Such A Long, Long Time

It seems like it has been forever.  I'm sorry.  I really wish I could be one of those savvy bloggers who can have posts written ahead of time and schedule them to publish so readers have something to read.  I also wish I was able to sit own and pound out a post about some current event, something everyone is talking about while it is actually still a current topic instead of something that happened 4 months ago.  I'm not one of those people as much as I have tried to be in the past.  I'm sure I'm no more busy than any other momma blogger out there.  I just suck at time management maybe.  I really do love blogging, but sometimes there are just things that come before it.  Perhaps it takes me longer to process through things before I can jump on the bandwagon and begin hammering out posts about my life.

The truth is my family has been turned upside down.  When I find the strength to write about it, I will.  Just when things seemed to be going fantastic.  I was kicking PPD's ass, I was freakin' Susie homemaker, I was Super Momma and in an instant that all fell to the wayside because a tragedy hit hard and cracked my hard outer layer and my soft gooey center has found its way to the outside.  That soft place I sometimes share with people that I have a very deep trust.  I found myself with out tape, bandages, a band aid and have been doing my best to keep it contained.  My family and friends are also dealing with their own hurt and the last thing they need is me unable to hold back my own.  Sure misery loves company, but not this kind.  So bear with me as I sort through things and do my best to still be the person I always have been, though somewhat changed.  I'd like to share even this part of my life with you.  But I can't until I'm ready.  I'm getting there.

-MoM-

I Have Another Addiction

Its no secret.  If you know me you know that I have several addictions.  Some I was able to give up.  I quit smoking as soon as I learned I was pregnant with Big C and never went back.  I was never addicted to alcohol, but I did drink socially and that has stopped nearly completely.  I did have 1 glass of wine a month ago and was borderline nackered from it.  But there are those that no matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to give up.  Carbs for example.  I've tried and I've failed miserably.  There is just no way I am ever going to be willing to give up bread.  I can't do it.  Yes, I am fluffy.  And if being thin means having to give up bread....forget it.  I'll stay that way.  My kids.  I'm hopelessly addicted to them and I never want that to change.

When I was younger though.  I was addicted to reading.  I loved it.  I was a voracious reader.  Then, I don't really know what happened.  I began slowing down.  Honestly I think the computer began taking up more of my reading time and then I just kinda stopped altogether.  Maybe I would read 1 book a year.  When I was usually reading 1-3 a week  I found myself lately really missing it.  I've yearned to read again.  But I just never seemed to find the time.  I mean, have you ever tried to read a book and bottle feed at the same time?  It is virtually impossible.  You just can't hold the book open and do that.

So here is where I will sing the praises of my husband and gush about how I love him.  For our anniversary, he bought us both Motorola Droid phones.  I think I died and went to heaven.  I wondered how I kept my sanity without it!  The apps are amazing and help me keep organized.  From the Baby ESP application, to the Jorte to keep all my appointments at my fingertips to the grocery list my K and I can share.  This thing rocks!  But then, then I found out that I can read books on it.  Are you freaking kidding me?  I can read a book on this thing?  Like, really?!

Oh yes!  I love, love, love it!  I don't have to fumble with the pages of a book trying to hold it open and do other things.  I can stand at the stove stirring and cooking dinner and read at the same time!  I can bottle feed the baby at 4am and read because I can set it down and not worry about pages closing.  I never have to *remember* to bring a book with me to the doctor's office....it's right on my phone!  In the last 2 weeks I've been able to read 3 books!   I'm on the second book of the Twilight series....and before you snort about that, the books are really good so far. 

I am so excited to be able to read again.  And I honestly thing it has made me happier.  It has been really good for my PPD too.  It gives me a few minutes to myself that I need.  Even if I read for only 5 minutes in between tasks, just those few minutes help me get centered and reduce my anxiousness to a level I can easily deal with.  I have been even more attentive with the kids and I have been enjoying them more than ever.  I cannot count how many times I've looked at them both and felt my heart swell and nearly burst out of my chest with love for them.  They are amazing.  I always knew they were, but now I am keenly aware of just how blessed I am and I'm able to live much more int he moment with them.  Who would have thought that being able to take some time to myself reading for just a few minutes at a time could create such a wonderful, positive change.  The kids are feeling it too.  Big C and Little C both even seem more at ease, easier to put to bed/naps and they both just seem happier because I am happier.

K, I really love you for helping my get some of my life back.  Even though you didn't realize you were doing it, you did.  I'm so glad you are mine! I love you!

What helps you live more in the moment?  What do you do to give yourself some *me* time?

-MoM-

Poop, It Happens at 5AM

Note:  If talk of poop, baby poop, color & texture of poop & the act of babies pooping grosses you out, then FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS CUTE CHUBBY & ROUND (like me) don't read any further!  Or is that farther?  Meh, who cares?  You can just stop here.

I love my daughter.  Everything about her. She is cute, cuddly and finally happier!  We've gotten past those days of pesky gas & colic.  Well, the formula change gets the credit there.  But she is pleasant again!  Like the first few days after she was born, only better now because she smiles, laughs and plays back.

Not only has the formula change made her a much happier camper, it also corrected her constipation troubles.  When the pediatrician told me, "I've never seen a baby on this formula with anything other than soft stools" I was a bit skeptical.  And this is why I'm not a pediatrician with my own practice.  In the height of her colic/gas & constipation her poop was kinda light greenish and super firm.  After the change over to Nutramigen it usually looks like scrambled eggs in her diaper.  That is the best way I can describe it.  If I ruined you fondness for eggs, I'm not sorry because I really can't eat them cause they make me doubled over in pain.  If I can't have them, then you should at least have to think of poop when you have them!

OK, now to be completely graphic & gross.  If you see her actually doing the deed, which it's happened a few times, this poop is best described as juicy.  Did I do it again?  Ruin something else this time?  Sorry.  :p  Since the absorbency of the diaper just zaps up the liquid, it leaves just the eggy stuff behind.  She is very explosive & generous with the quantity.  The girl still has wicked gas, just not the "I'll scream until you shoot your face off with a bazooka to stop your ears from bleeding" kind.  So to review, Little C's poops are large, loud, explosive, juicy then eggy.

Fast forward to 5am Thursday morning.  I am so tired.  K already left for work at 4am.  Little C is fussing and rolling all over her pack & play bassinet.  I peel my eyeballs open and sit on the edge of the bed blinking furiously to try to get them to work.  They hurt too.  But only when they are open.  I stand up & sit right back down because, well, I kinda fell back down, but whatev.  I stand up again, slower this time and make my way to the dresser where I stash some bottles, water & formula.  I mix her up a 6 ouncer and pick the cuteness that is my Little C up and go sit on the bed with her and she drinks.

Her beautiful little eyes look up at me while she drinks and they flutter a little bit.  As tired as I am, I wouldn't ever give up those moments of *girl talk* we share in the wee hours of morning.  I burp her, kiss her, snuggle her...man I love this mommy gig.  I then lay her down to change her.  We play "stinky feet" and I strip her diaper off & wipe her down with a wipe.  I have her cute little ankles in my hand and as I'm lifting her up to slip the fresh clean diaper under her, she sneezes.  She has the cutest sneezes by the way.  Her sneeze was so forceful though that it also caused her to fart at the same time.  I wouldn't know anything about that ::side eyes:: but I'm sure its happened to you too.  Apparently the sneeze was so forceful it not only cause her to fart, but to also shoot a pile of juicy poop out onto my bed.  She looked up at me and smiled.  A huge, cheesy, gummy grin.  Then squirted out more while I just sat there holding her feet & looking on in horror.

I froze.  Then I almost cried because it was 5am.  Then I just laughed.  So hard I nearly woke up Big C.  I'm not sure if I just temporarily lost my marbles, or if it was that grin on her face when she let loose the second half, or of it was the sneeze, then fart then explosion, but I just couldn't help myself.  I didn't really feel like stripping the bed at 5am, but this kid is so darn cute, the laugh was worth it.  It may sound silly too, but I thought I would have gotten mad, not at her, but at myself for not being more careful.  And I didn't!  Which is progress for me on the PPD front.

I cleaned up my snuggle bunny, wrapped her up in a snuggly swaddler and put her back to bed, then proceeded to clean up the mess.  By the way, the Oxyclean stain spay...AHHHmazing!  My mattress looks like nothing ever happened!  Anywho, I think I can say that motherhood has made me insane.  And ya know, I kinda like it. ;)  What disaster has your little one done that made you laugh instead of cry when you clearly could have?

A Letter To God

Dear Lord,

It's me, Stacey.  I know we haven't talked in while and I'm really sorry about that.  I've had a lot on my mind lately.  Well, I guess you already know that, huh?  I have something important I want to talk to you about.  You know how most nights, but not every night, like I wish I did, I thank you for my family, my babies and every wonderful thing that you have blessed me with?  Then how I follow that up with asking you to help me be a good mom, and to keep my babies safe, healthy and alive, and the same for K, J & Dad?  And I will also pray for other folks who's blogs, or tweets or Face book entries I've read who are having a tough time and could really use a little extra attention from you.  Well, I want to do something in addition to that today.

I want you to never let me forget how fortunate and blessed I am to have Big C & Little C in my life.  I waited a long time for them, true.  But you did give them to me.  In your time.  In dealing with my postpartum depression/anxiety I experience a tremendous amount of guilt after I "lose it" and have time to reflect on how I behaved.  God, I need your help with this.  I need strength to get through it.  I know you will hold my hand and walk me out of the woods of PPD.  But just in case I forgot to tell you, I need your help.  I keep thinking that this is something I should do on my own.  I know, silly.  The Bible tells us:

"Cast your cares on the LORD 
and he will sustain you;
he will never let the righteous fall." --Psalm 55:22

 So, here they are Lord.  I'm giving you everything I've got.  I will continue to ask you to keep my children healthy, safe and alive.  And the same for K & my family.  I will continue to ask you to give comfort, hope, justice and grace to those I know personally & those I know by screen name only.  I will ask you to hold all of us close to your heart, even though I know you already do.

Before I go, I want to thank you for something else.  The bad things that have happened.  Sure I would have rather they not, but I understand that it wasn't something you did.  It wasn't something you let happen.  It just did.  The important thing was that you were there to pick up the pieces afterward.  You gave me strength when I was weak.  You showed me that you have a plan for me and even though bad things might happen, you still love me and that your plan will take shape no matter what.  You have taught me that good things can come from tragedy.  You have taught me that if I put my faith & trust in you, all things are possible.  Especially when I myself had given up hope.

Thank you, Lord.  For never forsaking me.  For never giving up on me, even though at one time, I gave up on you.  Thank you for loving me as only a Father (or Mother) can love their child.  Completely, unconditionally and infinitely.  Never let me forget Lord, what a blessing my children are and how thankful I am you have let me borrow them from you during my time here on Earth.  I love you.

Faithfully,

S

What Do You Want From Me?

I'm disappointed.  I feel failed.  I know that medication is not a cure for postpartum depression/anxiety.  But I guess I did think it was going to make me "all better" and I would be fine as long as I was taking it.  Yeah, that is totally not what happens.  When I had my medication adjusted a few weeks ago, I had a few bad days.  I was irritable, snappy and I was just in a funk.  It really sucked.  After about 4 days, things were beginning to even out and I was actually enjoying some of the manic episodes.  I was super mom!  Cooking, cleaning, tending to the kids.  There was not a crying child all day because I had attended to every need and was a flipping June Cleaver on speed.  Everything was GREAT!  Until yesterday.

The day started out fine enough.  But I was slightly agitated and I assumed it was because of Big C coming down with a 103* temperature the night before.  This child is 18 months old and has never had a fever higher than 99 and that was only when he got his vaccines.  I know I have 2 babies, but I am still a new Mommy.  Only been one for 18 months and I have a lot to learn and many things I've yet to experience.  I was ready to race him to the ER because I was afraid if it went higher his brain was going to fry.  I might have been somewhat melodramatic but he is my baby!  So don't judge me!

I took Big C to the pediatrician yesterday morning.  After speaking to him the night before and determining it appeared as though it wasn't life-threatening, he asked me to bring him in the next morning.  Everything went well while we were there.  It was even fine after we got home.  But as the day wore on, I found myself getting frustrated and then the moodiness set in.  Let me give you some advice, when this happens, if you have someone else around to take care of your children, let them do it. 

I should probably also tell you that Little C has had two incidences of diarrhea.  They have been isolated and no fever for her.  But she is 3 months old, Big C does have a fever with no other symptoms, so it makes me nervous.  Their issues are probably unrelated since the symptoms are different, but who knows?  I'm thinking this was a trigger for me.  I am naturally a little neurotic, especially when it comes to my kids.  The fact that I am agitated also doesn't help the kids.  They can easily pick up on things like that.  Add to that a cranky toddler with a fever and a fussy newborn with acid reflux, gas pains from diarrhea and an appetite like a bear after waking from a 4 hour nap and you have a very ugly situation about to explode.

I don't even want to recount this because it hurts.  I'm still feeling horrible about it.  Little C was super fussy and literally screaming like a crazy child.  I could hear her swallowing huge gulps of air as she screamed.  I had already fed her about an hour prior.  Had just changed her diaper when she began to fuss.  But it went from mild fussing to full out hysterics in 2 seconds flat.  I didn't know what to do.  I had already fed her, she burped 4 times, I changed her diaper, I rocked her, shushed her, checked her temperature just to make sure she didn't have a fever, rocked her some more and she JUST. KEPT. SCREAMING.

Then I felt it, hot tears welling up and I quickly laid her on the bed.  Was she still hungry?  She just drank 5 ounces and that is normally her limit.  I'll make her some more anyway.  I jumped off the bed and began mixing up a bottle.  I just couldn't make it fast enough.  She just starting screaming like someone was hurting her, killing her.  I then began screaming.  Yelling at her to "just wait a minute I'm going as fast as I can" but she continued to scream and scream and scream.  The bottle was made and I raced over to the bed, snatched her up and shoved the nipple in her mouth.  And....she screamed.  AND SCREAMED AND SCREAMED.  Finally, I just couldn't take it anymore.  I yelled out for K to come help me.  He came in and I gave her to him and told him to walk with her and try to get her under control.

He walked her up and down the hallway and after a few moments she began to quiet.  I could hear her sniffling, sucking in sharp gulps of air as she settled down.  I just sat on the bed, put my head in my hands and I cried.  Silently, shamefully.  I yelled at my baby...again.  I thought the medicine was supposed to stop that?  I thought I wasn't going to flip out and fly off the handle anymore?  What happened?  What do I need to do to get this to stop?  Goddamn it PPD...WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?  I hate this and I hate you!  You are stealing me away from my children.  I'm afraid of causing psychological damage to both of them when I flip out and yell.  I just want to be like everyone else, you know?  Not irritable, frustrated, moody, angry, paranoid, neurotic, over protective, obsessive compulsive, anxiety ridden, self-loathing, guilt-ridden and feeling like a failure.  I am not like this all the time.  But I don't want to be like this at all.

K brought her back into the bedroom and handed her to me.  She looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes, wet and glassy from crying.  Her little nose running a bit and her face flushed from crying.  I offered her the bottle and she took it without protest.  I looked into those beautiful little brown eyes and I told her I was sorry.  That I am a horrible mother and that I wish I could take it back, wished I could be a better mother.  And then I cried sobbed.  Body rocking, deep sobbing.  So much and so hard that my head began to hurt.  None of this was her fault.  It is mine.  I need to get control of myself.  I can't do it alone.  I can't expect medication to do it alone either.  I know this is going to take time, but that is something I feel like I never have enough of these days.  I'll be talking to my doctor again and maybe it is time that I look into finding a postpartum group or therapist.  Right now, I'm willing to take all the help I can get if it means my recovery will be faster and complete.

Hope Floats

~ Expect to have hope rekindled. Expect your prayers to be answered in wondrous ways. The dry seasons in life do not last. The spring rains will come again ~ Sarah  Ban Breathnach

We say it a lot.  "I hope..." has been at the beginning of many sentences for me throughout the years.  But I'm not sure I really understood what "Hope" meant.  I can look it up in the dictionary and get the definition.  But that isn't what I'm talking about.  Hope can be many different things to many different people.  Some use the term loosely while others take much caution.

When we are young, it normally takes the form of a wish.  A deep desire to "have" something.  For a child, it might be a special toy.  To the teenager, the affections of a secret crush.  As we get older though and we have experienced life, many of us come to realize that even though we have our own free will, that God has a plan for each and every one of us.  If it is His will, then it shall be done.  No matter how much we hope for a different outcome.  But being an adult, we also begin to rely more on our faith, than on our hope.  We have faith that God will provide and take care of us because we know he will, we don't have to wish for it.  

But hope isn't just a wish and it isn't just faith.  It is a combination of both.  It is something that drives us to continue to have faith to continue the fight to make that wish a reality.  

~When the world says, "Give up," Hope whispers, "Try it one more time."~

This lead me to examine what it is that gives me hope?  That list could be endless.  When my babies smile at me, it gives me hope that someday they will know how much I love them.  On days when I feel inadequate, like I could be so much better than I am, hope tells me that tomorrow will be better, if I fight hard enough for it.  Hope is the contented sigh of Little C, as she snuggles deeper into my neck at 4am after I've finished feeding her.  It tells me that she feels safe with me, she trusts me and that she loves me.  Sometimes, it is the wet, sloppy kisses from Big C, when I don't even ask for them.

My hope is that I overcome postpartum depression.  My wish is that my children never feel its effects.  I have faith in God that it won't.

What is it for you?

Playing The PPD Card & Manning Up

So I've been doing my routine blog reading lately and have come across some posts regarding the legitimacy of PPD. I am saddened that Allison over at O My Family had to write a follow up blog entry to her post on being blindsided by motherhood.  It seems that some people assume that you cry that you have PPD when in reality you just can't handle being a mother.  You know, because it wasn't what you expected it to be. 

Look, if you don't have it, then no, you don't and can't understand.  And why does it have to be so blanketed?  Everyone has to fit a certain definition of symptoms to qualify and if you don't fit those exactly then you are a whiny attention whore who can't cope with having a child and should never have another one.  PPD is different for every single person that suffers from it.  Just like depression, anxiety, OCD and any other mental disorder is different to those it affects.  We are all different and so are our symptoms.

For example...I do not want to harm myself.  I don't want to push my car into a lake with my babies inside.  I don't fantasize about the ways to make it all go away.  I do not wish I never had children.  I do not wish I could disappear.  I don't dread spending time with my children.  Other women do.

I guess I fall into several of the PPD/PPA/PPOCD categories.  I am obsessive over my children.  Hypervigilant.  I constantly check on them at nap & bed time to make sure they are breathing.  I haven't been out with my husband alone since before my son was born.  I can't leave the house alone without calling home 95021387 times to make sure they are alright and I'm absolutely miserable when I have to be.  I sleep with a light on because for some reason my brain thinks it will prevent anything bad from happening to my children while they sleep.  Like a lamp is the cure-all prevention for SIDS.  I am constantly checking my rearview mirror...when my children aren't in the car with me.  I am constantly second guessing my husband when he tells me the kids are OK.

"Are you sure?  Did you see her breathing?  Did you look or are you just saying you did?"

Yeah...imagine how helpful that kind of behavior is on our marriage...hmm?

And what pisses me off more than anything are those people who think we are "Playing the PPD Card" in order to get attention.  As if 'our' depression/anxiety/OCD is worse than those people who deal with it outside of postpartum-ness.  Are you serious?  All mental disorders suck...whether you have children or not.  I never once thought..."Gee, it might be cool to have a mental disorder and get labeled by people I thought were my friends as being a nutcase.  And it would be totally awesome to have to take medication since I can barely remember to take my thyroid medication and how I'd rather suffer than take something for a headache because I hate taking pills so much.  This will be so sweet!"

Do you think I like sobbing uncontrollably at my screaming baby and just staring at her rather than being  a mother who can 'push through it' and soothe her and do what I can to comfort her?  I know every mother has those moments where you just need to walk away.  When you find yourself crumpled on the floor and crying because it is all so overwhelming.  But for those of us who can't push through it...it isn't because we don't want to, it's because we can't.  No matter how hard we try we just can't stop ourselves.  It becomes something more than being an inexperienced mother who hasn't fine tuned her ability to deal with screaming babies. It becomes more than a woman who is labeled as selfish and told she shouldn't have any more children because she viewed them as a material object and thought they would be nothing but snuggles, hugs and rainbows.  When you become afraid that your irritability becomes so irrational that you might accidentally hurt your baby by trying to comfort her a little 'too' much or be a little 'too' aggressive with the rocking and jiggling.  When you find yourself screaming at her at the top of your lungs to SHUT UP because you cannot control yourself.  The feelings of overwhelming guilt, worthlessness and inferiority.  Knowing what a failure and how horrible of a mother you are because you can't be effing Donna Reed.

This goes way beyond motherhood not being what you expected.  I am not naive.  It is the hardest job in the world.  I have seen firsthand what my cousin, who lives 15 minutes away and who is more like my sister has gone through with her 3 (now 4) children.  No, it's not a walk in the park and I was never entrapped in some delusion that babies were easy.  Chubby little angels who coo and smile and always smell of Johnson's Baby Shampoo and never cry.  Please....for the love of God, give me some credit. 

I adore my children.  I wouldn't give up one day I've had with them.  There is no where else I would rather be than with my babies.  I have never wished I could go back pre-children.  I desperately wanted my babies and tried for years to get them.  I am grateful, blessed and undeniably fortunate to have them in my life.  I thank God that they are healthy and I pray that they continue to be.

Motherhood is the hardest job you will ever love...and I do love it.  I love being a mother.  I just don't love being irrational, irritable, paranoid and depressed.  So, I 'manned up' and got help for it.  I went to the doctor because I knew that as a mother I 'shouldn't' feel like I do.  I 'manned up' for the sake of my children and my relationship with them.  I want them to know me as a loving, supportive, comforting mother that would give her life for them, who would do anything for them, who would rather spend time with them, than do anything else in the world and who praises God everyday that she has them.

So I sought out help, I got medication and I am on my way to being the mother I want to be.  The mother my children deserve.  THAT friends...is what you call "MANNING UP."

I Blinked

And I honestly think I missed about 4 days.  WTH?  I know I took Little C in for her 2 month check up on Monday and she is 12 lbs.  TWELVE POUNDS people!!!  My baby...my little newborn is a whopping 12 pounds.  So much has happened this week and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all.  I almost feel like I am buzzing, if that makes any sense at all.  Almost like I can't turn off.  But I am...I think.  Although I am waking up dogass tired in the morning.  But, I do have a baby...with colic...and reflux....so...yeah. 

I had to have Martha, my bulldog euthanized yesterday.  I spoke in a previous post about her lymphoma diagnosis.  It progressed faster than expected.  It broke my heart to let her go, although just by looking at her I knew she had a few days, if that.  She crashed from a chemo treatment and although she was recovering from that, the cancer was getting out of control and quickly.  It has been 3 weeks since her diagnosis.  I pray that if I succumb to that disease I go as quickly.  Such a horrific disease that knows no boundries and doesn't discriminate.  After being on medication for my PPD for the last 3.5 weeks I am feeling a bit better, but some things bother me.  Like feeling incredibly sad at the loss of my dear sweet Martha, but not being able to *cry* for her.  I suppose it will take another few weeks for the medication to adjust fully.  Its little things like that, that will take some getting used to.  Otherwise, I am better.  Not nearly as irritable or weepy.  Don't get me wrong, I have my moments...they just seems to be less frequent.  And that I am happy about.

This long weekend is almost over and I don't know where it went or what the heck I spent it doing, other than the obvious. ::points to above paragraph::  I'm disappointed because I felt like I have had no time with my hubs this weekend or the kiddos.  And I still have quite a few other irons in the fire.  BTW, I'm working on several other posts if y'all are interested.  One is Little C's birth story and the other is about K and I and our beginning.  It is taking me a while because I need to dig up some pictures and stuff for the posts.  But stay tuned...that is if you wanna know about it.  Anyway.  I gotta go do some stuff.  I can't sit around for too long today.  Too much to do and not enough time to do it.  Story of my life!

I Thought We Were In The Home Stretch

With the acid reflux.  But no.  Little C had her 2 month check up on Monday.  Things went well.  She is in the 60-75th percentiles for height & weight and 90% for head size, which Dr. L said was just fine.  She has that nice, round c-section head shape.  Anyway, we discussed her crying/colic situation.  And he saw it first hand for himself.  It is his opinion that even though the gas issue has improved that she is hypersensitive.  Meaning she will cry at the drop of a hat if she is disturbed.  He told me not to worry and that most babies do grow out of this at about 3-4 months.  So, we will see, we've 4-6 more weeks to go.  He reflux seemed to be getting under control until Tuesday night.  It was horrible.  She was spitting up every single time I burped her, bringing it through her nose and then going into a flat out panic, squeezing her eyes shut, shaking, unable to catch her breath and then finally screaming hysterically.  Even after the episode was over I noticed her squeezing her hands tightly into fists, arching her back and throwing her legs straight out, literally she probably could have stood straight up if I had been holding her that way, while she screamed.  Not cried.  Oh no.  This was flat out hysterical, panicked screaming that clearly says, "Something is wrong."  It was the kind of scream where you knew immediately it meant "I am in pain."  I couldn't get her to eat any more formula either.  I finally got her settled down and she did sleep through the night.  She awoke at 4:30am and drank her whole 4 ounce bottle and we had no problems.  I was relieved.

Then came later that morning.  I tried to feed her again at 8:30am.  The same thing happened.  She drank, burped and spit up bringing it through her nose, panicked, screamed, cried and continued writhing in pain, refusing to drink any additional formula.  I called the pediatrician and told him what was going on.  He told me to stop the Zantac and called in a script for Prevacid.  Hoping this will remedy her problem.  I do too.  Things have been unchanged thus far, but she has only had 2 doses.  I worry that I can't get her to drink more than 2-3 ounces at a feeding.  She is clearly not herself.  And although she may be hypersensitive and crying a lot, she is still my sweet girl and I want her crying because she can cry, not because she is in pain.

This is a real blow for me considering the PPD.  The feelings of being inadequate and worthless as a mother did rear their ugly heads yesterday.  It happened during the time that Little C was screaming and crying so hard that I broke down and I cried with her.  I yelled at God and asked why He was doing this to me, to immediately apologize to Him and again feel guilty and shameful over my outburst and inability to control myself from yelling like a loon at the crucifix on my wall.  I looked at my screaming baby, in obvious pain and distress and could do nothing.  Nothing.  I can't make this go away.  Helpless.  I can't even soothe her when she gets like this.  She almost has to cry herself out because she gets into such hysterics and that also scares me.  I don't want my baby doing this to herself day after day.

I've also got other things going on that isn't helping my situation.  The dog with cancer is at the vet.  I'm waiting to hear back from him as I type this.  While I was at the pediatrician with Little C on Monday, my brother called me to tell me, Savannah...my very old Bulldog died.  Granted I know she was old, less than 2 months shy of her 14th birthday, which is unheard of in Bulldogs.  Still, it was something I wish wouldn't have had to happen NOW.  And I don't even want to get into the situation with one of the horses.  Ugh...she really gouged herself up and so I've been playing veterinarian to her as well.  Having to come in and shower before I can touch my kids because I certainly am not going to transmit any kind of infection/bacteria from the animals outside to my kids.  Again, it would have been nice if this didn't happen at all...but especially not now.

Oh and I also didn't mention my father getting into a car accident on Saturday.  He was rear ended by a driver in a SUV who was then hit by the car behind him.  My dad was waiting to make a turn when the guy behind him tried to go around him, he must have been in a big hurry and plowed into the back of my dad's car.  Its an old car...a 1986 Buick.  So there was no collision on it.  And they are going to total it since it can't be driven.  If they decide they can fix it I'll be very surprised.  My Dad hit his head, blacked out for a few minutes and had a good bit of bleeding.  But he refused treatment saying with was only a scratch and that he was fine.  I begged him to let me take him to the hospital or to an urgent care facility at least.  And he refused...telling me he didn't want to hear any more about it.  My Dad is 71.  He is the only grandparent these kids really have as my in-laws are 3,000 miles away in Oregon and my mother is dead.  Big C adores my father.  This has been stressing me out.  I love my father and he is the only parent I have left as well.  I don't want anything happening to him because of his stubborness and refusal to see a doctor.  Especially if it could have been avoided altogether.  But what else can I do?  I can't *make* him.  And I tried.  I laid guilt trips on him and everything and he won't budge.

I so need to find the strength to get us all through this.  Now if only someone could drop a big chunk of it in my lap for me.

OK, So Here it Goes

I normally don't discuss very private things on my blog.  But this time, I'm going to.  I touched on it a little in a previous post.  I've been suspicious for a while, but after seeing and talking with my OB today, I'm ready to admit it publicly because I think it needs to be done in order to help others.  I'd like to thank Heir To Blair first though, for giving me the courage to come forward by displaying courage of her own to also come forward in an attempt to help bring about more awareness of this condition.

I have Postpartum Depression.  At first I thought it was just "baby blues" and waited for it to get better.  It didn't.  The more I try to compare my last pregnancy with this one I am realizing that I probably had it to some degree with my first child as well, perhaps I was just not as aware as I am now.  I became pregnant with Little C just 6 months after Big C was born.  During the course of my pregnancy I cried. A lot.  I just thought it was normal pregnancy hormones coupled with the additional responsibility of taking care of my infant son.  I kept telling myself that things would be better after Little C was born.  Boy, was I sorely mistaken.

I've always been somewhat neurotic, a compulsive worry wart.  At times, pre babies it would come on strong, usually when family members were ill or when I had a litter of puppies to raise.  During this pregnancy with Little C, I hadn't noticed how out of control it had become.  I would check on Big C constantly.  While he took naps or at bedtime I was so terrified that he was going to stop breathing that the constant checking in on him would wake him up.  After moving Big C to his crib in his own room, which is right next to ours, I would lay at night with the monitor pressed to my ear listening making sure I could hear him breathe. I kept the lamp on in my room while he was in there so I could see him and make it easier to get up for feedings through the night.  After he moved into his crib, I continued to leave the lamp on in my room.  Months later and I couldn't bring myself to turn it off.  As if leaving that lamp light on would somehow get me to him faster if something was happening in his room.  That lamp is still lit every night.

I won't bore you with every detail, but the idea of having PPD didn't really come to mind until after Little C was born.  I was am still crying a lot.  I just assumed that it was the postpartum hormone crash mixed with all the things I have going on right now that was making me feel like I was losing my mind.  I mean having my dad & brother both with medical problems, a tantrum throwing 16 month old to run after, a screaming baby with unresolved colic issues, a husband who is gone for 14.5 hours a day, in-laws visiting for 2 weeks, the baby's baptism, having my old tub/shower ripped out and new one put in, PECO energy destroying my property value and appearance not to mention my memories by hacking down my tree lined driveway and running to doctor appointments could bring anyone to tears, right?  Oh, and my vet called yesterday to tell me one of my dogs, Martha has lymphoma and a mass in her chest and that it is probably too late to do anything and she'll be dead soon.  Oh!  And I forgot...its also Mother's Day this weekend!  Yeah, it's going to be a wonderful day for me.  My mother will be dead 13 years next month so I'll be visiting her grave this Sunday.  I really could go on, but why?

The continued crying and meltdown moments are draining.  But what really gets to me is feeling so out of control, overwhelmed and inadequate.  This is so hard.  I look at my screaming baby and some days I am super mom and I am rocking her and soothing her with the best of them.  I am so in tune to her needs and cues that I can just about read her mind and it is a really good day.  Other times all I do is stare at her blankly while she screams and screams.  And still there are other times, and these are the most difficult and I am embarrassed to even type it out, that I just can't take the screaming any more and I scream back at her to just stop screaming or shut up already!  I snap at Big C when he is doing something I don't want him to do or if he is whining about something and....the way he looks at me when I yell at him, his little eyes fill up and his bottom lip quivers....it just kills me inside.  Immediately after I yell at either of them I grab them up and hold them too me crying and telling them I'm so sorry over and over, apologizing for being such a horrible mother.  The guilt is overwhelming and I just crumple into a sobbing mess.

I do NOT want to harm myself or my babies at all.  Those thoughts have not crossed my mind in the least.  I have never felt detached from my babies.  Never had the feelings of disinterest.  In fact, I am just the opposite.  Some might say I am obsessed.  I have to be everything to them, even if that means sacrificing my relationships with others.  My husband & I have not been out alone since before Big C was born.  I just can't bear to leave them.  I know it sounds so cliche to many moms who are out working and don't want to leave their babies.  This has nothing to do with that.  Me personally...I can't leave them.  I want to go do things on my own, have a date with my husband or a night with my friends.  But I can't.  Not without being miserable and worrying the entire time.  And I have tried.  In rare instances I will leave them with my husband to get something done.  And then I'm calling home all the time checking on them and making him insane.  Other times I've left them, I've felt guilty, worrisome and I loathe myself for it.

Speaking of husbands, mine is amazing.  He really is wonderful with our son and he adores his little girl.  When my day has me stretched to the limit and I'm ready to hand Little C off to him after he gets home, I don't.  I need a break from the screaming and I want to spend some time with my son, but when he asks me if I want him to take her I tell him, "No, I'm fine I got her."  Then, I get pissed at him for not taking her and giving me a break.  WTF?  Do you see the insanity I am living with right now?

Is it PPD or something more?  I don't know.  I probably should seek therapy for it.  But for right now, I'm going to take the advice of my doctor.  I've been too proud to admit that I need help.  Or perhaps I've just been too afraid to ask for it.  I hate the idea of taking medication for something I feel I should be able to handle on my own.  It makes me feel weak and inferior as a mother.  But I can't don't want to go another day like I have been.  So I have finally swallowed my pride and asked for help.  I'm hoping that I'll be a better mother for it.