Reflections and Goodbyes

I cannot express how extremely happy I am that we are in the final hours of 2015. This past year has brought me life changes, tears, heartache, hopelessness, selfishness, a joy and love I never thought I could feel towards another person, amazing new friends and a diagnosis that I never expected.

But let's talk about all that bad stuff for a minute. I spent the first couple months of 2015 in tears. Every moment of everyday that someone could not see me, I was in tears. At times, hysterical tears. I once sat on my daughters bedroom floor while she napped in her crib bawling so hard I lost track of time, and before I knew it two hours had passed and she was awake. Yep, let's leave that in 2015.

Not only did 2015 start off in full blown tear sessions, but I felt hopeless. I never thought I would be happy. I didn't think I would ever find who I was in the new role I was given as a mother. I was scared I would live the rest of my life feeling uncertain and miserable. It physically hurt to smile, to laugh, to talk to someone about my baby when they asked....

And then came the extraordinary relief of validation. Validation that it was okay the I felt the way I was feeling. Validation that I wasn't alone. Validation that I wasn't the only one who had ever felt this way. Validation that there was a way out and that I would be able to feel good again.

I sit and write this to you, my wonderful readers, from the same couch I broke down on and told Hubs how I felt. The same couch I could barely move from the first two months of my daughters life. The same couch that I rested on to make that phone call to see my doctor. And now, here we are 10 months after that phone call was made, on this couch, the same one I sat on and read to my daughter this morning before day care, and the same one that tonight I cuddled her on before saying goodnight and putting her to bed.

Why, yes, 2015 has brought it's shares of struggles. But there was good stuff too.

I met this amazing group of women (my Tribe) that I talk to daily. I gained this ridiculous sense of self confidence and motivation. I became a Warrior Mom with Postpartum Progress and connected with other recovering and recovered mamas. I learned what unconditional love was through my recovery; my heart no longer hurts when I look at my daughter, but swells up with immense happiness and love for her. Because of her, I have found peace in the events that have happened over the course of the year and learned that it is not always about forgiving others, but about forgiving yourself and relieving the burden we tend to carry with us.

I don't have any goals for 2016. I don't think I need to make any. I don't think a date on a calendar should set the precedent for change to be a better person. I'm pretty sure no year could be more challenging or trying than this one, and I am ready to put that behind me. There are days I still struggle. I consider myself recovered now, but I am not cured. I am determined to focus on me, my family and my career, instead of living up to some unrealistic goal for myself that I must achieve within 365 days or else I will have failed the whole year. No.

What I can promise you though, is that I will never again let something rob me of the time I have here in the way that PPD did. I will not take for granted the people in my life I care about. I will never suffer in silence again, refusing to ask for help because of fear. I will trust that those I am closest to in my life have my best interest in mind and will not judge me. I will experience everything I can, take chances, and make a difference. I will be thankful for my recovery and strive to feel joy in each day.

And with that, I am not just saying goodbye to 2015, but I am bidding farewell to PPD: your place is in 2015, and in 2015 you shall stay.

My readers, thank you for sticking with me all year (seriously, huge props to those that have stuck with me since the first post). I am so excited for the coming year and the BIG things that are happening. I cannot wait to share all of these exciting happenings with you as they come. Happy New Year, and I'll see you next year.

Why I Won't Teach My Daughter to Share

We've heard it our whole life: Share. You share with kids in schools and you share your toys when friends come over to your house and you share what you have with others because it's just nice and makes you a nice person, right?

I don't know about you, but after middle school I stopped 'sharing' things with people. Usually, they lost them or broke them. Typically, they 'forgot' to give it back and probably still have it to this day or pawned it for cigarette money. So I'm over sharing, and I refuse to teach my children to take part of this barbaric tradition we teach kids.

I think my passion stemmed from a story Hubs told me. He was doing pick up at daycare and P was sitting in the toddler room, which was pretty typical for that late in the day, and she was playing with a toy phone when a toddler came up to her and ripped it from her hands. Luckily, P is pretty chill and just rolled with it. Upon hearing this story, I got super Mama Bear. I asked Hubs if he yelled at the kid (I would have) and he explained that he just stared at him (trying not to push him over, I would assume). I asked him if any of the teachers yelled at him (they didn't). Umm what the hell. This, my readers, is not sharing. This is being an asshole. But the situation itself is not uncommon. How many times do we see a child cry because they want the toy someone else has? And more often than not, we tell the child to hand it over to the whiny one because it's 'nice to share.' Admit it, because we're all guilty of it. And we were all wrong.

I believe there is a difference in sharing (total bullshit) and playing nice. I want P to play nice with other kids, but not be told she has to give up a toy she is playing with and 'share' it with someone else just because they want it. I want a lot of things, but I'm pretty sure that if I cry every day about the Mercedes I wouldn't mind driving, that no one is going to just give it to me. P is not always going to get her way. P won't always get what someone else has, and in no way am I going to raise her to think that she is owed something just because someone else has it and she wants it too.

Maybe my toddler story isn't fair. Maybe a teacher didn't see him do it. Maybe they didn't think it was a big deal because Hubs was there to take her home anyways and obviously she had to be done with the toy because she was leaving. Maybe that kid really is just an asshole and thinks it's okay to rip toys from a baby's hands, but it stirred something in me. As much as I don't want P thinking if she asks nicely or cries enough for something that someone else has to give it to her, I also don't want her to think that if someone else asks or cries at her that she needs to give up what she has. That's not how the world will work for most of her life, so that is not how her life should work as a small child.

Now don't get me wrong, P won't be running around hoarding toys yelling 'MINE MINE MINE.' No, she will be raised to play nice. Play with others and play nice. Don't feel like you need to give something up if you're not done with it. You have just as much right to an object as the next person. Under no circumstance should you feel like you need to give something to someone for no reason simply because they wanted it too. Don't take from others. Wait your turn. Don't be an asshole.

It's simple, right? Stop sharing. (Unless you own that Mercedes and are looking to give it away, in which case, I'll take that).

The Working Mommy

It recently occurred to me that I started this blog to share my experience as a new mom in the midst of postpartum depression recovery, and working full time, yet I have yet to really talk about what a typical day is like in my full time life. So, here I am again (in case you missed me) forfeiting some details about my life as a full time mom, full time wife, full time furmommy and full time working lady.

My day technically starts at 6:30am. I don't start my day until about 6:45am. I get P ready in the morning and finally start working on myself. I try to hurry and have everything ready the night before, but sometimes it just doesn't work out that way. I'm usually late to work. 8:02 a.m. Never fails. Some days I'm early. 7:58 a.m.....yessss.

I work for a great company. I spend 9 hours a day there and sometimes I'm not ready to leave at 5. Sometimes I wish I could stay longer, not because I don't want to go home to my baby, but because I'm really into what I'm doing and wish I could keep working on it. I get a sincere sense of enjoyment and fulfillment from my job. Not every day at work is a great day, but I've never truly felt a sense of dread when I walk into the office on a Monday morning.

I think working full time and wanting to work full time throws a lot of people for a loop, especially stay at home moms. I've been asked if I don't get a sense of enjoyment from my baby if I'm needing to find it in my work at the office. These two things, family and work, are not the same thing. It is not the same feeling. I am a mom, but I am also me. When I became a mother I added another being in my life for me to love, but it did not replace the love I have for other things. Becoming a mom did not take away the passion I have for other endeavors. It added to it. I work because I want my family to have the best health care. I work so my family can have the income to send our children to the best day care. I work so my family can live in a nice home, take vacations, support two hungry furbabies and have opportunities we might otherwise have to go without. I want P to go to college. I want P to not have to worry about how she will go to college. I might never be able to afford to pay for her entire college experience, but when the time comes I want to be able to tell her I tried, I am trying, and we're going to make it work. I want P to grow up in a place where she can take advantage of every opportunity she wants, not just the ones I can fit into my budget. I work and give up time during the day with her so I can provide her with life long advantages, not just short term ones.

After work I am overjoyed to pick up P from daycare. We go home and I let the dogs out and feed them their supper. Then her and I play, she helps me make dinner, watches me fold laundry and unload the dishwasher. On a rare occasion we might have to run an errand. We eat dinner together and clean up the house, then Hubs comes home and gives her a bath and puts her to bed. I keep cleaning and doing laundry, letting the dogs out, prepping meals and snacks for the next day and making grocery lists. I might pay a bill or answer some emails. I'm constantly moving. Sometimes I go to the gym or make a late grocery store run. By 8 p.m. I am almost always settled in on the couch with a glass of wine and Words With Friends.

My day ends at 10 p.m. I'm exhausted. But sometimes I am enjoying this time with Hubs so much that I just can't bring myself to close my eyes. I enjoy his company. I enjoy having conversations with him and laughing with him after a long day without the distractions of a little person tugging on my pant leg or crying because a dog licked her face. Sometimes my day ends at 11 p.m. Sometimes later.

My days are busy, crazy, non-stop, and rarely involve a break. I am constantly multi-tasking and constantly wishing coffee stayed warmer longer. There are days I feel like saying screw it and letting the house get messy and grabbing a pizza for dinner instead of cooking, but my mom never did that. My mom never stopped working, moving and giving. Whether I like it or not, P is watching me. P is studying and learning from everything I'm doing. If I give up, if I say screw it, if I let myself stop living these crazy days, what will she think of me? What will she think of our family? Of herself? Of her future? Maybe I'm over thinking it.

Of course I miss her! I have her picture on my desk. I have her artwork on my walls. I think about her almost all day. I talk about her to my co-workers and show them funny pictures of her on my phone. I don't think about the time I'm missing out on with her because I'm too busy planning all the things we're going to do together in the time we do have. I don't worry about milestones she's making without me, but I hope if she does start walking that daycare keeps their mouths shut and lets me think she's doing it for the first time with me. I leave P every day with people who keep her safe and meet her needs, who play with her and provide her with way cooler toys than what I can. I leave her with people she loves and reaches for when we drop her off every morning, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

At the end of the day I love being a working mom. I take pride in the fact that I work my 45 hours a week, can come home and still take care of my family, the household, my two Ferrel dogs, and keep everyone happy. That's why I work. That's why I won't be a stay at home mom. That's why I won't ever feel guilty for putting P in daycare so I can go to work. And that's why I'm grateful for the opportunities I have and that I'm able to provide my family with. And one day, I hope P will be grateful too.

My two adorable furbabies. 

**Disclaimer: this post is a reflection of our everyday life post-recovery from PPD.  This is not a representation of what life was like before seeking help and starting a treatment plan. I also want to make it clear that I in no way feel superior to stay at home parents. Two, full time working parents is what works for our family at this moment in our lives. For those who do stay home with their children, it truly does take a tremendous amount of strength and integrity and I admire you for those qualities.**

Stigmas, Lies and the Government - Oh My!!

Disclaimer: This post may contain triggers. This is your warning.

Alrighty then.

Please raise your hand if you think mental health stigmas in this country no longer exist. Don't worry, I'll wait.

Why didn't you raise your hand? Oh, that's right, because that was really dumb of me to ask. OF COURSE we still have stigmas around mental health. If we didn't, why did you struggle for so long to ask for help? It's hard! We're afraid of what a doctor will tell us, what our families and friends will think and that recovery won't work.

Next question won't be so difficult. I'll make it multiple choice.

What is the #1 killer of infants and children in America? A - SIDS, B - Birth Defects, C - the hands of parents........don't worry, I'll wait.

If you guessed B, you're correct. If you guessed C, you are highly misinformed. Here, let me help you.

Being diagnosed with a perinatal mood disorder does not mean you will hurt your child. It does not mean you are at risk of hurting yourself or others. It means you need help, and with the right help you can recover and live a fulfilling life of joy and happiness with your friends and family. It means you're struggling more than others, that you need someone to listen more than before, that you need to be taken care of and that you need time to heal. It does not mean you are crazy. It does not mean you don't love your children or your spouse.

Last night, the March of Dimes hosted a Twitter chat about postpartum depression in new moms in the NICU (bravo to them for starting the conversation, by the way). Throughout this conversation a comment (not made by the March of Dimes) was made that not only shocked me, but it hurt me. It hit home for me. It stated that postpartum depression was the leading cause of death in infants in our country. Well, the good news is that, according to these people, stigmas on mental health no longer exist. Thank goodness. Because now I have been classified as a number one suspect for murdering my child, but I no longer need to fear asking for help or seeking help. Pardon my language, but only a true idiot could make a statement such as this.

It's hard to write about this. It's hard to even think about. It angers me beyond belief. Through my own recovery I have met countless recovered moms who adore their children. I have met women that are currently struggling and counseled them, helped them find help, and assure them things will be okay. They're scared and they want to know what to expect, what the doctor will say, what to do if their doctor doesn't believe them, and there are times when I struggle to convince them IT WILL BE OKAY! It will be okay. But as long as statements like these are made, women (and men) are only instilled with more fear. Fear that now the life of their child is at risk. I'm not naive, I know not every person recovers and there are times when it ends in tragedy, but I also know better than to think that every woman is putting the life of her child in danger because she isn't happy anymore.

I am asking you to help. I am asking you to reach out to the Office of Women's Health and ask them for their help. We need to keep the conversation going, but more importantly, we need to keep the conversation going in the right direction. We need to make strides forward, not backwards.

 

 Photo courtesy of Katherine Stone, PPI. You can read her original reaction to this event here: http://www.postpartumprogress.com/postpartum-depression-stigma

PSA: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing

Going into motherhood I had the typical image in my head: home dishelved, dishes piling high, take out bags scattered about, my hair a mess and the thought of wearing jeans is just a distant memory. And as my pregnancy progressed I accepted that my home was going to change and began to prepare for the tornado that was about to strike. But things turned out a bit differently. Most days end with the satisfaction of knowing I worked a full day, hit the gym, did laundry, cooked dinner and took care of my family to the best of my ability. Maybe even ran an errand or two. I call those my Super Woman Days. And they happen a lot. *toot toot*

Some days are harder than others, I admit. There are days when the laundry basket sits for four days full of clean clothes because I just really don't want to put them away. Sometimes we eat off paper plates. There are nights when P just won't stay asleep and one of us (Hubs) ends up sleeping in the recliner cuddling with her half the night. The dogs run away, we forget it's garbage day and trash bags pile up, and the cupboards become empty and we're stuck with frozen pizza for dinner again. But for the most part we got this.

I am happy. Hubs is happy. P is happy. The dogs are probably happy, but who can really tell. We go on family walks and eat dinner together. We take trips, laugh and play, tickle tiny baby feet and take turns changing diapers. We read books to P and play silly games together. We try really hard to make sure she has everything she needs to have a happy childhood and a successful future, but want to know the secret to it all? I have no idea what I'm doing.

The internet is filled with forums and parenting blogs confusing and panicking parents into an all out frenzy if they're making the right decision, and if you don't you are potentially psychologically damaging your child for life. {Because we weren't already terrified enough as parents.}

I'm not immune to these same worries. I Google just about everything, but I try not to stress about what I read, nor do I choose to believe everything I read, regardless of who the source is. I choose to believe that the decision I feel is beneficial for my baby is, despite what the mom of 7 kids who has 'seen it all' says on that forum.

We gave P cereal at 4 months. We gave her puree's at 5 months. She slept in a rock and play until 8 weeks old and was then left completely alone in her own crib in her own room in complete darkness and has been there ever since. I stopped trying to force her to look away from the TV at 6 weeks old. We've let her suck on a lemon that was in our glass of beer without rinsing it off. We used the Cry It Out method (and it worked, and it's been awesome). P doesn't wear shoes. In fact, sometimes we even let her teethe on shoes. She's had two colds and both times we gave her baby cold medicine, switched on the humidifier and let it run it's course (which took forever, by the way). She's sat in jumpers and exersaucers longer than the allowed 15 minutes. She sleeps with a blanky. I don't check on her in the middle of the night. Sometimes she wears boy clothes. I didn't really care to be anywhere near her the first 6 weeks of her life and y'know what? She doesn't even hold it against me. She still climbs on my lap and smiles and cuddles and reaches out for me when I walk by.

I have no idea if any of these decisions we've made for P are going to damage her in the long term. I actually highly doubt any of them will. She appears to be healthy. She's happy. She likes being around us (usually). Why as parents do we feel the need to ask, to Google search, to reach for answers from every stranger on the internet if what our baby is doing or isn't doing is normal? If it's okay to take them outside when it's 30 degrees out (it is, and it's called a coat)? I once saw a mom ask Facebook if it was okay that her baby didn't want a pacifier and if she should be concerned.

I may not know what I'm doing, but you need to trust yourself. Listen to your baby. Trust your baby and trust your instincts. Don't take your baby outside in -50 and a blizzard, but don't be afraid of a little fresh air. Your baby probably needs to go to a doctor if they haven't eaten in two days, but they're probably okay if they just don't want that pacifier in their mouth all the time.

Someone once told me I made parenting look easy. Maybe I'm naive because P is only 11 months old and the worst is yet to come, but it really is easy. There is no secret. I try not to stress about the things I can't control and I make sure P doesn't fall down the stairs or eat an electrical cord, and as long as she isn't doing those things and is laughing with a belly full of food, why do I need to be concerned?

You'd be surprised how much easier life can be when you stop worrying and just start flying by the seat of your pants. You end up in some great places. <3

An Open Letter to Everyone Else

To Whom It May Concern,

My daughter is pretty awesome. And I'm not just saying that because she's mine. She's happy. She smiles and laughs....sometimes, when you tickle under her chin, she does this deep belly laugh that seriously melts your heart. She scowls, she waves, she claps....she dances to rap music and falls asleep to Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. See, she's pretty cool. 
 

She has a best friend (whose a boy, but he's a gentleman, so we're not getting too protective yet). She loves long stroller rides and falls asleep during car trips. She really doesn't care much for TV, but can't take her eyes off the screen during crime shows and Resident Evil. She sweetly says dada when she's happy, and yells mama when she's mad. She walks now too, did you know that? Probably not. She still needs to be holding on to something, but otherwise she pretty much has the walking thing down. She loves her puppies and forgives everyone. Lucky for you. However, her mama ain't quite so laid back.

Her mama is one big protective bear.

Unlike my innocent 10 month old, I have life experience. I know what you're doing. It's too much work for you now. You have your own life, your own family, your own stuff to do. I get it, and I understand. Things come up, people get busy and sometimes it just doesn't always work out to visit. That's okay. But if you do choose to be a part of my daughter's life, it cannot be later. As her mama bear, I took the oath the day she was born to protect her and teach her and make sure I do the right thing to ensure she grows up strong and successful. Please don't think for a second I will make an exception to that oath for you. No, no. I will protect her from the heartbreak of the revolving door of people that claim to care about her. She's 10 months old. She's not new. The door is slowly closing and pretty soon you'll need to get through me to get to her. 

This isn't personal. It isn't mean or malicious or comes with some type of personal agenda. It's a mama bear, with life experience, refusing to let her cub get hurt.
 


I have volunteered this delicate information about my daughter to you. You have not asked. You don't stop by. You weren't there to lend a listening ear when we were dealing with the very real case that our awesome daughter could potentially have a hearing disability (she's fine, by the way). You've never changed a diaper or pushed her in a swing at the park. You haven't taken her on a walk or tried to soothe her cries. Luckily, other people have. People I have not had to ask, people who I have known for mere moments of time....and I encourage you to remember this if the day shall come where you decide to accuse me of purposely keeping my child from you for my own personal gain.

You have met her less than a handful of times, if you've even met her at all. The only pictures you have are ones you've seen on Facebook. This will be all you will ever have. So enjoy it. Soak it all in and accept it. We'll be okay here; we're not missing you at all.

The Thank You Note

Christmas 2014 was one of the most eventful days of my life thus far. My parents were visiting since I was days away from my due date and couldn't travel, and we were celebrating Christmas in a small apartment, playing games, eating food (and more food) and spending the last few moments together before a new little baby would join us. My water broke on this day. Luckily, we were able to open presents before this happened. I can't recall one thing I received as a gift last year, but I do remember that well over half the gifts stacked in the corner of that apartment living room were for a person that hadn't even been born yet. Amongst her many gifts was a sweater. This adorable, hand-knit, baby pink sweater that my grandma's friend (whom I'd never met) had made for P. It was a little big, it wouldn't fit her until the next winter, but it was absolutely adorable and mostly unexpected.

The day after we got home from the hospital my parents brought the many, many Christmas gifts over to our house. As we went through them putting everything away my mom found that sweater. Tucked inside of it was a letter from my grandma telling me about her friend that made it, along with her address so I could send her a thank you note. I hung the sweater in P's closet and put the note on the kitchen counter as a reminder to send a thank you. My mom reminded me not to forget to send that thank you.

About two weeks later my mom saw the letter on my counter still and reminded me to send a thank you. Yeah, yeah, I'll get to it. I have a newborn, I don't have time for a thank you, I'll send it soon.

Two more weeks went by and my mom again asked me if I had sent that thank you. I hadn't. The letter was still on my counter, completely untouched.

I stared at that letter for two months before giving up and throwing it away. Every day I would look at it and tell myself to send the thank you. It wasn't that hard. I had blank thank you notes in a kitchen drawer, stamps and return address stickers....literally all I had to do was write Thank You on a card and mail it out. But I couldn't. The act of writing something down and mailing it out just seemed so crippling. I was physically incapable of doing a simple task that would take me less than a minute to accomplish. When I finally threw that letter away I felt so much relief. It was like this burden had been lifted off my shoulders because I finally didn't have to worry about sending out a thank you note anymore. If I couldn't see the reminder to do something then I didn't have to do it, right?

Here's my point: PPD is not in your head. It is not something to 'get over.' It is not overreacting. It does not mean you are weak or lazy. PPD is serious, in some cases severe and fatal, and can make even the most simple task, like a Thank You note, become daunting and impossible.

The sweater fits P now. She wears it to day care on chilly days and on long car rides for extra warmth. It looks adorable on her too. It was the first thing anyone had ever made, just for her, and by hand. And the most meaningful part is that it was made by a complete stranger who was also waiting and preparing for her arrival just as much as her parents and family. I don't have the note anymore, I don't remember the ladies name, and I will probably never thank her, but what I am left with is the reminder of how crippling PPD was in my life and how far myself and my family have come. And one super cute girl in one adorable little sweater.