The Raft

When I had Abby, we knew I was not going back to work. I knew - from the minute I found out I was pregnant - that I was going to be a stay-at-home-mom. I have always wanted to be the mom that has the good food, hears all the gossip, makes all the cupcakes, volunteers for all the field trips, and later for the dances... I am living my dream.
But first I had to get through post-partum depression.
Both times.

Both of my babies were delivered via c-section.
Both of my babies nursed exclusively for at least 6 months.
Both of my babies slept in my bed, got worn in a sling.
But they also both cried a lot. Both had colic (1 worse than the other), both kept us up for long stretches at all hours...
With one baby, the long, sleepless nights didn't seem to last very long. With the other baby, they lasted close to 6 months.
In both cases, we got off pretty easy, really. I have heard some horror stories.

Anyway - my point is this - my ppd came on differently with each baby, even though the circumstances were pretty much the same.

With Abby, I was fine through the first few months. Emotional? Yes. But not sad, I don't think. Stressed out and worried? Sure. But I was a brand new mother. I had never done this before, and I wasn't much of a "kid person" to begin with. I still talk to my nieces like they are just extensions of my sisters... not in an authoritative or "auntie" way. I am getting better. More patient. But I'm not a mooshy, "oh, it's ok" kinda person.

Then, Abby weened off the boob and my own little hell began.
From the outside, Abby was a delight. My life was easy, my baby was wonderful, my husband was adoring and supportive, my home was well-kept, my kitchen was warm and welcoming... but I was dying inside. I couldn't appreciate any of it. I thought everyone around me was judging me. I thought my entire family was whispering about me and telling each other how awful I looked, how ridiculous I was, how over-protective and over-sensitive and impossible I was. I read into everything my mother-in-law said to me. I mean - she could have said "wow, your hair looks great! did you just get it cut?". I heard "well, it's about time you washed your hair you ugly slut. if you hadn't given birth to my granddaughter, I would be helping my son plan your divorce."

Really. It was that bad.

I don't even know if my husband knew how bad it was. He knew a lot. But I wonder if anyone can understand how bad it feels if they haven't actually felt it.

I self-medicated by eating and shopping, my go-to therapies. I gained a lot of weight and spent a lot of money. {And for those of you who ever want to wonder why Steffie has meant so much to me, now you do - she was my true friend in a time of darkness.}

So, in January the baby was born, around July the cloud settled, by the time the air was crisp and the holidays were close, I woke up. I literally remember sitting in my kitchen one morning, looking around and feeling like I hadn't seen my house in ages. Hadn't felt my own peace, appreciated my own fortune - in ages. I literally felt like I had been asleep for months. I took a deep breath and decided that I felt better - and it was months, if not a year later, that I was able to look back and realize how very sad & alone I was.

Then, Wyatt was born. I was ready this time. I knew what PPD felt like. I knew what to look for, what to feel for, how to sense if my thoughts were going in a bad way. I knew I had to be my own saving grace and if I didn't know what was going on, no one could help me.

Wyatt was born in October. I felt like I would be ok this time because I love the holidays. Love, love, love them. I love Halloween, mostly because it kicks off Thanksgiving and Christmas. I love the weather, I love the decorating, I love the coziness of school and early darkness and warm homes with lamps on. So, I thought that I would get through without issue. And if I started to feel badly after the holidays, I would run, not walk, to the doc for some meds.

It wasn't even a month after Wyatt was out that I realized I couldn't stop crying and I was so hyper-sensitive that I couldn't even talk to Jay. I was afraid of what he would say.
If you know me, you know I am not afraid of what my husband will say. And if you know my husband, you know he would never be the husband to be afraid of. So, I went to the doctor.
I told her I was afraid to speak and that I had a hard time not-crying over every little thing. She gave me 2 medications, one for depression, one for anxiety. Maybe she would have given them to anyone who said what I said, but I suspect my puffy face and my non-stop tearing helped my case.

I didn't take the anxiety pill for 2 reasons - 1) it knocked me out, cold, and I feared I would not hear my babies if (really, when) they needed me in the middle of the night. and 2) I prefer wine. And you can't do both.
I did take the depression meds. She gave me 6 months worth, I took it for about 6 weeks. I weaned off (mostly because I would forget to take it, then remember, then forget) and felt fine.

And I am still fine. I am normal now, for the first time in 3 years or more. I am not pregnant, I am not post-partum, I am not nursing. Hell. Right now, I am not even PMS-ing.

I wanted to write this out because of a few things.
1. a friend of mine recently called me to tell me she thinks she has post-partum depression. She feels like she's falling apart and because I told her I had been there, she knew she could call on me to help her through it. That touched me. For once, my big fat mouth helped someone. :)
2. I have a few other friends who are within their first year of their first babies. Maybe my story can help one of them.
3. I want to remind myself of how hard it is to have a tiny baby. I have been thinking a lot about #3 lately and I have to remind myself that there are a lot of reasons to not have #3. And while I don't think I would ever regret having a third child (duh), I don't think I would ever stop having babies if it was just that simple.

For the record, here is a link to a pretty good site that talks about PPD - what it is, how you can tell, why you get it, how to treat it. If you are in the middle of it, you feel like you can't tell anyone - no one would possibly understand, so the web is a good place to look around. But, if you are in the middle of it, or feel it coming - I urge you to tell your doctor. It is hormonal. Nothing more or less. You're not crazy, you're not wrong, you're not bad. You gave birth. You grew a person inside your body. You are hormonal. And a pill can help you get through the rollercoaster part of it and then "you", as you know yourself, will be back. It feels like forever at the time, but it's not. And it's very normal.

Anyway...