Long Story. Part 2.

Have you read part 1? If yes, please continue. If no, go back. I know, I know, it’s long. You need the backstory, though.
So I’m pregnant, we’re not getting a dog, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been a deer in the headlights for days.

So there’s a lot of disbelief, excitement, fear. What if something happens to this baby, too? Could I handle it? Obviously there’s nothing I can do about anything so I just keep taking care of myself and hope for the best. I still had loads of anxiety and I had a ton of horrible dreams about her dying, but I did the best I could.
Everything went exactly as it should. At thirteen weeks, we found out that yes, it’s a girl! Everything was going swimmingly. I had to switch doctors for a reason the first one never explained well, but I was happy because the new doctor was exactly the type of practitioner I was looking for. Pro natural birth, was ecstatic that I read Ina May’s book, had a doula, etc. Then at 28 weeks I started bleeding. Not a lot, but enough to freak me out for certain. Two in the morning we head to the ER. That night nothing was found; my vitals were great and so were hers. The bleeding stopped and I went home. Then at 34 weeks it happened again, but worse this time. Also at 2 am, which is still weird to me. I sat up for about an hour in hopes it would just stop on it’s own like the last one, but it didn’t, so again off we go to the ER. Again, they find nothing with all preliminary tests and the doctor on call (I love you Dr. Ryan!) said, “this is her second time in for the same problem, why don’t I have a record of her last ultrasound?” Because they didn’t do one.
Off I go to get my ultrasound and what do they find? A low-lying placenta. Now, at 18 weeks they saw I had a marginal previa which is when the placenta is close to the opening. There are more severe types but mine was the type that typically resolves itself as the pregnancy progresses. My following visit they told me I was in the clear, it had resolved itself. I’m glad I switched doctors offices because if I hadn’t had those bleeds and gone on to try to deliver naturally, my baby and I could have died. Likely would have because I refuse the use of blood transfusions. This is the point where it was decided I was probably going to need a c-section. I was so bummed. Of course it had to be that way if it was safer for us both, but I was really disappointed with the turn of events. I’m put on pelvic rest (nothing up the vajeen!) for the remainder of my pregnancy. That sucked.
Armed with my new information, I go about reading and researching. I make some requests about my delivery and to my delight, my doctor has all the things I want come standard with a c-section package. My doctor pioneered the concept of a gentle cesarean, allowed skin to skin in the delivery room immediately, and sews the uterus back up in two layers of muscle instead of as a single suture. He said doing a single suture saves all of five minutes and makes the possibility of a future VBAC more dangerous. (I love you, too, Dr. M1!)
We get to the end of week 36. My baby shower was held at 36 weeks and 5 days. It was huge, and fun, and I can’t believe how generous all of my guests were. We felt so loved. In the evening I was exhausted. My sister and mother laughed and said, “at least now if you go into labor, the shower is over!” Cue dramatic music.
That night, guess what time it was? Did you guess 2 am? Yup! You were right! Another bleed! Off to the hospital. I’m hooked up to all the monitors and have IVs and I’m so tired and I fall asleep. One of the monitors had been showing tiny contractions that the doctor said was normal for nearly 37 weeks. I fell asleep and evidently I slept through some big ones. The doctor came in the room and watched me sleep through a few and when I woke up she looked amazed.
After shift change, a midwife came in to do an exam. I won’t lie, I hated her. She needed to do an internal exam and just had me roll back and hold my knees because pulling the stirrups out was too much of a pain. Honestly, I wanted to kick her in the face. I look like I’ve eaten a basketball and she tells me to roll back and hold my knees. She decides everything is good and clears me to go home at about 3. My husband and I were starving.
I’m super uncomfortable and kind of afraid but we leave and stop to pick up Five Guys. I just sit in the car and wait. We get home, my husband goes to talk to the next door neighbor, and I go inside. I sit down on the couch, finish my burger, and peed my pants. I thought. I waddle to the bathroom, and on the way I’m thinking, “I can’t believe I just peed my pants! Oh my god, no, what if my water just broke?!” It was neither of those things. Blood was absolutely pouring out of my body at a rate that felt like I was peeing. I pull myself together, go outside and yell, “dude, we’re going back NOW.” Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to grab his food. This was around 4 pm.
We drive to the hospital, I call the maternity ward to let them know we’re coming back, and I keep telling my husband not to drive like an idiot. We’re really close and everything is going to be fine. I was weirdly calm, which is what I do in emergencies. I stay calm, get stuff done, and when it’s all over, I collapse into a ball. Sometimes with tears, sometimes not. Anyway, we get there and since it’s not the middle of the night, I refuse to go through the ER because I don’t want to wait for anything or anyone to come get me. Sent hubby off to park and I (half squatting, half doubled over) walk to the elevator, get to the second floor, went left, left, right, and walked into the maternity ward. The nurses looked at me like I was crazy but I did what I needed to do. By the way, while I was in the elevator (TMI ALERT!!!!!) I felt something slide out of me and I was convinced it was my dismembered baby’s foot coming out. Turns out it was a clot the size of a baseball, which was super disturbing but at least it wasn’t a piece of my baby.
They set me up again with all the monitors and IVs, and Dr. Ryan came to see me. Thank goodness that midwife was gone. I get yet another internal exam, but she can hardly see what’s going on for all the blood. She determined I was a centimeter dilated and the end of my placenta was hanging out. Which explains all the blood. While this is happening, hubby is eating his burger. At least he got to
eat despite the wreckage of the day. After all, this began at 2 am, we slept for maybe four hours at the hospital that morning, and here it is at 6 pm, and he finally gets to eat his burger while my blood is all over the place and the doctor is talking about my placenta falling out. She then wants to confer with my doctor and his associate (who would eventually be the baby’s pediatrician. Love you, Dr. M2!) to discuss what to do with me. She came back around 7 pm.
“I talked with the others and we all said the same thing. Strike three, you’re out, and you are having a baby tonight.” I felt like David at the Dentist. “Is this real life?” Then Dr. Morton and Dr. Magee showed up, said hi, let’s do this. It’s so weird to see your doctor in street clothes, isn’t it? I’ve only ever seen them in lab coats and scrubs, and here I go, pulling them into the hospital when they’re running around being regular people!
Everything goes underway, I’m about to go into the OR and one of the nurses is laughing and says, “I have never seen a woman being wheeled in for an urgent c-section looking so calm and.... almost happy.” Honestly, after all the bleeding drama, I was (kind of) ready. Ready to be not pregnant physically, I suppose you could say. I’m pretty sure that I hadn’t yet processed what was actually happening, though.
All the prep is happening. I’m in the OR getting my spinal block and Dr. M1 was hugging me to keep my back hunched at just the right spot. Man, it was so weird losing feeling in my feet. You tell them to move and they just DON’T! Then they swab your forehead to feel the temperature of an alcohol swab, then do your chest. When the temperatures feel vastly different, you’re ready. Hubby and my doula (Suzie) joined us. They start up my music playlist and Dr. M1 is jamming out to Stand By Me. Then, after all sorts of weird sensations, there’s a baby crying. MY baby. They put her on my chest, but I didn’t realize what was happening. By the time my brain caught up, they were taking her away because she wasn’t clearing her lungs fast enough. They worked quickly, and she was perfectly fine. 5 pounds 12 ounces of a tiny person that I grew! It was mind blowing.
I wanted her back, but they had to take her to the nursery to make sure she was 100% stable and hubby got to do skin to skin while they stitched me back up. I was so glad my doula was there to talk to me and keep me occupied, otherwise that would have been the longest hour of my life. Baby girl was born at 9:09 pm. When all was said and done, back in my room, with those weird balloons keeping my legs from getting clots, I got to meet her for real, I think close to midnight. It was one of the most surreal moments of my life.

Long Story. Part 1.

My last post was November of 2015 and had crazy baby fever. Guess what? July of 2017 I became a mama. I have a little girl now and she is a ray of sunshine.

HOWEVER!

Man, everyone tells you parenthood is hard. Nobody could possibly describe how hard it is. 

In early June of 2016 I got pregnant. On purpose! Jon and I were thrilled. Excited. Happy. Over the moon. All sorts of things. Had the appointment set up for the first scan a few weeks later. I mean, I was trying to get pregnant so the second a pee stick showed two lines I could have only been about 4 weeks along. 

(This is where it feels like I’m going off track, but bear with me. It all comes together in the end.)

A little earlier, my grandfather had been diagnosed with kidney cancer and it wasn’t found until it had already metastasized to his brain and lungs.  We had been planning a trip to Indiana to see good friends and this revelation threw our plans in the air for a little bit. My family assured me that it was fine to go, so we did anyway. About 4 hours into the drive I get a call that Grampa had a catastrophic fall. “Still go, it’ll be fine. I just wanted you to know.” Okaaaaayyyyy....

Got to Indiana, had a grand old time. Told our friends our big secret. They are the only two people in the world privy to the information. We called the baby Science. Not that that would be the real baby’s name but it was a good way to name the baby without giving away the real name. “Baby Hawk,” “the baby,” and “it” aren’t our style. 

We return home and Grampa took a turn for the worse. He was now in home hospice and not expected to last long. He lasted two weeks and in that time he had almost 150 people visit him. That doesn’t count the people that showed up more than once. We were there every day after work for two weeks. In the middle of those two weeks I started bleeding. I left work crying without explaining anything to anyone and went to our women’s hospital ER. I had blood work. I had an ultrasound. The nurse practitioner told me they couldn’t find a heartbeat but that it was possibly too early to find one and to keep up hope. I laid there crying on the exam bed and she brought me a can of ginger ale and a  blanket that was kept in a warmer. Two days later I returned for my second set of blood work. It took four days for my OBGYN to get in touch. He confirmed that I lost the baby as I was sitting in my car crying already because my grandfather had passed earlier that day. That was July 19, 2016. It was probably the worst day of my life. I received a double blow but nobody but my husband knew what was happening. They thought I was just taking the loss of Grampa way harder than when I lost my other grandparents. 

I told my friend in Indiana what happened since she knew I was pregnant, but that I couldn’t talk about it. I did end up telling my sister, too, so I could have some familial support and an uncle who gave us some spiritual advice and direction. They knew on the day of my grandfather’s memorial service that I was inwardly grieving my own baby at the same time. We don’t know for certain, but I think it was a boy. His name would have been Atticus. 

In my own traditional fashion, I became a zombie. For months. I didn’t laugh. I didn’t really cry. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t really sad either. I was in my own little box keeping all feelings away from me. I couldn’t handle them yet. And then one friend delivered her baby. Another announced she was pregnant and due the same time I would have been. And ANOTHER friend announced she was also pregnant with the same exact due date as mine! I became so angry. I hated these happy people so much even though I knew I couldn’t make the world around me stop having happiness just because I was disconsolate. I learned to pray a lot during this time. I prayed for the people I was so angry at to have happy, healthy children and beautiful families. I think it helped a little. 

Slowly feelings came back. Only a little at a time. It was still too much to process all at once. I grieved for my grandfather, but it wasn’t all bitter. He led a full, happy life with a family that loved, him and many friends. Everyone was sad to see him gone. I then got to grieve Atticus. I found out my boss’ daughter in law was also pregnant, due two weeks after I had been. He didn’t tell me because he knew the state I was in. A perk to working with people you have a good relationship with, I guess. She stopped in with my boss’ son and I saw her belly, said congratulations, and ran to shut myself in a closet where I curled up and weeped for 15 minutes. I pulled myself together enough to go back to work. 

At this point, my boss, the secretary (his wife,) and my coworker all knew that I had lost a baby and was having a hard time coping with it. A few days later my coworker tells me, “Guess what!” I knew immediately. Her sister in law was pregnant, and I so desperately didn’t want to hear the words. “My brother and his girlfriend are having a baby!!!!” She kept on about the good news and what details she had while I had a smile plastered on my face, trying not to cry, feeling sick to my stomach. For weeks my gut sank the moment I walked into work and she had more to tell me. I started having heart palpitations driving to work. I finally told her I couldn’t handle it. I cried and told her I couldn’t talk about everyone else being happy and having babies while mine was gone before I even knew him. I needed to get away.

With the information I now have, I realize I was about to hit a manic spell. My husband and I, along with his cousin because why the hell not, planned a trip to Iceland. Three weeks out. My sister plans trips a year ahead of time, so she planned her trip to the Grand Canyon in October 2016 for September 2017 at the same time I planned a trip to Iceland in November 2016. I’m normally a planner so I was definitely in some sort of state. But it turned out amazing. We had some hiccups for sure, (our 2-bed AirBnB ended up being one bed and one flip couch. Not a pull-out couch. A flip couch. Sorry Caleb.) We saw waterfalls, calderas, went in hot springs, saw the Atlantic Ocean from a different perspective. We went to Reykjavik and tiny towns with names I can’t spell or pronounce.  We ate a ton of burgers and went to a handful of museums (including the famous Phallological Museum. It was great.) I wish we’d gone longer than a week and prepared for sightseeing a little better. 

Like I said, though, I was in a manic phase. We came home, and I decided we were getting a dog! Yes! We have two cats and at the time had two chickens but a dog was exactly what we needed! It would totally fix this horrible mental state I was in wishing I had a baby instead of feeling dead inside! Yeah, a dog would totally fix that! I went on a ton of websites seeking the right adoptable dog.   We found him. His name was Tramp, though I decided I would change it to Wilson as soon as he was mine. He was a rat terrier jack Russell mix. Everyone said he would be so hyper but when we met him, he was the best. Dog. Ever. Jon was still not convinced that a dog was a good idea yet so he said we would talk about it that night and if we really think it will work we would fill out the paperwork the next day. 

We go home, talk about it more, I had to pee mid-conversation. I had one last pregnancy test left over from June and I figured, hey, it’s the last one. Might as well pee on it because LOL I can’t get a dog and then have a baby at the same time, that would suck! My exact words were, “Um. We’re not getting a dog.” That was December 10th. On Christmas Day, I wrote in a journal, “I think you’re a girl.”

Out like a light

So I have been known to go through rounds of baby fever where my brain says, "sleeping in is the best," but my ovaries are like, "but lookit da widdle fat cheekies and chubchub legs!!" I'm 26, its biological and it's not my fault. Usually I just wait until my brain is functioning louder than my egg sacs and continue on with my spawn-free life. It doesn't take long. 

A friend of mine asked Lovie and I to watch their kids tonight. C is a 2.5 year old über boy, and A is a precious chunka 5-month-old bebby girl. Honestly, I thought this would be a "dear lord, I hope my uterus shrivels before I ever make one of these nights." Not because I dislike children. I just feel like two at this age spread would be difficult. C has a lot of energy and really enjoys crashing his trucks; usually into your gut. And A is a baby. Poop, eat, cry. 

It was incredibly stressful. A is normally very calm, hardly makes a peep. She wouldn't. Stop. Crying. The down from the gut, to the top of the lungs, actual flowing tears crying. Jon got her to sleep then as soon as she went down into her bassinet she popped awake and freaked out. It went on long enough that C started saying, "will that noise stop? It's really scary!" Poor thing. That's in addition to C being a little ball of boy energy already, so he's running around crashing his ambulance into our legs and stuff. He's not a bad boy, he's just two and a half. (Moms, how do you do this x100 every day?!!!!) 

Eventually A got out a bunch of huge burps and passed out. So I sat in the rocker with her for about an hour. Despite the shrieking from before, and her brother being a little bundle of lightning, I was kind of in heaven. Watching her perfect little peaceful sleeping face and the occasional gasps of air, it was so peaceful that my ovaries were like, "SEE?! You want thiiiiiis!" 

And I finally get around to putting her in the bassinet without her waking up, and her brother is coming up the stairs and says, "I'm sleepy. Can I go to bed now?" Like... what? 

Long story short: I still have baby fever and I really, really need to wait until my brain starts being louder than my reproductive organs again. 

Ava Anderson Non Toxic

I am so excited! For a long time now, my coworker has been talking about Ava Anderson products this, Ava Anderson products that, and I ignored her. She invited me to a handful of the parties she hosted and gave me catalogs that I never looked at. Then a good friend of mine invited me to an Ava party, and I said sure. After all, even if I didn't buy anything at least I was hanging out with people I know and like. I decided to buy a small handful of products, and on Tuesday they arrived. By Wednesday morning I was 

Obsessed. Yes. If you think I'm kidding, look at it this way: I'm already so in love with it that less than a week after attending my first Ava Hour, I am an independent Ava Anderson Non Toxic consultant!

Okay, yes, it's like a Pampered Chef or Silpada or Lia Sophia party. But it's better. Why? I've already talked in this blog about trying to go without shampoo, and why I stopped using products with parabens in them. Ava Anderson is a 6-year-old company founded by a 14-year-old in 2009. She did research on the toxins in body products in America and wanted something better. When she couldn't find it, she made it. Love it. 

Not only does she have body products, but she's got a kids line, hair, men's, sun, home, pets, auto.... It's amazing. Most products are multi-use too. Like the pet shampoo is actually great for people too. The diaper rash cream is fantastic to spot treat acne. 

One of the mission statements off of the Ava website is, "we don't tell you this to sell product. It's to educate people to take control of their health." I might be paraphrasing. Long story short, I will be booking parties as soon as I host my AvaLaunch parties in the next few weeks. But I am so excited to be getting involved with a product line that I can be excited about and believe in! 

Creative outlet!

Really, this was supposed to be my creative outlet. I enjoy writing. At least most of the time. But lately my fingers have been itching for something a little more... I don't know what the word is. So I went and bought a fantastic coloring book for adults from Michael's. I love it. But that makes my hand exhausted, coloring in all the teeny tiny pieces for several hours at a time. So I started using watercolors! 

And sharpies. Back in August I bought a cheesey $2 watercolor palette on a whim while I was making a grocery store run. It was nothing special but I have really been wanting to use it. So I asked my boss if I could take some leftover matting material and got to work!

I know I'm not super talented, but it's been pretty fun. It's cool working with a completely new medium. Other than making a giant mess with them as a child, I've never worked with watercolors. I've been trying to find a medium that I'm halfway decent with. I feel like for a start I'm not doing too badly!

I've clearly got some work to do with the sharpie too, but I like the dimension it adds to the delicate colors. And they're all for sale! I have them on my etsy (xheatherlacex.etsy.com) so hopefully someone will like one of them enough to buy it. 

This lobster, my husband pointed out, isn't exactly anatomically correct, but hey, I need to start somewhere. It's not like I was sitting at the grocery store drawing one from a model! 

This ladybug isn't anatomically correct either. Their top hats are usually much bigger. Not so comically small.

So if any of these are interesting to you, check out my etsy! Check back now and again too, because I plan on doing more.

Just some whining and rambling.

So I've been missing for a while. I worked a booth at RI Comic Con over the previous weekend, so I worked 12 days straight, with three at Comic Con being an enormously exhausting waste of time. So I'm not sure if it was being overworked or if it was having such an awful time at Comic Con, but I had the worst week last week. Debated calling out of work every single morning. Didn't get out of bed until 10 minutes before I was supposed to leave on Thursday. Had some small personal drama that was likely amplified in my mind by my exhaustion. It was just long and awful. 

I do think that I may have snapped out of it though. I think a good indicator of whether I'm having a good week or a bad week is whether or not I've managed to prep my food for the next day. Is that weird? All last week I had zero mental fortitude and couldn't bother making food or packing a lunch. I'm not sure that I prepped the coffee pot either. It's Sunday, which is usually the hardest food prep day because it involves planning my food and (ugh) grocery shopping. I hate grocery shopping. In fact, I kind of hate that we need to eat to be healthy. I wish I could photosynthesize. But I did it nonetheless. 

I always make sure that I have a hard boiled egg to eat sometime mid-morning. I try to make sure I've got fruit for any snacking needs. I love sweet things and for me, a pile of clementines will do the job just as well as a Hershey bar. Though if Hershey bars are present, they should be heavily guarded. I am a chocolate fiend. So I've got three clementines. I've also got pummelo wedges. Price Rite has enormous pummelos so I eat a quarter a day. Or maybe I'll eat another quarter when I get home. It depends how I feel. And this week I finally got around to using my avocado before it went bad and made quinoa with avocado, halved tiny tomatoes, black beans, and Cain's White Balsamic & Honey Vinaigrette. 

Sometimes I put diced red onion but I didn't feel like it today. But the dressing is very important! 

I've tried substitutes but nothing has quite had the right zing yet. Also if you feel like the quinoa isn't up to par for you, you can add shredded chicken or shrimp and it's also pretty bomb that way, too.

So my lunch bag all packed up is 1 egg, 3 clementines, a quarter of a pummelo wedged up, and my quinoa junk. I think I have a thing for citrus. (If you're wondering, a pummelo is like a really delicately flavored grapefruit. It's a lot less tart, no sugaring needed!) 

Anyway, I mostly felt like, since I've only had the blog a couple of weeks, I couldn't start neglecting is already. So here it is; I had a horrible week last week, but the one ahead is already looking better. I know this because I actually prepped and packed my lunch. I guess it's the small things in life.

#SkyPirateLunchSack

The search is back on.

Contrary to popular (read: my sister's) belief, I'm not some hippie, all-natural, granola person. If you are, that's fine. I prefer natural solutions, hence why I tried (and failed) to make my own deodorant, why I use coconut oil for everything, and refuse to buy pre-marinated meat at the grocery store. But I don't define myself by those parameters. I still eat chips that come out of a bag, enjoy Hershey bars, and really hate vegan ice cream.

The point is, I try to be aware of what I put in and on my body. I randomly developed a walnut allergy in my early 20s but I still have trouble remembering to search for tree nuts in ingredient lists. However, I never forget to check my skincare ingredients; until now, and I'm really annoyed about it. Why?

Methyl and propylparaben. Really? Come on. And I had to go online to find the ingredients because they weren't listed on the bottle. They were possibly on the box that I immediately threw in the recycle bin, but I don't remember.

Now, I'm not an esthetician nor a dermatologist. I'm just a nerd that has sat through a couple of skincare seminars. I don't know what all of those things are but I DO know that there are three types of parabens and two of them are in my lotion. 

I'm attending an Ava Anderson party next week, so hopefully I'll learn something new about skincare/body products and find something for keeping my face properly hydrated. 

I had so much more to say on this subject, but honestly, I've been prepping for RI Comic Con so I'm exhausted and braindead. Thinking about parabens makes me feel like I've been squishing cancer on my face and that makes me sad. 

This is what lotion full of parabens might as well be. Yuck. Next product, please!

 

Dry Sponge

Every beauty magazine ever will always tell you that the key to beautiful skin starts with moisturizer.

Obviously. 

It's a rare bit of advice that I have actually been following for a long time. Because of my work I have incredibly dry hands, as well. Dry to the point of being painful every time I wash my hands. So my go to was Aveeno, like it is for many people. 

It is also impossible to find a humorous picture of Aveeno. I tried for like, three minutes.

Aveeno was my go-to, all-purpose skin savior. I might as well have bathed in it. I have a bottle in my bathroom, bedroom, car, purse, and at work. Hands, body, face. Yeah. My face. 

Then one day I was doing research on coconut oil (which I use to remove my makeup at the end of the day) and some blog or another said how great it is, but be careful because it's not noncomedogenic. Words we all know, but suddenly it occurred to me that I wasn't entirely sure of their definition. 

Coconut oil is comedogenic. Usually when things are NONcomedogenic it says so right in the bottle. Aveeno is dermatologist recommended, it has to be noncomedogenic, right? RIGHT?!

No. In fact, it is comedogenic. Pore clogging, blackhead causing, skin suffocator. On. My. Face. 

No wonder the pores on my nose look so revolting all the time! Auuugh! But I was terrified. That meant that I would have to 1) pay for a separate lotion specifically for just my face.  I'm a cheapskate. I'm sorry. I like to pretend that it's frugality but secretly I know better; and 2) would have to try new products until I found one that worked for me.

My skin is the definition of an English rose. Pale porcelain with naturally pink cheeks. It's so sensitive that the least deviation from stasis sends my face into a tailspin. Red, dry, scaley patches, or cystic zits, or crazy overproduction of oil. It's very annoying to search for products that work on my skin. Once, a pal of mine gave me an expensive MAC facial cream that was heavenly, until my entire forehead scaled and peeled off. 

I've tried a handful of things ranging from "Oh god, why would someone put this on their face?!" to "This is so expensive, why would anyone pay that much for this?!" I think I've finally found a nice middle ground. Guess where I got it? If you said anything other than Target, then you haven't learned a thing about me since I've restarted blogging all of a week ago.

So the winner is: 

I can't believe the answer has been so simple all along. I've been using it about a week and a half by now. My pores looked infinitely better within two days. My nose isn't nearly as oily as I've been accustomed to. The dry spots on my face I think are still acclimating, but they're not flaking, not red, not itchy. It's amazing! I know adding a facial moisturizer isn't really that much of a change in my beauty routine, but I still didn't want to. I am so happy I did though. My face is happier. All because I had the sudden realization that the word "noncomedogenic" actually has a definition.

Not everything works for everyone.

Seriously, I should make that my tag line. I feel like it's something people forget too often and try to push what they think on other people too forcefully. Even if they mean well, it's rude and annoying. Voice your opinion if it's appropriate, then shut your face until further information is solicited. Can you tell I'm not exactly a people-person? I do have a little pal that makes it somewhat easier to deal with other humans. 

His name is Zoloft! Yaaay!

Now, as far as I can tell I've been dealing with anxiety since I was very young (my earliest anxiety-related memories start when I was five-ish,) and began displaying signs of depression shortly after entering high school. I had my first panic attack at 15 while I was at work and my mom took my to the emergency room. I've had a prescription for Atavan since then to take as needed. I'm currently 26, and have been taking Zoloft for 9 months. 

Why am I telling you this? Goodness gracious, don't feel sorry for me or act like I'm undergoing this massive personal battle that I'm fighting bravely. To me, it's just my life. Everyone has their trials and this is mine, and it's currently under control. But I like to talk about it for the awareness factor. 

It's going to be 2016 in a hot minute and mental illness still holds such a huge stigma. Somehow, many people still see taking antidepressants as relying on a crutch or somehow think it makes them "not themselves." I felt that way for a long time. But would you hear a diabetic talking about their insulin and think they were just being a baby? To me a diabetic taking insulin, or (insert whatever ailment and treatment you desire here) is just common sense. People with depression and anxiety most often have some type of chemical imbalance going on inside their brains and they need a little help to fix it. 

Zoloft has literally changed my life. My husband always says, "It's like you fight getting glasses when your vision is going, but when you let go and finally go and get a pair, you can't believe you waited so long to see so clearly." It's very much the same for me. Every day was a struggle to function. That mountain of dishes in the sink was enough to reduce me to tears on a regular basis. These days I feel new. I feel capable and functional. My dishes are always done. No mountain in the sink, no tears. My laundry is always done! I never need "a day" to do laundry, because it's always just one load. One here, one there. Sometimes it all sits on my floor of my bedroom for two weeks but that's because I'm still a little lazy and at least it's clean! 

I still get off days. We all do. Where the familiar "why bother getting out of bed" feeling creeps back and threatens to derail me for the day. But it's easier to power through, knowing it won't last forever. 

It was a project though. Like I said, not everything works for everyone and I know because it took some experimenting to find what worked for me. I started at the prompting of my husband, whom I had to convince to try to live better through chemistry several months prior. Jon used Celexa (citalopram) and it was a perfect fit. When I tried the lowest dose of the same drug, it sent me to a weird, dark place where I could listen to the two halves of my brain argue the pros and cons of doing some terrible thing like driving off of a bridge. Fortunately I came through that part unscathed. After a particularly difficult night and some poor choices I called my doctor to see if I needed to wean off of it or if I could just stop. Fortunately I managed to stay safe during that process and once I was clear of its effects, we tried again. Several members of my family have used Zoloft at some point or another and evidently, because our genetic and chemical makeup is similar it was more likely to work for me as it did for them. 

The first two months were okay. I felt slightly better, but not new. I spoke to my doctor again and he suggested that we go up a dose and see how that went. That was 6 months ago, and I finally feel human. Most days at least. 

The keys are 1) you need to be ready to make a change. If you aren't ready, then nothing will help. 2) Trust the people that are around you and that care about you. If your own spouse (who is normally very gentle with their words) says you're insufferable, it's possible that you're not holding up as well as you think. 3) Trust yourself. If you have doubts that it's working, refer to key number two, and ask yourself if you feel like anything has changed, like your ability to handle stress or your tolerance for annoying people. 

Remember: not everything works for everyone, but something out there will work for you. In the meantime, keep your head up and talk about me when you go to your next therapy session. ;)

National hotline for prevention of suicide: 1-800-273-TALK 

A million uses for coconut oil

As though you haven't seen every list compiled on the subject already. But let's face it, I love the stuff. I feel like everyone does. I have three jars of it in my house, one in the bathroom for beauty use, one in the kitchen for consumption, and another in the kitchen for making lip balm. (Another post for another day, that.)

Obviously, I've been less than loyal to the makers of coconut oil, but really I was trying to find the right one! I think the Nutiva (available at Target!) is the one as its cold pressed, unrefined, AND in a glass jar. It's slightly more expensive than both the Spectrum and the Nature's Promise, but it has what I'm looking for. 

As I've already said, I use one to make lip balm. I'm still trying to perfect my recipe but it's incredibly nourishing! I've been working on a gin & tonic flavor and a morning coffee flavor. But I'm getting ahead of myself! Another post for another day! But what else do I use coconut oil for? I used to use it to spot treat the occasional zit (notice I say used to... Hmmmm). I use it to remove my eye makeup at the end of the day, even waterproof mascara. I swear, that stuff is magic. 

Additionally, I had my ears pierced with a second hole this past June. I'm a notoriously slow healer, and the saline cleaner was very much irritating my skin. I figured they were healed so I stopped cleaning them with the saline. Poor choice. My lobes got puffy and gross and I could squeeze them like zits. It was not my finest moment. So I started rubbing them with coconut oil every morning, et voilà! They're perfect. The infections went away, my skin is no longer irritated by salt water, and I have silky soft earlobes. Very sensual. (Joking.) It does get annoying having to rub your phone clean after you use it when you use coconut oil on your ears, but it's worth it for the health of my piercings. Plus I'm more of a texter. I am a millenial after all. But if your piercings are infected, go see an APP (Association of Professional Piercers) member before doing it. Otherwise you could risk having to take your piercing out. But this is a tangent. 

I also use coconut oil in my cooking, like normal people. Fry an egg? Don't use cooking spray. Coconut oil. Making pancakes? Coconut oil. Baking just about anything? Coconut oil. Delicious and not the worst alternative in the world. However, currently my favorite use for coconut oil: oil pulling. You can also use sesame or other type of neutral oil, but I like coconut. I've not been doing it for very long, maybe a month or slightly longer. My skin is clear and glowing, my teeth are super clean, my dark circles have all but disappeared. 

(A couple minutes post-shower, with moisturizer only. No makeup, no filters. But pretty good lighting...)

I had read up on it quite some time ago and it seemed interesting but only as a passing fancy. Time went on and the information available became more in depth. I learned why you do it for 20 minutes, why it's more beneficial first thing in the morning, all the potential benefits that can come from squishing oil around your mouth for a while every day. People report balancing of hormonal fluctuations. I'm not positive of that one myself, but I've never been stellar at monitoring my hormones to begin with. 

I'll also admit, the first time I did I said "I can do this, I can be awesome at anything." I put a tablespoon of oil in my mouth, kind of chewed it until it was completely melted, and immediately wanted out. Five minutes was all I could manage. But once I knew what I was actually getting myself into by experience, I was fine after that. With a little less oil doing the twenty minutes was a breeze. I take care of the cats, make my lunch, prep my breakfast, spit in the trash, rinse, brush my teeth, move on with my day.  It's another thing that definitely isn't for everyone, especially not those with caps or amalgam fillings, but for me, just the difference in my skin and teeth is worth it!

Meet the Little Red Hawk

Hello, everyone! Welcome to me, the Little Red Hawk.

I figured I'd say hello, tell you a little bit about me, what this blog is (hopefully) going to be and whatever. 

My name is Heather. I have a husband, Jonathan (aka Jon, Jawn, or Lovie); 

 2 cats, Krieger and Marceline;

and two chickens, Toast and Butters. They're not really pets to me so  I don't have current pictures of them. They're buff orpingtons and they provide my breakfast every day. I work a regular job every day framing artwork. It's a pretty good time. I consider myself moderately health-conscious, fairly bookish, and very unphotogenic. I'm an amalgam of all my experiences and choices made into one person. I don't know, I think I'm pretty okay. 

So what's the blog about? Oh, let's be pretentious for a minute and call it a lifestyle blog. I'll be talking about things I do in my life to improve myself, products that I like using, foods I like to eat. I'll tell you, this blog is brand new, so obviously I'm not sponsored. Any product that I plug is something I'm familiar with and believe in enough to want to share it with you. Even if at some unfathomable point this did become popular enough to be sponsored, I would still only plug something I believe in. You can hold me to that. 😉

So we'll see where this goes. Hopefully it'll be a fun cathartic exercise for me to start writing again. I'll be writing real blog posts post haste and you'll see what I'm really all about. Until next time!