Slowly

Slowly, I am learning to be enough, to be okay with me.

Slowly, I am able to smile as I watch my boys alternately fight and play, scream and laugh.

Slowly, I am find myself being okay with just watching them, knowing I am here for them if they need or want to run to me, instead of filling myself with anxiety at how much they fight and how bad of a Mom I am.

Slowly, I am forgiving myself for drowning in postpartum depression after Jonnie was born.

Slowly, I am forgiving myself for not being able to give Braelin the one on one attention he neeeded as he had to learn to adjust to the new baby that took his place.

I am recognizing that they already have forgiven me. They still run to me and hug me, smiling, after I come home from a day at work.

They still want to sit on my lap and read stories in the rocking chair, still want to walk with me to the park.

Slowly, I am able to see the love my older kids still have for me. They have traded in that tiny child relationship for a pre-adult relationship, and while they may not run to hug me when I come home from work... they still smile when I make them dinner.

Slowly, I am able to see that even though my relationship with them is not the picture I had painted in my head... it is a good relationship still. 

I am recognizing that my daughter will still ask for help with homework when she needs it, and still hugs me tightly each morning and night... even if I was a little hard on her that day.

My son still, occasionally, talks for 20 minutes straight about one subject, even though I can only get one or two word answers from him any other time.

He'll still connects, albeit on his own terms, and I am slowly becoming okay with that.

Slowly, I am allowing me to see myself as something besides a horrible mom.

Slowly, I am able to see that the things I see myself lacking in have actually broadened their abilities and independence.

Slowly, I am seeing that the important thing isn't for me to have already done it right -- but for me to keep doing my best.

Slowly, I am finding an acceptance for me.

I like it. I am enough.

Retreat

Retreat
Retreat

Retreat from it all
You're not throwing in the towel
Or leavin before

You're strong and courageous
You've weathered the storm
You're trying to hang on but
You've been here before

Retreat
Retreat

Give yourself room
You can't hold it inside
Those tears need to flow

You're more than the feelings
You've got locked inside
Look up and you'll make it
Give yourself room to cry

Retreat
Retreat

Take time to assess
A moment to breathe
A moment to rest

You're strong and courageous
You've weathered the storm
You're trying to hold on but
You've been here before

Retreat
Retreat


You don't have to be strong
It's okay to ask
For a moment alone

You're stronger for taking
A step back, to the side
Recharge and recover
Reflect and decide

Retreat

Things I Like About Me

On twitter today, a fellow tweeter posted a link that led me to another link that led me to another link.... you get the picture. Bottom line, I ended up reading a post that challenged others to write a list of things they like about themselves, to recognize the good in yourself and your life, and to realize that you are enough. It's so easy to feel like we aren't good enough, we aren't good enough mothers, we aren't good enough at keeping the house clean, we aren't good enough at ________ (fill in the blank.)   She challenged us to just be enough, and to write the list.

Two years ago, this would have been impossible for me to write. In fact, I remember being at a dinner party with friends and being asked what I was proud of. I was at such a low point struggling with postpartum depression that I couldn't answer. I couldn't verbalize anything that was good about me.

Now I can. I'm proud of it. I'm glad for it. I'm grateful for those who have helped me and encouraged me and taught me to start believing in myself as being good and capable again.

So, here's my list.  I'd love to see yours.

1. I see opportunities.
2. I am capable.
3. I am honest.
4. I care.
5. I love.
6. I laugh.
7. I learn quickly.
8. I am great at giving "under-doggies" when I push my kids on the swing.
9. I know how to shine my sink.
10. I can be meticulous and detailed when I need to be.
11. I understand the difference of when I don't need to be.
12. I can let my kids get themselves dressed, with their pants on backwards, and not be embarrassed about it at the supermarket.
13. I am a great teacher.
14. I am giving.
15. I am a great cook.
16. I make excellent Homemade Hostess Layered Cake.
17. I am a good wife.
18. I sing to my children.
19. I love to help others.
20. I have raised children that love to read and learn.

#41. I sometimes take good pictures.

21. I can forgive.
22. I am willing to help others, even at my expense.
23. I am protective of my children when I ought to be and can still let them learn independently and experience life when they have the opportunity.
24. I make amazing banana bread, though I have to acknowledge Ry's sister Barb for showing me how.
25. I have learned, have grown, and will continue to - even when it hurts.
26. I am not the same person I as ten years ago. I am wiser. I am more willing to look at myself.
27. Even if I have not always succeeded, I have always tried.
28. I allow myself to heal. I actively work to understand and let go of things that hurt.
29. I actively work to solve problems.
30. I love my Father in Heaven and know that He lives, that Jesus loves me, and that he hears my prayers. I know this, even when times are rough, when things aren't going my way. 


Ryan called in the middle of me writing this post and asked if he could help. I said yes, so the rest of this list is from Ry about me...

31. I smell good.
32. I have awesome kids.
33. Everyone can trust me.
34. I'm cute.
35. I make yummy grilled cheese sandwiches.
36. I make yummy pancakes.
37. I am awesome at selling books.
38. He likes it when I play the piano.
39. I make him laugh.
40. I help him smile.

He said he could keep on adding to this list of why he likes me, but that it would take the rest of the night.

I love that man!

So, what is something you like about you?

Labels

Shameful. Pathetic. Embarrassing. Ungrateful. Selfish. Attention seeking. Unfaithful. Unrighteous. Weak. It's all in your head! You just don't pray enough. You just don't read scripture enough. You're just not righteous enough, not close enough to God.

These are some of the labels that I often felt when someone would find out I was experiencing postpartum depression. It's not as if I didn't have my own set of labels I was busy sticking on myself.

Crazy. Stupid. Weak. A total mess. A horrible mother. A monster to my kids. An awful wife. A pathetic housewife. An horrible friend. Crazy, crazy, crazy, and a failure at pretty much everything.

Throw in postpartum anxiety and PTSD, and the list of labels and hurtful comments from others grew even longer.

You just need to exercise more. You're just allowing yourself to be weak. You brought it on yourself. It's because you had all those kids!  You're just nutritionally deficient. You just need more minerals. You just won't let go of negative feelings. You're just holding grudges. You're just blowing things out of proportion.  It's because you've judged others. It's because you've judged your mother.

Labels in and of themselves are not bad things, in fact I've found that labeling things often helps me understand them, and then know how best to deal with them. But the labels on my life as I dealt with PPD were heavy, weighing me down, and worst of all -- I believed every one of them. Somehow this was my fault because I just wasn't enough, wasn't good enough, and wasn't doing the right thing. Somehow I could fix this if only I were good enough, but no - I was a failure.

It wasn't true. It wasn't true for me, and it isn't true for you.

Now, it is labels like this that I try to use to help other mothers experiencing PPD understand what's real. What's true. And what they can do.

Postpartum depression is a REAL physical problem, that isn't all made up in your head.
Postpartum depression is not uncommon, and it's certainly not something that is your fault, or that you can fix just be being good, eating the right vitamin, or simply by thinking the right positive thought.
Postpartum is complex, there is not one cause, and there is not one cure. But there IS something that will help you. There is hope. You will get past this.
Postpartum depression means you are STRONG. You are strong! You have given birth to a baby. YOU are amazing. You are going through a hard time, but you are strong. You will get through this. You won't always feel this way!
Postpartum depression is a little piece of hell -- but you ARE amazing, and you WILL get through this!
Postpartum depression is REAL. It is a physical ailment, just as having two broken legs would be. 
And yes, I know I repeated myself. The fact that PPD is a real and is a physical problem is perhaps one of the hardest things for someone to wrap their brain around - until they go through it themselves. 
There is HELP for postpartum depression. There is HELP available for you.
You are not weak. You are not weak for needing help. You are not weak for accepting help. 

And, you are NOT in this alone. 


PS -- Congratulations to Katherine Stone at PostpartumProgress for her 7 year blogiversary! You've helped so many people, and I refer friends to your site so many times since I found your blog again.




 

Four Questions...

Ry with his Mom.  Love you Nan! Thank you for your love and prayers, and for raising such an amazing son!

Sometimes, especially when Ryan isn't home, I sit up for hours and since I cannot sleep, I edit pictures, or quite frequently, read snippets of blogs. Tonight, is one of those nights. It's 2 am, and I am tired beyond belief but wound up more than I should be... and sleep is far from coming. I know - it's my anxiety getting the best of me. A downward spiral at its beginning. And yet, here I sit.

I've been reading blogs about this, that, or the other, but quite a few about postpartum depression, postpartum anxiety, and other postpartum disorders.  Why??  Because when you've been thrown against a brick wall, had your entire life turned upside down, been shaken loose from all that's holding you together, and still are dealing with the effects of it, you tend to want to understand why. And what to do. And how to help someone else dealing with the same thing. And so even though I feel mostly healed from the whole experience... I still read about it. I still am working through it. I still am making sure that I am not just getting the point of feeling better... but that I am getting past it, through it, over it, and conquering it.

I've been asked a few times lately "do you think this is PPD?"  and "How can I tell if I have PPD?" Tonight, I came across a post that said to ask yourself these questions to help you determine if you have PPD...


Has it been longer than 2 weeks since I have given birth?
Am I feeling worse as days go on?
Am I eating much more or less than usual?
Am I sleeping much more or less than usual?

As I read it, I remembered reading this same thing as I started to do a little research on PPD before I finally accepted the fact I needed meds, and as I remembered reading it, I also remembered getting a bit angry.

No, getting VERY angry. As in, want to throw the computer across the room and yell obscenities and then break down into very large sobs kind of angry.

Here's why.


Am I feeling worse as days go on?  I remember thinking.. my lower regions ache from giving birth. My head aches from feeling crazy. I have a piercing headache from not getting enough sleep. My arms ache from bouncing this baby and trying to hold it just the right way while I try to nurse and that isn't working either. My eyes ache from crying all the time. I haven't got enough cohesiveness of thought to figure out whether I'm feeling worse right now than I was 2 hours ago, let alone try to track how I felt a week ago. Am I progressively feeling worse? How could I possibly feel worse than I do right now?


Am I eating much more or less than usual?  I remember thinking... more or less than usual??? What is usual? Do I gauge that on how much I was eating before this kid popped out of me? It was Thanksgiving for crying out loud! I was eating for me, for the baby, and then some! Or do I look at afterward? I am crying so much, so exhausted, and not functioning well enough to get up and out of the room, let alone go make myself some food.  When someone brings me food and sticks it in front of me I eat. When they don't, I don't. And if there is a bag of chips or a box of cookies within reach, I will eat the entire thing without thinking about it. Is that more or less than usual?


Am I sleeping much more or less than usual?  I remember thinking... sleeping more than I was before I had the baby?  I got up every hour to pee and took another hour to go back to sleep because my hips hurt, and then dozed while reading books to my toddler.  Should I gauge it off that? Or am I supposed to remember back to after I had my last baby and gauge whether I'm sleeping much more or less than the average new mom not getting enough sleep because she has a newborn's poopy diaper to change or baby to feed every hour. I have small kids! I haven't had a full night's sleep in years!! Is that more or less than usual sleep for a mother?

What ridiculous questions, and yet, my very answers to the questions were telling enough in themselves.  I couldn't just answer "no"to any of them, so the answer was obviously "yes". Yes, it had been more than two weeks since the baby was born. Yes I am feeling worse than I want to be, need to be, and can handle feeling. Yes I am eating much more or less than usual, and Yes I am sleeping much more or less than usual. Yes, I had many, many things pointing to severe postpartum depression. Not being able to hold the baby without crying. Not enjoying when I had the baby near me. Not wanting to talk and play and laugh with the baby, kiss his tiny nose and marvel at his tiny fists.  Not being able to turn the thoughts in my head off, and yet not having rational thoughts - all at the same time.

Still, the questions - though they tried to be helpful, didn't feel helpful at all. And my poor husband had to bear the brunt of all of it until I got it figured out... and then, still took care of me for 2 more years as I began to heal.

One day, I'll write a real list of "how to tell" questions. Until then, I'll just say "Thanks Baby. I love you more than you can imagine."

 - Rachel

Bawling My Eyes Out

My sweet chili peppers.
7 times I have gone through PPD, with each baby it became progressively worse.
They're worth it. They're definitely worth it. I'm glad I'm their Mama!

I've been crying uncontrollably for the past 5 minutes and decided to write it down instead of keep on crying all night. Good idea right? Getting it out on paper always seems to help me.


So... the bawling. What is it from this time, you ask.

Tonight I happened to look on www.ksl.com and noticed a link to a story on postpartum depression. I clicked on it, watched it, and from there went to a good website on postpartum depression called pospartumprogress.com.  It is not a good website, it is an excellent website.  I've been there before, I vaguely remember, but tonight I clicked on this link talking about the 6 Stages of Postpartum Depression, and as I read it the tears started falling and I couldn't help but sit and bawl my eyes out.

The first five stages were fine. I completely related with each and every one. The sixth stage is where I lost it. I have for a very long time known that my postpartum depression had been tainted with an extra shot of PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). I have come to a sane enough point to be able to identify that, and also identify most of the reasons behind it, but it has always baffled me why I still feel so traumatized when most of the things that traumatized me really have been dealt with by now. I had always attributed it to things that happened during the pregnancy and a short bit of extreme trauma in the weeks after the baby was born. Step number 6 really helped me understand why, and I can completely see now that a part of my PTSD has been caused by the trauma of dealing with the PPD and the changes it brought with it.

It just feels so good to know that I'm not the only freak in the world who has dealt with this to such an extreme level. It feels so relieving to know that there is an end, somewhere. There is healing. There has to be if others have healed.

One of the big things that brings me immediately back to the pain and trauma that I went through and opens the wounds up fresh and raw again is hearing that another woman is dealing with the same thing and going through postpartum depression.  I want to help, and hopefully I have been able to help a few. But I know I cannot erase the hurt and take away the pain for them. I know I cannot shield and protect them from everything they will go through. I cannot help and support them in all the ways I wish I could, and it breaks my heart. It is one of the reasons I am so open with this issue on my blog, because I don't ever want anyone else to feel as alone and isolated and hurt and hopeless as I did, without them knowing that someone else understands, someone else has been through this, and someone else cares.

So, for you fabulous mothers out there going through this little piece of hell... please know my heart is aching for you. Know that you are in my prayers, and know that I am only a phone call or email away.  Also, please take a moment to look over this website.  It really has an enormous amount of valuable help and information, both for you, and for your family.
 
One of the things that jumped out at me as I went through several of the pages of the website tonight was this sentence.

 ...the most common symptom of postpartum depression is not sadness at all- it is anxiety and agitation … and while many women who struggle might have periods of sadness, depression and tearfulness, the overwhelming symptoms that cause them great pain are difficulty concentrating, excessive worry, high level overwhelm, racing thoughts and difficulty sleeping. 

And I will expand on this... that the agitation mentioned frequently involves frustration, irritation, and lashing out at your children or husband. 

One of the difficult things is identifying that yes you HAVE postpartum depression, especially if you aren't feeling particularly sad or "depressed" in the way it is often depicted. You may not have an Eeyore face or a constant raincloud over your head... not everyone does. But if you are even wondering if you have PPD... there is a good chance you do. And a good chance you will NOT be able to just "get over it" on your own without a bit of understanding and support.

I'm here for you. Please call or email. It is the ONE thing that I can feel good about from the whole experience... helping someone else who may be dealing with it. 

May you find peace,
Rachel

Bricks

It's no secret, I get depressed. Have for years. Had a hell of a time over the past couple years fighting it and dealing with it. You probably get sick of reading about it on this blog. Guess what. I get sick of living it.

I was diagnosed as "clinically depressed" 9 years ago. And for 7 years, I fought that diagnosis and fought the reality of what I was facing. I fought and fought and worked and worked and took the herbal remedies and the natural solutions and the vitamins and the oils and the homeopathics and the advice and helpful suggestions wherever I could. I changed my diet, I ate this instead of that. I cut out sugar. I ate protein at every meal. I balanced my electrolytes, my iron, my vitamin C. I got vitamin b shots. I took vitamin b drops. I pounded omega 3's, 6's, and 9's. I had lavender baths. I worked on the contributing factors where I could recognize them. I read books and took walks and worked out. I exercised daily, and put more miles on my stroller walking around the small town I lived in one summer than I did on my van.  I took supplements of this and supplements of that, vitamins and minerals and calcium and got lots of sunshine and breaks from the kids and took time for me. I sought help and solutions in every way shape or form I could find them, except for the drugs that the doctors offered.  I did mental reconditioning and surrounded myself with positive reinforcing statements and affirmations posted all over my house and even inside my cupboard doors.  I prayed and I prayed and I prayed and I read and I did everything I knew how to do. For seven years.

And then, I snapped.

There were definitely a lot of contributing factors. As much as I did to try to reverse the situation and make sure that with each baby I wasn't going to have to deal with postpartum depression... in the end, real life kicks in. The icing on the cake, of course, was the new baby and all that came with him.  And while it helps to define the factors involved, the end result is what I have to deal with on a daily and consistent basis. This new me. This me post-baby-number-seven. This me post-mental breakdown.

I was forever changed.

I needed help. I knew it. I could feel myself at the edge of a cliff and knowing that if I didnt' get help soon there would be no more Rachel. There would be no more me. At the time, I was inexplicably terrified of driving, or I would have gotten in the van, drove off, and never come back. I don't kno were I would be. I have no idea. And I don't ever want to find out.

I couldn't handle the baby. I couldn't handle the kids. I couldn't deal with the stress. I was shutting down more and more and more. Like quicksand, it was surroundg me, pulling me farther in, and every effort to not surrender to it sunk me farther and farther.

My last ditch effort to have Ryan finally understand where I was at, was a miracle that at that point I could even express it to him adequately.  I knew that if I didn't get help, I would die. I knew I was cracking, splintering, and that if I didn't get help I would be in a million pieces on the floor and there would be no way to fix what was wrong. I had been bad off before, but this was nothing like I'd ever experienced.

I remember just bawling and bawling and saying over and over "I need help." It was three in the morning, I think, before he realized the extent of what I was saying. And to his credit, he got me help. He drove me to the doctor's office the next day. He filled my prescription, and held me as I went through the rollercoaster from hell that comes with getting on, and off, those drugs.

He has been amazing, and I rely on his strength and fortitude. It is no wonder I miss him so much when he is gone working.

Now, it's two years later, and I still hate the drugs.  I worked hard, and with the help of my husband, my family, and my friends, and especially with the help of beautiful priesthood blessings, I was able to get off the drugs and stay off of them. It has been 11 months since I last took my prescriptions, and I'm proud of it. But I still can't throw the rest of them out. They are expired, and I don't ever want to take them again, and yet I can't throw them away. I panic.

Partly why I panic is because of days like today. Days when I should be fine, when there is nothing "wrong", and definitely nothing to be crying about. And yet I do. Even more than crying, I sit, with a weight upon my back, like forty tons of brick pressing down on me. I curl up and tears stream down my face and my head swirls round and round.  I can't move. I can't vocalize. I don't function.

What I've found I have to do is label the bricks. Try to identify them. And visually, forcibly, remove them from my back, off my shoulders, out of my lap, and set them down. Sometimes I can set them aside. Sometimes I don't know where to put them, and I have to give them to Father in Heaven and ask Him to take care of them for me. I have to recognize if I'm carrying the bricks that belong to someone else, taking on their stress or responsibility.

Sometimes the bricks are fragile and whe I go to pick them up, the bricks in that particular pile will break apart and fall back down on me, and I have to pick each piece up carefully and set it aside gently, because those feelings are so real and so raw.

And if someone comes along and asks "how are you?" I smile cheerfully. I answer the phone as though nothing is wrong. Even if they could see the bricks, they would not recognize what I was doing. I just try to shrug and make it look like there is nothing wrong.  I'm quite good at it actually. There probably isn't anyone I came in contact with today that realized just how much I was struggling. 

At least, until Joe called. Somehow he could tell, even before he called.  Maybe he read my last post, maybe he was just prompted.  I don't know. But I hope he also knows how much it means that he did call. That he does care. That he listens to me and doesn't make me feel bad for being weighed down by my load of bricks today. That he doesn't remind me it's all just in my head. That he doesn't make me feel like I'm just wrong for how I feel.

Thank you Joe. And thank you Father, for a brother who loves me so much. And for helping me to know...

I will be okay. One brick, one day, at a time.

Friends

Originally posted February 4, 2009

Christmas morning, best friends.

Have you ever imagined life without friends?  I told you this blog was partly to answer the question “how do I do it?”  I can tell you - the only way my family has made it through the past two months is because of help and love and support from friends.  So this post is a tribute to them.  Thought it seems woefully inadequate for what we feel in our hearts -- Thank you, thank you, thank you.  I am humbled by the love and friendship you have all given me in so many ways, and by the grace of God that I have so many friends when I feel so undeserving.

To Alina and Ellen, for rescuing my house, taking such a tremendous load off of Ryan, and helping me laugh. 

To Rich, for giving Ryan a much needed break.

To Nan, for loving me and caring. 

To Joe, for being the best big brother anyone could ever ask for. 

To Vicki, for taking me to the sunshine, and reaching out to me with so much understanding.  

To her kids and family, for letting her and Alina leave for so long!

To Becky, for letting me get some much needed naps!

To Cicile, for the VERY well timed treat of pizza for dinner!

To Valena, for caring and understanding. 

To Sil, for giving me a hug and reminding me sometimes a mother’s love doesn’t always have to come from my mom.

To Vana, for sending hope along with the sweet letter.

To Carmen, for stopping by and asking questions, and for your sweet concern. Thanks.

To Danielle, for calling to see if I was okay, and calling again when I didn’t answer the phone. 

To Val, for not freaking out when I was freaking out.

To Natalie, for being a friend without needing to understand.

To Laura, for babysitting and being so willing to. 

To Mercy, for smiling and being my right hand.

To Taliesin, for rocking Jonnie and taking care of Brae.

To Tyler, for missing me.

To Valena, for letting your girls come help clean the house.

To Grandma Nancy, for the blanket of love and sweet note.

To Jill for taking over the regional presentation - and for helping me talk through my fears. 

To Shauna, for picking up what I had to drop, and not making me feel bad for it.   

To Laura and Heather for picking up the pieces of my team.

To Rebecca, AnnMaree, Tina, Susan, Heather, Laura, Shauna, Bobbi, Valena, and everyone else, who have emailed your love and support.

And to all of your families too!

And last but not least, to Ryan.  Thank you for not leaving me alone, for holding me when I cried, and for helping me take it one day at a time.  You’ve been amazing.

Tripping...

This was originally posted January 12, 2009. Anyone who knew me knew I sold Usborne Books, and loved doing so. The trips were amazing, the people are amazing, and I am incredibly grateful for the experience and the ways it has enriched my life, and my family's life.

January 12, 2009

If I were the Usborne Wonder Woman, I would have my January calendar all booked. I would have my book club orders in. I would even know where to find my new title flyers.  I definitely would have all the inventory that someone borrowed in December put back in the closet where it goes.  Ha Ha Ha. 

Here is what I have done for Usborne in January. 

1. Spa Day retreat with my team -- but that was prepared for before the baby came. 

2.  Talked on the phone with Jill Cox planning our class for regionals... but really she’s an awesome friend and helped me talk through the PPD more than anything and is finishing everything needed for the class.  So I can barely count this.

 And written a newsletter article at HO’s request.

The Home Office must have caught me on a good day because I haven’t been working Usborne at all.  Not a single outgoing phone call.  Crazily, I said yes, I’d write the article. Now, Ry and I have talked about earning this trip before, and we decided that yes, I could work toward it but not focus on it.  Instead, I would focus on the input like I always tell my team to do and if the trip works out - great! 

So, I wrote the article.  It was before I realized and way before Ryan realized how full blown the PPD had become. 

When you read it -- you’ll really think I’m crazy. (And you’d be right!!) 

Normally, February is a great month to schedule a lot in because I don’t have kids sports games going on, no gymnastics competitions, no voice recitals, and everyone has their tax returns so sales are great! It’s a month I can put a lot of Usborne time in without it really killing my family. 

Not this year.  It has become apparent that I will not be doing that.  I won’t be doing anything until I can spend a whole day out with my kids without getting completely wound up. 

So for now -- the trip is on indefinite hold.  The only miracle way that trip will happen is if my school/library orders that I worked on last September come through. Then maybe, just maybe... I might still see you on the beach.

Bottomline -- don’t think I’m “tripping” when you read the article... there is no way I’ll put the trip before my health or family. 

(As always, I love to hear your comments.  Drop me an email at bookwishlist@myubah.com)

A Good Day With PPD

Originally Posted January 10, 2009

If you've ever had a kid then you know people always ask about the baby.  "How is the new baby?"  they'll say.  "How are you liking that new baby?"  and "Aren't you just loving that new baby?" 

My response "Oh, he's so cute!"  And he is. The truth is, the baby is fine.  I like the baby. I love the baby. 

Some very thoughtful people who know I've struggled with postpartum depression in the past even ask about me.  "How are you doing?"  they'll say.  "How are you holding up?"  And I say "I'm doing okay!  Ryan's been awesome and we're lucky he's been able to be home with the kids to help so much."

And, that's the truth.  Ryan is awesome, he has been SO very extremely helpful. And I am okay.  After all, I'm not drowning the kids like you sadly hear about sometimes in the news.  I'm not even stabbing myself like 'this woman' did.  And, the very fact that I am talking to them in person or on the phone means that I really am doing okay - that day.  There are, after all, times when I can psyche myself up to function and talk myself into doing something fairly normal like having a conversation with someone.  But for those who really dig deeper, and I mean dig because I'm not the one to usually spill my guts unless you do dig... here is the bigger truth.

The bigger truth is that indeed, I have PPD again.  I thought I was doing pretty well.  I think I was really.  And then I had trouble nursing the baby because I got some flesh eating bacteria and nursing was out of the question, so I started pumping when absolutely necessary and bottle feeding formula the rest of the time.  The result?  My hormones shifted WAY to fast and furious I guess... because I got slammed and knocked on my rear and PPD this time took on a whole new form of torture. 

I have good days.  These are the days where I spend most of my time in my bedroom but I'm not crying the whole day, just part of it.  The children will run in and out of my room and talk to me and I can handle it for the most part or at least for short periods of time before I redirect them to "go get a drink" or "go check on your brother" or "go... whatever."  I do enjoy them around me, just for very short periods of time and not all at once and not if they are talking much above a loud whisper.  

I know that it is crazy to have this many children and yet not be able to tolerate them around me and I have to remind myself that again it is the rollercoaster of hormonal and chemical imbalance raging within me that causes me to be so sensitive to overstimulation because that's not how I feel.  I feel completely wound up and like a horrible mother because I am and because it takes so much work for me to have them around me for more than 30 seconds before I want to freak out on them.  Everything is magnified. Smells, feelings, and sounds especially.  But I am grateful too.  Grateful that I have learned methods of coping with this from past experiences so that even though I am feeling like a crazed psychotic woman -- at least I am not acting like a scary mother from hell. Odd yes, and they do notice that I'm different... but still I'm grateful that I have learned that I can close my eyes and breathe instead of scream and yell.  I can ask them to leave when I first feel the keyed up feelings instead of waiting til I'm past my blowing point. I'm grateful that I have children who still run back in a few minutes later because they love me. 

Today is a good day, and I'm glad for it.  Now if I could only get my good days to be my bad days I'd feel much better.  

(As always, I love to hear your comments.  Drop me an email at bookwishlist@myubah.com)