It started in the afternoon. Nathan and I had just gotten home from a busy day out when I had to use the bathroom. I was in there for less than five minutes. When I came out, Nathan was playing with his brand new firetruck in his bedroom.

*sniff sniff*

I smelled poop. And it wasn’t Nathan’s.

So I cautiously peeked my head out of Nathan’s bedroom into the kitchen and lo-and-behold! There was a big ole clump of poop SMEARED into the kitchen floor. My cat ANDREW had taken a dump in the floor, and NATHAN HAD PLAYED IN IT, dragging it about 2 feet, leaving a trail of smeared poop glistening on the floor.

Furious, I broke out the Clorox and cleaned it up. Afterward, I went into the living room for some relaxation. To my utter horror, however, THERE WAS MORE CAT POOP SMEARED ALL OVER THE COFFEE TABLE. And a 4″ poop log sitting defiantly on the floor next to the coffee table. Furious does not even begin to describe how I felt. I was utterly LIVID. I am a huge animal lover. HUGE. I donate to animal-welfare charities. I cry when I see dead animals on the side of the road. But for a moment, as rage coursed through my quivering veins, I wanted to hurl Andrew outside and let him fend for himself against the road. Or cook him in a pot of stew.

I’m sick and tired of dealing with this. It is not a medical issue, as I initially thought it was. Andrew is jealous of Nathan and I think he’s depressed. See, I feel guilty because before I got married and had a kid, I treated that cat like he was my child. I doted on him. I was one of “those” people who irritatingly treats their pets like a human. But now? I still love him just the same, only I don’t have the time to give him the same amount of attention that I used to. I still love on him, but only for five minutes at a time. I still have conversations with him, but after a while the incessant meowing (he is quite the conversationalist, believe me) can become irritating when I am dealing with a screaming toddler. I have been trying so hard to dote on him like I used to… and for about three weeks, it worked. He was pooping outside the litter box up to 5x a day… and with all the extra time-consuming affection I gave him, he went for THREE WEEKS without a single accident. But now? Now, my schedule has gotten busier, and the love I was showing him is now no longer enough. He follows me around like a lost puppy dog, his sad little eyes staring at me, wishing me to love him.

I can’t get him to understand that I DO LOVE HIM, but he is making it VERY hard to love when I’m cleaning up his poop multiple times a day. I don’t want him around me right now. I have to grit my teeth just to extend my hand to him. I’m SICK of this, and my toddler playing in his angry poop pile is the LAST straw!

And it gets worse. So after I cleaned up the coffee table, I grabbed Nathan to clean him up, change his clothes, and check his hands.

His hands were clean, except for some minute traces of poop.

You know what that means, right? I can’t even think about it at this point. I took him into the bathroom and washed his hands FIVE times for a minute each time, then sanitized his hands twice. And when I was done, his hands still smelled of cat shit.

Afterwards, Nathan was playing with his firetruck all over the house, and every time he walked past me, I got a whiff of poop. Nathan had a clean diaper. I checked his body, no poop. His hands still smelled faintly of poop, but not enough for me to notice unless I specifically smelled his hands. Paul and I were quite befuddled as we tried to ascertain from where the odor was originating.

And then we saw it.

IT WAS CAKED ALL OVER HIS FIRETRUCK WHEELS.

My son had rolled his BRAND NEW firetruck through Andrew’s poop. That’s where the smears came from. It never crossed my mind that Nathan would use a toy to roll through the poop. And then Nathan had rolled the poop-caked wheels ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE.

So guess what we did all evening? Cleaned the carpets, furniture, mopped the floors, and sanitized all surfaces that may have come into contact with that firetruck.

I’m STILL pissed. For once, I am at a loss trying to articulate the depth of the anger I feel towards that cat. Enough is enough. I can’t have my child playing in SHIT. And I would have more compassion if Andrew was sick or needed medical attention, but to cause potential harm to my child because the attention I have been giving him was not good enough is UNACCEPTABLE.

I’m going to have to figure out what to do about this. What a shame. I love that cat… he was my baby. I loved him more than any other cat I’ve ever known. He was so cool, so full of personality. Everyone who has ever met him has commented on how awesome he was. But this acting out can’t be tolerated. I don’t know what to do short of either putting him on antidepressants (how weird would that be?) or giving him away… but who’s gonna want a cat with poop problems? I don’t know if anyone would want to adopt him. He needs someone who can devote a lot of time and attention to him, something I don’t have. I don’t *want* to give him away, and I certainly don’t want to put him to sleep. But I don’t know what other options I have.

So if you have pets, please take this into consideration if you are considering having kids. If you baby your pet too much, it could very well come back to haunt you.

Big Turb liked watching the birds and squirrels with Andrew

Paul and his kitty

Keeping each other warm while Andrew meows in his sleep.
(Yes, you read that right! Andrew totally talks in his sleep!)

Turbo as an adolescent snuggling with Paul

Turbo was very happy and content with his big belly in the air,
a habit he picked up from Andrew.

Turbo may be gone physically, but the love he filled our hearts with will always remain. He wasn’t just any ole cat… he was a member of the family. His loss has affected us deeply, and we will miss him for a long, long time.

And then this past Wednesday, one of our cats started peeing on the floor (in the backroom on the tile, always near the litter boxes or water bowl). We knew it wasn’t a behavioral issue and that it was medical because the pee was kind of thick and a dark yellowish/orange color. We cleaned the water bowl (one of those fountain ones with a filter) but we didn’t know who was peeing outside the litter box because we didn’t catch any of them in the act until Friday afternoon, when we saw it was Turbo. Then, after the first time we caught him, he peed out this weird puss or something, so we thought he was ill because he had a urinary tract blockage and that the puss and gross matter we saw was him passing it. So we thought he would be ok because the next time he peed, his pee was paler yellow and more normal looking. So we just thought that the blockage was making him sick and now that he had passed it, he would recover nicely. We thought we would try to get him through the weekend and if he still wasn’t better by Monday, we would take him to the vet.

But we shouldn’t have waited. Had we only known how sick he really was. I wish we had known. 

On Saturday, we initially thought he was doing better because his pee started looking even more normal yellow. But then around 6pm, we brought him out from his hiding spot and tried to get him to eat, but he wouldn’t. We noticed he had suddenly lost weight and you could see and feel his spine and shoulder blades, and his abdomen was bloated. Turbo was so weak he couldn’t hold himself up. He was lethargic and just laid there on his belly with his poor little legs splayed out. He would try to stand up but he just couldn’t. Paul tried to hand feed Turbo some wet food and was able to get a couple tablespoons into him. It seemed to help Turbo. After he ate, he gagged and heaved a little, but he seemed to get a bit of energy and looked alert. Then he managed to walk/slink/shuffle his way back to his hiding spot under the cat tree. But he was looking better. He was holding his head up and looking around the room.  

Again, we thought he would be ok, that we just needed to get some food into him.

So at 9:00, Paul tried to feed him again. But this time, less than ONE minute after he fed him, Turbo stumbled out of his spot under the cat tree, swayed a few times, and started heaving. Paul gently rubbed his belly, and Turbo meowed. Then he laid his head down and peed on himself. Paul cleaned it up, then picked up Turbo and set him in his lap, draping him gently across his legs. He bent over and hugged Turbo, petting him. But Turbo just laid there, his little legs danging off Paul’s lap. Then Paul looked tearfully at me and said “Jen, I think we need to prepare ourselves. I don’t know how much longer he has.”

I texted my mom, my brother, and one of my dearest friends to pray for Turbo, and right as I pressed send, Paul said “Jen, get back here. He’s not going to make it.” His voice was strained and filled with tension, so I ran back there as fast as I could. He was stroking Turbo’s head and back. I put my hand on Turbo’s head and rubbed his ears.

“Big guy, you’re gonna be ok, right?” I said. I put my hand under his chin and lifted his head up but he was limp. I looked at Turbo’s beautiful face, and to my horror, I literally watched the last bit of light fade out of his eyes. I looked at Paul’s hand lying on Turbo’s back. “Paul he’s not breathing!” I exclaimed. Paul looked down, his eyes widened, and then he put Turbo on the floor and tried in vain to resuscitate him. He shook him saying “Please don’t go. Wake up, big guy! Come on, Turbo, wake up!” He even stuck his finger down Turbo’s throat just in case Turbo had choked on the food Paul gave him, but there was nothing in his throat. He was gone.

My heart hurts so bad. I feel like I should have known he was sick. I feel like I should have seen the signs. But I thought (and hoped) Turb would get better. Deep down, I knew it was serious but Paul and I must have been in denial because it just didn’t seem like it was possible that Big Turb could be that sick. He was such a big, strong cat. It just happened so fast. In a matter of days, our perfectly healthy gentle giant completely spiraled downhill and then died right in front of our eyes. He never cried out in pain, never told us he needed help. Instead, he hid. He even purred and seemed to enjoy us loving on him right up until the moment he passed.

Turbo was Paul’s baby. He loved that cat, raised it since it was about one or two years old. He’s devastated. We’re both physically ill over this. We can’t sleep, can’t eat. Can’t stop thinking about it all.

The “what if’s” are plaguing us. What if we had taken him to the vet as soon as we saw he was the one peeing on the floor on Friday? What if we hadn’t fed him that extra food at 9:00? Because it was right after that that he passed away. What if we had never shaved him? Because what if his depression lowered his immune system and enabled him to get sick? What if the blockage of stuff we saw in his pee had caused him to have kidney failure? If we had gotten him to the vet, would they have saved him?  Was his dull coat a sign that he was already having problems? What if we had taken him to the vet when his fur started matting up more than usual?

What if… what if.. what if?

I saw him die right in front of me, with my hand on his head, I saw the light fade out of his eyes. I keep thinking about those last moments… how he was in pain. Was it even worth him being held? Did it comfort him as the light faded from his vision? Was he disappointed we didn’t save him? Did he know how much we loved him, how much we didn’t want him to go? He was such a big, strong cat. I can’t believe he’s gone. I just don’t know. This is just so hard.

 I wish we had known he only had a few hours, we would have loved on him more. I wish a lot of things, but Big Turb is gone now and nothing will ever bring him back. I have a huge hole in my heart and I can’t stop crying. I just want him back. I want to make him all better and have everything be ok………

If you have a pet, and you think he/she might be sick, please do not hesitate to get them to the vet immediately. DO NOT WAIT IN HOPES THAT THEY WILL GET BETTER, because they could get worse in a matter of minutes, right in front of you, no matter what you do. If money is a factor, remember that money is replaceable but you will never, ever be able to replace your pet. Be diligent in watching their health and TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS. If your instincts say your pet is sick, no matter how healthy you otherwise think they are, please get them to the vet. It could save your pet’s life.

And I just realized that I never finished telling you guys what I found out was wrong. Remember how I went to a chiropractor then got cold feet? Well, the pain steadily worsened to the point that it felt like someone was stabbing me in the lower back with a red hot poker. It was agony to stand, sit, walk, lay down. Hell, it hurt to just exist. So I went to my family practitioner who said I was developing arthritis and possibly a degenerating disc.

Arthritis? Seriously? I’m only 29. But having a baby is really hard on a woman’s body… and lifting and carrying that baby around doesn’t help either.

So I amped up my yoga workouts to 5 or 6 times a week and worked on having better posture, and the back pain has become more bearable over the past few weeks. Until last night. So I took some Ibuprofen, which normally helps a little, but it didn’t touch the pain. I tossed and turned, swore and cried. I got about three hours of sleep last night and was exhausted all day today. Then, to make matters worse, I’ve been nauseated all day long, which was a bit depressing. And Nathan was grumpy today, which I’m sure is because he was picking up that something was off with Mommy’s mood.

My back is still hurting somewhat, but thankfully nowhere near the level it was last night. Hopefully it will be even better tomorrow, and I can get back to my old self soon. So I’m going to call it a night earlier than normal. Because sleep is almost like a cure-all for me, and I am optimistic that if I can catch up on my sleep, my mood will lift, the pain will continue to subside, and I’ll feel better.

Thanks for listening to me whine. Any feel-good vibes sent my way will be MUCH appreciated!

Last night was one such night. I was getting Nathan ready for bed, following his nightly routine of a bedtime story and a song. I was singing “You Are My Sunshine,” and every time I said the word happy, he would start laughing. Especially when I said the word happy with a long, breathy “H.”

So I couldn’t help myself. I sat him down in the glider and started saying the word happy, just to hear him laugh.

 httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkyPm8j248U

As I watched him smiling and laughing, I felt simultaneously euphoric and sad at the same time. Euphoric because my son is such a happy, carefree child. But sad because he is growing so fast and is turning into a little boy right in front of my eyes.

I can’t believe he’s nine months old already!

It seems like just yesterday Paul and I brought our screaming bundle of joy home from the hospital. The hospital we went to and the experience they provided me, however, was horrible (click here to read about it.) It doesn’t seem like nine months ago, I thought I was on the brink of losing my sanity due to sheer exhaustion.

Sometimes the colic seemed like it would never end.

But, eventually, it did end. The sun came out. Butterflies started dancing again. That ominous black cloud hanging over my head dissipated.

Now? Now, Nathan hardly ever just cries for no reason. Now, it’s usually because his diaper is dirty, he’s hungry, uncomfortable, tired, not feeling well, etc. It’s become a process of elimination, which is SO MUCH more manageable than having no idea why your infant is screaming as if he’s in the worst pain of his life.

I’ll take days like last night ANY DAY. I love those laughs and smiles. I enjoy interacting with him, teaching him new things, and watching him learn and grow. Even if he is growing up so quickly.

Physical Changes
My hips are wider. My belly is rounder, much rounder. And soft. I have stretch marks everywhere. My boobs grew. And the worst part is the weight gain. Pre-baby, I was about a size 7. I don’t know if I will ever be that size again. I’ll jump up and down with pure, radiating joy if I can just get down to a 9, and even then, it’s going to take some determined will power. My hair grew really thick, luxurious, and shiny when I was pregnant. Now, so much of my hair is falling out that I leave little trails of hair wherever I go. I’ll never have to worry about getting lost… just follow my trails of hair and you will find me. Oh, and we can’t forget the circles under the eyes from lack of sleep or the telltale bloodshot eyes and swollen eyelids from endless nights of staying up crying with a colicky newborn.

Emotional Changes
The emotions you experience after you have your baby is like the being on the bumpiest roller-coaster of your life with a poor restraint system that leaves you feeling like could be ejected from your ride at any given moment. When I gave birth, I experienced the purest form of elation as I held my newborn son tightly in my shaking hands. I looked into his precious eyes as he squinted under the bright lights and thought about how this was the one moment I had been waiting for my entire life; holding my child. Then, that feeling of elation gave way to sadness and anxiety, the worst of which lasted just shy of two weeks. Although the intensity of the those feelings gradually waned, they still lingered for months afterwards. The entire experience was so new, so exhilarating, yet so daunting that it sent my mind into a tailspin. It felt like a dream. Those early days melted into one another like butter melting into warm bread. It’s all a blur… all the sleepless nights, residual pain of childbirth, and the intense pain of the first few weeks of breastfeeding made it hard to really enjoy everything.

Now, my emotions have evened out for the most part, and I think that finally being able to get a decent night’s sleep rejuvenates the soul like no other. Granted, Nathan still does not sleep through the night, but I am still able to get a good chunk of 5 or 6 hours of sleep in before he wakes up to eat. When you are rested, you are able to attack the day and can handle problems that arise with strength and certainty rather than dejected tears and doubtfulness.

Life Changes
Money is tighter. Babies are pretty expensive… there are diapers, formula, clothing, baby furniture, and toys to pay for, and that’s just naming a few. We go through diapers like crazy. Nathan has so many diaper changes per day that I could change his diaper in my sleep (ok, well so I’ve already done that on more than one occasion, resulting in said diaper being put on WRONG).  He’s like an ETERNAL FOUNTAIN OF PEE. I wonder how many diapers he’ll go through by the time he’s potty trained… Hundreds? Thousands? MILLIONS? I bet it really is millions, isn’t it?

Our free-time has changed. Actually, Paul and I have NONEXISTANT free time, meaning it all gets eaten up by our little guy. Before we had Nathan, we would go out every weekend, sometimes grabbing a bite to eat but other times just enjoying each other’s presence, going on hikes together, or taking drives and enjoying the scenery. Now? Now, I spend all of Nathan’s awake time keeping him happy and making sure his needs are being met. His nap times are spent cleaning up the house and taking care of things that I can’t get done when he’s awake. We still don’t get much free time after Nathan goes to bed at night because that’s the time we have to cook and eat dinner and for me to take a shower.

I can no longer leave the house with just my purse, keys, and cell phone. Now, I have to have extra milk pumped, remember changes of clothes for Nathan, diapers, wipes, toys, teethers, blankets…

Sleeping in does not happen anymore. When Nathan wakes up, he lets us know that he’s awake and ready to be entertained. Recently, he’s started fake coughing to get our attention when he’s ready to get up. If you have kids, you probably know what I’m talking about… the coughs that are so superficial that they sound almost dainty. And he does them multiple times in a row, sounding like a broken record of dainty coughing. Yeah, no more sleeping in.

Leg hair grows. Yep, those days when you could take long, relaxing showers have been temporarily wiped off the face of the planet. Gone are the days of enjoying the steam and shaving my legs on a daily basis. Now, I consider myself lucky when I get the chance to shave once a week. Twice a week and I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.

And don’t even get me started on sex… We ALL know how your sex life will never, ever be the same as it was before you had children. Spontaneity is gone. Time is no longer on your side.  However,  once your children are big enough, there are always sleepovers. With friends. At THEIR houses. You gotta grab that alone time while you can!

Becoming a mom changed me in the most wonderful ways imaginable. I know what it feels like to love a child so deeply, so devoutly, and so unwaveringly that you would do anything on this Earth for them. There is no other feeling in the world like being a mother. It’s awe-inspiring, amazing, indescribable, and terrifying all at the same time. I wouldn’t change anything about it.

Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you deal with it.

That’s when I realized that a lot of my depression was brought about by how I dealt with the cards life handed me.  You can’t change what has already happened in the past… you can only pick up the pieces and move forward. Your life is what you make of it.

I thought as soon as I had Nathan that I would have to start taking my medication again. I’ve come very close. I’m quite sure I had an uncomfortably close brush with Postpartum Depression (PPD) that lasted a dark and anxiety-filled thirteen days after his birth. After that, feelings of sadness, anxiety, and irritability lingered for months… but each day was better than the day before. I took life one day at a time, and now Nathan is seven months old and I am feeling better, little by little.  Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you deal with it. I keep repeating that to myself whenever I start to feel like I’m sinking. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying depression can be staved off by sheer willpower alone, but forcing myself to keep on going despite the urge to give up is what helps me prevent the illness from taking over.

So, I was sitting here thinking.

Thinking mostly about how utterly wonderful my husband is while he slaves over the stove for me, which made me think about my stretch marks, which made me think about being pregnant, which made me think about chocolate, which made me think about Nathan and the Time of Colic.

Yeah, I know there is sometimes not much connection between my thought processes, but bear with me. 

Anyway, I was reminiscing about how much better things are with Nathan approaching his sixth month birthday. He was my little Demon Child from when he was a mere two weeks old on up until he was almost 2 months old. Granted, it wasn’t a horribly long stretch of time in hindsight, but we all have 20/20 vision then, right?

At the time, those few weeks seemed like eternity.

I thought it was forever.

Every single day was a drudgery: wake up in a bad mood, do something to piss off my sweetly sleeping husband because, you know, misery loves company and the sight of him sleeping peacefully while I had to get up and be whipped around by a newborn just infuriated me, then I would feed the baby, mad the whole time because, I don’t know, I just needed to be mad about something. Then, I would return to bed mad about being mad, and my 6’6″ tall husband’s feet hanging off the end of the bed would irritate me, so I would have to dive-bomb into the bed, complete with angry sighs and grunts.  

Then I would feel horrible about being so illogically mad that I couldn’t sleep… and the cycle would continue.

Oh, what two hours of sleep a night and a newborn with colic will do to a woman.

Nathan cried. A lot.

When things went his way, however, he was a little angel.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go his way all the time and when his world was awry, he let us know instantly. I never thought such little lungs could possibly have the capacity to drive me to the brink of insanity, piercing my brain like a newly sharpened dagger, the blood of my soul dripping from it’s shiny blade. His mouth would open to maximum capacity, his tongue would raise up, a large vein would protrude from the side of his head and I swear I could even see those tonsils quiver.

Things are so much better now than they were then.

He’s like a totally different baby; so precious and smiley, my little cuddle bug who likes to snuggle in the crook between my neck and shoulder, the little guy who gives me kisses with an open mouth planted on my cheek, complete with sloppy sucking noises. He is the best thing to have ever happened to my husband and me, except for us meeting because then Nathan could have never happened… and as awful and the Time of Colic was, I wouldn’t trade it.

It taught me some valuable lessons about love and about anger and the ridiculousness of it- and what a patient and tolerant man my husband Paul is.