The New Normal

I haven't been writing as much lately, because I'm not sure there's much more to write about.  Sometimes I feel like my posts are mundane- uneventful, even.  But a friend and reader was asking me, "What happens when this is all over?"  And I thought it a very good question, and worthy of an entry.  I'll finish my post on baby-lead weening later.

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Last night I went to see Start Trek with my husband at midnight.  When I told my friends this, they thought I was insane.  And maybe I was.  I knew he wanted to go, and in my attempt to be "one of the guys," I ordered up the tickets for the midnight showing, and off we went.  During the movie we cuddled and I fed him M&M's and we split popcorn and it was this amazing time that felt like we were dating again.  Except we both had wedding rings on and we came home and had sex...but other than that, it was like we were 18 again.

This has been a long time coming.  This is a huge step for us.

A few weeks ago he was slamming the door, threatening to leave.  A few weeks ago I was sitting in my car with the baby, counting my cash and texting a friend that we were just leaving.  Just driving until we ran out of gas with nothing but the clothing on our backs.  This was happening consistently for a solid month.  He left us twice, I left once.  There's still a mark on the wall where he kicked it with all his might.  I remember clearly the look on Liam's face when he grabbed his wallet, walked out of the house and said "I'm done."  I distinctly remember how I felt as I was counting the cash in my purse from my last painting job, texting Alison, "I'm doing it.  I'm leaving him."

After that baby comes out, you have half a million feelings all balled up, and you're emotional and your body is vastly different.  Your hips are considerably larger, for a start.  Your chest cavity expands, as do your boobs- even after you're done nursing.  Shirts that used to fit now span you.  There is extra skin around your midsection and it won't go away.  You sit down and it all piles up under your boobs.  Your feet are wider than you remembered them.  Your hair and nails begin to fall out and break off.  What was once luscious and sexy is now just coming out in your hands every shower.  And all along, all you can think is, "My goodness I'm hideous."

But I need to tell you something.  It DOES get better, but it will never go back to where it once was.  You will eventually fit into your old jeans, but they won't fit the same as before.  Eventually your chest will shrink back, but you're not going to fill your bras the same way.  Your feet will come back down to size, but your shoes may stay stretched out.  Do not expect the high school you to suddenly make a come back.  It's not supposed to.  You are a mother now- life has changed.

It's going to take work.  Andy and I said it out loud, and it's like our world just stopped.  We were hiking up this huge hill, and we had just had yet another blow out (a very, very public blow out) before we started our trek.  I just was looking at the ground, panting, chugging up this hill like a train, and I said it out loud- "Andy.  What's happening to us."  It was the saying out loud thing that really changed us, I feel.  "We're falling apart."

We started a marriage Renaissance, and the first thing we had to come to terms with was that we are NOT the people we were last year this time.  And we both needed to start with kindness.  I heard someone bashing their body as I was bashing mine, and I realized how unattractive it was.  I stopped immediately.  We started saying things like "please" and "thank you" and being acutely aware when the other person was going out of their way to make something happen.  And we started dating again.  Every Thursday night I meet him at the local pizza joint, without Liam, and we just sit in each other's presence for 30 minutes.

I'm also making time for myself to go to the gym.  I'm getting active again.  We bought a bike trailer and a helmet for Liam.  I get the pack out and walk with him if I can't make it to the gym.  Andy is realizing that for me, going to the gym is therapy.  I've set goals for my self- attainable goals- about how I look.  In my heart, I believe it's getting better.

I started reading through a book called "The Power of a Praying Wife" and day by day, I'm noticing changes in my husband.  It's a powerful book.  I highly recommend it.  I read it every day, pray the prayers in the book, and then pray for our marriage.  I believe it works.

So last night, as we're canoodling in a theatre, it was a little bit like we needed to get back to the beginning to start again.  Like two teenagers, wrapped in each other, because we knew when the lights came up in the theatre, the moment would be over.  Today I feel like trash...but a good trash.  When I get home, there should be a little package from Fredrick's of Hollywood waiting for me.  Another sign of the new normal.

More on this in the next few days.

Here I am. Again.

Truths about PPD:
1) it sucks
2) you do get through it

False about PPD:
1) you're going to harm your baby
2) you're going to leave your husband

Coming out of PPD is like hiking a huge hill.  As you're hiking up and up and up, there's no end in sight.  All you see is hill in front of you.  And then suddenly you reach the top, and you see the view and you remember why you started hiking in the first place.  But you've changed on the way up.  Your muscles are tense.  You're out of breath.  You're starving and thirsty.  You look back down at where you came from and you realize that it's over, and you don't have to climb it again.

I've been going to therapy, which will be done next week.  I took anti depressants for a bit- but they made me sleepy and they made me foggy, and they made me not want sex.  So I stopped them.  I haven't told anyone.  I'm supposed to be on them until October.  Shhh.  They are sitting beside my bed on my nightstand, but unless someone shakes the bottle or notices no water is gone from my water bottle, my secret is safe.

I'm going to the gym on a regular basis and I'm back in my pre pregnancy clothing.  This does HUGE things for your morale.  HUGE things.

Andy and I have been working through things together.  We're working on being kind.  Just.  Kindness.  Saying things like "thank you" and "please."  He's been getting up with Liam, which is very kind.  We've been putting down the phones more and playing with our son more.  And slowly the healing is beginning. 

Liam has been sleeping through the night again, which means I have more energy to do things like clean and do dishes- doing all of this while holding Liam in the front pack.  Maybe that's how I've lost the weight?  Because I have a 16 lb weight on my chest at most all times!

But all things considered- it's good to be back.  My sweet boy turned 7 months yesterday.  He falls asleep every night with his forehead on mine and his hand on my cheek.  I'm blessed beyond measure.

Not in the mood

I haven't posted in a long time. Don't take it personally. I just haven't felt like it. That's the thing with depression- sometimes you just don't feel like it. So you don't. You don't ANYTHING.

I'm writing now because I feel compelled to do so. You see, since writing this blog, many ladies have confessed many secrets to me. My calendar is now filled with initials followed by dates, times, treatments and week counts. I'm keeping up with all of them- rejoicing with those who rejoice, crying with those who cry.

Tonight I wait with bated breath for a gal who is expectantly waiting to call her doctor first thing in the morning. Who has seen the second line, however faint, and is now cramping and spotting. And though I am a girl of many words, I have no words for her. My little black letters on the texting screen on my iPhone seem few and pointless.

So tonight I hold my little Liam tight and pray for B's someday baby. Life is hard, but God is good.

Opening Day

Any ideas on whom my husband is teaching my son to root for when it comes ot baseball?

Just so happens that Daddy's day to watch Liam turned out to be opening day for baseball, so they shared the moment.

 

Liam doesn't go anywhere on Daddy Day without his Sox hat :)

 

And he clearly didn't last the game.  I got home in time to hear Andy whisper to him, "We won your first game, son..."  And my heart melted a little.

Pushovers.

It's no secret that one cannot go to Target without coming out with a full cart of unnecessary items.  My husband and I have been working on cutting down on extra spending, so when I go to Target, I now bring a list and stick to it as much as possible.

We were driving home from dinner the other night, and needed a few things at Target.  I whipped out my list and we began the trek through the big white and red store.  We almost made it out while sticking to the list.  ALMOST.  We got our new pillows, we got our cat food, we got gas drops and a nasal aspirator for our little teething son.

Then, the toy aisle beckoned us...

So we casually strolled through...

And suddenly this small, plush Kermit the Frog mysteriously landed in our sons carrier...

And...and he really liked it.

And then we walked a little further and decided to check the price...$9.99.  Yikes.  There are few things in life I will pay a full $10 for.  A plush toy is not something on which I'm willing to drop a Hamilton.

So we took Kermit away from Liam and put him with the soap, right by the price checker.

Liam looked at us, perplexed, as if to say, "You just left my best friend with the soap."

Andy and I walked away to obtain more "list approved" purchases.

Andy and I came back and Kermit was still there, stuffed between the soap and the rack.  One floppy arm and floppy leg up in the air...looking really sad.

And then suddenly visions of the books "Corderoy" and "Velveteen Rabbit" came flooding back to me.  And then Toy Story 1 and 2 began playing back in my brain.  Sarah MscGlaughlin singing, "When Somebody Loved Me" began to haunt me.  Poor Kermit!  Poor Liam!

Kermit ended up back in our basket, back in the safe confines of Liam's arms.  $10 later, our son was happy and we were labeled as "Pushover Parents," who left the store vowing that this wasn't going to happen every time he wanted we thought he needed.

Therapy...

How come celebrities go to rehab but regular schmoes go to therapy?  How LiLo would it be of me to name this post "Rehab?"

So you go to the "psych ward" at the hospital, and immediately you just start staring at people.  You kind of want to sit down really sly next to someone and be like, "So.  Whaddya in for?"  You look at all the closets and wonder if THAT'S where they keep the straight jackets.  You contemplate if the glass at the receptionists desk is bullet proof.

They hand you 5,673 papers to fill out and sign, but at least they give you a clipboard.  I of course didn't get them all finished.  Andy filled out all my paperwork in the actual hospital, so I'm just looking for the X's to sign beside.  They had a 25 question survey that was very eye opening.  No 1-10 scale here.  They were more "statements" then questions:

-I have no trouble sleeping.
-Some nights it's hard to fall asleep
-I fall asleep but can't stay asleep.
-I can't remember when I slept last.

-I am happy with my appearance.
-I am okay with my general look.
-I do not like the way I look.
-I am disgraced with my appearance.

-I do not drink.
-I drink socially.
-I drink more than I should.
-I am never sober.

-I do not want to kill myself.
-I've thought of killing myself but never would.
-I've tried to kill myself.
-If I had the chance, I'd kill myself.

And on and on.  25 of these.  And I was being really really serious with myself and realized that I was in worse shape than I thought I was.  I've never wanted to harm myself.  I'm not a drinker.  I'm not a smoker.  I wouldn't know what to do with street drugs if you laid them out in front of me.  But I'm a chronic "self-basher."  Like, for everything I have going for me, I really really hate myself.  I look in the mirror on a daily basis and just...cringe.  And I hate my job.  And I hate that I have to work so much.  And I hate that I'm missing out on my son's tiny life.

So I go in to see Pat.  She's short.  She walks slow.  Her hair is thinning.  Her office is worn and stuffy.  But I sort of felt at ease when she shut the door.  She started to ask me about myself.  About Andy.  About my life.  And I told her.  She was scribbling on a piece of paper, and three pages later she said- "Okay, let me read this back to you."  And she summarized my life in about 20 sentences.  I just laughed at her, because it was absurd, but it was my life.  But as I was listening, I realized the problem was not my life- the problem really was me.  It wasn't my husband or my mother, it was how I deal (or don't deal) with all the crap life hands at me. 

She said I needed to come in more often.    She suggested every two weeks.  This means I will have to take off work to come, but I'm dedicated to getting better.  So be it.

When I went home to Andy, I felt a little freer.  He asked me if I had to lay on a couch.  I said no, but I did SIT on a couch.  And he said, "Ah, so there WAS a couch..."  :)  I expect nothing less from him.  I instantly fell in love with him all over again.

So here we go.  Shout out to all my friends who at first were like, "Who?  You?  PPD?  You're like, the happiest person I know!"  And now are like, "Oh my goodness, we love you so much." 

What's Next?

My husband sang in church on Sunday, and my mom purchased Liam a little matching outfit.  It was too much :)  I was just laughing all morning every time I looked at them together.  That daddy loves his little boy so much.  Next week for Easter, Liam has got seersucker with a bow tie.  That boy DOES know how to bring the fashion.  I was hoping I could find a bow tie for Andy as well.  We'll see.

...so...how 'bout them Red Sox?

No, I'm just kidding.  Beating around the bush.  Avoiding the unavoidable.

I saw the doctor on Friday, and amidst my tears and sniffs, told her the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  The hallucinations.  The feelings of regret and depression.  And surprisingly, she didn't want to haul me off.  She didn't want to take Liam from me.  She didn't call me an unfit mother.  She just mentioned, quietly, that I should get some help, and she'd see me in two months.

She put me on a low does of an antidepressant.  She said it would help with the anxiety.  And then we started to discuss therapy options.  I called the number she gave me and set something up for tomorrow evening.

I think people- women- have a hard time coming forward about this.  IF you would have spoken to me last year this time, and told me I'd be seeking help for PPD, I would have probably chuckled.  Just like if you told me I wouldn't be able to breastfeed.  I would have just laughed you off.  Because you literally think it will never happen to you. 

My husband is still in...denial?  Maybe?  When I told my mom she wasn't surprised.  When I told a few other friends, they stood with mouths agape.  "YOU?"  Yes, me.  I guess I put on a pretty good mask.  Maybe that's why when I told my husband his comment was, "Isn't it a little late for that?"  I answered, "Well, it can happen up to a year after birth." and finished up with, "I haven't been telling you about it."  On the scale of One to Dr. Phil, my husband does not rank high on the compassion scale.  There are times he decides how sick I am or how poorly I feel.  He doesn't see it that way, but I do.  Which is why I've kept a closed lip on my feelings, because I guess it felt like he couldn't do anything anyway.  He wasn't raised with compassion, so I can't expect him to turn it on when I need it.

I think women don't come forward because they're scared.  I think that women also feel like they're probably just tired.  Or probably just stressed.  Or probably just in need of a vacation.  And that could all be true!  But without a woman, the house falls apart.  Without the wife, things go undone.  Without the mom, issues go unresolved.  And I'm learning this.

So more as I journey.  More tomorrow.