Posts
When I talked about getting my priorities straight and not feeling guilty if certain things (i.e. the blog) had to take a back burner, I really didn't think I'd go two weeks without writing at all. But, I did. And I survived. And so did you. And here we are again.
I haven't written much because - well, I'm tired. Seriously tired. As in dragging all day and feeling like I could take a nap at any given moment, and frankly - I haven't had the brain power to write anything that really makes sense.
So, instead, I've been reading a lot. Reading books by people who were, at one point, getting enough sleep to write interesting and entertaining things that actually made sense. (I'll be doing a post about some of the great books I've been reading at some point in the hopefully-not-too-distant future...)
I'm working with my doctor to get this sleep thing figured out so I can feel like a normal person again. For several weeks, I'd fall asleep with no problem at all, but I'd wake up pretty much every two hours on the dot. Can we say annoying? Ugh.
Then my doctor switched me to a different antidepressant (fondly known in this house as ABPs for any of you newbies out there) that didn't put such a huge dent in our budget that I had to wonder...hmmmm, do we buy mama's happy pills and wipe our butts with newspaper this month, or do we buy toilet paper and skip the pills?
Joking...
About the toilet paper thing, anyway. We've never really had the meds vs. toilet paper dilemma, but seriously, what I was on was crazy expensive, so we decided to give something else a try. Plus, I think Dennis and I would both agree that we'd take out a second mortgage on the house and give up the internet, TV and chocolate if it meant I could keep my ABPs.
Now, I was having the sleep trouble even before I started the new stuff, but now, instead of waking up every two hours, I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow at 10, but I wake up anywhere between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m. and never fall back asleep.
It's torture.
So, we're decreasing my meds for a week to find out if that change alone will improve my sleep while still managing my anxiety/depression. Oh, how I love the waiting game!
But, in the meantime, I have a prescription for what I hope is something wonderful - Ambien, my friends.
Unfortunately, though - I'm on call at work for the next two nights, so it's like someone is dangling a Kit Kat bar in front of my face and every time I think about having a bite, they snatch it away...I've got the prescription in my hot little hands, but I don't suppose driving into work at 2 a.m. to deal with a psych patient while I, myself, am under the influence of Ambien would be a fantastic idea. So, two more nights and then hopefully I'll get a solid 8 hours in a row thanks to yet another little pill that will hopefully contribute to my happiness.
So - on top of this whole I'm not frigging SLEEPING thing, Kaylee got sick last night.
Crappity, crap, crap.
Congestion, nasty cough, snot, crankybuttedness, the whole 9. And I freaked out. It drug up everything we went through when she was so sick and ended up in the hospital, when she got sick again just after being released from the hospital, facing doctors who didn't understand the severity of her recurrent illness, and eventually taking her in for emergency surgery. That whole thing began with a simple ear infection gone really, really bad, so you know there was a part of me that was wondering if it might happen again.
This is the first time she's been sick since her surgery, and I know kids are more prone to ear infections when they've got colds. So, I'm just praying it doesn't get worse.
In other news (hey, I go two weeks without writing - you can pretty much count on getting a smorgasbord of random thoughts that I've had bottled up for 14 days...), the whole cooking healthy meals with fresh ingredients thing is still going really well. I continue to try new recipes, and Dennis is patiently going along with it. I know it's gotta sound crazy, but I have found that I love the mindless monotony of chopping vegetables. Isn't that ridiculous? But I'm being serious! I get so excited when I've got an entire meal that's cooked and I realize that I chopped every little carrot and potato and bell pepper.
It's the little things, ya know?
Mama Kat occasionally does a feature on her blog called something to the effect of "What's for Dinner?" where she has pictures and/or video of the ingredients she uses and how to make a certain recipe.
I'm pretty seriously contemplating a food-themed week coming up soon here with some ideas for healthy yet delicious cooking based on some of the recipes we've tried and loved, and some of the ways we're saving money on the good stuff. And, of course I'll have a couple giveaways to go along with all of my sage advice. Ha ha ha.
And, that's probably enough for now. This is why I shouldn't go 2 weeks without posting - I get diarrhea of the mouth and can't shut up. So, if you're still reading, do what Kaylee does when she coughs, and pat yourself on the back. You deserve it.
Showing posts with label anti-depressants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anti-depressants. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow this house down.
This past week I've felt a bit like The Hulk when he starts to go from scrawny human to angry green monster.
It's made me feel a bit compelled to write about the aspect of depression that shows up as anger, because - frankly - I think that component is overlooked all too often.
Before I had actually experienced it for myself, I always associated depression with things like sadness, crying, having no energy, being down in the dumps, staying in bed all day - those types of things. I think those are the ideas that a lot of people in our society think of when we think depression.
But how often do we associate anger, and dare I even say it? RAGE with depression?
Because it is a symptom, but from my little corner of the world I never realized depression and anger went together until I experienced it for myself.
It doesn't fit the picture we all have in our minds.
I think one of the more common thoughts that probably comes into people's minds when they think of women with the baby blues, postpartum mood disorders, or just flat out depression is a picture of a woman who sits at home and cries all day.
Those of us who have been knee deep in depression or postpartum mood disorders know that's not how it is.
It's different for all of us. For some, maybe it does mean sitting at home crying all day. But, for me, and for several women that I have talked to in my own life, anger seems to be a pretty common theme, and if we're brave enough to admit it, we'll even tell you that the anger can turn to rage.
I'm talking about the feeling that your blood is actually boiling, you're on the verge of trembling and literally want to throw your TV set through your window kind of rage. You're mad, mad, MAD, and you can't talk yourself down from it. You don't think or act logically and you say things you regret.
You are 100% aware of what you are experiencing and how you are acting, but you have no power to change it.
Simply put - you are out of control.
It's amazing to me how we can put on our "I've got it all together faces," when really - we're falling apart and beating ourselves up over the fact that we are treating our families like dirt and have these emotions that seem unmanageable.
Now, I realize some people use a diagnosis to excuse their behavior, but that's not what I'm talking about here, and that's what makes it so difficult to grasp and to accept.
You act a certain way - you are mean, you are angry, and you want to stop. You hate what you see yourself doing, but it's happening anyway, and all you can do is wait for it to pass.
And in my case, wait and hope and pray and cross your fingers that the medication will kick in and do the same magic it did last time...
Ladies? If you've gone through this or are going through this - trust me. You're not alone. It happens, and there's help. You might feel crazy, but you're not, and you shouldn't have to feel like you need to just suck it up and move on. There's plenty of help out there that's yours for the taking, but you have to make the choice to accept it.
It's made me feel a bit compelled to write about the aspect of depression that shows up as anger, because - frankly - I think that component is overlooked all too often.
Before I had actually experienced it for myself, I always associated depression with things like sadness, crying, having no energy, being down in the dumps, staying in bed all day - those types of things. I think those are the ideas that a lot of people in our society think of when we think depression.
But how often do we associate anger, and dare I even say it? RAGE with depression?
Because it is a symptom, but from my little corner of the world I never realized depression and anger went together until I experienced it for myself.
It doesn't fit the picture we all have in our minds.
I think one of the more common thoughts that probably comes into people's minds when they think of women with the baby blues, postpartum mood disorders, or just flat out depression is a picture of a woman who sits at home and cries all day.
Those of us who have been knee deep in depression or postpartum mood disorders know that's not how it is.
It's different for all of us. For some, maybe it does mean sitting at home crying all day. But, for me, and for several women that I have talked to in my own life, anger seems to be a pretty common theme, and if we're brave enough to admit it, we'll even tell you that the anger can turn to rage.
I'm talking about the feeling that your blood is actually boiling, you're on the verge of trembling and literally want to throw your TV set through your window kind of rage. You're mad, mad, MAD, and you can't talk yourself down from it. You don't think or act logically and you say things you regret.
You are 100% aware of what you are experiencing and how you are acting, but you have no power to change it.
Simply put - you are out of control.
It's amazing to me how we can put on our "I've got it all together faces," when really - we're falling apart and beating ourselves up over the fact that we are treating our families like dirt and have these emotions that seem unmanageable.
Now, I realize some people use a diagnosis to excuse their behavior, but that's not what I'm talking about here, and that's what makes it so difficult to grasp and to accept.
You act a certain way - you are mean, you are angry, and you want to stop. You hate what you see yourself doing, but it's happening anyway, and all you can do is wait for it to pass.
And in my case, wait and hope and pray and cross your fingers that the medication will kick in and do the same magic it did last time...
Ladies? If you've gone through this or are going through this - trust me. You're not alone. It happens, and there's help. You might feel crazy, but you're not, and you shouldn't have to feel like you need to just suck it up and move on. There's plenty of help out there that's yours for the taking, but you have to make the choice to accept it.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
5 milligrams - down the hatch.
Tonight, I'm filled with cautious optimism.
We've been swimming around in some all-too-familiar water these days.
All of us know that when we're under a lot of stress, we don't exactly put our best foot forward.We have a shorter fuse, we're a bit more cranky and lot less willing to have a sense of humor about things.
For me, an overwhelming amount of stress can often mean that I lose much of my ability to cope in appropriate ways, so instead, I turn to things like yelling - real, actual yelling - at my loved ones, eating too much, being cranky and rude, and getting focused on being in a "funk."
That's been me lately. I definitely think I had some situational depression these past few weeks when Kaylee was so sick. You can only take so much of seeing your kid go from doctor appointment to doctor appointment, hospital to hospital, and being put on medication after medication, only for the same infections to remain for over a month.
Optimism and hope aren't so easy to come by.
Negativity, pessimism, and all-around crankybuttedness begin to dominate. You start to realize you're becoming someone you're not.
And for me, it made me realize that maybe I'm not as okay as I thought I was...
I was on anti-depressants for 6 months after being diagnosed with postpartum depression 3 months after I had Kaylee. The medication worked absolute wonders. At the 6 month mark, my doctor and I agreed that I could come off the meds because it appeared that my depression had been treated.
Since then, I've questioned whether or not that was really the case, and when I went to see my OB in June I told her I felt like my depression was coming back. The thing was, feelings of depression and changes in mood were a possible side effect of my birth control, so we decided to switch to something else to pinpoint what the precise cause was. She wanted me to give it a month and see how I felt.
After that time passed, Dennis and I noticed a huge difference, so we pretty much wrote off any depression, even though - from time to time - we'd see a symptom emerge here and there. I think we chose to ignore it for the most part because it really was a drastic change from where I had been before.
About the same time I talked to my OB, I talked to my new primary care doctor who said that, based on my symptoms, she thought that what I was describing sounded a lot more like anxiety than depression, and I agreed with her, although I was still having symptoms of both.
She recommended some lifestyle changes before getting back on any medication, so I implemented her ideas, and I continued to sail along with minor symptoms here and there, but they were small enough to write off as day-to-day crankiness - pretty minor stuff, it seemed.
But, one thing Dennis and I finally concluded a couple nights ago was that lifestyle does make a difference (eating healthy, exercising, getting outside, getting good sleep, etc.), but in my case, it seems that, since I had Kaylee, there's always been something underlying, whether it's irritability or anger, or a panic attack waiting to happen. Up until more recently, it was pretty much under the radar and tolerable. But, really stressful situations just seemed exacerbate the symptoms and show us the scarier side of what has really seemed to be there all along.
When I shared my story on postpartum depression, I wrote about how I reached a point where I'd forgotten what it felt like to be myself, and I'm bummed to say it, but that's where I'm at again.
Lately, it's just been crazy amounts of anger and irritability. Anger over the stupidest little things, and I told Dennis it frickin' sucks that I can't just get through a day without getting really mad about something. That is not. ME. At all. But, it's how I've been acting, so something needs to change.
And now, I finally realize it won't be a 6-month trial of the meds. I was on them before. They worked. Life was good. And now things are starting go to crap again. I've come to accept that things went a little haywire with my brain chemistry after Kaylee was born, and I'm not sure they'll be going to back to normal. Possibly ever. I've talked with several other moms (many fellow bloggers) who feel this same way.
So, I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm a bit whacked out, and I can unwhack what's whacked.
I need my trusty little pill to help me, and that's okay.
It's okay because I've been here before, and I know it doesn't have to be this way. I know that my life can get back to the way it was, and I will feel like myself again.
There is help, and I'm going to accept it. And if I still don't feel back to me with the medication alone, I'm going to find a counselor to talk to because my family and I deserve for me to be happy and healthy.
So tonight, I've got 5 milligrams down the hatch, and I'm more relieved than I can even describe, just knowing that it won't be long and I'll remember what it feels like to be me again.
We've been swimming around in some all-too-familiar water these days.
All of us know that when we're under a lot of stress, we don't exactly put our best foot forward.We have a shorter fuse, we're a bit more cranky and lot less willing to have a sense of humor about things.
For me, an overwhelming amount of stress can often mean that I lose much of my ability to cope in appropriate ways, so instead, I turn to things like yelling - real, actual yelling - at my loved ones, eating too much, being cranky and rude, and getting focused on being in a "funk."
That's been me lately. I definitely think I had some situational depression these past few weeks when Kaylee was so sick. You can only take so much of seeing your kid go from doctor appointment to doctor appointment, hospital to hospital, and being put on medication after medication, only for the same infections to remain for over a month.
Optimism and hope aren't so easy to come by.
Negativity, pessimism, and all-around crankybuttedness begin to dominate. You start to realize you're becoming someone you're not.
And for me, it made me realize that maybe I'm not as okay as I thought I was...
I was on anti-depressants for 6 months after being diagnosed with postpartum depression 3 months after I had Kaylee. The medication worked absolute wonders. At the 6 month mark, my doctor and I agreed that I could come off the meds because it appeared that my depression had been treated.
Since then, I've questioned whether or not that was really the case, and when I went to see my OB in June I told her I felt like my depression was coming back. The thing was, feelings of depression and changes in mood were a possible side effect of my birth control, so we decided to switch to something else to pinpoint what the precise cause was. She wanted me to give it a month and see how I felt.
After that time passed, Dennis and I noticed a huge difference, so we pretty much wrote off any depression, even though - from time to time - we'd see a symptom emerge here and there. I think we chose to ignore it for the most part because it really was a drastic change from where I had been before.
About the same time I talked to my OB, I talked to my new primary care doctor who said that, based on my symptoms, she thought that what I was describing sounded a lot more like anxiety than depression, and I agreed with her, although I was still having symptoms of both.
She recommended some lifestyle changes before getting back on any medication, so I implemented her ideas, and I continued to sail along with minor symptoms here and there, but they were small enough to write off as day-to-day crankiness - pretty minor stuff, it seemed.
But, one thing Dennis and I finally concluded a couple nights ago was that lifestyle does make a difference (eating healthy, exercising, getting outside, getting good sleep, etc.), but in my case, it seems that, since I had Kaylee, there's always been something underlying, whether it's irritability or anger, or a panic attack waiting to happen. Up until more recently, it was pretty much under the radar and tolerable. But, really stressful situations just seemed exacerbate the symptoms and show us the scarier side of what has really seemed to be there all along.
When I shared my story on postpartum depression, I wrote about how I reached a point where I'd forgotten what it felt like to be myself, and I'm bummed to say it, but that's where I'm at again.
Lately, it's just been crazy amounts of anger and irritability. Anger over the stupidest little things, and I told Dennis it frickin' sucks that I can't just get through a day without getting really mad about something. That is not. ME. At all. But, it's how I've been acting, so something needs to change.
And now, I finally realize it won't be a 6-month trial of the meds. I was on them before. They worked. Life was good. And now things are starting go to crap again. I've come to accept that things went a little haywire with my brain chemistry after Kaylee was born, and I'm not sure they'll be going to back to normal. Possibly ever. I've talked with several other moms (many fellow bloggers) who feel this same way.
So, I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm a bit whacked out, and I can unwhack what's whacked.
I need my trusty little pill to help me, and that's okay.
It's okay because I've been here before, and I know it doesn't have to be this way. I know that my life can get back to the way it was, and I will feel like myself again.
There is help, and I'm going to accept it. And if I still don't feel back to me with the medication alone, I'm going to find a counselor to talk to because my family and I deserve for me to be happy and healthy.
So tonight, I've got 5 milligrams down the hatch, and I'm more relieved than I can even describe, just knowing that it won't be long and I'll remember what it feels like to be me again.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Getting back on track.
Man, it's been quite a week.
Kaylee started walking full speed ahead. Along with this walking, she's decided to declare herself Spiderbaby and has been attempting to climb walls...
... and anything and everything else. The ottoman, the dining room chairs, the stereo (yes, I said the stereo) It's like all these crazy neurons are just firing in her pretty little head all at one time.
Dennis and I are just plugging along and looking ahead to next Monday. If you recall last Monday I went to see my doctor and told her that I feel like the depression is coming back. She switched my birth control and wanted me to wait a month to see if the previous birth control was the culprit of the crankiness.
After last week, I practically had to hide the phone to keep from calling her to ask for anti-depressants. Irritability through the roof, crying, anxiety - the whole gamut. It was the worst week in a really, really long time in terms of symptoms, and I realized there's no way in heck I'm waiting a month to call her if this doesn't clear up.
I'm not trying to be pessimistic, just realistic, but I think this is the real deal. I'm coming to accept the fact that it seems my brain chemistry is just whacked ever since I had Kaylee, and I'm finally ready to acknowledge that it's more than just the postpartum depression. It's more than likely a depression that will need to be treated for years to come, and that's okay. Because this right here is no way to live. If there's relief out there, you bet your booty I'm going to jump all over it.
Dennis and I talked, and I'm continuing to track all my symptoms for one more week. Last week I had 2 out of 7 days where I felt like myself and wasn't on the verge of creating World War III within the walls of my own home. I don't think the doctor - or me, for that matter - thought things would continue at this rate. Otherwise, I doubt she'd have asked me to wait a whole month to call her.
So, July 13 is the magic day. My 2 week trial period will be up, and me, along with my trusty symptom tracking notebook will be calling her and doing something to get back on track. It makes me feel better knowing that help is just around the corner. I just want to stick it out for the two weeks to say we tried, and so that we can completely rule out that it was the birth control.
Speaking of getting back on track, some other things are changing around here, too...
I've been so proud of the fact that I haven't weighed myself for such a long time. It's really helped me to not obsess over body image issues and to feel better about myself. But, at the time when I tossed the scale, I was taking good care of myself.
Lately? Not so much.
I don't think it's a coincidence that during this last month when I started to notice symptoms of depression creeping back in, I slowly backed away from the exercise - not exercising for a full month, and eating whatever I wanted - mostly sweets and carbs - total comfort food. My pants are all too tight. I have one pair of jeans that are comfortable. I feel uncomfortable and self-conscious in the majority of my clothes.
That's how I know it's time to make some changes. Well, that and the fact that I peeked at the scale when the nurse weighed me before my appointment last week. I'm just a few pounds away from my heaviest (non-pregnant) weight ever which is not a healthy weight for my height and body type.
So, I've reinstituted a temporary relationship with my scale again. I have a strict rule to only weigh in ONCE per week until I meet my goal weight. I'm not trying to get hung up on numbers, but since things have gotten out of hand, I'm giving myself a tangible goal to work toward. I've joined a fitness challenge with some friends, and I'm feeling motivated.
I also started working out again, and ordered some Jillian Michaels workout DVDs with a gift certificate I had. I bought and prepared some fresh produce for snacks, and I'm packing my lunches for work again. Because it really is about eating right and keeping this body of mine on the move.
So, I'm not beating myself up about anything. I'm just looking forward to improving myself - my body, my noggin, the whole thing.
It won't be long and things will turn around for the better.
I just needed to get back on track.
Kaylee started walking full speed ahead. Along with this walking, she's decided to declare herself Spiderbaby and has been attempting to climb walls...
... and anything and everything else. The ottoman, the dining room chairs, the stereo (yes, I said the stereo) It's like all these crazy neurons are just firing in her pretty little head all at one time.
Dennis and I are just plugging along and looking ahead to next Monday. If you recall last Monday I went to see my doctor and told her that I feel like the depression is coming back. She switched my birth control and wanted me to wait a month to see if the previous birth control was the culprit of the crankiness.
After last week, I practically had to hide the phone to keep from calling her to ask for anti-depressants. Irritability through the roof, crying, anxiety - the whole gamut. It was the worst week in a really, really long time in terms of symptoms, and I realized there's no way in heck I'm waiting a month to call her if this doesn't clear up.
I'm not trying to be pessimistic, just realistic, but I think this is the real deal. I'm coming to accept the fact that it seems my brain chemistry is just whacked ever since I had Kaylee, and I'm finally ready to acknowledge that it's more than just the postpartum depression. It's more than likely a depression that will need to be treated for years to come, and that's okay. Because this right here is no way to live. If there's relief out there, you bet your booty I'm going to jump all over it.
Dennis and I talked, and I'm continuing to track all my symptoms for one more week. Last week I had 2 out of 7 days where I felt like myself and wasn't on the verge of creating World War III within the walls of my own home. I don't think the doctor - or me, for that matter - thought things would continue at this rate. Otherwise, I doubt she'd have asked me to wait a whole month to call her.
So, July 13 is the magic day. My 2 week trial period will be up, and me, along with my trusty symptom tracking notebook will be calling her and doing something to get back on track. It makes me feel better knowing that help is just around the corner. I just want to stick it out for the two weeks to say we tried, and so that we can completely rule out that it was the birth control.
Speaking of getting back on track, some other things are changing around here, too...
I've been so proud of the fact that I haven't weighed myself for such a long time. It's really helped me to not obsess over body image issues and to feel better about myself. But, at the time when I tossed the scale, I was taking good care of myself.
Lately? Not so much.
I don't think it's a coincidence that during this last month when I started to notice symptoms of depression creeping back in, I slowly backed away from the exercise - not exercising for a full month, and eating whatever I wanted - mostly sweets and carbs - total comfort food. My pants are all too tight. I have one pair of jeans that are comfortable. I feel uncomfortable and self-conscious in the majority of my clothes.
That's how I know it's time to make some changes. Well, that and the fact that I peeked at the scale when the nurse weighed me before my appointment last week. I'm just a few pounds away from my heaviest (non-pregnant) weight ever which is not a healthy weight for my height and body type.
So, I've reinstituted a temporary relationship with my scale again. I have a strict rule to only weigh in ONCE per week until I meet my goal weight. I'm not trying to get hung up on numbers, but since things have gotten out of hand, I'm giving myself a tangible goal to work toward. I've joined a fitness challenge with some friends, and I'm feeling motivated.
I also started working out again, and ordered some Jillian Michaels workout DVDs with a gift certificate I had. I bought and prepared some fresh produce for snacks, and I'm packing my lunches for work again. Because it really is about eating right and keeping this body of mine on the move.
So, I'm not beating myself up about anything. I'm just looking forward to improving myself - my body, my noggin, the whole thing.
It won't be long and things will turn around for the better.
I just needed to get back on track.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Two steps forward. One step back. Wait, make that three steps back.
I thought I made it through just fine, but now I'm not so sure.
In January, with the support of my obstetrician, I stopped taking antidepressants for postpartum depression. I was feeling good, and things seemed fine for a few months. I thought I weathered the storm, came out a stronger woman, and things were looking up.
I did come out a stronger woman - I learned a lot about myself, and things were looking up. But now, I've hit a rough patch, and although I fully believe that things are going to get better, it doesn't make it any easier for the time being.
The past month things have started to get bumpy again. I've been hesitant to write about it as I've been trying to make some sense of it myself. I've been getting cranky again. And this time, there's been bouts of anxiety and depression - not just irritability, but the "I don't know why I'm crying and I can't stop" kind of depression.
It's been bothering me a lot. Poor Dennis is having to deal with me being all mean and cranky - A LOT, and - I feel like I'm back in that same boat I was months ago. I've forgotten what it feels like to be me. I've forgotten what it feels like to make it through a whole day without getting really mad about something or without getting all worked up and overreacting to some little thing that's really nothing at all. Don't get me wrong - I have my good days, but the bad days are starting to be more frequent.
I miss being able to go through a day and just have fun and enjoy it. I'm not feeling like me, and that's not okay.
Today I met with my doctor, and I told her what's been going on. There's a possibility that the birth control I was on is contributing to this, but there was no surefire way to determine the culprit while I was still on it.
So, I've stopped that particular method and I'll be starting a new one. My doctor wants me to give it some time (one month) to see if the birth control was the issue. If I'm still Spongebob Crankypants, one phone call is all it will take, and I can go back on the Lexapro. I've already decided that if it continues to be bad, I'll call her before the month is up, and I'm sure she won't have an issue with getting me back on the meds.
To be honest with you, one thing that really bugs me is the fact that I did well for months without the medication, and now I may need it again. I'm not sure why - I'm a big fan of the medication, and it worked wonders for me. I think it's just part of that whole idea that I tell myself I've got to have it all together (even though I know that's absolutely ridiculous). I feel like I failed. And I hate failing - shoot, who likes it?
I know it's nothing I did or didn't do. I am not choosing to be depressed. Try as I might, I can't shake it, but I never understood that until I actually suffered from it myself.
Before, it was like, "Depressed? Get outside, change your attitude, open the windows, quit wallowing in self-pity, snap out of it." Seriously. You can't. You simply cannot.
I know it will get better. It got better last time, and it will get better again. I know it will.
In January, with the support of my obstetrician, I stopped taking antidepressants for postpartum depression. I was feeling good, and things seemed fine for a few months. I thought I weathered the storm, came out a stronger woman, and things were looking up.
I did come out a stronger woman - I learned a lot about myself, and things were looking up. But now, I've hit a rough patch, and although I fully believe that things are going to get better, it doesn't make it any easier for the time being.
The past month things have started to get bumpy again. I've been hesitant to write about it as I've been trying to make some sense of it myself. I've been getting cranky again. And this time, there's been bouts of anxiety and depression - not just irritability, but the "I don't know why I'm crying and I can't stop" kind of depression.
It's been bothering me a lot. Poor Dennis is having to deal with me being all mean and cranky - A LOT, and - I feel like I'm back in that same boat I was months ago. I've forgotten what it feels like to be me. I've forgotten what it feels like to make it through a whole day without getting really mad about something or without getting all worked up and overreacting to some little thing that's really nothing at all. Don't get me wrong - I have my good days, but the bad days are starting to be more frequent.
I miss being able to go through a day and just have fun and enjoy it. I'm not feeling like me, and that's not okay.
Today I met with my doctor, and I told her what's been going on. There's a possibility that the birth control I was on is contributing to this, but there was no surefire way to determine the culprit while I was still on it.
So, I've stopped that particular method and I'll be starting a new one. My doctor wants me to give it some time (one month) to see if the birth control was the issue. If I'm still Spongebob Crankypants, one phone call is all it will take, and I can go back on the Lexapro. I've already decided that if it continues to be bad, I'll call her before the month is up, and I'm sure she won't have an issue with getting me back on the meds.
To be honest with you, one thing that really bugs me is the fact that I did well for months without the medication, and now I may need it again. I'm not sure why - I'm a big fan of the medication, and it worked wonders for me. I think it's just part of that whole idea that I tell myself I've got to have it all together (even though I know that's absolutely ridiculous). I feel like I failed. And I hate failing - shoot, who likes it?
I know it's nothing I did or didn't do. I am not choosing to be depressed. Try as I might, I can't shake it, but I never understood that until I actually suffered from it myself.
Before, it was like, "Depressed? Get outside, change your attitude, open the windows, quit wallowing in self-pity, snap out of it." Seriously. You can't. You simply cannot.
I know it will get better. It got better last time, and it will get better again. I know it will.
Friday, May 8, 2009
How I kicked postpartum depression's ass: part five - the final chapter
This is the last post in a five-part series about my struggle with postpartum depression. If you've missed the past 4 days, click below to catch up.
Before I get on with the conclusion, I want to thank the women who have opened up in either the comment section or in emails to me, talking about their struggles with not only postpartum depression, but postpartum OCD, anxiety, and even perinatal depression (depression that sets in when you're still pregnant). This is why I'm writing these things and putting them out there. I want you to know that you're not alone, there's no need to feel ashamed, that life does go on, and it can get better if you are willing to get help.
I welcome your comments and your emails - I would love to hear your stories if you feel like sharing them. This was by no means an all-inclusive account of everything I went through, but I hit on the major points. Here and there, I may share more, and I will definitely be including more information about resources that are out there to offer support.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Before I get on with the conclusion, I want to thank the women who have opened up in either the comment section or in emails to me, talking about their struggles with not only postpartum depression, but postpartum OCD, anxiety, and even perinatal depression (depression that sets in when you're still pregnant). This is why I'm writing these things and putting them out there. I want you to know that you're not alone, there's no need to feel ashamed, that life does go on, and it can get better if you are willing to get help.
I welcome your comments and your emails - I would love to hear your stories if you feel like sharing them. This was by no means an all-inclusive account of everything I went through, but I hit on the major points. Here and there, I may share more, and I will definitely be including more information about resources that are out there to offer support.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Deciding to forego the meds was a little bit of a scary decision. I hate failing. At anything. And I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to handle things without the medication.
They made a tremendous difference for me, and I was afraid of backsliding.
I guess part of what helped me make the decision was knowing that I could go back on them, and knowing that they would help quickly.
So, I ran out of my pills a week before my 6-month follow-up with my OB doctor. I called her office and they gave me the go ahead to just stop taking them, and they said it would be good timing because we should know how I would react to being off of them once that week went by.
So, 6 months after I got my diagnosis, I was back in the same room in the doctor's office, this time in a rather different state of mind.
I told my doctor I was feeling great - I was feeling like myself again. I told her I was afraid about the days when I was cranky, and that I wondered if that meant the depression was starting to take over again.
She said I needed to look at the big picture, and to allow myself room for some cranky days because everybody has cranky days. I'd gone a week without taking anything and I felt back to normal, and she said that was a good indication that she thought I'd be just fine.
It's been 4 months now since I've been off the ABPs. I feel like I'm still on guard about things - I'm still really paying attention to myself every time I lose my patience or act cranky, but I feel like it's not out of control anymore.
I laugh, crack jokes, let things roll off my shoulders without freaking out (most of the time, anyway...), and I don't feel as anxious.
So, there's a good chance this will happen next time I have a kid. And, to be honest, that bums me out. But, the plan I have with my doctor is that we'll start watching for it at the end of my next pregnancy, and I won't hesitate to get on meds right away if I know something funky's going on.
By talking about my postpartum depression, it's helped me to process what happened to me and to accept that I'm not some sort of freak. Actually, by being honest about it, I've spoken with several women who say they were either diagnosed with it, or that they suffered from it, but it went untreated.
Talking about it has opened my eyes to the fact that it is way more prevalent than the literature out there would have us believe.
So, if you're out there, and you've got it, or you think you might, don't be ashamed. Don't be embarassed. Be angry about it. Be frustrated. Be upset that you can't just enjoy your new life with your baby and that you can't adjust as easy as you expected you would. That's all part of what you might experience. And that's okay. But know you're not alone. There are so many of us out there who have been through it, or who are going through it, and we're not getting through it by trying to be all tough and braving it on our own.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
How I kicked postpartum depression's ass: part four
This is the fourth post in five-part series about my struggle with postpartum depression. If you need to catch up, click the links below.
(*Please note: Although I mention Lexapro all throughout this series, it's important to realize that certain medications work differently for different people. If you suffer from postpartum depression and decide to use medication, you need to make an informed decision with your doctor about which one is best for you. Thanks to Katherine Stone of Postpartum Progress for helping me realize that it was important to remind my readers of this. )
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Things really started getting better once I hit the 2-week mark of being on the ABP's. I was feeling more like myself, and Dennis was feeling much better, realizing that - no, his wife hadn't left the building for good. The real me was, in fact, in there somewhere, and I was emerging yet again.Part One
Part Two
Part Three
But it wasn't peachy all the time.
I'd have some days where I'd just snap at him or lose my patience with the baby a lot faster than I should, or I'd just be really cranky all day for no good reason at all.
There were days we wondered if I was getting worse. That was hard to swallow.
I didn't want to have to up my dose. I wanted to stay on my happy, teensy little 5 milligram pill and that would be that. So, when I'd have a bad day, we'd talk about it. I realized when it was happening, and - obviously- Dennis did, too. We'd agree to give it a couple days and if it wasn't better I'd call the doctor.
I began to question myself every damn time I felt irritable. I'd wonder if it was the depression, or if any other woman who didn't have postpartum depression would feel irritable in a similar situation.
Constantly questioning things was getting old.
Ultimately, when I'd get to feeling like a bizatch, it would pass, usually within a day or two, so we just let it slide. And it turned out to be okay.
When I initially started the Lexapro, my doctor said we'd do a trial for 6 months, and once I reached that point, we'd talk about what the next best thing would be. She told me that if I felt like myself again, I wouldn't need to wean off the meds since it was a small dose. I could just stop taking them.
So, as I approached that 6-month mark, I had some decisions to make. Do I keep taking the meds (and forking out over 80 bucks a month for them...) because we know they work wonders, or do I test the waters and see if I can manage to feel like myself without them?
Together, Dennis and I decided that I would attempt to kick my ABP's to the curb...
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
How I kicked postpartum depression's ass: Part Two
This post is the second in a five-part series about my struggle with postpartum depression. Click here to read Part One.
After realizing that something was definitely not going right up in my noggin, I started thinking about how it would probably be a good idea to go get checked out.
There were a couple things in particular that finally got me into my doctor's office to have a conversation with her that I never in a million years expected to be having with her.
One was realizing that Dennis had an Ice Queen for a wife the day that I cracked a joke about an old man - it was the first joke I'd cracked in I don't know how long. The next thing was the encouragement of some fellow moms, urging me to talk to my doctor about feeling so dang cranky all the time.
Add the two together, and you get me - going to my doctor's office, hoping that it was just my birth control adding extra hormones and causing my bitchiness and not the dreaded postpartum depression.
I wasn't DEPRESSED. I wasn't sad. It must have been the birth control. It had to be - right?
Certainly it must be something other than ME causing the irritability. I really wanted to be able to point the finger elsewhere.
So, my doctor started asking me questions. I started giving her answers.
Once I started giving her answers, she gave me 2 things.
A diagnosis and a prescription.
Two weeks later, Dennis got his wife back.
Monday, May 4, 2009
How I kicked postpartum depression's ass: part one
The ass kicking began with a fair amount of these 5 milligram beauties, otherwise known in our house as ABP's. (Click here to read why we call them ABP's, and to read my first post about postpartum depression). Technically speaking, I was taking Lexapro, but it's just so much more fun to say ABP's.
Postpartum depression looks different for everyone, and for me, it was irritability (my polite way of saying "bitchiness"). I didn't feel "depressed" - I was just pissed off as heck most of the time. I think my husband lived in constant fear of saying the wrong thing for fear that I would bite his head off.
I don't remember a lot of the things I said or did when I was the resident Ice Queen, but I'm sure it wasn't even safe for him to offer to do the dishes. The conversation probably would have gone something like this:
Dennis: Hey honey, do you want me to load the dishwasher?
Me: What do you MEAN "Do you want me to load the dishwasher?" Just what are you trying to say? You know I already think I suck at keeping this house clean. It doesn't help at all for you to rub it in my face!
Dennis: But, I wasn't...I was just -
Me: I don't CARE! You wouldn't have had to ask if I could just do my damn job and keep the dishes clean around here.
And then, before stomping off, I would probably slam a cabinet or door, or something near me that was slammable.
Poor guy...
I distinctly remember the day that I realized Dennis knew something was amiss with his once funny, bubbly, and pretty much care-free wife.
We went out for an afternoon together, just the two of us. We were getting ready to climb into the car when this old guy drives by us and gives us the ultimate stare down for reasons that I still can't figure out. He drives by, and as soon as he passes, I mutter under my breath, "What are you lookin' at, Country Club..."
Dennis uttered three words that made me stop in my tracks.
He said, "There's my Sera!"
Instantly, I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I cracked a joke.
It finally hit me that I didn't feel at all like myself. And I couldn't remember the last time that I did.
Postpartum depression looks different for everyone, and for me, it was irritability (my polite way of saying "bitchiness"). I didn't feel "depressed" - I was just pissed off as heck most of the time. I think my husband lived in constant fear of saying the wrong thing for fear that I would bite his head off.
I don't remember a lot of the things I said or did when I was the resident Ice Queen, but I'm sure it wasn't even safe for him to offer to do the dishes. The conversation probably would have gone something like this:
Dennis: Hey honey, do you want me to load the dishwasher?
Me: What do you MEAN "Do you want me to load the dishwasher?" Just what are you trying to say? You know I already think I suck at keeping this house clean. It doesn't help at all for you to rub it in my face!
Dennis: But, I wasn't...I was just -
Me: I don't CARE! You wouldn't have had to ask if I could just do my damn job and keep the dishes clean around here.
And then, before stomping off, I would probably slam a cabinet or door, or something near me that was slammable.
Poor guy...
I distinctly remember the day that I realized Dennis knew something was amiss with his once funny, bubbly, and pretty much care-free wife.
We went out for an afternoon together, just the two of us. We were getting ready to climb into the car when this old guy drives by us and gives us the ultimate stare down for reasons that I still can't figure out. He drives by, and as soon as he passes, I mutter under my breath, "What are you lookin' at, Country Club..."
Dennis uttered three words that made me stop in my tracks.
He said, "There's my Sera!"
Instantly, I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I cracked a joke.
It finally hit me that I didn't feel at all like myself. And I couldn't remember the last time that I did.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Not diggin' this Duggar
As part of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, I'm writing a letter to someone who bothers me.
Who is the lucky recipient of my letter, you ask?
In case you live under a rock, that's Michelle Duggar, wife to Jim Bob Duggar, mother to EIGHTEEN children, and I've been wanting to talk to her for quite some time now. I've finally been given the opportunity to share my thoughts with this famous baby mama (thank you, Mama Kat), so I'm hoping Michelle will take some time out of her busy (Get it? Busy? 18 kids? Busy? Never mind...) life to respond to my questions.
Dear Michelle,
Yo. Hey, first, I just want to tell you that I really appreciate you taking a short break from procreating in order to read my letter. I mean, I don't mean to crimp your style (that wasn't a hair joke - your hair is ........ lovely?), but to be honest, you bother me a little bit.
I'm concerned about you. You have 18 children. Were you aware of that? I mean, if you weren't aware of that I'm not blaming you or criticizing you or anything. I mean, shoot - I'd have lost track of them by now. I realize that back in the day, people had lots of kids. People who had 18 kids probably didn't even get a second glance when people walked past them on the cobblestone roads in their horse-drawn carriages - all 18 kids in tow.
Now it's not so common, and consequently, you've become quite an iconic family in America. People are fascinated by you. I mean, here you are - over 40, you're popping out babies left and right, and you haven't demanded that your husband get the old snippety snip yet. In fact, I've read that he says that the decision of whether to have more children is up to you since you're the one who has to carry them and labor through the births. Nice guy. He's considerate.
And you're a little bit of a crazy person. Again, not trying to criticize. I mean, shoot - I was a little bit of a crazy person after I had my first (and only, and will be the only for up to five years, thanks to a handy dandy little device called Mirena - you should really google that and maybe get one for yourself, dearie. On behalf of your hoo ha, I think you need to give it a rest for a while. Seriously.). But, it wasn't anything that a few anti-depressants (fondly known as ABP's at our house) couldn't handle.
You're a mom of many children, so surely you've heard of John and Kate Plus 8, Michelle, haven't you? Kate is real. She has 8 children, and she's not afraid to show that she's a little bit (a LOT bit) frazzled and a little bit crazy. She snaps at her husband and gets mad at her kids and loses her patience. She has less than half the amount of children than you have, lady, and half the time I think she's barely holding it together.
You, on the other hand, obviously love to shake, rattle, and roll, but it appears that you never get shaken or rattled - you act like you have it together all the time. Oh, and you know what? You pretty much freak me out with your constant smiling in public. I've never seen you lose your cool or act like you're stressed out. You just seem to have this weird alien-ish zoned out freaky smile thing going on.
Maybe you can just clear this up for me. I'm thinking one of two things is going on. Mind if I share my theories with you, Michelle?
One - you are not actually a human. You're...some type of robot woman, kind of like the one they made up on Weird Science, only after having 18 kids I'm sure your boobs aren't quite as perky. So, that's my first theory - you're an alien/robot/non-human lady.
Two - you are hooked up to a constant IV drip of Ativan, Xanax, Zoloft, or some combination of several anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medications. I don't even know if those things come in IV's, but if I were you, I think I'd demand an IV hook up. In fact, I'd demand that I have one of those buttons that I'm in control of, so I can get the drugs any time I need them, which - if I were you - would be ALL. THE. TIME.
So, allow me to get back to Kate of Jon and Kate Plus 8 for a minute. So, she's got 8 kids, but her and her husband make it a point to spend time with each of the children individually. I'm certainly not saying you don't love your kids. I don't doubt that you love them immensely, but don't they get lost in the shuffle?
You and Jim Bob decided it would be appropriate to announce to your 17 children that you were expecting #18 while you were on The Today Show. No pressure for them to put on a happy face about the news, eh? Anyway, msnbc.com posted a story about your appearance. Here's a direct quote from the story:
"With so many children, there is a sign-up list in the kitchen for children who feel they need one-on-one time with a parent."
I'm sorry. Did I misunderstand that? An effing sign-up list? This, lady, is why you bother me. What are you teaching your children?!? Does a 7-year-old really know what it means to sign his name on a list - scratch that - WAITING list with 17 other kids on it just so he can have some alone time with his mom or dad? Give me a break. So, your kids decide when they need to spend alone time with you, and not the other way around. Wow. Just WOW. The day you decided it was time for a sign-up sheet for one-on-one time was the day you probably should have busted out a Trojan.
Anyway, back to your kids. What do they think of having 80 bajillion sibs? It kind of seems like rather than having a house full of kids you have a house full of miniature parents raising each other.
Ay yi yi, Michelle. It sounds to me like some of your kids are missing out on their childhoods.
And speaking of what your kids think, your oldest son just got hitched. Good for him. I'm just taking a gander that he'll probably have a child or two (or eighty-six) of his own in the near future. What do you think he'll think if you keep having more babies?
In this day and age, when people's grandmas are having babies ON PURPOSE that's just a little, oh, I don't know - WEIRD?
I don't know, Michelle. What else can I say to you? You've already had people make jokes that your bajingo is not a clown car, people make fun of the fact that you dress your teenage daughters in the same plaid dresses as you, and your hair appears to be the nesting ground for a flock of geese, but you just don't seem to care.
Maybe I should be applauding you for all of those things. You just don't care, do you? You just want to keep having babies. And that's all well and good, except that maybe 18 is an appropriate number to say that enough is enough. Maybe it's time to give it a rest and do what other people your age are starting to do...like - oh, I don't know - becoming grandparents, or oh - I don't know, having sex for reasons other than procreation? People DO that, Michelle. It's not just for baby makin'.
Honey, it's a natural part of life to eventually QUIT having babies and start watching your kids raise their OWN babies. Really. I'm not even lying. It's true. People do it. You should try it. Or, at least try this, or this, or this (Hey, it's a free sample! How can you pass that up?). Please?
Oh! Oh. I'll, uh, let you go. I think I hear Jim Bob calling for you. Something about he's got a Barry White CD and a onesie he picked out for the baby you're going to have in 9 months? Maybe I misunderstood him. Anyway, I'll be looking forward to hearing from you soon.
Sincerely,
Sera (who thinks life with one baby is enough craziness for at least a couple more years)
Who is the lucky recipient of my letter, you ask?
In case you live under a rock, that's Michelle Duggar, wife to Jim Bob Duggar, mother to EIGHTEEN children, and I've been wanting to talk to her for quite some time now. I've finally been given the opportunity to share my thoughts with this famous baby mama (thank you, Mama Kat), so I'm hoping Michelle will take some time out of her busy (Get it? Busy? 18 kids? Busy? Never mind...) life to respond to my questions.
Dear Michelle,
Yo. Hey, first, I just want to tell you that I really appreciate you taking a short break from procreating in order to read my letter. I mean, I don't mean to crimp your style (that wasn't a hair joke - your hair is ........ lovely?), but to be honest, you bother me a little bit.
I'm concerned about you. You have 18 children. Were you aware of that? I mean, if you weren't aware of that I'm not blaming you or criticizing you or anything. I mean, shoot - I'd have lost track of them by now. I realize that back in the day, people had lots of kids. People who had 18 kids probably didn't even get a second glance when people walked past them on the cobblestone roads in their horse-drawn carriages - all 18 kids in tow.
Now it's not so common, and consequently, you've become quite an iconic family in America. People are fascinated by you. I mean, here you are - over 40, you're popping out babies left and right, and you haven't demanded that your husband get the old snippety snip yet. In fact, I've read that he says that the decision of whether to have more children is up to you since you're the one who has to carry them and labor through the births. Nice guy. He's considerate.
And you're a little bit of a crazy person. Again, not trying to criticize. I mean, shoot - I was a little bit of a crazy person after I had my first (and only, and will be the only for up to five years, thanks to a handy dandy little device called Mirena - you should really google that and maybe get one for yourself, dearie. On behalf of your hoo ha, I think you need to give it a rest for a while. Seriously.). But, it wasn't anything that a few anti-depressants (fondly known as ABP's at our house) couldn't handle.
You're a mom of many children, so surely you've heard of John and Kate Plus 8, Michelle, haven't you? Kate is real. She has 8 children, and she's not afraid to show that she's a little bit (a LOT bit) frazzled and a little bit crazy. She snaps at her husband and gets mad at her kids and loses her patience. She has less than half the amount of children than you have, lady, and half the time I think she's barely holding it together.
You, on the other hand, obviously love to shake, rattle, and roll, but it appears that you never get shaken or rattled - you act like you have it together all the time. Oh, and you know what? You pretty much freak me out with your constant smiling in public. I've never seen you lose your cool or act like you're stressed out. You just seem to have this weird alien-ish zoned out freaky smile thing going on.
Maybe you can just clear this up for me. I'm thinking one of two things is going on. Mind if I share my theories with you, Michelle?
One - you are not actually a human. You're...some type of robot woman, kind of like the one they made up on Weird Science, only after having 18 kids I'm sure your boobs aren't quite as perky. So, that's my first theory - you're an alien/robot/non-human lady.
Two - you are hooked up to a constant IV drip of Ativan, Xanax, Zoloft, or some combination of several anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medications. I don't even know if those things come in IV's, but if I were you, I think I'd demand an IV hook up. In fact, I'd demand that I have one of those buttons that I'm in control of, so I can get the drugs any time I need them, which - if I were you - would be ALL. THE. TIME.
So, allow me to get back to Kate of Jon and Kate Plus 8 for a minute. So, she's got 8 kids, but her and her husband make it a point to spend time with each of the children individually. I'm certainly not saying you don't love your kids. I don't doubt that you love them immensely, but don't they get lost in the shuffle?
You and Jim Bob decided it would be appropriate to announce to your 17 children that you were expecting #18 while you were on The Today Show. No pressure for them to put on a happy face about the news, eh? Anyway, msnbc.com posted a story about your appearance. Here's a direct quote from the story:
"With so many children, there is a sign-up list in the kitchen for children who feel they need one-on-one time with a parent."
I'm sorry. Did I misunderstand that? An effing sign-up list? This, lady, is why you bother me. What are you teaching your children?!? Does a 7-year-old really know what it means to sign his name on a list - scratch that - WAITING list with 17 other kids on it just so he can have some alone time with his mom or dad? Give me a break. So, your kids decide when they need to spend alone time with you, and not the other way around. Wow. Just WOW. The day you decided it was time for a sign-up sheet for one-on-one time was the day you probably should have busted out a Trojan.
Anyway, back to your kids. What do they think of having 80 bajillion sibs? It kind of seems like rather than having a house full of kids you have a house full of miniature parents raising each other.
Ay yi yi, Michelle. It sounds to me like some of your kids are missing out on their childhoods.
And speaking of what your kids think, your oldest son just got hitched. Good for him. I'm just taking a gander that he'll probably have a child or two (or eighty-six) of his own in the near future. What do you think he'll think if you keep having more babies?
In this day and age, when people's grandmas are having babies ON PURPOSE that's just a little, oh, I don't know - WEIRD?
I don't know, Michelle. What else can I say to you? You've already had people make jokes that your bajingo is not a clown car, people make fun of the fact that you dress your teenage daughters in the same plaid dresses as you, and your hair appears to be the nesting ground for a flock of geese, but you just don't seem to care.
Maybe I should be applauding you for all of those things. You just don't care, do you? You just want to keep having babies. And that's all well and good, except that maybe 18 is an appropriate number to say that enough is enough. Maybe it's time to give it a rest and do what other people your age are starting to do...like - oh, I don't know - becoming grandparents, or oh - I don't know, having sex for reasons other than procreation? People DO that, Michelle. It's not just for baby makin'.
Honey, it's a natural part of life to eventually QUIT having babies and start watching your kids raise their OWN babies. Really. I'm not even lying. It's true. People do it. You should try it. Or, at least try this, or this, or this (Hey, it's a free sample! How can you pass that up?). Please?
Oh! Oh. I'll, uh, let you go. I think I hear Jim Bob calling for you. Something about he's got a Barry White CD and a onesie he picked out for the baby you're going to have in 9 months? Maybe I misunderstood him. Anyway, I'll be looking forward to hearing from you soon.
Sincerely,
Sera (who thinks life with one baby is enough craziness for at least a couple more years)
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