My Girl Part I

First of all, thank you so very much for your nice words and compliments yesterday on my first 'away from home' post evah. I am humbled and touched and so very honored that so many of you had such kind things to say. You truly have no idea how much I needed those words.

Today I feel like I am so very undeserving. In the interest of brevity (because I could have made yesterday's post so long your eyeballs would bleed), I didn't quite tell the whole story.

You all probably have figured out by now that I have four kids. What some of you don't know is that only three of them actually live with me full-time. The story behind that is complicated and not one I'm going to EVER completely share...

...(if by 'short' you mean 'in a few parts because life is complicated and that's the only way I could tell it so thank your lucky stars you aren't getting the long version').

*ahem*

Anyway...

Back in the day it was just me and my two girls, who were preschool aged and a toddler. The baby daddies (Yes, I said daddies) and I didn't work out. Not assigning any blame here, just a fact of life. Suffice it to say that we all had some growing up to do and were just not suited to each other. (That, dear readers, is all you will likely hear of that story. Some things are meant to stay private.)

I was single. After a short series of not-very-nice boyfriends (which were NOT baby daddies, just to be clear), I realized that I needed to be happy with ME before I'd be happy with anyone else. I decided not to date and didn't for almost two years. I felt that the best thing for me to do was to concentrate on my kids, my job, and trying to keep it all together.

I was angry and frustrated a lot, so very stressed out, and was suffering from depression and anxiety even back then. Did I mention it was HARD? I lived on my own with the girls. The house wasn't always clean, and I felt like I was constantly moving. I had 3 (!!) jobs and never felt like I could keep it all together. I felt like I was not the best of mothers but I was doing the best I could. My girls were fed and clothed and most of all LOVED.

One day out of nowhere, I was set up on a blind date with someone I had a crush on a long time ago. Totally random and flat out WEIRD. Seriously, the chances of this happening based on my circumstances were just bizarre. We fell in love. I decided to move about an hour away to be with this person. The baby daddies objected to my moving. I moved anyway because TRUE LOVE! AND FATE! AND ALL OF THAT GOOD STUFF Y'ALL!! Long story short, there was a question raised as to whether moving was in the best interest of my oldest child.

Lawyers became involved, money I didn't have was spent. (I'm still getting little love notes from that lawyer over ten years later.) Ugliness was definitely involved. How much ugliness you will never know because that is our own private story.

In discussing custody, evaluations of each parent are part of the process of deciding what is in the best interest of the child. I received a packet in the mail that asked lots of invasive questions. I got two pages into this document and came across a question that made me realize I was going to give up the fight.

Sounds nuts right? How would a piece of paper make me make such a decision? I remember the question to this day. It asked if I'd ever been hospitalized. My stomach dropped and I literally wanted to throw up. Why? Because I had been hospitalized before and I knew it was going to cost me my girl.

Sorry guys, this was all I could tell today. I'll work on Part II this weekend.

Breakfast Of Champions

Actual conversation this morning:
S:  howdy
me:  howdy
S:  did you see that project i sent you?
me:  my internet is out at home so i coudn't view on my phone
S:  omg, do you feel completely naked??
me:  i have a smart phone so i could limp along
me:  more underdressed for the environment
S:  ha! good one!
me:  i am Teh Funneh
S:  no lie

This post (as well as the return of Teh Funneh) are brought to you courtesy of the following:

Breakfast of Champions

Worry not my loves, some of these pills are vitamins. The breakdown is as follows:

1. Prenatal vitamin (as long as I'm breastfeeding) - large pink oval
2. Calcium + Vitamin D (osteoporosis prevention) - LARGER pink oval
3. Fish Oil (many reasons)  - yellow clear oval
4. Vitamin B (many reasons)  - orange oval
5. Vitamin D (my levels are low so I aim for about 4000 IU daily) - two white circles
6. Ativan (anxiety) - slightly different white circle
7. Welbutrin (depression) - tan oval pill
8. Zoloft (depression/anxiety/rage) - 1/2 pill yellow oval (weaning off this one gradually)
9. Celexa (depression/anxiety/rage) - 1/2 pill salmon oval (adding this one gradually)

The Zoloft is going away at the end of the week as the Celexa dose is increased to 20mg and the Wellbutrin is increased to 300mg. Ativan is only as needed and will go away in the next couple of weeks as the new regimen takes effect.


I'm sharing this with you because I think it is important to not be ashamed of the things you do to be healthy. Hell yes I'm medicated. (If I were a diabetic, no one would think twice about my need for insulin.) This should be seen the same way. Simply put, my body doesn't produce a substance it needs in an adequate supply so I'm supplying an artificial form of that substance so that I DO have an adequate supply.


Just because my particular disorder involves my brain, that doesn't mean I'm all crazy up in here.


I've decided to stop my own personal "War On Drugs" when it comes to drugs I need.

Edit: I'm now all seriously pissed off and angry about some personal family-related stuff that I will not get into here. I'm only sharing this because I'm managing to maintain my composure (other than that one little crying fit but we won't talk about that). The meds and therapy must be doing something!!!


Edit again: Apparently things were phrased poorly in the conversation that was reference in my first edit. I'm still annoyed but going to go eat something fattening, which I am sure will help immensely.


Here, watch video of Jamie lying in the grass. You're welcome.

Guest Post: Hi, My Name Is...

 I haven't exactly kept my struggles a secret recently. Sharing my fight against postpartum depression, anxiety and rage with you all has helped me in so many ways. Knowing that I have the amazing support of my family and my on and offline friends has done tremendous things for me.

One of the biggest things I've learned through all of this is that I am not alone. So many of you have walked (or ARE walking) this path with me. Kate was lovely to offer to share her experiences. This is her first guest post (and my first guest blogger!!) and  I am so honored that she trusts us to receive her story. Her words are beautiful and painful and REAL.

She asked that, if we chose to leave comments, to please leave them in this place. She would rather not bring this conversation to her own blog. So please leave any support in the comments for this post and I will certainly make sure she reads them.

Now, I introduce to you...my friend Kate.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Motherhood is a robbery. It is a robbery of time, of energy, of personal space. It takes, relentlessly until self is blurred into that fleeting obscure greyness of 3:00 am, when dreams combine with babies' cries. Motherhood is jarring. You cannot prepare for it. Even if it's the fourth time around or the second time in two years.

Motherhood is also the ultimate gift in life. It is a joy so enormous and so all-consuming that sometimes even that fact, that responsibility takes, in it's own way. 

I gave birth to my first son on a cold March night, around 3:00 am. My heart dangerously slowed. He was very small (and beautiful) and we were both exhausted. And then came pushing out the placenta. And after that, the relentless cries, the reflux, the colic. 

And with those cries, that immense need and helplessness, that innocent taking, another type of baby was born. and that baby monster was so wrongly called the 'Baby Blues' by my well-meaning midwife. 

Baby blues: sadness, hormones, moodiness, a necessary adjustment period. I wished.

My blues grew. They stole from me my sense of hope and joy. They stole my energy, my forgiving nature. 

I white knuckled my way through another pregnancy, and screamed my way through another birth, this time in water. My physical heart was fine, but in truth, it was broken.

My second son was born, and I watched him all night, exhausted, consumed by the presence of a third in the room: grief.

We brought our children home, watched the older adjust to the younger and grieved the change. I nursed and it made me so antsy, so anxious.

I convinced myself and everyone around me that it would just get better when our life got less chaotic. All I needed was a good night's sleep, prayer, perspective. 

About that time the rage made his entrance. An anger so strong, so irrational, so literally devilish. 

And I found myself saying: "Things are getting better, but I feel worse." and I found myself losing it over the smallest things. They felt like the greatest injustices, they still do. 

And I'm a public health professional. I study mental illness. I know the signs. I know there is no shame in this. 

But it took me nearly three years to acknowledge it, to say it out loud, even just to my wonderful husband. Because I feel shame. I feel guilt. And that's part of it.

I haven't even blogged about it. I just can't yet, not in my own forum. But I can't deny it either. So thank you, Jo, for giving me a space to say it.

This is not just the baby blues. 

Hi, my name is Kate and I have postpartum depression.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Kate can be found at Perpetually Nesting or on Twitter @PerpetuallyKate

Not There Yet

So I feel like I'm doing ok, but really I'm not. The slightest little thing still brings me to tears. Today it was not getting a leave slip approved for my therapy appointment. Yesterday it was a broken head band. Little and silly inconsequential things but they still make me lose my composure.

It's not fair, having to choose between crying and being angry.

I can't wait until I feel better.

I can't wait until I have more energy.

I can't wait until I stop looking at the clock at 7pm, wishing it was bed time.

I'm supposed to call my doctor on Friday and let him know if the medications are working. I didn't take any Ativan today because it is "as needed' and I was being hopeful that I wouldn't need it. Guess I needed it after all.

I'm really hoping that the way I feel today won't be the way I feel on Friday. If it is then it might mean the medicines aren't working. That also means weeks more of feeling this way while we try something else.

I can't do weeks more of this. I just can't.