A very long post about why I will never again pray for help on handling my overwhelming life

A note:  It has recently been brought to my attention that someone, who shall remain nameless, read this and interpreted it to mean that I am depressed. I am not depressed. That's sweet of her to be concerned.  But there's a big difference between overwhelming temporary circumstances and depression. I am happy.  Truly I am.  And so is Danny.  We don't go through an entire day not having experienced many moments of happiness and thanking Heavenly Father for our many MANY blessings. I thank you all for your kind words and comments. The blog is such a fantastic form of therapy. Just like in olden days (haha) when women needed to talk to other women and feel better, I can do that now with the blog as well. Blessings to you all!

On Friday, December 18th, the twins will be four months old.  Monday I was agonizing over the exhausting process it is to feed them.  I pump because they cannot nurse.  Three-quarters of their feedings are breastmilk with the remaining one-fourth being formula.  I feel guilty that I am not providing 100% of their food.  I maintain hope that after their initial surgery to correct the posterior tongue-tie (originally scheduled for November 2nd and post-poned due to Swine Flu) that they will show promise and improved nursing skill.  But they have absolutely no desire to nurse.  And the odds are not stacked in their favor with the tongue-tie and the tight jaws. 

So regularly I agonize and re-evaluate how much longer I am willing to let my house go to pot and the other children watch hours of Blue's Clues every day while the oldest two are in *gasp* public school.  (They are actually doing quite well and I think it was the right choice given our circumstances.)  Anyways, can I make it at least one more week?  Could I make it to five months?  What about six months?  If I make it to six months then they will be starting solid foods.  If I quit, will I feel horribly guilty and cry for a year?  Or will my hormones chill and finally level out and I regain a wee bit of sanity? 

Blah.  Blah.  Blah.

So I reasoned that I could at least go another week until their surgery that is scheduled for the 21st.  Then I'd give it a week after that to heal.  And then an additional week for them to at least show interest in learning to nurse. 

But now, we are sick again.  And so the surgery must be post-poned.  Again. 

Just when I thought that perhaps these sniffles and colds would go away, my oldest comes down with pinworms.  ew.  EW. 

So I'm thinking, my Heavenly Father has a sense of humor and is helping me see how "easy" my life was before pinworms.  I'm thinking all this as I chuckle washing the 11th load of laundry on hot water, vacuuming everything in between buzzers and sanitizing all hard surfaces as well, reading up on the "condition" as I pump and feeling fully violated for doing so.

Ahh.  Kids finally settle into bed, I have a loaf of Italian French bread baking in the bread machine (something I do about once a year) the twins are taking turns being fed, burped, cuddled, while I talk to my older sister, Leslie, about very cool goals for the New Year.   

Then I heard a whimper.  I sneak into the three older boys' room to check it out.  It's Hammie.  He's not coherent and he's fussing trying to cover himself up again.  I cover him up and realize he's radiating heat through his blanket.  I grab the Motrin and the syringe and the thermometer.  I dose him and then check his temp.  104.4.  I'm a little panicked at this point.  I write it down and decide to check again in half an hour.  Then I check Bun's temp.  105.9.  I call Danny at work and babble on about Bun's brain burning up and such stuff.  He tells me to dose him too and to call the on-call doctor.  I dose Bun and check Gabbers temp.  104.9.  I dose her as well.  Her cheeks are rosy pink and so are her lips.  She begs for a drink of water sounding like she's going to burst into tears.  I get her water and Danny calls back.  I haven't called the doc yet.  Danny says he's on the way home.  I call the doctor and he says, "Get them to the ER immediately!"

Ugh.  I pivot on my left foot for about a minute before my brain kicks into gear and I decide what I need to do. 

I end up taking three high-fevered children to the ER at midnight with their favorite blankies.  I chuckle on the way there.  Pumping every two hours until the twins are six months old will be cake without Swine Flu, Pinworms, and freakishly high fevers in the middle of the night causing ER runs.