Mental health

I've never been great at taking advice from people. That said, for some reason I listen to doctors; they have knowledge that I don't. I've become more and more demanding and sceptical over the years though. Last time I brought the baby into the doc it was practically a showdown.

He said, "I can't find anything wrong with him. See how he is in a few days."
I said, "He has been freaking for days. I am at the end of my rope. He is not well. Give me a prescription or I will kill you."
He said, "No."

Sigh.

So I have been watching myself since my GP told me to go on antidepressants. I didn't complain to her or indicate I was unhappy (I'm not unhappy, how could I be) but my guess is that when she saw how much weight I have lost and I told her how little sleep I was getting together with being ill she made some assumptions. Either that or she is a body language reader. And I did burst into tears when she said it.

I guess what is annoying me most is that the Bell's Palsy is not finished. I look relatively normal now, but still not the same as before. And it still hurts sometimes. I still can't blow up balloons. My cheek is still frozen, but I can flare my nostril a little which is good...

What I need to do, I think, is be fucking grateful (sorry for the language) that I at least can close my f-ing eye, smile, and speak. The truth is, when I got to this point, around Christmas, I was soooo happy just to be able to seem normal. And you know, it's fine. My doctor (the only person who has admitted this to me) said that she can see that the Bell's Palsy is still there. Everyone else has been saying No! You're fine! for months. I wish I knew just how weird I still look. Not that I was any oil painting to start with - but wow, B's P is sure character-building.

I have an appointment on Wednesday with a physical therapist to do some electroshock/acupuncture/other witchcraft to see if it helps.

Quote of the day II

I heard our Taoiseach (Prime Minister) say this on the radio yesterday:

"I try not to be too gloomy. If I wake up in the morning, to me that's a bonus."

Yeah. No, that's not at all gloomy.

Quote of the day

I told my mom about my doctor suggesting I take anti-depressants, and among other things(very kind and helpful comments. she does love me) she said, "Well, I guess some people just deal with life and soldier on - and you are just not one of those people."

Chris Isaak II

Sorry for my previous all about me-me-me post. The show was actually good. Even if you never heard of Mr. Chris, you could enjoy it. Good accessible handling of American yee-haw rockabilly + Elvis. Kind of. Granted, he himself is no spring chicken, but Chris Isaak could potentially get less geriatric band members though - just for image purposes, as I feel certain guitar playing only improves with age. But for the show. It could be beneficial. Sorry for that very shallow notion.

I don't even know if he ended up with Helena Christensen (again, sp? and, right model?) but c'est la vie. If there had been an after party hopefully I'd be full of info, etc.

In other news, my doctor wants me on antidepressants, based on my scattered recollection to her of how I've been sick, how much weight I've lost, and how my bell's palsy is still hanging around a year later. For fuck's sake. (Sorry. I know this is supposed to be a family show.) Do I take the meds? I don't want to. I'd have to stop breastfeeding, for one thing. Why can I not take a vacation from my life.

Chris Isaak

My three nights out last week culminated in a brush with a total collapse of my nervous system. Getting up at 6 a.m. with a baby is not the end of the world, generally, but. By Thursday my sanity, liver, and common sense had all gone on strike. I looked like a heroin addict.

Anyway. Most notable was the night out at the Chris Isaak concert, where shortly after arriving a crew member with loads of arm tattoos and a backwards baseball hat asked me if I wanted to dance with Chris Isaak.

"Potentially," I said. "Under what circumstances?" I pictured Chris and I swing-dancing in front of a glittering orchestra.
"It's something we do during one of the songs of the set," he said. They needed three girls (why three? Still don't know) and I agreed because in return I got a pass that said "VIP, After-Party". The friend that brought me is a big, big fan of Chris Isaak so I reckoned that the after-party was a good reason to do it - maybe we could meet Mr. Isaak and he'd be delighted.

So, at said friend's suggestion I "milled into the wine" and trouped onto stage at the agreed time and did in fact dance. It was fun. The other girls were really nervous for some reason. Chris turned and looked at us briefly, then picked a mad-looking woman from the audience, who was about the size of an eight year old girl but with peroxide hair, lotsa makeup and really tight pants. "You look like a professional dancer," he said to her. "Why not show us your stuff?" or something like that. He implied heavily that she was a pole dancer and got her to basically do a pole-dancing type demonstration on stage. It occurred to me that maybe one of us three stage dancers was supposed to come up trumps on the pole dancing cue. Obviously my laughing and grimacing at Chris' mirror suit (yep, he wore a suit made of mirrors) plus my lack of coordination were a dead giveaway that I was not in fact an exotic dancer. Hmmph. That does beg the question why did they pick me then.

But let's not go down that path today. I was a bit indignant that there was no after party at the end - despite the onstage chat about how they were staying up all night, there was no such thing whatsoever. I still have the VIP sticker though. Maybe I can sell that on EBay.

personally

Sorry to post general blog housekeeping issues, but not sure where else I would bring up these things... Since it HAS been a year, and so far no evil dark forces have started threatening me since I started this blog, I was considering ditching the painful anonymity (referring to my family in a cumbersome fashion as My Four Year Old, The Baby, My Husband, My Sister-in-Law, etc) and using all of our real names. Or, is there some value in the descriptive verbiage of the anonymous labels? I suppose if you logged on to this blog for the first time you wouldn't be too informed by hearing what Jorge (fictitious name) was doing. On the other hand (It seems I have three), does it really matter at all, given that most people reading this got here, I gather, by accident.

In other late-breaking news, I am going out 3 times this week - a world record for me since I had Child no. 1. Tomorrow, I'm going to the Chris Issac (sp?) concert (no, I hadn't thought about him for a few years either, hopefully he's not bald, ha ha), Wed for a walk on the sea and a drink with an old friend, and Fri for a Mom's nite out with my neighbors on the cul-de-sac*. Which will be the most titillating?... Very, very hard to say. And for which night should I save the shrunken pink jacket and high boots? I'm thinking Friday.

*another word for cul-de-sac: dead end. Discuss.

no...

no one was forcibly removed from the premises next door, at least not as far as I know. There is some noise from there at night (as in 2:00 a.m. I tend to have ritual wakings, even if the children are quiet, just to reassure myself that axe murderers are not breaking into the house), that sounds like the banging of garden gates and some scraping. I have come up with a theory, a la Desperate Housewives, that they have locked somebody up somewhere in the house and have to come by every so often to feed him/her. That would make sense, as they are rarely there, don't stay, are not exactly house proud, and don't even put out their bin on trash collection day.

I'm just having a little fun here. It almost never occurs to me to wonder what, if anything, is going on with any of my neighbors. As long as they are not bothering me. Maybe I will focus on watching/speculating on the ones mentioned though...it's a puzzle...

On another note, I am starting to make myself sick with how much I adore that baby. These feelings are at the root of the Irish Mammy syndrome, I am certain. I keep having Mrs. Ramsay moments where I am holding him and he laughs and gives me his hilarious baby-teeth grin and then bites me really hard on the cheek/chin/shoulder and I think, wow, this is amazing. And, ow. This vampire-like behaviour is gonna have to stop sometime...

creep out-ville

I feel safe posting the following, as I have never known my next-door neighbors to one side, and doubt I ever will. They are extremely odd!

We know this first of all because they have one of those bizarre security bars that rises up behind their parked car in the driveway. This could be understandable, but the car is something kinda "whatever", I think a sporty Mazda or some such. I really don't mean to sound like a big snob here, but come on, if you're gonna steal a car, why not a Jag XK or a Porsche? Plenty of them in South Dublin. So why the bar. It's just weird.

Also their attendance at the home in question is erratic and whereas we have I think 26 varieties of flora in my garden, they have about...one. They had grass, but paved over their sad little lawn last summer and now have exactly one bush that they ignore and a barren back yard.

Today they pulled up in the car (a man and a woman) and didn't get out for about 10 minutes. I have a sort of picture window in my upstairs bedroom and just happened to be sitting there idly staring, and they were so paranoid! They kept biting their lips and staring at the kids playing in the street. Eventually they got out and rushed into the house, glancing all around them. I will not be surprised if a couple of X-Files types bum rush the house tonight and drag them away.

I almost hope this happens, as this post makes me look like a sad old lady looky-loo...

1 year

...anniversary of this blog is around the corner. Cool! I did something for one year. Never mind whether it is a good thing, or a productive thing...

Yep, it is Easter Sunday and I am sitting at the same table in the same city (Dublin, Ireland.) At this time last year I was expecting The Baby Boy, and now I am the proud mom of 2. Well, proud-ish. When they're being good anyway.

We spent Easter day first of all witnessing the small girl's egg hunt (husband from bed) and the rest of the day having Easter lunch at my sister-in-law's. Geez, last year she was supposed to have her Baby Boy the day after Easter - and I have a valuable photo of her drinking a beer. They made lamb with green beans, carrots and roasted potatoes. I was especially enamored of the potatoes. As if you were interested.

Another couple with a small baby were there, and I was contemplating them with newfound awareness. They're Irish celebrities, you see, but not to me. Mostly because I don't listen to /watch the shows they present, but also because I am not Irish and haven't followed their whole history. Also, they're in the family and I see them regularly. They appear to be normal humans...

I was an eejit and actually admitted to being in-lawed to these folks to my neighbors the other day, and was a bit flabbergasted by the enthusiasm. For god's sake, I thought, they aren't out there curing cancer, having controversial views, or dating Brad Pitt. They're just nice people, who happen to be in the media business. After I said a few things about them (where they live, details of the party they had for the new baby) I realised I could be in trouble. Maybe I shouldn't disclose such information about people who are apparent paparazzi fodder?

Yes. Well, again I realise that not watching much TV has its pitfalls in life. My husband sternly cautioned me: he said, first, Don't talk about people. That's lame. Second, you could appear to be name-dropping, and that's just sad. I was appropriately chastened. I would never name-drop, if I realised what I was doing. I guess it's just hard to see people you know as celebs. Hmm.

vacation?

We just got back from a 3 day vacation in the lovely Sligo, where my husband works. He didn't take any days off, we just all crashed at the Radisson hotel together and I took the chickens in the pool/to the beach while he was at work. All of us living in one room had its challenges at night - you can't ignore crying, for one thing, or make any noise after the baby goes to sleep. We watched episodes of theWest Wing on the portable DVD with our headphones. That was fun. I got very little sleep though, what with the baby demanding attention/feeding every 2 hours. What is it about babies in hotels?

Also, babies on the beach. Something in me does not like the idea of them loose in the sand, but I had to give in eventually. I couldn't pace around with him in my arms forever. So, he ate sand and got sand in his eyes/clothes/nappy/etc but it was basically OK. It was a mess, but what else is new.

I'll post photos soon.