August 9, 2013
So I
decided that the best thing to do when I can’t control my thoughts, to the
point where they are interfering with my body functioning, is to write, like in
the good old days. Since having Addy, I
have all but stopped writing completely and I think that’s tragic, but
logical. Our lives since her have been
documented in photographs.
This whole
2 children thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I realize Joseph is only 5 weeks old and we
have a helluva long way to go before we reap the “benefit” of having multiple
children, but this is crazier than I could have imagined. And it’s not even the baby that’s crazy. He’s pretty much perfect (even the doctor
thinks so). It’s ME that’s grossly
imperfect, on so many levels.
Let’s start
with the boobs. In the first 3 days of
the child’s life, mommy was laid up feeling like she’d been hit by a truck,
aka, mastitis. Talk about feeling like a
bad parent on top of feeling awful! I
loved him the instant he was born, which was different than Addy, but those
first days at home were tainted by the boob issues. Even after antibiotics, I still felt like
crap. Thank God for all the help from
Luke, Mum, and Dad. Then, hallelujah, I felt human again! For like, a week. Then the impending departure of Mum and Dad
took over and the nausea and lethargy came creeping back. I tried to feign enthusiasm for basic things,
but when I could barely stomach a smoothie, cracking a smile was exhausting. I had no idea at the time what was wrong, but
started feeling very paranoid about the boobs again, since some ducts had
gotten plugged since the antibiotics ran out.
I took care of that, so I couldn’t figure out why I felt so awful.
Then it hit
me. The moment Mum and Dad walked out
the door, I felt like I could take a breath all my own. I felt a sense of independence I hadn’t felt
in 5 weeks. Granted, Addy was sick, and
I had her plus a 3 week old baby all to myself for a few hours in the night,
but I realized my “illness” had been related to the huge transition of Mum and
Dad leaving. That night was awful. The baby took 2 hours to get to sleep. Halfway through that the sickie poltergeist
made her appearance, ready for meds. And
me still drained and ill-ish, dealing with them both at the same time. Finally the baby got to sleep and Luke
arrived with (goddess) Laura in tow. I
gave her the biggest hug ever. We all
went to bed and hoped for the best…
Starting
shortly after I got Joseph back down from his early feed (4am-ish), Addy began
her cavorting. Every 15 minutes from
about 4:30am until time to get up (6:30ish), she crept back into our room or
the hallway. So needless to say, it was
the most sleepless night I’ve had since my one-nighter in the hospital.
The next
day, I felt like a big turd but there were 2 children to care for (Addy, still
sick, couldn’t go to school). The nausea
came back and Laura and I tried to figure out why. Once I realized that every wave of nausea was
accompanied by butterflies and a feeling of nervous dread, I decided to call this
“Postpartum Anxiety” which is actually a thing.
I texted my lactation consultant friend about a boob issue, and
mentioned it. She shared with me some of
her own struggle with postpartum depression and how important it is to get
treatment. She told me my ginger tea can
also help with anxiety. I also kept
recalling the wise words of my NP who said, “Make yourself eat, even if you’re
nauseous.” Eventually, after a couple of days, the feeling of anxiety dissipated,
the nausea dissipated, and I started to enjoy my life again. For a minute.
Now, every
now and then I get a wave of anxiety, accompanied by the nausea, and with all
the illness that has been in the household (Addy, then Luke, now Laura, and I’m
just waiting my turn), no wonder I’ve felt stressed out. I’ve felt like I somehow have to take care of
everyone. And as soon as the thought of,
“Will everyone sleep tonight?” comes into my head, that old familiar dread comes
back. I constantly remind myself:
--there
will be sleep again someday
--keep
eating
--I am ok
--there are
people here to help (when they’re not sick)
--I don’t
have to do this alone
--I AM
enough mother for both of them (that’s the big one)
I’m in my
head too much. I don’t have enough other
things to think about so I spend every minute scrutinizing what the baby is
doing or how inadequate I feel for Addy, or how to juggle eating, sleeping,
nursing (oh god all the nursing), and ME time.
I have wished for this period of time to be fast-forwarded, but I know
it can’t be and I know I’ll look back and appreciate this soon enough. Perhaps I’ll even feel proud and
triumphant. For now, I feel like I’m
barely breathing. Keeping my nose just
above the water. And waiting with those
baited shallow breaths for the next time the baby wakes up…
Another
confession—I don’t know how long I’m going to last breastfeeding Joseph. I was so proud of myself for making it one
year with Addy that it feels like anything less for Joseph wouldn’t be fair;
would be bad for him. How selfish would
I be to just give up? Do I need to set a
goal? My goal with Addy with 6 months,
but it never crossed my mind to give it up until my body eventually did it for
me. It’s very early to be having these
thoughts, but when every other sentence I say to my daughter when he’s awake
is, “Can you wait until I’m done feeding brother?” or, “I can’t right now, I’m feeding
brother.” Or, “Please go ask Daddy, I’m
feeding brother right now.” UGH. Commence tantrum. Although she is getting WAY better at
understanding this now and I’m getting way better at trying to pay more
attention to her and offer more choices for while I’m feeding him (one can
always watch the Lion King for the 100th time while nursing after
all). I know she won’t hate me for the
time I feel like I’m stolen from her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate myself
just a little for not being enough me for everyone at the same time. One blessing (of many, actually), is that
Joseph is a killer nurser. I just wish
he’d speed it up a little! Man
that boy loves his boobies. Yes, they
are his right now, not mine.
With all
the recent company, it makes sense that Luke (aka Jason Bourne), feels a little
lost. I think with Laura’s illness, he
has been able to reclaim his role in the household and try his hand at managing
children among many other things (sometimes all at the same time!). I am the luckiest woman in the world to have
him. Without even thinking for a moment
of himself, he leaps at the opportunity to “father” and “husband” us. Every moment he is here I feel more at
ease. Unfortunately, every moment he is
gone, the anxiety is tempted to return, though it doesn’t always! I keep telling myself, when I feel good, I
can handle anything! And then I don’t
feel good and I’m useless and get anxiety about getting anxiety. It’s a seemingly endless cycle.
My mission
is to keep talking about it to people who understand (aka Laura, Hilary,
Denise, Noelle, Jenifer, oh the solidarity!) and write it down if for no other
purpose than to get all the nastiness out of my poor little head. And immediately, stop feeling sorry for
myself.
*It’s not a life or death situation. It’s just a crying baby.*
August 22, 2013
So I
finally cried this morning.
Unfortunately it wasn’t for any particular reason. I was a little on edge this morning but then
all of a sudden I was crying. I guess I
was thinking about (and recently troubled by) the fact that I don’t think I
have really felt much of anything these past 7 weeks except physical
misery. I don’t remember the last time I
felt actual happiness, aside from the moment Joseph was placed in my arms. I have been so dominated by feeling physically
horrible that I haven’t let myself enjoy any of this. I feel like I’m just going through the
motions of motherhood—breastfeeding, sitting with Addy, making sure everyone
has eaten, perhaps even playing a little with them, but there’s no joy in any
of it. Where has my happiness gone? Sure I made a list of things I enjoy, but I
don’t know that I’m feeling any true pleasure with any of it (it’s all trivial
anyways). I think I’m spending every
moment anticipating the next instead of relishing what’s happening right this
minute. I enjoyed our impromptu dance
party the other night. I started feeling
like I was myself again. But ever nagged
by “when will the baby wake up?” and “will I eat before he wakes up?” and “how
late will Addy go to bed tonight?” In my very rational brain, I know these
things will all be FINE. No one is hurt
by a later bedtime. Luke is completely
willing to deal with a crying baby so I can eat. So WHY do I become dominated by these
thoughts when I’m supposed to be experiencing something lovely and
beautiful. Last night too—Addy was on my
lap (which she rarely ever is) and I was going through the motions of smelling
her and kissing her and touching her soft skin, hoping to elicit ANY kind of
emotion. But nothing. Except wondering when dinner would be ready
and whether the baby would wake up (which he did and “miraculously” he sat in
the swing while we ate). How come I
can’t enjoy my daughter? Where’s the
overwhelming feeling of love I used to feel just looking at her amazing
face? I spent my pregnancy worrying I
wouldn’t have enough love for both of them, and now I feel like I have no love
at all. Good. I’m crying.
Is feeling sadness better than feeling nothing? Do I need to remember what it feels like at
all to feel anything before I can find a place of feeling joy?
And then I
try to convince myself I’m fine. That
I’m strong enough to get over these stupid trivial issues/worries. But am I?
Luke says I have been emotional.
I don’t think I have. I think
I’ve felt like general crap and not been a happy person because of it. Is that why I’m sad today? I haven’t felt sad until today. I’ve felt anxious and nervous and worried and
ill, but never sad. I think I’m shocked
by my realization that I’m thinking about the past 7 weeks and wondering where
the hell I’ve been???? Where is the
wonder and awe of getting to know my precious baby boy? Where is the complete fulfillment and pride
at seeing Addy so passionate about having Baby Brother read stories with
her?
Maybe I’m
coming down off having company and someone to talk to ALL the time. Maybe I’m lonely. Luke thinks I’m working myself up and that I
have enjoyed things these past 7 weeks.
He says it’s still hormonal. He
says I’ve never been depressed. I said I
know I’ve never been anxious like that or depressed so this is all very
unfamiliar to me. I don’t know anymore
what’s normal because I haven’t felt “normal” in so very long. And normal is definitely different now.
In my life,
I have felt happiest and most comfortable with myself when dancing and
exercising. I did that today and it was
nice but I didn’t really feel different or better afterwards. How much endorphins do I need to get back to
that happy place? My body seems fine
with it all now. It’s my brain that’s
fucked up. I’m starting to understand
and appreciate my dad’s struggle now. Anxiety
is a beast. Depression is like a never-ending downpour in the middle of the
night. Or a bad dream you can’t wake up
from. I’ve witnessed it, but never felt
it like this. Just writing about it and
acknowledging it makes me feel better.
And now to
be positive. I’ve identified the
problem. Now for some solutions.
--BE PRESENT in every moment. Stop evil thoughts the moment they start and
focus on what’s happening NOW.
--Cry when I feel like crying.
--Laugh more. Find carefree
moments.
--EXERCISE as much as possible. Even if it’s going for a brisk walk with the
baby Bjorned.
--Be proud of what you have survived and accomplished. Adelaide
is an astounding child. Joseph is on his
way to the same status. I gave birth
naturally to 2 children. My little body
produced these gorgeous creatures. And
look at my body now!!! Like my yoga
mantra—my body is amazing, look what my body can do.
--Put on makeup. Wear
clothes that make me feel happy, even if it means buying more.
--Leave the house. Be
with people. Invite people over. Talk to people. People are good.
--Have things set up to look forward to (see above).
--Try to accomplish something every day (clean something,
file something, sort something, wash something) but don’t freak out if it
doesn’t happen or get finished.
--Be in the sun.
--Pet/cuddle Hazel.
--Look at all the pictures I’ve taken of the children in the
last 7 weeks and remember those days/moments with fondness, even if I barfed
that morning or couldn’t eat anything—at least I had the presence and desire to
take pictures.
--Stop pretending like what I’ve been through was easy in
any way. Like Noelle said—it’s hard and
it’s normal to have these thoughts, anxieties, feelings.
--And if I still feel sad by the time I go back to my OB in 2 weeks, I WILL ask for help.
NOW GO. Begin again.
9-1-13
There is nothing poetic about this sadness. There is nothing cathartic about this
crying. I cannot do it alone. I want to raise a compassionate child but
having her say, “Mommy is sad,” every day is not the way to do that. This is beyond hormones and stomachaches and
headaches. This is “life-ache.” Only moments each day feel ok. Maybe even good for a moment. But the morning is awful. Every morning, the cold sweat feeling,
light-headedness of wondering if I’ll be able to eat. If I’ll be able to smile or laugh. If I’ll be able to care for my children, or
myself.
I’m thinking about my mother today. Thinking about her Depression. I remember she couldn’t get out of bed and
she lost so much weight. I remember as a
child making her toast and bringing it to her in bed because I didn’t know how
else to help her. She was a Sad Mommy
for a while (probably longer than I knew, and longer than I remember) but then
she got better. She got help. I’m getting help. I’m not dealing with this alone because I
cannot be a Sad Mommy. I miss
myself. I want ME back. It’s ok to miss my Mother right now, but I
want to use that as motivation, not to pull me down. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever
done. I feel like I’m carrying the weight
of everything on me and all I want to do is run away. But I don’t want to be alone. Because if I’m alone I think it will only get
worse.
I have to let the beautiful moments overtake me, not the
sadness or anxiety. I recognize the
beautiful moments still. I have to fake
it for Addy’s sake. For my sake. I have to recall yesterday’s joke and crack
it again and make her laugh. Mommy is
funny, not sad. Fake it til you make it. Stay engaged.
Don’t detach. Don’t remove. Don’t go back to bed. Stay present.
