Most of you know that I have a herniated disc in my back. It's been that way for years and years, and I'll go through periods of time where it doesn't bother me at all. Then there are times when it hurts so bad that I have to alternate ice and heat, and walk very carefully because I never know when the pain is going to hit.
Throughout both of my pregnancies, the herniated disc NEVER caused a problem. Not once. It was like, as soon as I found out I was pregnant the pain just went away. Unfortunately, though, it always comes back after. This past Monday it had started to get uncomfortable again. Not painful, per se, but uncomfortable in that when I bent a certain way I could feel discomfort. I didn't think much of it and just went about business as usual. That night, we went to my mom and dad's house so Bailey could tell them all about going on the potty. When we got home that night, Bailey was acting like a jerk and refused to come in the house. We tried cajoling her, talking sternly to her, and pretending we were just going to leave her outside (which didn't work because she just called our bluff and was like, that's fine...I like it out here). When nothing else worked, I walked back to where she was standing next to the car and picked her up, intending to just carry her in the house.
The next thing I know, my back just exploded in pain and I was on my hands and knees on the ground.
I'd managed to not-so-gracefully put Bailey down before I fell, thankfully, and I remember her standing there going, "You okay, mommy? You okay?" We were both crying at that point, her because she thought she was in trouble and me because I was in so much damn pain. Scott was halfway to the house with Gerry and turned around and came running back when I fell. He tried to help me up but I literally could not move. I was in so much pain I couldn't catch my breath and I just told Scott to get the kids in the house and come back for me. Poor Bailey was freaking out at this point and Gerry was starting to fuss in his car seat, so Scott hustled them both inside the house while I pretty much laid there on the ground...did I mention it was cold and raining?
After what felt like forever, Scott came back out for me and tried to lift me onto my feet. I couldn't move. The slightest little movement sent shock waves of pain spasming from my back all the way to my toes, and I couldn't hold myself up. Scott pretty much had to half drag and half carry me into the house. He called my mom to come and sit with Bailey and Gerry while we went to the ER.
Long story short, the ER was no help. They gave me a percocet, which didn't come close to touching the pain, and told me to take Motrin and call my doctor in the morning. So Scott half dragged and half carried me back home. The next morning, I couldn't get out of bed. Every tiny little movement caused such severe pain that it brought tears to my eyes and made me nauseous. It took me 45 minutes just to sit up with my feet hanging over the side of the bed. I spent that time crying, cursing, and gasping in pain before Scott finally put his foot down and told me I wasn't getting out of bed that day. He helped me back into bed (another half hour) and went downstairs to open the door for daycare. Then spent the rest of the day taking care of all the kids while running upstairs to check on me and bring me medicine. I couldn't move without help, and at times the pain was just unbearable. Poor Scott spent his Spring Break running the daycare and helping me "recover".
Thursday was the first day I was able to walk without needing someone to hold me up. I got around by leaning on walls and furniture as I passed. I went to the doctor to see what my options were and to (hopefully) get some relief from the pain. I had done 8 weeks of physical therapy plus epidural steroid injections before I got pregnant with Gerry and neither had helped. And now I was losing strength in my right leg, so my only option at this point is surgery. My doctor sent me home with the number for a surgeon and a cocktail of steroids, percocet and muscle relaxers to get me through the next couple weeks.
It's now Friday, and I'm able to shuffle around on my own as long as I walk hunched over. I can't pick anything up yet and sometimes when I move it sends pain shooting through my back and down my leg. But I'm moving around without needing help and I'm happy about that. I don't know what I'm going to do when Scott goes back to work next week, but I'm hoping that I'll be alright by then. Every day it gets a little bit better. Crossing my fingers!
Friday, March 29, 2013
That Was WAY Too Easy
BAILEY IS OFFICIALLY POTTY TRAINED!!!
Ahhhh, that feels good to say. And I can't believe how easy it was. We started Saturday afternoon and by Monday she pretty much had it down pat. I think the best thing we could have done was to wait until we did to train her. She was 100% ready and it was pain-free for all of us. Here's how we did it:
We took her out Saturday afternoon and made a big deal about letting her pick out her own underwear, a new potty just for her, and special candy that she could have when she went potty. I mentioned in my previous post that she did wonderfully Saturday afternoon, and even went potty all by herself. By Sunday, though, we were back to square one and I felt like there was no hope. She didn't make it to the potty once on Sunday. At times, I thought that she wasn't even trying. But we stuck with it, and made her help us clean up any mess she made when she peed on the floor. Same thing with changing out of her wet clothes and into clean, dry ones. We helped her if she needed it, of course, but she did the majority of the cleaning up herself.
Monday morning, she woke up dry but had another accident and I thought, here we go again. But she surprised us all by going the entire day without a single accident...and she hasn't looked back. It's now Friday and she hasn't had an accident since Monday morning. She's able to go potty all by herself (pulling her pants and underwear down and then up when she's all done) and LOVES that her potty cheers for her when she goes. During the day we keep her potty on the landing to go upstairs. For naps and bedtime, we move the potty into her bedroom so that she can use it as she needs to. When she pees in the potty she gets 2 Hershey kisses. When she poops, she gets 3.
I'm still a teeny bit hesitant for naps and bedtime, though, so we always put a pull-up on OVER her underwear when she goes to sleep. Pull-ups give her a rash, so she can't wear them in place of underwear, but putting one on over top of them lets her feel if/when she has an accident and also keeps the mess we have to clean to a minimum. I'm proud to say that we probably don't need to use the pull-ups since she's staying dry through the night. But it's nice to have them, just in case.
Scott and I are so proud of Bailey, and we still can't believe how easy the whole potty training process turned out to be. Like I said, I think a huge factor in it being so easy was the fact that we didn't push her and we waited until she was good and ready. She'll be 3 in June, so this was a perfect time for all of us. She's done great!!
Ahhhh, that feels good to say. And I can't believe how easy it was. We started Saturday afternoon and by Monday she pretty much had it down pat. I think the best thing we could have done was to wait until we did to train her. She was 100% ready and it was pain-free for all of us. Here's how we did it:
We took her out Saturday afternoon and made a big deal about letting her pick out her own underwear, a new potty just for her, and special candy that she could have when she went potty. I mentioned in my previous post that she did wonderfully Saturday afternoon, and even went potty all by herself. By Sunday, though, we were back to square one and I felt like there was no hope. She didn't make it to the potty once on Sunday. At times, I thought that she wasn't even trying. But we stuck with it, and made her help us clean up any mess she made when she peed on the floor. Same thing with changing out of her wet clothes and into clean, dry ones. We helped her if she needed it, of course, but she did the majority of the cleaning up herself.
Monday morning, she woke up dry but had another accident and I thought, here we go again. But she surprised us all by going the entire day without a single accident...and she hasn't looked back. It's now Friday and she hasn't had an accident since Monday morning. She's able to go potty all by herself (pulling her pants and underwear down and then up when she's all done) and LOVES that her potty cheers for her when she goes. During the day we keep her potty on the landing to go upstairs. For naps and bedtime, we move the potty into her bedroom so that she can use it as she needs to. When she pees in the potty she gets 2 Hershey kisses. When she poops, she gets 3.
I'm still a teeny bit hesitant for naps and bedtime, though, so we always put a pull-up on OVER her underwear when she goes to sleep. Pull-ups give her a rash, so she can't wear them in place of underwear, but putting one on over top of them lets her feel if/when she has an accident and also keeps the mess we have to clean to a minimum. I'm proud to say that we probably don't need to use the pull-ups since she's staying dry through the night. But it's nice to have them, just in case.
Scott and I are so proud of Bailey, and we still can't believe how easy the whole potty training process turned out to be. Like I said, I think a huge factor in it being so easy was the fact that we didn't push her and we waited until she was good and ready. She'll be 3 in June, so this was a perfect time for all of us. She's done great!!
Monday, March 25, 2013
In the Trenches...Day 3
Potty training just might be the death of me.
Not really...but maybe. It's been rough over here, folks. We started hardcore on Saturday afternoon. Put Bailey's very last diaper on her that morning (we were heading to an Easter egg hunt) and then really talked it up about how cool it was going to be to use the potty and what a big girl she'd be and how she could pick out her very own potty and whatever underwear she wanted (she calls them panties...I feel like a pedophile whenever I do, so I'm working on getting her to call them underwear or underpants).
She was all gung-ho Day One. We went to Target that afternoon and let her pick out a potty (a pink princess one that plays music when you "go" in it), underwear (Mickey Mouse...boys'), and a special potty treat that she can have ONLY when she uses the potty (Hershey Kisses). We got home and put her in underwear around 3pm, fully expecting to have a million and one accidents before bed that night. Bailey had a blast sitting on her potty and sat for a good 15 minutes with a cup of juice and a salty snack. I was in the next room taking tags off clothes to be washed and in comes Bailey.
"Mommy, I go potty!"
And I'm thinking, the hell you did, little lady. But I follow her into the living room anyway, expecting to humor her a bit and then explain to her the difference between just sitting on the potty and actually using it. I look down into the seat and, lo and behold, she'd peed! Without any help at all, Bailey had pulled her underwear down, used the potty, then pulled them back up. We were so excited that we had her call pretty much everyone in the family to let them know she peed on the potty.
Friends of ours invited us to the mall Play Place that night and we decided to go. My mom had bought Bailey a portable Dora the Explorer potty seat about a year ago (talk about wishful thinking!), so I packed that and a bunch of extra clothes and underwear, just in case. We kept her in underwear, but put a pull-up on over them. This way she could feel if she had an accident, but there wouldn't be a puddle all over the Play Place. We were there for a little under three hours...she tried going potty twice, and had NO accidents! We came home and put her to bed, expecting wet clothes in the morning. Morning came and went...she was dry...all night!
Scott and I bragged about how easy it was to potty train her and what a good job "we" were doing. That's when karma decided to bring us down a notch.
She didn't use the potty once the entire day Sunday. She had 5 accidents...all within minutes of sitting on the potty. We made her help us clean up any mess she made, including taking off her wet clothes and putting on new dry ones (obviously, we helped her if she needed it, but didn't do it FOR her). She couldn't have cared less. Giving her candy when she used the potty didn't work. Bribing her with a trip to the toy store didn't work. Leaving her in wet underwear a little longer than necessary didn't work. She laughed in my face when I told her that it made me sad that she kept peeing on the floor and not in the potty.
By bedtime, Scott and I were discouraged.
She woke up dry again this morning...after sleeping almost 12 straight hours. So I guess that's a good thing. But now she's refusing to even sit on the potty at all without a huge fight. She hasn't had an accident yet but I'd bet they're coming. Today is Day 3 (but our second full day) and I hear that it will probably get worse before it gets better. Fantastic.
At this point, there's no going back. We have no diapers left in the house, so she has no choice but to wear underwear from here on out. It's a battle of wills, folks, and she's tough. But I'm armed with coffee and tough love today. Feel free to send some encouragement my way while I'm here in the trenches!
Not really...but maybe. It's been rough over here, folks. We started hardcore on Saturday afternoon. Put Bailey's very last diaper on her that morning (we were heading to an Easter egg hunt) and then really talked it up about how cool it was going to be to use the potty and what a big girl she'd be and how she could pick out her very own potty and whatever underwear she wanted (she calls them panties...I feel like a pedophile whenever I do, so I'm working on getting her to call them underwear or underpants).
She was all gung-ho Day One. We went to Target that afternoon and let her pick out a potty (a pink princess one that plays music when you "go" in it), underwear (Mickey Mouse...boys'), and a special potty treat that she can have ONLY when she uses the potty (Hershey Kisses). We got home and put her in underwear around 3pm, fully expecting to have a million and one accidents before bed that night. Bailey had a blast sitting on her potty and sat for a good 15 minutes with a cup of juice and a salty snack. I was in the next room taking tags off clothes to be washed and in comes Bailey.
"Mommy, I go potty!"
And I'm thinking, the hell you did, little lady. But I follow her into the living room anyway, expecting to humor her a bit and then explain to her the difference between just sitting on the potty and actually using it. I look down into the seat and, lo and behold, she'd peed! Without any help at all, Bailey had pulled her underwear down, used the potty, then pulled them back up. We were so excited that we had her call pretty much everyone in the family to let them know she peed on the potty.
Friends of ours invited us to the mall Play Place that night and we decided to go. My mom had bought Bailey a portable Dora the Explorer potty seat about a year ago (talk about wishful thinking!), so I packed that and a bunch of extra clothes and underwear, just in case. We kept her in underwear, but put a pull-up on over them. This way she could feel if she had an accident, but there wouldn't be a puddle all over the Play Place. We were there for a little under three hours...she tried going potty twice, and had NO accidents! We came home and put her to bed, expecting wet clothes in the morning. Morning came and went...she was dry...all night!
Scott and I bragged about how easy it was to potty train her and what a good job "we" were doing. That's when karma decided to bring us down a notch.
She didn't use the potty once the entire day Sunday. She had 5 accidents...all within minutes of sitting on the potty. We made her help us clean up any mess she made, including taking off her wet clothes and putting on new dry ones (obviously, we helped her if she needed it, but didn't do it FOR her). She couldn't have cared less. Giving her candy when she used the potty didn't work. Bribing her with a trip to the toy store didn't work. Leaving her in wet underwear a little longer than necessary didn't work. She laughed in my face when I told her that it made me sad that she kept peeing on the floor and not in the potty.
By bedtime, Scott and I were discouraged.
She woke up dry again this morning...after sleeping almost 12 straight hours. So I guess that's a good thing. But now she's refusing to even sit on the potty at all without a huge fight. She hasn't had an accident yet but I'd bet they're coming. Today is Day 3 (but our second full day) and I hear that it will probably get worse before it gets better. Fantastic.
At this point, there's no going back. We have no diapers left in the house, so she has no choice but to wear underwear from here on out. It's a battle of wills, folks, and she's tough. But I'm armed with coffee and tough love today. Feel free to send some encouragement my way while I'm here in the trenches!
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Recapping Again
Time to play catch-up! There hasn't been too much going on since my last post, but enough that I figure I may as well come on over and let you all know what's up.
So, I guess I didn't have all that much to update on, huh? And too bad if I did, because Bailey is NOT letting me get much done today!
- I've been taking my PPD meds faithfully for a few weeks, and I'm having more good days than bad. It's nice to finally be feeling "normal" again. I've even started getting up at 4:30 every morning and exercising for a bit before the kids get here.
- Gerry had his 2 month well-visit a few weeks ago and is now tipping the scales at a little over 12 lbs. He's still a happy little guy and I just adore seeing him smile or listening to him talk. We've recently had to start bathing him in his infant tub in the bathroom (as opposed to on the kitchen table) because he kicks so much...last time I gave him a bath then kitchen table and floor were soaked from all his kicking! He sticks his tongue out now, too. :-)
- We're starting potty training boot camp with Bailey this weekend. Scott is on Spring Break all next week, so our goal is to have her pretty much fully trained by the end of the week. Pull-ups give her an awful blistery rash, so we have to go straight to underwear. I'm anticipating LOTS of accidents, but keeping my fingers crossed for a successful week!
- The Easter Bunny was a big fat fail this year. Bailey talked all day last weekend about how she wanted to see the "Eater Bunny" and sit on his lap. She spent the whole time in line smiling and waving at him...and then froze when it came time to actually sit on his lap. Gerry did fine, obviously. At this age, he'll sit anywhere we put him. Bailey, on the other hand, refused to sit down with the bunny. No go this year. Oh well...
- Scott finally completed his Master's program! He graduated with a 99%, and a special recognition from his professor.
So, I guess I didn't have all that much to update on, huh? And too bad if I did, because Bailey is NOT letting me get much done today!
Monday, March 11, 2013
Here We Go Again
I was awake at 4 this morning feeding Gerry. It was still dark out and Scott was snoring (softly, for once), having just fallen back to sleep after making Gerry's bottle for me. Bailey was snoozing down the hall and if I listened carefully I could hear the lullaby music playing softly on her radio. The morning news was on quietly so I didn't feel so alone and Gerry was drinking his bottle while still half asleep. I felt his little body quiver and looked down to find him silently laughing in his sleep. He is beautiful. He took one deep breath, gave a quiet little sigh, smiled up at me with oh-so-sleepy eyes, and fell asleep again. I laid him gently down in the cradle next to our bed and tip-toed away and back under the warm duvet. And I thought to myself, I can't believe I' m here again.
I started back on my PPD meds again last week. And I haven't told anyone.
I've been feeling the "emotions" creeping up on me the last few weeks but I ignored them. At my 6-week postpartum check-up there was a little voice in my head shouting "I think it's happening again, ask for help" But I didn't. I smiled and chatted with the doctor and his nurse and bragged about how adorable my baby is and what a wonderful big sister Bailey has been. I talked about how much I love wearing Gerry and what a great deal I got on a Moby wrap that I found on Craigslist. I smiled demurely and brushed off his compliment when my doctor told me that I was amazing for going back to work only a week after giving birth, and I compared the levels of "diva" that our daughters share with the nurse, Veronica.
I did not talk about how sad I am that I'm not breastfeeding...again. I didn't talk about how disgusted I am with my postpartum body these days and how I feel like I'll never be able to look in a mirror again without cringing. I didn't talk about the all-consuming and irrational fears that I have now that I've got a second child to worry about.
I didn't talk about it.
I thought I was prepared for the emotions this time around. I really thought that I had a handle on things. Actually, I thought that I had come out this time unscathed. Gerry was here and he was amazing. Bailey loved him to pieces and didn't seem the least bit jealous of him. Going back to work a week after he was born, while not 100% ideal, was probably the best thing I could have done because I was so busy that I didn't have time to do anything other than go, go, go. I couldn't allow myself to sit around in my pajamas all day with my teeth unbrushed because I had families bringing their kids to daycare. I had to wake up and get myself ready for the day, even if that meant only throwing on sweatpants and brushing my teeth and my hair. Physically, I had recovered pretty quickly. At one week postpartum, I was feeling mostly like myself and was able to move around mostly pain-free and with ease. Gerry was a wonderfully easy baby and he made "going back to work" such an easy and seamless transition all around that it felt like he had been a part of our group forever. I felt good. I felt fine. I felt like I had this.
And then I started having nightmares.
I had a dream one night about 3 weeks after Gerry was born that our house was on fire. For whatever reason, in the dream I was all alone and Scott wasn't there, and it was up to me to save both kids and myself from this fire. In my dream, I scooped Gerry up and ran down the hall to Bailey's room. I threw open her door and the room was filled with smoke. I could hear her coughing and coughing and calling for me but I couldn't get to her. In the dream, Gerry was a heavy weight in my arms. I ran through the smoke looking for Bailey and worried about what damage the smoke had done to her lungs and what damage it was now doing to Gerry's. I tripped over something on the floor and my last thought before I woke up was, I couldn't save them.
When I woke up I felt such a complete heaviness in my body. I felt like I had actually lived it, like I really had run down the hall and tried to save my kids from a fire. My body was tired and my heart was sad and I had a hard time falling asleep again that night.
Three nights later I had a similar dream. Again, I was all alone and Bailey and Gerry were in danger. This time they were dangling from the side of a building and I was standing on the roof looking down at them. I had one piece of rope in my hand and could save one of them with it, but only one. I remember trying to think of ways to save them both with that one piece of rope and feeling such a sense of loss and devastation that I could only save one of my children.
The night after that, I dreamt that Scott and I both died in a car accident and our children were left with no parents. Realistically, I know that if (God forbid) that were to happen our kids would be well taken care of. Both my family and Scott's love them to pieces and would step in and raise them in a heart beat. But we had died and I remember, in my dream, being so sad that I wouldn't get to see my kids grow up and that I'd never know what amazing people they turned out to be. I was so, so sad that they would grow up not knowing how much Scott and I loved them and how they were our whole world.
I was having dreams like this two or three nights a week. And then I started feeling panicky throughout the day, running different scenarios through my mind about how I'd save my kids if I ever needed to. I'd be in the middle of making lunch for all the kids and start freaking out about how I'd get Bailey and Gerry out of the house if an intruder ever broke in. I'd put Gerry down for a nap and start running through the steps for infant CPR in my mind in case he stopped breathing while he slept. I'd be giving Bailey a bath and see these images in my head of her somehow hitting her head on the faucet and passing out and drowning in the bath tub. When I put them both to bed at night I'd picture the layout of our house in my mind and run through all the different ways I could run out of here with both of them in my arms if I ever needed to.
Sometimes I would get myself so worked up thinking about all the danger scenarios and how to save Bailey and Gerry that I'd have to force myself to sit down, take deep breaths, and remember that, at that moment, they were both okay. I swear, it felt sometimes like I was actually living the danger instead of just projecting it in my mind. It was suffocating and I felt like I was going crazy. So different from last time, but still sort of the same.
The "sad" part of my PPA/PPD had taken a backseat to anxiety this time around. I was expecting the depression. The loneliness and the sadness and the feeling that I was walking all alone down a long dark hallway with no one around but my baby. That, I was prepared for. The anxiety and the fear were an unexpected and unwelcome bonus. Because I wasn't feeling exactly the same way that I had after Bailey was born, I was hesitant to think that it was postpartum depression again. But then I started a new daycare baby and I knew that if I didn't talk to my doctor it was a pretty sure bet that things were going to spiral out of control all over again.
It's no secret that I wanted to breastfeed both Bailey and Gerry. And I did, for a couple of weeks before I had to stop. Ironically enough, nursing triggers my PPD according to my OB. I was devastated when I stopped breastfeeding Bailey and felt like the worst kind of failure. When I was pregnant with Gerry I promised myself that I wasn't going to beat myself up over it if nursing didn't work out. When I decided to stop with him, I had a good cry and moved on. I was bummed and disappointed, but I was okay with it. I'd given it my best shot and, even though I wasn't nursing him anymore, he was happy and healthy and growing, and what more could I ask for? I really thought that I was okay.
And then this past week a new baby started. His mother is both a "client" and a friend of mine and I knew that she was breastfeeding him. Before he started, we had emailed back and forth about what she should send for him, so I knew he was coming with diapers, a bottle, and milk that would be stored in my freezer. But I hadn't thought about it beyond that. The day the baby first started, his mom dropped him off with everything we had talked about, and pointed out the insulated bag with the milk inside. After she left, I carried that bag into the kitchen, took the milk out to put in the freezer, and cried.
Those tears were totally unexpected, but I couldn't help it. And, creepy as it sounds, I couldn't stop staring at those five ounces of milk. And right then and there, I stopped being okay with the fact that I couldn't nurse my baby. It was like that part of my brain switched itself off and I fell back into the "how come she can do it and I couldn't?" cycle of thinking. I'd killed myself to pump for Gerry and was never able to get more than two ounces in a sitting...and that was in a 45 minute to an hour-long session. I felt like a failure all over again. And I felt guilty. And I felt like less of a woman for not being able to do it. Right then and there, with the freezer door open and a bag of another woman's breast milk in my hand, all the control that I'd built up over the last few weeks crumbled and I turned into a crying mess. I realized that, not only was I not as okay as I'd thought, but that I was also going to have to deal with this for quite some time. The baby would be starting full-time soon and I couldn't sit around crying every time I fed him. And I couldn't keep avoiding the freezer and that milk, either.
That night I had another dream that I couldn't save Bailey and Gerry. I woke up exhausted and sad, and I knew that this wasn't something I could just coast through until it went away. Luckily, Gerry had his two-month well visit that same day. I mentioned how I was feeling to his doctor and he called in a prescription for me. And the rest, as they say, is history.
I hate that I'm back on medicine. And I hate the part of me that can't just let go, the part of me that needs the meds. And I really, REALLY hate that there's a part of me that will never talk about it out loud with someone. Not even, really, with Scott. I just can't do it. I can barely write about it, though I think I've done a pretty good job taking up all this space here. I'm not ashamed. And I know I'm not alone. I just hate the stigma that goes along with the term "depression". Like we're all crazies just waiting to blow. While I'm on the subject of things I hate, I also really hate that I've gone through this, not once, but twice now. It sucks. And it pisses me off because I feel like I'm missing out on a lot of important things when I'm "stuck in the haze". If I have to find a positive, though, it would be that I was prepared and sought help sooner this time. So, well...there's that.
And there's also the fact that I got another beautiful baby out of everything. And, oh my lord, is he beautiful! So I'll take the meds and I'll get back on track again because, depression be damned, I don't want to miss a single second with my babies.
I started back on my PPD meds again last week. And I haven't told anyone.
I've been feeling the "emotions" creeping up on me the last few weeks but I ignored them. At my 6-week postpartum check-up there was a little voice in my head shouting "I think it's happening again, ask for help" But I didn't. I smiled and chatted with the doctor and his nurse and bragged about how adorable my baby is and what a wonderful big sister Bailey has been. I talked about how much I love wearing Gerry and what a great deal I got on a Moby wrap that I found on Craigslist. I smiled demurely and brushed off his compliment when my doctor told me that I was amazing for going back to work only a week after giving birth, and I compared the levels of "diva" that our daughters share with the nurse, Veronica.
I did not talk about how sad I am that I'm not breastfeeding...again. I didn't talk about how disgusted I am with my postpartum body these days and how I feel like I'll never be able to look in a mirror again without cringing. I didn't talk about the all-consuming and irrational fears that I have now that I've got a second child to worry about.
I didn't talk about it.
I thought I was prepared for the emotions this time around. I really thought that I had a handle on things. Actually, I thought that I had come out this time unscathed. Gerry was here and he was amazing. Bailey loved him to pieces and didn't seem the least bit jealous of him. Going back to work a week after he was born, while not 100% ideal, was probably the best thing I could have done because I was so busy that I didn't have time to do anything other than go, go, go. I couldn't allow myself to sit around in my pajamas all day with my teeth unbrushed because I had families bringing their kids to daycare. I had to wake up and get myself ready for the day, even if that meant only throwing on sweatpants and brushing my teeth and my hair. Physically, I had recovered pretty quickly. At one week postpartum, I was feeling mostly like myself and was able to move around mostly pain-free and with ease. Gerry was a wonderfully easy baby and he made "going back to work" such an easy and seamless transition all around that it felt like he had been a part of our group forever. I felt good. I felt fine. I felt like I had this.
And then I started having nightmares.
I had a dream one night about 3 weeks after Gerry was born that our house was on fire. For whatever reason, in the dream I was all alone and Scott wasn't there, and it was up to me to save both kids and myself from this fire. In my dream, I scooped Gerry up and ran down the hall to Bailey's room. I threw open her door and the room was filled with smoke. I could hear her coughing and coughing and calling for me but I couldn't get to her. In the dream, Gerry was a heavy weight in my arms. I ran through the smoke looking for Bailey and worried about what damage the smoke had done to her lungs and what damage it was now doing to Gerry's. I tripped over something on the floor and my last thought before I woke up was, I couldn't save them.
When I woke up I felt such a complete heaviness in my body. I felt like I had actually lived it, like I really had run down the hall and tried to save my kids from a fire. My body was tired and my heart was sad and I had a hard time falling asleep again that night.
Three nights later I had a similar dream. Again, I was all alone and Bailey and Gerry were in danger. This time they were dangling from the side of a building and I was standing on the roof looking down at them. I had one piece of rope in my hand and could save one of them with it, but only one. I remember trying to think of ways to save them both with that one piece of rope and feeling such a sense of loss and devastation that I could only save one of my children.
The night after that, I dreamt that Scott and I both died in a car accident and our children were left with no parents. Realistically, I know that if (God forbid) that were to happen our kids would be well taken care of. Both my family and Scott's love them to pieces and would step in and raise them in a heart beat. But we had died and I remember, in my dream, being so sad that I wouldn't get to see my kids grow up and that I'd never know what amazing people they turned out to be. I was so, so sad that they would grow up not knowing how much Scott and I loved them and how they were our whole world.
I was having dreams like this two or three nights a week. And then I started feeling panicky throughout the day, running different scenarios through my mind about how I'd save my kids if I ever needed to. I'd be in the middle of making lunch for all the kids and start freaking out about how I'd get Bailey and Gerry out of the house if an intruder ever broke in. I'd put Gerry down for a nap and start running through the steps for infant CPR in my mind in case he stopped breathing while he slept. I'd be giving Bailey a bath and see these images in my head of her somehow hitting her head on the faucet and passing out and drowning in the bath tub. When I put them both to bed at night I'd picture the layout of our house in my mind and run through all the different ways I could run out of here with both of them in my arms if I ever needed to.
Sometimes I would get myself so worked up thinking about all the danger scenarios and how to save Bailey and Gerry that I'd have to force myself to sit down, take deep breaths, and remember that, at that moment, they were both okay. I swear, it felt sometimes like I was actually living the danger instead of just projecting it in my mind. It was suffocating and I felt like I was going crazy. So different from last time, but still sort of the same.
The "sad" part of my PPA/PPD had taken a backseat to anxiety this time around. I was expecting the depression. The loneliness and the sadness and the feeling that I was walking all alone down a long dark hallway with no one around but my baby. That, I was prepared for. The anxiety and the fear were an unexpected and unwelcome bonus. Because I wasn't feeling exactly the same way that I had after Bailey was born, I was hesitant to think that it was postpartum depression again. But then I started a new daycare baby and I knew that if I didn't talk to my doctor it was a pretty sure bet that things were going to spiral out of control all over again.
It's no secret that I wanted to breastfeed both Bailey and Gerry. And I did, for a couple of weeks before I had to stop. Ironically enough, nursing triggers my PPD according to my OB. I was devastated when I stopped breastfeeding Bailey and felt like the worst kind of failure. When I was pregnant with Gerry I promised myself that I wasn't going to beat myself up over it if nursing didn't work out. When I decided to stop with him, I had a good cry and moved on. I was bummed and disappointed, but I was okay with it. I'd given it my best shot and, even though I wasn't nursing him anymore, he was happy and healthy and growing, and what more could I ask for? I really thought that I was okay.
And then this past week a new baby started. His mother is both a "client" and a friend of mine and I knew that she was breastfeeding him. Before he started, we had emailed back and forth about what she should send for him, so I knew he was coming with diapers, a bottle, and milk that would be stored in my freezer. But I hadn't thought about it beyond that. The day the baby first started, his mom dropped him off with everything we had talked about, and pointed out the insulated bag with the milk inside. After she left, I carried that bag into the kitchen, took the milk out to put in the freezer, and cried.
Those tears were totally unexpected, but I couldn't help it. And, creepy as it sounds, I couldn't stop staring at those five ounces of milk. And right then and there, I stopped being okay with the fact that I couldn't nurse my baby. It was like that part of my brain switched itself off and I fell back into the "how come she can do it and I couldn't?" cycle of thinking. I'd killed myself to pump for Gerry and was never able to get more than two ounces in a sitting...and that was in a 45 minute to an hour-long session. I felt like a failure all over again. And I felt guilty. And I felt like less of a woman for not being able to do it. Right then and there, with the freezer door open and a bag of another woman's breast milk in my hand, all the control that I'd built up over the last few weeks crumbled and I turned into a crying mess. I realized that, not only was I not as okay as I'd thought, but that I was also going to have to deal with this for quite some time. The baby would be starting full-time soon and I couldn't sit around crying every time I fed him. And I couldn't keep avoiding the freezer and that milk, either.
That night I had another dream that I couldn't save Bailey and Gerry. I woke up exhausted and sad, and I knew that this wasn't something I could just coast through until it went away. Luckily, Gerry had his two-month well visit that same day. I mentioned how I was feeling to his doctor and he called in a prescription for me. And the rest, as they say, is history.
I hate that I'm back on medicine. And I hate the part of me that can't just let go, the part of me that needs the meds. And I really, REALLY hate that there's a part of me that will never talk about it out loud with someone. Not even, really, with Scott. I just can't do it. I can barely write about it, though I think I've done a pretty good job taking up all this space here. I'm not ashamed. And I know I'm not alone. I just hate the stigma that goes along with the term "depression". Like we're all crazies just waiting to blow. While I'm on the subject of things I hate, I also really hate that I've gone through this, not once, but twice now. It sucks. And it pisses me off because I feel like I'm missing out on a lot of important things when I'm "stuck in the haze". If I have to find a positive, though, it would be that I was prepared and sought help sooner this time. So, well...there's that.
And there's also the fact that I got another beautiful baby out of everything. And, oh my lord, is he beautiful! So I'll take the meds and I'll get back on track again because, depression be damned, I don't want to miss a single second with my babies.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Gerry's Baptism
We had Gerry baptized last weekend in our church. Lucky little guy has 3 godparents: Uncle Drew, Molly and Devon. We had a ton of close friends and family come and celebrate with us, and it was a wonderful day! As usual, I don't have any pictures of my own because I forgot to pack my camera in all the hub bub. But Molly sent me a few pictures and I thought I'd share them here.
And this one, just because I think Bailey looks so damn cute in these glasses (they're my grandfather's).
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| Uncle Drew and Gerry |
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| Molly and Gerry |
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| Little Man getting his head wet |
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| Mommy, Daddy and Gerry |
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| Drew lighting the baptismal candle |
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| Mommy, Daddy, Gerry, Devon, Molly, Drew |
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| Bailey...with the giant bag of candy Mom Mom gave her |
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| Molly and Gerry: comfy at the "after-party" |
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| Bailey, Meg and Maddy at the party |
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| TJ and Karley |
And this one, just because I think Bailey looks so damn cute in these glasses (they're my grandfather's).
Monday, March 4, 2013
Gerry: 2 Months Old
Gerry was 2 months old yesterday! My, oh my, how time flies. I know I say this ALL the time but I swear it feels like just yesterday since he was born. And, yes, I realize that two months really isn't that much time for me to be feeling so swoon-y and reminiscent but I think that every mother feels that way, whether her kid is 2 days old or 2 decades old. But I digress.
A lot of people in our family have commented in the last few days that it seems like every time they see him Gerry looks different. His face has filled out (I love, love, love his chubby little cheeks!) and he's more alert than ever. And his eyes! They're big and blue still, and I hope they stay that way. How strange would it be if Scott and I had not one, but two kids with blue eyes? Bailey's kept getting lighter and lighter until they were a beautiful bright blue and Gerry's are dark-ish but definitely blue.
His head control is better. Still not fantastic, but better. He loves talking, and has become quite the little chatterbox. He smiles all the time, and perks right up whenever Bailey comes near him. He still enjoys bath time, but LOATHES being in the car seat. It's sad and funny at the same time. If we're in the car and it's in motion he's totally fine. But the second we're stopped he freaks out.
Eating is still all over the place these days. For about a week, he was eating a steady 4 ounces every three hours. Then all of a sudden he just stopped following any sort of feeding schedule and it's anybody's guess when he'll eat or how much. He does have himself on a pretty decent nap schedule, though. I finally got him on the same schedule as the daycare kids during the day! He'll nap for about an hour in the morning (not nearly enough here but he's pleasant when he's awake) and then he'll take little cat naps throughout the morning. And then I get a nice 3-31/2 hour stretch out of him in the afternoon during the other kids' nap time. He goes to bed for the night anywhere between 9 and 10pm and the last 3 nights we got a solid 8 hours out of him. But every once in a while he throws us off and he'll wake up two or three times in the middle of the night. Keeping us on our toes already!
His head control is better. Still not fantastic, but better. He loves talking, and has become quite the little chatterbox. He smiles all the time, and perks right up whenever Bailey comes near him. He still enjoys bath time, but LOATHES being in the car seat. It's sad and funny at the same time. If we're in the car and it's in motion he's totally fine. But the second we're stopped he freaks out.
Eating is still all over the place these days. For about a week, he was eating a steady 4 ounces every three hours. Then all of a sudden he just stopped following any sort of feeding schedule and it's anybody's guess when he'll eat or how much. He does have himself on a pretty decent nap schedule, though. I finally got him on the same schedule as the daycare kids during the day! He'll nap for about an hour in the morning (not nearly enough here but he's pleasant when he's awake) and then he'll take little cat naps throughout the morning. And then I get a nice 3-31/2 hour stretch out of him in the afternoon during the other kids' nap time. He goes to bed for the night anywhere between 9 and 10pm and the last 3 nights we got a solid 8 hours out of him. But every once in a while he throws us off and he'll wake up two or three times in the middle of the night. Keeping us on our toes already!
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