Taking Off the Mask

There was a news conference yesterday, held by the LDS church. You can read about it and watch it here. The church announced their support of laws in Utah that would allow for LGBT individuals to seek housing and employment without fear of discrimination.

Yes, it is great that a church is standing up and saying that LGBT individuals should not be discriminated against when applying for housing and employment. The church reps went on to say that, as a church, they have the right to not hire LGBT individuals in their institutions and to force them to do so is an attack on their religious freedom.

I think we can all agree, no one should be discriminated against. No one should be denied housing because of their sexual orientation and no one should have to resign as CEO because they don't support gay rights. But can we please stop lauding 'the church' for this amazing wonderful stance they are taking? Because the church basically said that they don't believe in LGBT discrimination in hiring practices except if they're the ones doing the hiring. Because church. And religious freedom.

During the press conference, Dallin H Oaks said, "the precious constitutional right of free speech does not exclude any individual or group, and a society is only truly free when it respects freedom of religious exercise, conscience and expression for everyone, including unpopular minorities. "

Then, after the press conference, Elders Oaks and Christofferson held individual interviews with journalists to answer questions. Peggy Fletcher Stack, of the Salt Lake Tribune, asked the apostles what the LDS Church thinks of members who back same-sex marriage. This was the response from Elder Christofferson:

"There hasn't been any litmus test or standard imposed that you couldn't support that if you want to support it," Christofferson said, "if that's your belief and you think it's right."Any Latter-day Saint can have a belief "on either side of this issue," he said. "That's not uncommon."Problems arise only when a member makes "a public, sustained opposition to the church itself or the church leaders and tries to draw others after them," he said, and that support swells into "advocacy."

So, the precious constitutional right of free speech does not exclude anyone but if your convictions aren't totally in line with church teachings, don't voice them in public, and definitely don't be an advocate.

Don't discriminate against gays unless you're a church. Don't speak freely unless your opinion is the same as the church's. Husband and wife are equal but men preside. We are given agency but we have to choose this path to gain exaltation. The holy ghost confirms truth to you unless that truth isn't church-endorsed - then it's satan deceiving you. 

I'm just........tired. Also, I support gay marriage. 

An explanation of my smirk when you declare how absolutely amazing being a mother to your newborn is.

In the last 3 months, I have 9 friends who have had babies and I personally know (at least) 15 women that are pregnant right now.

That’s a lot of babies.

I am genuinely happy for my friends. I love to bask in their big-bellied glows and hear their birth stories.

But.

I am glad I am not one of them.

Among the 25+ women I have mentioned, there are 6 who were pregnant around the same time I was pregnant with Ava. That means I am officially getting passed up in the baby-making department. Initially, this thought made me feel a little bit of pressure and incited panic and shock. After mulling it over though? I am totally okay with it. This is not a race and I am not superwoman.

Like I said, I do love reading my friends’ birth stories. Well, ¾ of their birth stories. I hang on every word while they rehash the dilating, the contractions, the insane, indescribable pain, the pushing, and that amazing relief when they get to meet their teeny, tiny humans. It’s after that they lose me. They’re generally sharing their stories a week or more after they took place and by then are incandescently happy with their babies. I know they are sleep-deprived and probably still in pain but they are happy.

I didn’t feel that way with Ava. I loved being pregnant (one plus to being an amazon – it wasn’t as uncomfortable for me as it is for a lot of women) and I loved her actual birth but after that….?? Instead of being exhausted, happy, and a little scared that I was responsible for another human being, I was exhausted and devastated. I spent a good portion of my time alone wither her sobbing. I bawled the whole time my mom was at our house thinking about the day she would leave and I would have to take care of this kid all by myself. It was like I had a giant, ugly monster sitting on my chest, squeezing all the happiness out of my heart. I loved my baby but I mostly felt an obligation to keep her alive more than an overwhelming urge to love her. I had moments of happiness and contentment but they were few and fleeting.

It was clear, after weeks of weeping and being unable to feel spiritual comfort, that something was terribly wrong. I made an appointment with my OB (I loved my OB). When he came into the examination room to see me, he took my baby and held her. He commented on how beautiful she was. Then, he looked up at me and asked me how I was doing. I had a hard time answering through the tears streaming down my face that I was trying so hard to hold back but all I said was, “not good.”

I wasn’t prepared for this. I hadn’t done any research on it while I was pregnant and I was such a naturally happy person that I thought I didn’t need to. But everything in my life aligned to create the perfect storm – Danny was in his final and busiest semester of law school so we never saw him. Ava was a seriously high maintenance baby with acid reflux and a need to be older and busier than she was. We couldn’t figure out the breast feeding. I was trying to adjust to being a mom while being a hormonal mess. My body was done. Everything was out of my control. I was out of my control.

My OB prescribed Zoloft. I’m not really sure how much it helped. I know I should have had a follow-up appointment or seven but my insurance was up 6 weeks postpartum so I didn't. The meds generally made the horrible thoughts go away and allowed for more joyful moments but the monster on my heart was still there. He kept squeezing, turning my devastation to anger. Unfortunately, I unloaded most of that anger onto my sweet husband (who I’m pretty sure was wondering what the heck he’d gotten himself into). I was medicated until Ava was 8 months old and my body decided it was done with the meds (sudden weight gain).

I adjusted. I finally fell head-over-heels in love with my baby and couldn’t get enough of her. The ugly monster stopped squeezing my heart and let me breathe again. But then he relocated to my head. He nestled right behind my ear and taught me the fine art of negative self-talk. I constantly told myself that I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, attractive enough, that I wasn’t worth a thing. That thought process? caused so much marital strife because I usually interpreted everything as an attack. It was Tiffany vs. Danny, not Tiffany and Danny vs. The World. The PPD pretty much dissipated by last January but the negative self-talk habit still lingers.  

I am working on it. I am working on everything. Our job and living situation did a 180, in the best of ways last May, and it threw me out of my catatonic indifference to the quality of my life. I mourn the loss of my daughter’s infancy and the fact that I was unable to enjoy her during her littlest moments. But I have to move on. I am moving on. Danny and I can both breathe and think and laugh again. I feel as normal as I think I will ever feel. The ugly monster is tucked into the recesses of my subconscious but he isn’t gone. He will never be gone. Depression like that leaves scars. And broken parts. And unshed tears that surface at a memory you can’t completely bury.

So my baby train is on a different schedule than everyone else’s. And you know what? I don’t care. I don’t need my own tiny baby to hold right now, not when there are so many around me already. One day, that may change. Heavenly Father will slip some forgetfulness into my morning smoothie and I will want another one. But that day isn’t today and it isn’t tomorrow. 

It is finally Danny and Tiffany and Ava vs. The World and I just want to enjoy it for a while.

Naked friend

This lady. It has happened. We have bonded and I can talk to her, while she’s naked, without even blinking. She brought me her extra pair of goggles to use because the chlorine was especially potent last week and it KILLED my eyes.

Her name is Sandy.

It's starting to become clearer...

I am a pretty open person. And by pretty I mean very. I have no problem talking about things that a lot of people don't or won't. Why? It's kind of just my personality.

I am surrounded by and related to some pretty private people. I don't mean to make these people squirm by my candid conversations, I just start talking and before I know it I can tell I have made someone uncomfortable and, in their view, "overshared" (the fact that I get little adult interaction during the day only exacerbates these situations (see:verbal diarrhea)).

So if my talking about post-partum depression or weight gain or various pet peeves makes you squirm? Then you need to be less sensitive. Less squirmy. At least when talking to me. I will do my part and warn you when a potentially uncomfortable subject is about to be discussed. We call these "squirmy subjects".

Squirmy subject of the week: my weight.

If you had told me in elementary school/middle school/high school that I would be open about my weight I would have LAUGHED IN YOUR FACE. I don't mean open in the sense that I am going to tell you how much I weigh, no no no. I just mean open in the sense that I will talk about my struggles losing and maintaining weight, working out, and eating well. IT IS THERAPY SO STOP WITH THE JUDGEY FACE.

I have already opened up about my current quest to lose the weight my anti-depressants help me put on in an alarmingly short period of time (20 pounds in 1.5 months with no change to diet or exercise. hmmmmmm). I have been pretty frustrated with the fact that I have been making some big changes and I cannot get anywhere. So I just stopped stepping on the scale. I have not stepped on the scale in about a month.

I did go to the doctor this week to get my thyroid checked. So I had to get weighed. And guess what. I LOST TEN POUNDS!!!! Wooooooooot. FINALLY! I also had an epiphany as to why I'm not losing the weight as quickly as I'd like.

They tried to draw my blood at the doc's office (his office is in a hospital). She felt both arms for quite a while, stuck me twice and couldn't get anything because my veins were too small, and ended up sending me down to the hospital lab. I chugged 16 oz of water on my way over but I guess that didn't really help. The tech decided she was going to have to draw it from my hand. Now, when this lab tech, who draws blood all day every day, had to call the most senior lab tech over to do it because she's "better at it", described me as "extremely dehydrated" and made me sit there afterward and drink more water......I realized that drinking water needed to move up my priority list.

It needs to go before laundry and dishes.

I know.

I sat there and thought about the fact that I couldn't remember the last time I drank a whole glass of water at one time. Sad. And unhealthy.

This probably also explains the fatigue I've been feeling lately. Time for more water.

TMI Alert: The one where I use the words "seventy" and "brazilian" and I'm not talking about a seventy year-old Brazilian.

Some of you may have seen on my facebook that I had an unfortunate conversation this morning.

With a woman in her 70s at the YMCA.

Who was naked.

The status update about this event did not provide enough healing to my soul, so I must blog about it.

The weather has been real crazy around here lately. Today was in the 60s and we had thunderstorms. They started this morning just after I got to the Y to swim. I got all ready to go out to the pool when all the older women who swim during that time came trucking back in telling me that they closed the INDOOR pool because of the storm (yeah....who does that?). I stood around the locker room being sad and wondering if I should wait it out or not. I decided not to but thought I could get a shower in while I was there anyway. I started gathering my various soaps when out popped one of the regulars from her shower telling me all about how they have to wait 20 minutes from the time of the first lightening strike to bla bla bla I have no idea what she was saying because she was standing there completely naked talking at me. This was probably the first time in my life I wished my vision was worse. She then grabbed her towel and I inwardly thanked my lucky stars that she was robing herself. WRONG. WHY DOES THE UNIVERSE HATE ME?! Oh. She toweled. She toweled everything. Everything except her......bosoms....her saggy, saggy bosoms. WHO DOES THAT?! Then she decided that we needed to keep talking about the pool being closed at a close range. I just kept nodding my head and then was able to slink into a shower.

I realize that this happens a lot. Older people don't care, apparently, who sees their bodies. I do not understand this and I will not be this way when I am older. If by some strange happening I have the urge to wear my birthday suit around the locker room I will not because I will remember how AWKWARD it felt being an unfortunate bystander in that situation.

It was like we were playing chicken. Or something.

I lost.

Let the healing commence.

I am not a super-fan.

For so many reasons, I do not enjoy moving. Mostly. All the pros I used to see in the situation are pretty much nonexistent.

But you get to meet new people! Yes. You do. I like new people. But it's really hard to get to know said people when you live 20-30 minutes from them and baby-care relief, in the form of a husband, doesn't come until 8:30 every night. Girls night out during the week with new friends? Not an option for me. Weekends? Not to be rude, but I want to actually spend time with the husband I hardly see and baby doing something FUN (gasp!). Generally that nixes the girls nights out on the weekends too. Also, I like my old friends and people have a hard time getting used to me. I'm too loud. Or laughy. Or something.

But you get to know a new area!! Yeah. And spend 90% of the time lost for the first month (all hail the GPS!). Not to mention that you have to find your new favorite hole-in-the-wall eatery, new shortcuts, a new mechanic and new doctors. I loved my old doctors. LOVED.

(SIDEBAR RANT: IF you think that being a doctor is for you? A couple of hints: 1)ACTUALLY brush your hair in the morning. You don't want your patients' mothers to be able to tell the exact angle your head was lying on your pillow all night. Weird. 2) DO NOT waltz into the examination room and TELL a mother that their baby is getting a flu shot. You ASK if they want one for their baby. This mother will tell you no. They are stupid. Annnnnd 3) freaking lose some weight. I know that sounds harsh. I don't mind if you're a little chubby or you have a little belly but don't be morbidly obese and expect me to feel like you're that in tune with and well-versed on taking care of the human body. JUST A FEW TIPS. End of sidebar rant.)

But you get to experience something different! Yeeeeaaahhh..... moving from Indianapolis, IN to Hobart, IN? It's still Indiana. Only slightly more grating. Less with the Colts and more with da Bears. Also, a long "a" polluting every vowel sound. Oh. And people aren't warm and fuzzy here. At all. They're warm and fuzzy in Indy. And did I mention that I have to drive through Gary too often? It really does look like that.

I can't really think of anymore pros to moving. The only future pro I see is moving into my OWN HOME someday and that won't be happening for a while. For now, I will be moving again at the end of this week. I should probably be packing now.

I think I have all the ranting out of my soul. Maybe. Sorry, friends. Kind of. Maybe I'll post some pictures of a sassy baby I know dancing to make up for it.