My Baby Makes Me Sick

Queasy, exhausted, headaches....this baby has got me sick to my stomach.

Since P has started day care, she has been so busy exploring her new world that she is simply exhausted at the end of each day. The bright side? She sleeps through the night a glorious 10-11 hours! The down side? I am up all night staring at the video monitor and trying to hear her breathe. I am terrified. What if she stops breathing? What if she rolls over? What if she chokes? What if five hundred other unrealistic things happen to her and I miss it all because I'm sleeping? How would I live with myself?

I never had a problem sleeping before this. I would wind down my day with some TV or Facebook games, go lay down in bed and within a few minutes would drift off and wouldn't wake up until morning. But now....the glow of the monitor and the sighs coming from P keep me up.All.Damn.Night. Don't get me wrong, I love that she's sleeping and I love watching her sleep but holy crap I can't take it anymore! The one night in the last three weeks that I took NyQuil just to sleep was the one night that P decided she wasn't going to sleep through the night and after an hour of peaceful sleep I was up the rest of the night trying to fight off the NyQuil. Never. Again. So here I sit, sleep deprived, on the verge of throwing up and a headache that I've had for the last three days that won't go away. If I didn't know better, I would think I was pregnant again. Ha, wouldn't that be the worst thing? It would be pretty close.

I can't say there are too many people in this world that are worth getting physically ill over worrying about their well being and their sleep schedules, but P is. I can't say there are many people I put before myself either. I love my sleep. I love my bed. I love my comforter. But for some reason I don't need any of those things as long as P is safe and happy. And well rested of course, otherwise prepare for terror! It was 3am when I decided to sit up and watch P sleep, and by decided I mean that I could not get to sleep and my mind kept thinking of all the things I needed to do the next day. I sat on the edge of our bed, staring at her. Listening. Watching. Waiting. I only watched her for maybe 15 minutes before crawling back into bed and attempt to sleep again, only to find out the next morning from Hubs that my sitting up and watching P was 'fucking annoying.' Well. Excuse me.

But as much as I enjoy P and spending time with her, even from another room and while she's unconscious, this mama needs her sleep. I need a moment away from her when I can get just a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, just enough to keep me going for another three weeks until I crash again. So until then, I'm going to be fucking annoying and I'm going to be on the verge of throwing up and I will complain my head hurts and that I'm tired and that I really don't care about what you did last weekend so please don't speak to me unless spoken to. Just deal with it. Sorrynotsorry.

Why I Won't Feel Bad About That Glass of Wine

It was recently brought to my attention that being a mother and having a drink is irresponsible and offensive. This information came to me from a complete stranger and I was so taken aback by her need to share this information with me and point out what a horrible mother I was, that I couldn't even find the words to defend myself. Is enjoying a drink a bad thing? No. Is enjoying 12 drinks? Probably. Mostly when you have a baby at home. But the thing is is that glass of wine is MINE!

For 9 months I shared my body with P so she could grow and be healthy before coming into this world. I now share her little life with Hubs, and every member of my family that can't stop holding and kissing her. My lap is always full with a baby or a clingy dog, my kitchen cupboards have been taken over by bottles and formula, and my bathroom cabinet is now filled with Johnson&Johnson baby soap and rubber duckys....but this glass of wine I don't have to share with anyone. It's mine. 

As P grows older I realize more and more of my home will be taken over by her and less and less will be mine to do as I please. Soon, I will lose all control over my organized entertainment center and spic and span kitchen cupboards filled with pots and pans. Clothes will soon be torn from dresser drawers and strewn across the room, little hands will reach for the dog food in the bowl and little feet will start to run across the floor with mine not too far behind trying to catch up. So while I still have the chance, can't I enjoy the one thing I don't have to share or forfeit in the near future? Am I allowed one moment to relax and savor the quietness of my home late at night in the dark with a glass of moscato? To reflect over the day's events and count my blessings before my life becomes too exhausting with a toddler that I could care less what my blessings are?

So let me have this moment. It's mine. I don't have to share it with anyone and I never will. I am still me. I am still a wife, friend, daughter, sister....but I am not all these things every second of my day. I am still a mom. But sometimes I need just a few minutes at the end of the day to be me, and I'll be damned if someone should make me feel bad about that. 

Running in Place Part II

I have a tendency to run from things when they get a little too tough for me. In high school if I was mad at my friends I would ignore them and hang out with a different group for awhile. When things got difficult at a job, I would quit. In college, if guys showed the slightest bit of interest in me, I would start talking to someone else. And when I turned 21 and did bad on a test or fight with my room mates, I would have a beer...or four. I was always running and avoiding anything that might turn into a difficult situation.

Then I met Hubs. I began running towards something for once. I ran towards spending time with him, a future with him. I ran towards working more and more so we could afford a life together. I ran to the alter to devote my life to him and start a family with him. And from the day I told him I loved him until this very moment, I have always done everything I could to make him happy and show him how much I appreciate him being in my life (but I don't think I'll ever stop running towards that).

Through my recovery I realized I stopped doing a lot of the things that made me happy. That made me who I was. And over the last few weeks I have slowly started to gain some of that control back. For instance, I have always enjoyed cooking for my husband and trying new healthy recipes. I love cleaning and organizing, and most importantly I love running and working out. I've got the cooking and cleaning under control now, but it was time to get my run back. It was around 9:30am today I decided I was going to go running after work, something I had only done a few times since P was born. So there the clock turned 5:00 and I raced to daycare to get P and raced home (safely, of course) to play with her and cuddle her before putting her down for a nap. I got dressed, put my headphones in and jumped on the treadmill and just started running. And I couldn't stop. My legs started burning and my breathing started becoming shallow, but I could not stop running. I needed to keep going. And I started thinking about how happy I was running, and how it was funny that in the past I was always running away or towards something, yet here in this moment I wasn't going anywhere. I was running in place. I was accomplishing and going no where, but I was so content with that. I smiled. And I smiled through the pain I was feeling in my legs and my lungs and kept going.

It's funny how we can find symbolism in anything if we really look for it, but here I am once again, running in place. I stayed here long enough to find me again and now that I'm back I think I'll stay awhile. I think I'll keep running in place because after all this I am finding I kind of like it here afterall.

Being Me

Recovered. Do not confuse this word with 'cured.' But I can confidently say now that I have recovered from post-partum depression.

Recovery is happiness. Recovery makes me feel normal. Like I belong with everyone else out in the real world again. Maybe going back to work helped. Maybe not. Maybe I just happened to find the perfect dosage of medication. Who cares. I am me again and I have never been happier.

Everyday I sit at work thinking about P and what she's doing, if she's napping, or crying, or playing with the other babies. And as soon as that clock hits 5:00 I run out of there to go pick my little girl up so we can get home and play together. She is simply amazing. I have finally understood what other moms are talking about when they say how in love with their babies they are and how amazing and blessed being a parent is....I get it now. And I'm motivated to make our house a home for P. The laundry no longer sits in the basket for weeks before I cave and decide to put it away. Dishes are washed as soon as they're dirty. My bathroom is sparkling. My cupboards are stocked. Healthy meals are on the table. The dogs are running around outside and that fancy stroller we bought is finally getting some use. And yes, I have become that lady at the office that goes around showing people pictures of her baby without even being asked. AND I DON'T CARE! I'm happy. And she's adorable. No need to thank me.

I think back to how I felt in the beginning and feel like on some level I robbed P of the person I really am. I robbed her of cuddles, soothing tones, songs, being read to, making silly faces at her. I robbed her of my smile and head scratches. I robbed her of her mommy. I try not to dwell on it and know there was nothing I could do at the time based on the information I had. I didn't know what was wrong with me and felt so wrong for feeling that way that I couldn't get help. I felt ashamed that I might need help and didn't want to admit it. Had I admitted it right away, perhaps my daughter wouldn't have been robbed of my love the first month of her life. But all I can do now is move forward, continue in my recovery and doing everything I can to show her how much she means to me and how much I love her. All I can do is hope that I can teach her there is no shame in asking for help, that I love her more than anything and that she is my world.

I am still me (see previous post). But now I am a mom. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
End.

I Am Not A Mom

I am not about changing diapers, preparing bottles, cute little onesies and strange rashes. It is another step to my day, but it is not who I am. I think people forget that women are still the same woman they were before they had a baby, just more awesome, but they are not just a mom.

I am a friend.
A wife.
A sister.
A daughter.
A co-worker.
I'm fun.
Loving.
Caring.
I'm funny.
I love my furbabies.
I enjoy working.
I'm a runner.
I love herbalife.
I'm addicted to Starbucks.
I love thunderstorms.
I love weekends at the lake.
A glass of wine.
A night out with friends.
Investigation Discovery.
Weekends with Netflix and popcorn.
I want to help others.
Change a life.
Make a difference.
Reach out.

I am still me. I am still all these things, just someone calls me mom now.
I am still here under the dirty diapers and pukey shirts.
Don't forget that.

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

After 12 weeks away from my desk, 11 weeks home with a baby, I finally went back to work. This day was needed and I probably should have gone back much sooner had I been mentally able to. But the time has come and P has officially started day care. Unlike most moms, I didn't cry when I left my baby there for the first time and I didn't call to check on her throughout the day; I trust the people I am paying bagillions a month to are being responsible and kind to her.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Of course I thought about P throughout the day, but not to the point where I couldn't focus on my work. I printed out the most adorable picture of her for my desk so I can still stare at her beautiful little face all day, minus the crying and smelly butt. But by the time 5 p.m. came around I was itching to run out of that place, jump in the car and drive like a mad woman to get to my baby so I could kiss her and cuddle her and play with her. And I did just that. Of course she was mad at me when I arrived and cried the whole way home, but having that baby girl back in my arms was the most happy I had felt in months. Now, I have considered that by this point my medication has just kicked in to full force and I am finally me again, but I would like to think that I am finally accepting and adjusting to my new life and am genuinely happy again. My baby is my anti-depressant.

Her second day was better, and I missed her even more. I thought about her constantly at work, but I still didn't call to check up on her. I knew she was okay. Or she was crying. Either way, I didn't want to bother her. She was busy. I wondered if she was being held and if she liked the toys there. Were the other babies being nice to her? Was she being nice to them? Was she having fun? I wonder how her naps were going....but it was pure bliss the moment I saw her little face at the end of my day and was able to scoop her up and kiss it. I am finally understanding what all these 'other women' are talking about when they describe how in love they are with their babies. I may have taken the bumpiest road to get there, but I cannot believe how much this angel means to me. My heart is full when she's around. My life has meaning again. My days are eventful with thoughts of her and the experiences we are having together.

I can only imagine how wonderful day three is going to be....

Tribute to Daddy's

It seems pretty obvious the sacrifices that women make to bring children into this world: 40 weeks (or more, God forbid) of pregnancy, labor, child birth, recovery, permanent body changes, sleep...but what about daddy?

During pregnancy, everyone flocks to the mommy and is constantly asking her how she is doing, how she's feeling, if everything in the nursery is ready, if she's nervous and prepared, and when baby is finally born everyone again asks mommy how she is doing and feeling, if she's sleeping and eating enough...but what about daddy?

I would like to think I am not the only one that has an amazing and supportive husband, therefore I wanted to take the time to dedicate one post to the amazing daddy's of the world, but more specifically, the daddy of my own little one.

We met five years ago in a dark bar on a Tuesday. He was unlike any other guy I had met before and we instantly connected. Throughout our five years together we have encountered ups and downs just like any couple, but Hubs was always willing to talk to me about anything and there was never anything I couldn't go to him with. He never gave up on me after many others did. Always wanting to be a daddy, he was beyond ecstatic when I got pregnant. I wasn't a hormonal, crazy pregnant lady, but maybe that's because Hubs always made sure every need was met. Before I could demand, he would ask me if he could get me anything...even if that meant driving to Taco Bell at 10pm for chalupas. Almost every night he would rub my back without one complaint, and towards the end of my pregnancy would even rub my feet. He listened to all my irrational worries and nodded along as I told him about what I had learned about baby sleep, diapers and day cares. He.Was.A.Godsend.

When P was born, he was extremely supportive in the hospital. He spent three nights on the couch in my hospital room and changed many diapers. He sat by my bedside and talked to me and made beef jerky runs (man I missed that!). And when we brought P home and I silently suffered from PPD, he took care of our daughter. He changed her, fed her, rocked her, stayed up all night with her. Who says a daddy doesn't do just as much as a mommy does?

So here is a simple salute to the amazing husband and daddy in my life. He has never complained about this little life we live together and never forgets to tell me he loves me. He is willing and supportive and not a day goes by I am not grateful for God bringing him into my life (or that random Tuesday we both decided to go out drinking). He is my rock, and I only hope that one day my little P will find a man that treats her as good as her daddy treats me.

My soulmate. <3

My Hope For You

Since the beginning I have struggled to accept my honest feelings towards motherhood. I struggled to find others that were like me because surely I could not be the only one that has ever felt this way before. I struggled to find peace in my new life. I struggled to forgive myself once I started treatment. And now I struggle to remember what that time in my life used to be like.

The memories of the beginning of my depression seem so far away now. Although I am beyond ecstatic that that dark chapter in my life has finally ended, it shaped the parent and wife I am today. My recovery plan has been a blessing in disguise. On one hand, I wish I would have never had to experience what depression was like, but on the other hand I have become a better person because of it. Each day I find a new thing that brings me joy; my daughters smile, my husbands thoughtfulness, conversations with my mother, a text from a friend....the list of simple things is neverending and blissful. I would like to think that I no longer take these moments for granted. I am finding happiness in each day and working on making myself a better person.

Last night I went out for happy hour with seven women I have never met before. I connected with them through a local moms group and put myself in the vulnerable position to meet them. The evening was overwhelming, but the time spent with women who were home all day with little ones just like me was refreshing. I love my friends and I know they will be there for me when I need them, but sometimes you just need the support from others that are having the same experiences as you at the same time.

My hope for you Reader, is that if you are experiencing post partum depression, or any depression, to seek help and utilize every resource you can. And for those of you that aren't, make yourself available to those in your life that might be, and even if you aren't sure, be there anyways. Don't take any moment or any person in your life for granted. Don't forget about the struggles you've overcome to be the amazing person you are today, and don't fear the unknown.

"Don't mistake God's patience for his absence. His timing is perfect and is constant. He's always with you." Deuteronomy 31:6


http://postpartum.net/

http://www.everydayhealth.com/health-report/major-depression-resource-center.aspx?xid=ms_cs_abilify

Forgiving God

I'm not one to preach my beliefs to others, much less devote an entire blog post to God, but right now in my life I feel like it is more than necessary to seek God and pray.

Growing up we went to church every Sunday. I went to Sunday school, received my first communion and became confirmed. After that however, my faith stopped growing. When I was 18 and went to college I made friends with the girl across the hall from me in the dorms. We had many differences, but genuinely enjoyed each others company. She was extremely devoted in her faith while I was anything but, and wasn't afraid to let people know it. Finally one day she asked me 'Are you sure you don't believe in God, or are you just mad at him?' Wow. I never thought of that. I was raised Christian and thought I believed in God, but over time began to have doubts. But it wasn't until this moment of my life that I ever thought that it was maybe because I was just mad. This new chick was on to something. And so it began....I started reading the bible again and attended church a few times; I even prayed when I felt I needed it the most. I was becoming Christian again and I was excited. 

Flash forward a few or so years....my baby girl is sound asleep in her swing and I'm on the shower floor bawling my eyes out. I am so miserable. I'm sad all the time. I've ruined my marriage. I've lost my freedom. How can this be happening to me? How could God let this happen to me? I prayed every night to him to please make these feelings go away so I could be happy and enjoy my daughter and love her, but my prayers remained unanswered. God, I am so mad at you!!

I knew I needed my faith now more than ever and if I could just pull myself together for a minute and realize that this is in His hands and I need to be still and listen that everything would be okay. God loves. God forgives. God gives. God heals. I need to remember that last part.

Some days I still get mad at God. I don't understand why I was chosen for this journey, but I believe everything happens for a reason. I pray to God every day. I pray he gives me strength to handle my depression, patience to love my daughter, happiness so I can please my husband and normalcy so I can feel like me again and make all those other things possible. I figure it's okay to get mad at Him sometimes; I'm sure he gets mad at me too, like all those years that I doubted Him. Just like it takes time to recover from depression, it takes time to overcome my anger and accept the challenges that God has laid out before me. 

Oh, and that girl from my dorm? To this day she's one of my best friends. I can't imagine my life without her, and I'm not sure I want to imagine what my life would have turned out like had she not come into it. 

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jer 29:11

Amen. 

Learning to Love Baby

Tonight I spent four hours obsessively reading another blog about someone's struggle into parenthood. Although our struggles are different, she was so inspiring (a word I can't say I ever use to describe another person) that I actually cried reading some of her posts. As I scrolled through the many pages (June 2013-present day) I couldn't help but think how selfish I was. Amongst selfishness, I felt two other emotions:

Heartache. For an undisclosed amount of time, Hubs and I tried to conceive a child with two chemical pregnancies (what I believe is the cruelest thing the human body is capable of) before successfully conceiving our daughter. In that time we were trying, each month came with disappointment. I invested a ridiculous amount of money in ovulation tests, thermometers, pregnancy tests and any other gimic I could find online on how to conceive a child, and often found myself crying each month over my failure. Yes, I felt like a failure. I knew how badly Hubs wanted a baby (as did I) and I was incapable of doing the one thing I was biologically put on this planet to do. In April 2014 we learned that I, indeed, was not a failure. The news of her arrival into our family came at a hard time for us. Hubs had just lost his grandfather who he loved dearly. It was because of this that I truly believed this child was a gift from God. God may have taken a loved one from our life, but he was blessing us with another.

Guilt (y'know, my new bestie).  I felt so guilty because amidst my own selfishness and depression, it never once occurred to me how lucky I was. I blatantly disregarded the most common saying, Count Your Blessings. Apparently, I had forgotten the pain I felt myself when each month I read a negative pregnancy test. I never once stopped to think about all the women who have lost a child, couldn't conceive children, had given up children...sooo guilty.

On Christmas night my water broke, once again affirming this baby was a gift from God, but I knew right away that something was wrong. I didn't feel excited, scared, nervous, happy....all I could think about was how am I going to get off this toilet and find my husband? I had been so happy and excited throughout my entire pregnancy, but it was like when my water broke, all of my emotions left my body. By the time I got to triage at the hospital I just wanted it to be over with. When P was born, I didn't hold her. She laid on my stomach for a few seconds before she was whisked away again, and I did not hold her for probably another 45 minutes and I didn't. even. care. When we were in the hospital I held her and fed her a couple times, but I was really okay with other people holding her and Hubs changed a lot of her dirty diapers. At night, she went to the nursery. I worried about her while she was away from me and if she was breathing okay and eating enough and if she was being held if she was crying, but I didn't care enough to ask someone to bring her back to me so I could personally supervise her wellbeing.

So here I am, overwhelmed with heartache and guilt, ungrateful for the gift I was given knowing there are others out there who yearn for a child more than anything else.

Post-partum depression is a daily struggle. Although now medicated and finally reaching out for support from others going through the same thing, I am in no way cured. I sometimes wonder when the day will come where I can finally say I'm not sad anymore, but another part of me knows that day is a ways down the road. Every day I spend with my daughter I am getting to know her. And when she looks at me and coos and smiles...I melt. I really do. When she's really happy and cooing up a storm I question if I even have depression, or if it's just something I've made up in my head because I am just that happy to be staring at her while she explores the world around her. I really do love this smelly, wiggly, crying, puking, clingy little person.

If you are one of those women who instantly is overcome with this abundance of love the second you lay your eyes on your child, lucky you. But I don't believe in love at first sight and my maternal instinct certainly didn't either. But just as my baby is getting to know me and love me, I too am still learning who she is and little by little falling in love....

What I Wish Someone Would Have Told Me

The moment we announced our pregnancy, the warnings and unwanted advice came from everyone:

Sleep now, once that baby comes you'll never sleep again. 

You'll be doing laundry everyday. 

Forget working out, you won't have time with a baby!

The moment you see your baby you'll fall in love. 

The time goes by so fast. 

Don't worry, everything will naturally come to you. 

There are easily 473 more things people told me about, but those are probably the ones I heard the most. Uff da! Honestly, everyone had me slightly fearing parenthood and that I was going to spend my days covered in puke with a crying baby trying to find the time to wash my underwear all after only getting maybe two hours of sleep. Thanks.For.Nothing. The truth is, everything everyone told me was pure crap. Not one warning or piece of advice that was shoved down my throat have I once thought 'Whew, glad I knew about this ahead of time!' Um. No. So here is a little list of real advice I wish someone had told me: 

You might not love your baby the moment you see her, and that's OK! Society has it crammed down our throats that motherhood is amazing. The best experience you can ever go through! The most fulfilling thing you can do with your life. There is so much pressure on women to feel and embrace motherhood with nothing but pure joy and the occasional sleepless night. But this is not the truth. The truth is labor takes a toll on you and you are going to feel like you got hit by a car for awhile. It is going to hurt to sit, sneeze, and God forbid you laugh too hard...ugh. And after you put your body through all that you are expected to be head over heels in love with the tiny person that did that to you. If you're one of those women lucky enough to fall in love the moment you lay eyes on your beloved newborn, count your blessings. But if you don't, it's OK. It comes with time and soon you'll spend hours staring at your baby and crying because you are so in love with her. 

Stock up on formula (if you're planning on formula feeding. If you're breastfeeding, please skip to the next point). I knew babies went through tons of diapers and wipes (and really not that many wipes), but I was not prepared for how much formula they drank! I was literally running to the store 1-2 times a week for the biggest cannister I could find. Had I known that, I would have been buying these suckers while I was pregnant when they went on sale). Also, I had no idea how much babies were suppose to eat. In the hospital, P would eat 10ml and we would be so proud of her, only come to find out she should have been drinking 30-35ml those first few days of life, which quickly turned into 60, then 90, then 120...

You are going to look at your husband differently. This is a good thing. I have never felt more connected to a person before until Hubs and I brought P into the world. He was my best friend before, but now he was so much more than that. In a matter of minutes he turned into my rock, my support, my everything. The mere thought of ever having to go a day without him in my life scared the shit out of me and I became overwhelmed with this new feeling to do everything I could to be the best wife and life partner to him. I had this new devotion to my husband who had gone through just as much of a life change as I had. The first month of P's life when I struggled to get off the couch most days only reinforced these feelings and my love for him continues to grow everyday. 

No one cares about you anymore. Everyone was so excited for us while I was pregnant, what with their unwarranted advice and their happiness for our growing family. When she was born, people came to the hospital to visit P and hold her, and those visits continued at home with people showering her with cute little outfits and us with compliments on how cute she was. But after a few days the excitement wore down and people didn't seem to care anymore. No one asked how I was doing or if we needed anything or offered to come over so I could do a load of laundry (I probably wouldn't have been able to do it anyways because of my crippling depression, but still). Call me selfish, but I really thought we would have more support. I was unfortunately under the impression that everyone flocked to babies and wanted to hold them whenever they could. It took me a long to accept that people have their own lives and that they might not necessarily revolve around me or my baby, but in the beginning it was a very difficult thing to accept. 

Swaddle. Swaddle. Swaddle. Those people that say their baby hated swaddling so they didn't do it? Load of crap. Babies, not just mine, love to be swaddled. In those first few weeks at home, P cried all night, most of the times with me crying right along with her. I just got to my wits end and decided to read a baby book. I always thought they were filled with a bunch of malarkey, but I was desperate. I chose to read The Happiest Baby on the Block and it seriously saved our lives. Swaddling was the best thing we could have done for our baby. If you're going to read any book, read that one. You won't be sorry, and you won't have a crying baby (you're welcome).

Oh gosh, there are tons more pieces of useful advice I wish I could share with you, but these stick with me as the most important. Although all the advice and warnings from friends and family were appreciated, they haven't quite come in handy yet. It's the raw, honest, crap-you-don't-want-to-hear advice that people really need to start sharing. 

A Letter For You

Dear Expecting Mommies and Daddies,

I know how you're feeling. I've been there. You're excited. You're nervous. You're anxious and happy and stressed and worried all at the same time. You have been planning this for months, maybe years, and you just want that little fella to come out already so you can meet him (or her)!! The registry is completed, the nursery is decorated, name is picked out and is already embroidered on an obscene amount of baby objects....now all that's left is waiting.

While you're waiting, you're probably going to take a baby class, or Google or Pinterest fun little baby facts and activities. What games can I play with a newborn? How often should they sleep? How do I soothe a crying baby? How much should they eat? How often do I bathe them? Your list is never ending. On top of that, you're also researching baby products and questioning the ones you already bought. Has my car seat been recalled since we installed it? Which stroller is the safest? A Medela breast pump, or a Playtex? Does FisherPrice even make safe bouncy seats? I better read 400 reviews and find out.

What did you find out?

I bet you learned what product was the best for you and your baby. You made a decision and know it's the best one you could make. You are now prepared. You have your checklists checked, your cupboards full of those sanitized bottles and pacifiers, freezer stocked with pre-made meals you spent hours preparing, and you just got told by a technician that your car seat is perfectly installed. Whew! But you're still waiting....

Since you have a minute, I'd like to give you some advice. You can be so prepared, have everything ready, done everything you were suppose to do to prepare for this little baby you are about to get to call your own, but are you really prepared? Whether this is your first or fifth, even if you have countless hours of baby experience, nothing can prepare you for this baby. This baby is different.This one is going to change your entire life, turn everything upside down, change everything you do and how you do it. And all those reviews you read about those products? They don't matter. You are already armed with the tools and knowledge you need to keep your baby safe and healthy. Trust me, it's instinctual whether you would like to think that or not. It will all come to you in the moment because you won't have a choice, and you'll find yourself making snap decisions like you've never made before and you know what? 99% of the time it's gonna turn out just fine.

But mommies and daddies, take this time to be selfish. Think about yourself for just a few minutes before baby gets here. Take the time to arm yourself with the tools you'll need for you after baby arrives. Mommies, read about recovery! There is nothing else like it and you are going to be uncomfortable and overwhelmed by how much you actually have to take care of yourself for the first few weeks. And daddies, spend some time with the guys. Have a few too many beers. And when you sober up the next morning, read an article or two about how to be there for your new mama when you bring the baby home. She is going to need you more than ever, even if she looks like she's handling it, she needs you. Or don't read anything at all, and just sit with her in the dark in the middle of the night while she feeds the baby, or bring her a glass of water (or some of that beef jerky she couldn't have for the last 9 months) without being asked.

Most importantly, cherish your new little family. Cherish the moments you have. The beginning is rough, but you cannot get that time back. You won't get a do over. Love each other on days when it seems really hard to and never take each other for granted.

I'd Rather Be Sleep Deprived

Not everyday is a good day. Sometimes that old friend Bitter and Guilt come over and decide to hang out for the day.

I wish being a new mom made me tired. I wish it made me stressed and busy, but left with feelings of fulfillment at the end of the day. But it doesn't. I'm well rested. I'm bored. A lot. Stress? Nope. Busy? It's not that hard to chase a 9 week old baby...they don't move very fast. And mine is apparently happier than a clam in her swaddle with a paci in her mouth, swaying back and forth with me in a rocking chair so I can catch up on Facebook or, apparently, my blog. I found myself this week bitter at other new moms who share their funny sleep deprivation stories or haven't showered in days because they're so busy keeping their household together. Well people, I just don't get it. I make dinner every night, do laundry, go to bed at a decent hour and usually get 6-7 hours of solid sleep, and showers? Yeah, I take at least a 20 minute shower everyday. I'm one of the lucky ones!! Uhhh....

No. With no stress and long ass showers comes time. Time to think. Time for me to realize that motherhood would be much easier if my worst problem was simply sleep deprivation. No no. That is only the beginning. 

Each morning I wake up eager to pop the next anti-depressant out of sheer FEAR that if I wait too long I'll start to feel an overhelming amount of sadness that I won't be able to bounce back from it and I will spend the entire day in tears questioning every life decision I've ever made that has led me to motherhood. And drugs don't fix everything. The other night I had a legit anxiety attack that Hubs had decided to leave me for another woman and bawled uncontrollably for 45 minutes while feeding my baby. Keep in mind, Hubs was at work at the time and I hadn't spoken to him since his last break hours sooner (at which time he gave no indication that he was leaving me). I was an irrational mess. I AM an irrational mess, and no nap or full night sleep can fix that. 

Then Guilt decides to keep me company too. Why not? Before giving birth, I shared the excitement and happiness with others around me for the arrival of our little bundle of joy. Once she was finally here, that excitement and happiness continued for everyone. Except me. I should be the most happy; I'm her mommy! I watch family and friends holding P and they smile and giggle with her and tell me they miss her later on and how great she is. Well, I know she's great. And I do smile at her and when she smiles at me it is honestly the highlight of my day and I question if I'm choosing to be sad because how can something so precious not make me giddy? So I feel guilty. I feel guilty that I can't enjoy my baby as much as others and it kills me to see how happy other people are when they hold her. And I don't miss her. I could leave for hours and not miss her. Of course, I worry about her. I want to make sure she's safe and soothed because I love her, but I do not miss her. So I feel guilty. And there are times Guilt and Bitter collide and I miss being able to go out to dinner with Hubs or see a movie together, or cuddle on the couch without worrying we're staying up too late because I know I'll be up at 3am. I feel bitter I don't enjoy my marriage like I once did, and then guilty for wanting to put Hubs before my baby.

I tell myself that by writing this blog, putting myself out there and becoming vulnerable that I can somehow help someone and make a difference, but honestly, I'm not so sure anymore. How can I help others when I haven't fixed myself yet? How can I help others when I am still embarassed and ashamed that I have a clinical diagnosis of post partum depression? 

All healing, whether physical or emotional, takes time. I spend my days waiting for the clock to be up on my time and I will suddenly be cured. That I will wake up one day and I will be back to being Me again. That I will be the mommy I have talked about wanting to be for years with Hubs. That I will be the wife Hubs deserves and had before my hormones decided to take me hostage.

Oh yes, I wish sleep deprivation was biggest problem.....

Dear Baby, I'm Sorry

Dear Baby,
I'm sorry I didn't smile at you
your first few weeks of life.
I'm sorry mommy cried with you
when it was late at night.
I'm sorry I didn't play with you
and encourage you to coo,
I'm sorry I kept my distance
and forgot to say I Love You.
I wish that things were different
and I appreciated what I had
I wish I could have a do over
and believe it wouldn't be so bad.
I'm sorry that I got sick
the day we brought you home,
and that it took so long for me to seek help
because I felt so alone.
But Baby let me make it up to you,
I promise from now on
that I will love you every second
and never do you wrong.
I promise I will work on me
if you can forgive my mistakes
so we can enjoy our days together
nothing for granted I will take.
Dear Baby,
I love you so much
I only hope that you can know
that I never meant to hurt you
and that our relationship will grow.
I will never let you down again,
and I'm sorry I did before,
please let me make it up to you
my Baby, forevermore.

Maternity Leave is Not a Vacation

When I was pregnant I made the decision I would take the longest maternity leave I could to bond with my new baby. I found out I was lucky enough to be able to take off 12 weeks, paid. I went for it! I was so excited to spend 12 whole weeks with my new little baby and not at work. I planned everything out. We would play all day and I would clean the house, paint the living room, cook meals, go shopping, work out, spend time with my dogs and get P into a schedule (yeah, I thought I could start a schedule on Day 1)....it was going to be the best 12 weeks of my life.

For the first four weeks I had Hubs at home with me. We spent every day on the couch watching TV and playing games on our phones. We took care of our daughter and ate take out when we remembered to eat. We took naps and sat up all night together if P wouldn't stop crying. I didn't shower. I went days without changing my clothes; I lived in pajamas. I didn't clean a damn thing. In fact, the clean laundry would sit in the basket waiting to be put away for a week before I would give in and do something about it. When I did shower, I would stand there and cry because I was sad, and the burning of my stitches made me feel like I was never going to heal. The giant pads as long as my arm that I had to wear every day made me feel so unattractive that I didn't feel the need to get dressed or change my clothes; who was I trying to impress? I knew recovering from childbirth was not easy, but I really didn't know how hard and painful it would be for the first few weeks. I was always uncomfortable, and let's not forget the perpetual fear of having to go to the bathroom! Oh yes, my days were filled with meaning.

Hubs eventually had to go back to work and I continued the same pattern of sitting on the couch all day. Yes, all damn day. I managed to pull myself together to take care of P without him, but nothing else changed. At 6 weeks post-partum I finally started on anti-depressants. After a few days my motivation to live a life returned, and now the real work began. Everything I had neglected for the last few weeks had caught up with me. I washed dishes, did the laundry (and put it away the same day), took care of the dogs, played with P, took naps and ate nutritous meals. By 7 weeks post-partum I began running again. I went grocery shopping and even cooked dinners. I ran errands with P and tried to find a reason to leave the house almost every day, even if it was just to the gas station or the Starbucks drive thru. Anything to get out of the house for a small amount of time seemed satisfying. My days seemed busy and passed fairly quickly. Eventually, P and I fell into a natural routine that consisted of watching Good Morning America every morning, feeding, playing and napping. P would nap and I would enjoy my morning cup of coffee and catch up on my news feed (yes, that bitch Facebook still plays a role in my daily life, although I am much less bitter at others posts now). Throughout the day P would watch me wash bottles and fold laundry or dust the living room, and then we would venture out for our quick errand and come home and play and nap some more before I would start dinner before Hubs got home from work. We always seem busy together and I now involve her in almost every task I do throughout the day. I am finally bonding with my baby.

I am now 8.5 weeks post-partum. I still haven't cleaned my bathroom. I haven't painted my living room. I don't make my bed every day and sometimes I stay in my pajama pants. But I am not bored. Every day I focus on getting better and bonding with P. I don't mind that I can't work out as much as I wanted to or that my house projects remain incomplete; I'll get to it all eventually. I am on maternity leave, I am not on a paid vacation. I've accepted my life has changed and my days need to remain focused on my daughter and my family. People are still in shock that I am choosing to stay home for 12 weeks, but I need at least that long to adjust to motherhood. I am not on vacation. I am in the middle of a total lifestyle change.

Social Media: That Selfish Bitch

Facebook. Everyone has it. Everyone uses it. Everyone (ok, most) shares every detail of their life, including the life changing moment of when they birth a child. Immediately their page is filled with pictures (yes, I am guilty of this) and captions that read "so blessed to be this little girl/boy's parents," or "we are so in love and couldn't be happier." Then come the statuses....almost daily of how happy they are, how perfect their baby is, how they can't believe their baby is already one week old....yadda yadda yadda.

Adorable. I love baby pictures. I am truly happy for my Facebook friends when they become a mommy or daddy. But there was something different about when my own baby was born. I didn't post captions about how in love with her I was, or how blessed I felt to be her mommy. I posted the occasional picture of her, but I didn't flaunt my lovey dovey feelings all over social media for the world to see. It wasn't that I didn't want to, it's that I honestly did not have those feelings.

But social media is a bitch. It's a cruel, heartless, selfish bitch. Social media lies. Approximately 10-15% of women in the United States suffer from post-partum depression, so of the oodles of friends I have on Facebook that have become parents, it would appear that I am the only one that has suffered. This can just not be true. I refuse to accept that. Scrolling through my news feed only added to my depression as I saw other friends that had babies around the same time as me beaming with pride. Just like most people my age, I couldn't resist checking Facebook multiple times a day, but every time I did I sunk deeper into this hole that something was wrong with me and that I was a bad mom, yet I couldn't stop obsessing over how happy everyone else was and how unhappy I was. Why didn't I want to gloat about my baby? Why didn't I feel blessed to be P's mommy? Why didn't I want to rub in everyone's face that I just had a baby and look how adorable she is in this onesie?

Social media lies. Social media allows us to portray a life that we might not necessarily have as a reality, but wish we had. So why are women so afraid to admit they aren't head over heals, can't stop staring in love with their new baby? I couldn't bring myself to lie on social media and continue making posts about how happy I was because I wasn't. Instead, I distanced myself from updating my page at all. I feared that if I did post anything, that eventually people would catch on that my feelings weren't genuine and call me out. And of course, being the only person that has ever felt depressed after having their baby, I couldn't bear the humiliation and guilt of that happening.

It was recently brought to my attention that postpartum depression can start as early as when you first become pregnant. Had I begun to have these feelings while I was still pregnant, I may have been able to prevent it from exploding into this full blown, paralyzing depression. But I didn't. I was happy being pregnant. I loved talking about my baby and planning everything out for when she arrived. I felt unbelievable happiness every time I felt her move in my belly and fell asleep every night with my hand on my stomach. Her kicks soothed me to sleep; I had never been happier. I naturally assumed this happiness would continue, especially considering that everyone else I knew was when they brought baby home. How can a place filled with thousands of people make us feel so alone?

Social media is wonderful. We can keep in contact with more people than we ever thought possible, and it is now made convenient by being everywhere we are. Social media is a bitch. It can also make us believe that everyone is living a perfect life, which can be far from the reality that we're living. It makes us think we're alone, even when we're connecting with others, and it can make us feel so isolated that we are ashamed to admit to ourselves our own true feelings. I can't say for sure if literally no one else on my friends list has never suffered from PPD, but if they did, I hope they were also able to seek help and know that not everything we see online is real. I hope that anyone reading this that thinks they might also be suffering from PPD/PPA/OCD is able to find the courage to seek help and know that you are not alone.

Why I Don't Breastfeed

In 2013, 77% of all American babies were breastfed. The positives are numerous, varying from nutrients for baby, reduces infant allergies, builds immunities, burns calories, saves money, and many more.

That being said, P's health is the most important thing to me. Burning calories was appealing to me as well. It was settled. I was going to breastfeed my baby. I got everything together. I bought a pump, ice packs, storage bags, alcohol test strips (hey, mama needs a glass of wine from time to time), and read countless blogs on starting a supply, what to eat and not eat and tips for producing. Of course, when the time came I was nervous. I told the hospital I wanted to exclusively pump, but would start when I got home, so P would be bottle fed while we were in the hospital. I had every intention of pumping multiple times a day, building my supply, storing extras, and burning those awesome calories. I was excited to do this for my baby.

But then we came home. Understandably so, the first day home was exhausting and we needed some time to adjust, so P was bottle fed for one more day. The days that followed I had no energy. I couldn't get off the couch and, as we all know by now, I was suffering from post-partum depression. Finally, I decided I had to try. I invested all this money into the act of pumping, so I might as well just try it. It wasn't that bad, although time consuming and the pump was loud, but it wasn't bothersome. The next day I was feeling a little better and thought I was finally getting out of this slump I had been in, so I pumped again. But three steps forward for me also meant ten steps back. I couldn't bring myself to pump again. I couldn't bring myself to get off the couch to do it. I kept telling myself I needed to and that it was the best for P, and me, but it didn't matter. Hubs would ask if I was going to and I would dance around the question and just mix another bottle of formula. Friends and family were well aware that I had made the decision to pump and would ask me how it was going. I would say it was going fine, because it did, but I didn't tell them I had stopped.

When P was a few weeks old I couldn't really avoid the truth any longer. Why was everyone so curious how I was feeding my baby? Why did everyone care? After all, it was my baby, not theirs. Nonetheless, I told them I had stopped and she was exclusively formula feeding now. People reacted like I had just told them I had some super contagious disease. They didn't know what to say. What was the big deal? So my baby drinks formula, get over it.

P's health is still my number one priority, which is why she is formula fed. I was so sad and depressed after she was born that pumping was emotionally and mentally impossible for me to accomplish. I was sick. I needed to get better. If I didn't get better, what would happen to P? Maybe she wouldn't get the nutrients from breastmilk, but I had to get better for her. Being depressed and not dealing with it made me a much worse mother than formula feeding. If I was happy, I knew I could make my baby happy. I would cuddle with her, feed her, play with her....if I didn't focus on myself and getting better, what kind of mother was she going to be left with? That's not what I wanted for her.

I would like to think that eventually other members of the Mom Club will stop judging other members. We all have a reason behind the decisions we make for our children, and we believe that the decision we make is the best for our child, ourselves and our family. I do not formula feed because I am selfish or don't care about my baby's health, I formula feed because I want my baby to grow up with a happy mommy that enjoys every moment they share together.

The Mom Club

The Mom Club. n. A club in which all women who mother a child is automatically initiated into whether she wants to or not. Membership often entails unwanted advice and personal details of which you could live without. Dues are paid daily, weekly or monthly, depending on how often you choose to leave your house.

I knew I was becoming a mom for 9 months. For 39 weeks I prepared, planned, researched. I knew everything I needed to know about labor and bringing baby home! What I wish someone had told me was that the day I brought my bundle of joy home from the hospital that I was also a permanent member of the Mom Club.

Staying at home with P was great. Everything was peaceful. Quiet, for the most part. Family and friends were helpful and encouraging of whatever choices we decided to make for our daughter. But taking P into public was a whole different ball game. I think I became a member of the Club somewhere around 20 weeks pregnant. My belly was becoming much larger at this point and it seemed like wherever me and Hubs went, people asked us how far along I was and if we knew what we were having yet. Oh yes, it's a girl and we're due in December. People's eyes lit up and their mouths opened with a flood of words. Current moms and dads alike babbled on and on to us about their experiences as parents, pregnancy, labor, breastfeeding, potty training...information overload!

When I was 37 weeks pregnant, a woman talked to me for an hour about how her daughter was born with severe reflux. Her daughter screamed day and night, they tried everything from her change of diet (as she was breastfeeding) to even trying different formulas. They tried medicines and homeopathic remedies, but their daughter continued to vomit constantly until she was 5. Her daughter was now 11 and still had problems, but they were finally under control and she hoped I didn't have this same experience. Oh don't worry, this didn't scare me at all....

At 22 weeks, I was given grotesque details about a home birth from someone I knew for approximately 4 minutes. They smiled as they described the labor and placenta....oh dear.

Throughout my entire pregnancy I was given random advice from strangers no matter where I went. I thought it would end there, but no such luck. Now that P was here, we received advice from women everywhere! Methods they tried with their own kids, what worked, what didn't, how difficult their children were as babies and how difficult they got when they were older....wow, was there anything positive about being a parent? One lady (waiting in line behind me at a pharmacy) told me the first few years of her children's lives were a blur and she couldn't recall one single detail because of how exhausted she had been. One lady, who I'm assuming was an honorary member of the club, kept comparing the similarities I would experience with my baby that she currently has with her terrier. I couldn't stop the advice. I was a magnet for all mothers everywhere. I  was approached in public bathrooms, store check out lines, the doctor's office...you name it, I've probably been given advice there before.

At the end of the day, the choices I make for my daughter are mine. I understand other members of the Club have the best intentions, but I wish the meetings were optional.

Regret

Being a first time mom, I only thought I knew what I was getting myself into the day that test turned up positive. When I saw that second line appear, I couldn't believe it. We had been trying for months and the day was finally here. We were going to be parents! We immediately began planning, starting a registry, discussing names, talking about all the things we wanted to teach him/her and what we hoped for the future....we smiled every time we heard the heartbeat and stared at the ultrasound pictures proudly. After many months of organizing and thousands of dollars later, our nursery was complete. It was perfect and we couldn't wait to put our little princess in it.

Flash forward. The day has finally arrived that that little second line has now turned into a full grown baby we were carrying into our home for the very first time. We put her in her swing and stared at her. Hubs beamed with pride. I felt nothing. I was tired, the house was a mess, the dogs were needy and curious (therefore, annoying) and all I wanted to do was lay on the couch, turn on the TV and relax. I did spend the next three weeks doing just this, as P pretty much slept the whole day, but it wasn't the same. I didn't want to pick her up. I didn't want to cuddle her or rock her or feed her or change her...I just wanted to be me again.

Regret immediately set in. What had I done? My life is ruined! I will never get to do anything again! I will never have Hubs to myself again! We will never go out on a date again! What have I done?????

Every day I regretted my baby. I didn't see her as a burden, but I truly believed I had ruined my life. I didn't think I was meant to be a mother after all. I didn't understand why everyone was so happy for us because I was so miserable for myself. I was bitter at visitors who came to hold P and commented on how adorable she was and how lucky we were, then they would leave with the 'Make sure to enjoy that baby!' Ugh. Every time someone said that I wanted to respond with 'No thank you,' but I somehow found the energy to fake a smile instead. It was nice having visitors and seeing everyone, but at the same time it made me resent them because they got to leave and I was tied down to this baby. I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't want my baby anymore. I knew it was horrible to think that, but I couldn't stop. I didn't know how I could possibly get out of this whole "mother" thing anymore. Worst yet, Hubs was so incredibly happy over our newborn that I knew it would break his heart if I told him I felt this way. What if he decided I wasn't meant to be a mother either and take the baby and leave me? What if he was so disgusted that I felt this way about our baby that we had wanted so badly that he couldn't stand to be near me anymore? I couldn't tell my family because they were head over heels in love with our newest addition, and all of my friends with children only talked about how great and happy their kids made them. They would definitely think I was the worst person. I would lose literally everyone in my life if they knew.

But my life had changed. Every. Single. Thing. My whole world was turned around and it was the one thing I didn't plan for or discuss with anyone beforehand. For 9 months I talked about being pregnant, having a newborn and going into labor, but not once did I think about what was going to happen afterwards. No one warned me. Everyone warned me about contractions and pushing and sleepless nights with a baby....so if no one told me there was a slight chance of me being miserable once I was home with the baby, then no one else must have ever felt this way about their own baby before.

That means I was the only one to ever have post-partum depression. Whoa. That's heavy.

Running in Place

Ever since I can remember I have always run away from my problems. Perhaps it was a fear of confrontation, or letting someone down or showing any signs of weakness, but either way I have always tried to avoid them. Growing up, it could have been a disagreement with my parents, a bad grade, a fight with a friend...I would avoid addressing the issue at all costs.

Now here's the real challenge....have you ever tried to run away from a baby? Let me tell you that it is damn near impossible. Physically, yes, easy peasy. Emotionally? Those little boogers are magnets! Despite the fact that each day I struggle to be positive and interact with my baby, I can't seem to escape her. So then the brilliant thought comes that I could just take her with me and maybe the real problem is where I am, not what I'm going through. Well by the time you have the baby fed, burped and changed, the diaper bag filled, the dogs locked up, purse loaded and baby strapped into the car seat, you are too freaking exhausted to make it out the door alone with all that crap, emotional baggage included. So you succumb and throw the bags on the floor, release the dogs and lift the baby back out and plop your ass back on the couch where a nice indent has already been started from the many days of being parked there. Oofda.

There has to be an easier way to run away from your problems. Especially now. The baby is crying, the dog just pooped on the floor, there's three loads of laundry staring me in the face, a sink full of dishes and now I can't stop itching myself because of an allergic reaction to the beautiful meds I was put on to deal with PPD. I can't figure out which is worse....being horrifically sad, or being slightly sad and itching like crazy. It's a toss up, really. It's impossible to run away from all this craziness. It's crazy to think I could run way from what has become my life. It's silly to think I shouldn't want this life.

I tried to think of the last thing that made me happy. Of course, my husband makes me happy, my adorable puppies, my loving family, a glass of wine after a long day.....but what was the last thing I did that made me happy? Of course. The one thing that I was so great at. Running! But this time it would be different. This time, I wouldn't be running away from my problems, I would be running towards a solution to them. I decided enough was enough. After many attempts, I got off the couch, put on my tennis shoes, strapped P into her swing in front of the treadmill, put in my headphones and ran. A very slow, frequently-interrupted-by-baby-cries run. And it felt GREAT! Sure, it took me 17 minutes to go one mile, and I wasn't getting any further away than when I started, but I finally started feeling better. It was the first day in weeks I didn't cry in the shower or feel helpless. I felt filled with purpose and motivation again. I saw a glimpse of the woman I used to be and the woman I am trying to be again. I only hope I can stay running in place long enough to see her again.