside only to be TRAPPED inside once the snow’s here.

But! I did leave the house yesterday - alone - and bought this!

*I’m not trying to make light of Agoraphobia, it can be very a debilitating phobia and frankly, it’s un-funny.