Fall Seven Times, Stand Up Eight

One of the best comments I received lately is from a friend who said, and I quote: “Sucks that your body is out to get you." That pretty much sums up how I am feeling right now. Because the thing is, Hashimotos is not a deadly disease. In fact, it is common, and manageable, and for so many people, inevitable. I have not been diagnosed with a terminal illness. And those ectopic heart beats are not uncommon, either. Most likely, they mean nothing at all. And yet, I am still frustrated and upset, and a teensy bit worried. Maybe because all of these little issues usher in a new chapter in life: the dreaded middle age. This is an era in which health issues can no longer be ignored or chalked up to a hangover or anomalies. This week has been a flurry of doctor’s appointments, and there are more on the horizon. And I am about to make it all a little more complex by setting up some acupuncture appointments. I had such a good experience with that in the past, so let’s see what it can do this time.

In between it all, I am dealing with case workers and assessors and evaluators, who are coming to determine is Madeline is qualified for any early intervention for her speech. We met with the caseworker on Tuesday, who said that it seems unlikely she will qualify. I was still skeptical, but then I took the girls to the grocery store yesterday and Madeline went up to every person she saw and said “Hey. What’s going on? This is Momma!” So just when I think she isn’t speaking enough or her vocabulary isn’t broad enough, she proves me wrong and turns into a little social chatterbox.

But, the case worker said, she does have some speech issues (lispy-like S’s. etc.) that may resolve on their own, and most likely won’t qualify for services. Her initial advice: Throw out the paci and sippy cups. Easier said than done. In the meantime, I think it is cute that her “hello” sounds like “hey whoa.” Won’t be so cute, though, when she is 12.

All of this extra pressure has got me thinking a lot lately about my old standby stress relief: Drinking. I can admit I have had a few nights lately when I thought, eff it, I am going to a bar right now. I haven’t done that, because I have the girls and sobriety and Nicole to think of. But one of the main reasons why I haven’t it because if I did, it would so have to be worth it to get me the throw eight years out the window. Like if you are on a strict diet, you aren’t going to blow it for a Twinkie. And I am not sure I can create a good enough scenario to ruin this almost decade-long streak.

A few weeks ago, I found myself standing outside of an old haunt of mine, a place of many happy drinking memories. But in the sober light, it didn’t look that great, didn’t have quite the same glow. And there were a few men there, beers in hand, watching me stare in the bar, calling me inside, laughing. Yeah, no thanks. If I drink, I want a bottle of really good scotch and some really good company. Or a cold, tall wheat beer with a sliver of lemon on a perfect spring night, in the courtyard of this bar in Chelsea I used to go to. I can still remember this one night, crammed around a table of laughter and smiles and drinks, with those little pink flowers from the trees fluttering all around us. It just wouldn’t be the same and I just can’t recreate all that. Which, thank goodness, is one of the reasons why I don’t try. But I miss it and I miss how it could release my stress and remove my worries, if only in a temporary way.

So today I will distract myself. I will take the girl to the playground this morning. I will connect with the evaluator, who is coming today to met Maddie. I am hoping the girls fall asleep on the way back from the playground, because if they do, and I have the time before the evaluator comes, I may slip into the MOMA for a half hour to see an exhibit will only be there for another month. It is going to be beautiful today, and I am going to try to experience it.

Pictured above, speaking of interventions, Madeline needs a hair intervention.And a bacon intervention, but that is another post. Can anyone offer help/help for dealing with her kind of hair? And the ladybug/bumblebee cupcakes Avery and I made this weekend. I realized afterward that I could have used almond slivers to make little wings.