Word of the month? Resolve. Starting the end of December clear through January you hear everyone mentioning it. In all of it’s forms. Here is what I think of when I hear the word.
After my second child I went through a very dark time. Full-blown Postpartum Depression. Ultimately I went to a therapist that specialized in my condition. Best decision. I saw her weekly and most often had to take the baby with me. Quickly the therapist realized that part of my PPD was in reaction to a condition my son was born with. Acid reflux. My baby, though I didn’t know it at the time, had a severe case and cried ALL. THE. TIME! My dear mother even said to him once, “Cameron, I love you SO much. But would you just SHUT UP for a little while?”. Our answering machine greeted callers with this, (baby screaming in the background, LOUDLY) “Thank you for calling the Deputy’s. We probably can’t hear the ring of the phone right now, but your call will give us an excuse to have some adult conversation, so please leave a message after the beep and we’ll call you back as soon as Cameron is 18.” Truly it felt like our child was going to cry for the rest of his life. I was exhausted from sleepless nights and frustrating days. To soothe my sweet baby I would hold him in the football hold and literally bounce as hard as I dare. Up and down. Up and down. Over and over and over again. He was also on medication. Not that it helped a whole bunch, but we gave it to him. What bothered me the most was his projectile vomiting. The stomach acid would smell awful (and I don’t do well with vomit in the first place) and would stain the carpet if I didn’t clean it fast enough. Oy. Vey! At one of my therapy sessions I had my baby face down laying across my legs and was patting his back. He seemed to be doing okay. Wasn’t completely quiet, but not screaming per usual. Then, I felt it. A bubble rise through his back, up and out of his mouth. Not a bubble. His last meal (which was chased with a pink Mylanta chaser). All over the white carpet of my therapist’s office. Tears. From both the baby and me. Without missing a beat my therapist rose out of her chair, went to a cabinet and retrieved a bottle of Resolve carpet cleaner. She took care of the stain as best she could and went on to comfort me. Bless her heart. At the end of the session she handed me that bottle of Resolve and told me to keep it in the diaper bag. So I wouldn’t blockade myself at home in fear of creating another stain somewhere else. She had given me a tool for confidence to go out and continue to live my life. She wanted me to feel that even though something may go wrong, I had the ability to fix it. I didn’t need to feel bad for the inconvenience of life or things that happen in life.
So here we go. It’s January and that word is back. It reminds me of that therapy session. Sure, I may have had some bad habits, but I also have the tools to change anything that I want to. I don’t have to change everything, I can choose what areas I want to improve, where to progress. I can decide to take baby steps to reach my goals, or I can set my sights high and just put myself out there. The choice is up to me.
Re. Solve. I can take care of something, again, if it didn’t work the first time. Clean. Slate. Nice.
In future posts I’ll let you know what I’ve been thinking to resolve. I actually like to think of it as goal setting. And I don’t like to do it spur of the moment at midnight on New Year’s Eve because then I feel like I’m setting myself up for failure. I like to take my time to prioritize and be real.
Side Note: Cameron is now 14 and has, to our great pleasure, stopped his incessant crying. Whew.