My letter to new mothers

Today, you can find me hanging out over at Katherine Stone's blog, Postpartum Progress. She's kind of a big deal.

She writes the most widely-read blog in the U.S. on postpartum depression, and she is a tenacious advocate for women who suffer from postpartum mood disorders. Katherine is a survivor of postpartum OCD, and her blog is all about promoting awareness, education, and info on the latest research, programs, and legislation.

She's fiesty and she's honest, and she is an amazingly inspirational woman who works tirelessly to shatter the stigmas that surround postpartum mood disorders.

I think I probably nearly peed my pants with excitement when she invited me to be a part of the 2010 Mother's Day Online Rally for Moms' Mental Health. It's an event in which she posts a new story every hour on the hour from survivor moms, social workers, nurses, doctors, and experts about postpartum mood disorders. Each post is a letter to new moms, and I am honored beyond words to be included with so, so many amazing women.

So, please go check it out..here's the link to my letter to new moms - Sera: On surviving postpartum depression

And while you're there, please check out all of the other amazing stories that you will find as part of today's rally.

And may all of you mamas be ridiculously spoiled this Mother's Day. You deserve it.

From sleepless nights to potty training: Reflections on my two-year journey as a mother

It's the night before my sweet little Kaylee Bug turns two years old.

I came in here to write after spending a short while with her before bed, where we read her favorite new book - Ladybug Girl, and she asked to say her "pears" (prayers) - prayers in which she frequently thanks Jesus for things like Captain Feathersword from The Wiggles, as well as other important things like candy, Costco and Grandma.

After the reading of the book (and my refusal to read the book again), the pears, and the stalling, I succumbed to her request of "Mommy yay down, too?"

So, this little mommy yayed down, too.

And, in those little moments, I realized how far we'd come in two years.

We made it through postpartum depression and anxiety, an overwhelming sense of when in the hell am I going to figure this whole motherhood thing out (answer = uh, never), very sleepless, unpredictable nights, the horror of teething, so many firsts, so many laughs and tears and holycrapIamgoingtoLOSEit moments.

We've made it through so much. And while I will always remember those really, really hard times - the belief that I would literally never sleep again, the terrifying panic and worry, the worse-than-contractions-kind-of-pain I had after giving birth, the insane sleep deprivation, the unbearable irritability, our 9-month battle with breast feeding, Kaylee's refusal to take naps for her first 12 months of life, multiple trips to the ER and a stay in the children's hospital, and did I mention the sleep deprivation? - I can honestly tell you that I don't have anywhere near the vivid imagery of those events that I did months ago. The emotional pain of those struggles fades more and more as time goes on, believe it or not, and I thank God for that.

When I look back on the last 2 years, those really sucky moments are not what stands out most to me anymore. For the longest time, I couldn't get past those haunting memories. I felt like they were so deeply etched in my mind, and for the longest time, I had a hard time believing things would get much better, or that it would ever become easier for me to look back and not have those be the most dominating memories I had of being a mother.

Will I ever completely forget what that junk was like? Oh, heck no. I will always remember how real and how difficult those days and months were. But now, I'm able to see myself as an even tougher woman for actually surviving all that. Those were bumps in the road that helped me grow, helped me learn more about myself, and helped to stir up a passion in myself to help other women who are either in that boat now or who have been there in the past.

Now, when I play that little slideshow in my head of the past 2 years, I see things like Kaylee taking her first steps in our office, and then later that night, taking more steps out in the living room after Dennis bribed her with a cookie.

I see her enjoying her first bite of cake, courtesy of my Dad.

I see her running all the way across a soccer field, just to get to the dirt border around the outside so she can play in the dirt and rocks instead of the soft grass.

I see a little girl who decided all on her own that it was time to start potty training, and who pretty much always thinks it's okay to just sit all the live long day on the toilet and "go potty more!" only to get off the toilet, state matter-of-factly, "Don't pee on da floor" and then proceed to pee on the floor.

I see her jacking a can of V8 out of the fridge and toting it around pretending to drink out of it as she walks around the house, and then saying, "Ahhhhh" after she's finished with her pretend drink.

I see a little girl who knows her ABC's and sings the Ippy Pider (Itsy Bitsy Spider) song all on her own.

I see a little girl who uttered, "Dammit!" in Wal-Mart today after I dropped a box of pasta off the shelf.

I see all the times Kaylee's face lit up each and every time Uncle Colin and Sarah came home from college after she'd gone months without seeing them.

I see my spunky little smiling, energetic, funny, smart, absolutely beautiful baby girl.

And, finally, I see myself as a damn good mother.

I no longer see a failure who still can't keep the house clean, who occasionally swears and loses my patience and struggles to stay sane some days. I no longer see a mess of a mom who never had it together.

Now I see a woman who balances a marriage, a job, friendships, family, being a mother, and trying to have some time to myself, among other things like oh, paying the bills and planning meals and countless other super-fun responsibilities.

I see a woman who still swears and loses my patience and struggles to stay sane, but now I see that as normal, rather than seeing it as a character flaw. I still don't have it together many days, and I know I will never "arrive" at a place where I'll have it all together. That'd be a load of crap. I see a mama who does her best and who realizes, more often than not, that that's all I can do.

Forget the pressure to be the perfect mother, to have a clean house, and to be Pollyanna. Screw than, man. It's just not me.

I see the way my daughter has turned out, and I know I've done okay. And I know I will do okay.

While I may not be proud of everything I do and the way I react to everything, I realize that's just fine. And I realize that my daughter needs to see that. She needs to see her mama as human. As imperfect and sometimes messy. As one in need of a daily happy pill and some time to myself, and a good, healthy dose of Grey's Anatomy once a week.

We made it.

We made it two years. And while she tries my patience like no other, she just keeps getting more fun.

Fun enough to give me the crazy notion that it's finally time to do this whole thing over again.

God help me...

Ahhhhh, finally. The fresh start I've been waiting for.

I'm sitting here right now with a big old sense of relief.

I just hit the publish button on my last review that I committed to do, and I feel like I've finally got the freedom to get back to the basics on my blog - to write for the reasons I began writing, and to not be bogged down by other obligations.

Recently I wrote about how I want to head in a new direction on the blog - stepping away from doing so many product reviews and giveaways (yet not being closed off to them completely), and actually sitting down to figure out exactly why it is that I have a blog in the first place.

I felt the need to establish a clear direction and clear set of goals for myself so that, in the future, I won't get distracted by all the other stuff that's out there that I don't necessarily need to be a part of.

Doing this final review on my to-do list was a huge wake up call to me. I agreed to do a book review, and it didn't take me long to decide that I was so not into this particular book. But, I was committed, so I invested my time in finishing it so that I kept my word. I love reading - it's one of my favorite things to do in the whole wide world, so to be spending time reading a book I did not love made me wake up and smell the coffee.

I realized there is no sense in doing something I don't want to do. My time is more valuable than that. So, I will only be writing about things that mean something to me and that do not cause me any more stress than I already have.

So, here's what I've come up with. I hope you'll stay along for the ride.

*Stick to the basics. The name Laughing Through the Chaos says it all. That's what I strive to do - to be able to laugh at myself and to be able to laugh through the tough stuff. And I hope I can help you do the same.

*Keeping it well-rounded. I may be a mommy blogger, but I don't always want to talk about all things mommy. There's plenty of other things that make me who I am, so I'll be talking about other stuff, too.

*Provide more information and resources relating to postpartum depression/postpartum mood disorders. I've become very passionate about this in the last year and a half, and I want this blog to be a place you can come for resources, support, and information.

*I want to use my blog to make a difference when it comes to certain social causes. I've been honored to use my blog as a way to get the word out in the past about an amazing non-profit group called The Fresh Air Fund (a group that provides inner-city kids with the opportunity to experience things they may never have the chance to do otherwise, such as fishing, chasing butterflies, or camping in the woods), and I hope to bring awareness about other organizations that mean something to me as well.

*I'm cutting way back on product reviews and giveaways, but - at the same time - I am not going to close my blog off to them completely. I am aiming to make product reviews few and far between, and they will only make it on to the blog if I'm absolutely crazy about them, and if I think they will benefit you in some way as well.

*On a related note, I am hoping that by cutting back on reviews and giveaways, it will allow me more time to create a sense of community among my readers. That could mean more interactive discussions in the comment section, actually having time to respond to some of your comments on an individual basis, and being able to visit some of your blogs. I continue to be amazed by the sense of community there is when a few of us all say that we've gone through the same thing.

So, that's where I'm headed. Those are my goals, and I think it's good to step back and re-evaluate them from time to time.

Thanks to all of you for actually caring about what I have to say and for sharing your own experiences along the way as well. You rock my face off. :)

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.

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.

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.

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.

Right where I want to be.

We've been doing good letting the baby cry it out at night lately. We haven't caved, and we're all surviving.

But, tonight? Tonight I really needed to cuddle my baby. I needed those quiet, tranquil moments when she's cuddly and close, when she's out like a light and even snoring at times.


Yesterday I started reading, Down Came the Rain. The book is written by Brooke Shields, and it's all about her struggle through postpartum depression after the birth of her daughter, Rowan. I can clearly remember the exact place I was standing in Barnes and Noble the first time I saw her book.

I was pregnant, picked up the book, and quickly put it back after thumbing through a few pages. Some of the words I was reading were just appalling. I didn't want to read more. It seemed pretty dark, and I wasn't going to go through that - so, I put it back and didn't think much of it. I moved on to other books about fetal development, labor, and baby showers.

But, after having Kaylee and waging my own battle with postpartum depression, I've really been curious about what she shared in her book, and what she went through. I think it's a pretty brave thing for a celebrity like herself to share her story and put it out there.

Well, let me tell you that I'm glued to the book, and although there are things she writes about that I can't relate to, there are plenty of things that are stark reminders of my early postpartum life.

She talks about feeling disoriented in her own home during the few days following her daughter's birth. Feeling like everyone but her was caring for her baby because, physically, she could not. She talks about how the majority of her time spent with the baby was when people would bring the baby to her for feeding. She talks about feeling like the neverending cycle of crying, sleepless nights, and feedings wouldn't end. And she talks about feeling like a failure for not being able to do some of the most basic tasks of motherhood, and therefore feeling disconnected from and unfamiliar with her very own baby.

Those are things that resonated with me. And it took me back. It reminded me how far I've come. It was not a place I wanted to be. It was certainly not where I envisioned I would be.

I remember feeling almost like a bystander in my baby's life for the first week - just standing by and feeling completely helpless. In some ways, I was. It hurt to turn over in bed, to get out of bed, to walk to the bathroom, to go to the bathroom. I was in so much pain that it was hard to focus on anything else.

And my family knew that. And they were there for me every step of the way. They alternated nights staying with Dennis and I for the first week. They assumed full baby duty during the nighttime hours so we could attempt to actually sleep.

I remember thinking to myself that I would never be able to sleep again. I really believed that. I was so exhausted and tired that it seemed that the ability to fall asleep had escaped me. I was too busy trying to sleep and not being able to, that everyone else had to take care of my baby for me. I felt like the show was going on without me. I wondered if my baby even knew who her mother was, because I certainly wasn't the one spending the majority of the time with her. In my illogical and sleep-deprived mind, I wondered if I'd be able to bond with her, or if some magical window of prime bonding time had passed us by.

I loved my baby the instant she was born. She amazed me. I was in awe of her, and I loved her with everything I had. But, not being able to have a deeper involvement in her care made it harder for me to feel that connection with her right away because I physically could not do the things I wanted to do. I couldn't just sit awake - even during the day - and stare at her, holding her, rocking her. I couldn't change many of her diapers, clean her up, or wash and fold her clothes. I couldn't even breastfeed my own child, for pete's sake. I felt like the epitome of failure.

My family was (IS) amazing, and I have no idea how we'd have survived that first week without them. They stayed up through the night and never complained once. They did way more than we ever expected them to do. They were by our sides through it all. And when I couldn't be there for my baby, they were. It was because of them that I was finally able to get to that place of being able to be there for my little girl.

So, tonight, when I read more about Brooke's struggles that mirrored my own, I felt an overwhelming need to just hold my baby for more than a quick hug before I put her in her crib to cry it out. Tonight was certainly not a night for crying it out.

I needed to hug her, and hold her close, and tell her how much I loved her. Because tonight I was reminded of a time when I wondered how I could possibly make it to the place I'm at today.

***

(This post is a part of Mama Kat's Thursday Writer's Workshop, taking place every Thursday at Mama's Losin' It. Specifically, this post is about prompt #5, which is, "Where would you like to be?")

How I kicked postpartum depression's ass: The Series

Click the links below to read the five-part series I wrote about my struggle with postpartum depression.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five

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

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.

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.

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...

How I kicked postpartum depression's ass: part three

This post is the third in a five-part series about my struggle with postpartum depression. Missed the first 2 days? Click the links below to catch up.

Part One
Part Two

My doctor put me on a low dose of Lexapro - just 5 milligrams - because she said that it seemed like things weren't out of hand yet. Yet being the operative word here.

She explained how important it was to start treatment, and she said, "I'm assuming you're not suicidal, right?" That's when it hit home, and we talked about how things could progress if my postpartum depression went untreated. It scared the crap out of me, and I was so, SO glad that I was sitting there in that room taking the first step to get some help.

There was this one night, about 2 weeks after I started my meds, that Dennis and I could both tell things were on the up and up. I remember we were sitting on the couch watching TV and talking. And I was LAUGHING. It felt great, and I felt like I had a part of myself back again.

Dennis said, "I love medicine!"

That's when I replied with, "5 milligrams is all it takes!" My own little take on the Honey Bunches of Oats slogan - "One spoonful is all it takes."

At that point, we both new that things were probably going to get better. But, of course, we still had our doubts. After all, we were only 2 weeks in.

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.

It's finally time.

Back in January of this year, I sat down and started to chronicle my journey through postpartum depression. It really helped me to process what I'd been through, and it gave me some closure.

The posts have been sitting in draft mode here on my blog, ready and waiting to be published. Up until now, I've just shared little tid bits about my struggles with this lovely postpartum conundrum, but now I'm finally ready to share the whole story.

I know we're all busy people, so instead of writing one big, long post I've broken my story up into 5 parts. They're short enough to read while you have your morning cup of coffee, or while you lock yourself in your office for 5 minutes to get a timeout from the world.

So, I just wanted to let you know that things will be taking on a bit of a more serious tone around here for the next few days, but worry not, because you'll still find some humor thrown in from time to time, and we'll be back to the funny stuff before you know it.

It's just time for me to do this.

A Little Peace in the Midst of My Chaos...

When I started this blog, part of my intent was to share my struggles during my first few weeks as a new mother. I did more of that toward the beginning - I've talked about postpartum depression, such fun activities as fishing for turds and struggling to have a clean house, and suffering from moments of mommy brain, but there's so much that I haven't shared yet, and today it's time to talk about it some more.

I am so glad Dennis snapped this picture of Kaylee and I. She wasn't yet a month old. Those first 2 or 3 months are pretty much a blur to me, and I don't have a ton of fun memories of that time. Mostly, I remember being tired, cranky, weepy, putting on a happy face when, in all reality, I was freaked out and in way over my head, exhausted, and unable to function in many ways.

I wanted to share this picture because when I look at it, it reminds me that I did have some moments of peace in the midst of all the chaos of those first few weeks. I did have sweet moments with my baby girl. And believe it or not, apparently I did manage to get some sleep here and there.

I've talked to my mom and some of my friends about those first few weeks, and I usually end up in tears by the end of the conversation. I get so sad because I honestly don't remember a lot of what happened, and I feel like I missed out on some really precious time in the earliest days of my baby's life. I truly felt like I missed out on moments that I will never get back, and I think I'll always be sad about that.

In order for you to understand the whole picture, I'll start at the beginning.

I had a normal labor and delivery course, and could have gone home after 24 hours, but we were having trouble getting Kaylee to nurse, so I was encouraged to stay an extra day to get more support with breast feeding. I agreed, but one sleepless night in the hospital turned into two sleepless nights.

I was exhausted from giving birth. I was in awe at this sweet little being nestled in a handmade, white, crocheted blanket in the bassinet next to me, and I couldn't stop looking at her and checking on her as I lay in that hospital bed. I was tired of being bothered all the time so the nurse could check my vitals. I had what felt like everybody and their mother in my room trying to help me breast feed my baby every two hours - seriously, at times there were 2 or 3 nurses in there at once trying to help us. And every time I tried, I failed. I was really, really, really sad that my baby wouldn't breast feed. I felt like a freak - like something was wrong with me - that I couldn't do one of the most basic tasks of motherhood.

And I was in pain. The ice pack and pain meds were wearing off, and I was beginning to realize how much trauma my body had just gone through. Episiotomies frickin' suck - and Kaylee was only a 5 pounder. My body eventually decided that it didn't like the codeine that was in the Tylenol, so I proceeded to ralph up all my pain medication in the middle of the night, and had to wait several more hours before I could get any other form of relief, and from then on my pain was never really under control. That's when things really started going downhill...

When I was finally discharged, the doctor said something about taking Aleve at home. Somehow, I managed not to catch the part about how I should take several Aleve to equal the amount of medication I was getting at the hospital (sleep deprivation, perhaps?) , so I went home and proceeded to take 1 capsule of Aleve. I was on 800 mg tylenol and narcotic pain meds at the hospital to manage the pain, so 250 mg of Aleve didn't even touch the pain once I got home.

I literally could not get in and out of bed - my husband had to get me to the bathroom and back. It was quite possibly worse than the pain of contractions, and my dignity had flown the coop. I was in so much pain I couldn't concentrate on anything else. I wanted so badly to just settle in and enjoy my baby like I assumed every other new mother did, but I couldn't.

We ended up calling the doctor and I was able to get on a regimen that effectively managed my pain, but it took at least a day for it to kick in.

Those first few weeks I know I freaked my husband out. I was not myself. My house didn't feel like my house. I felt like I couldn't enjoy my baby because I was so dang tired all the time that I couldn't function. And, as ready and willing as I was to pump milk for my daughter every 3 hours, that took a toll on me as well. Each time I got hooked up to the milk machine I got sad that I had a damn machine hooked up to my boobs instead of my baby, nursing peacefully. I was happy I could at least provide her with breast milk, but I still felt crappy each time - it was time spent away from my baby and time spent thinking of how I STILL couldn't breast feed her. The day she turned 8 weeks old she decided that it was high time to latch on, and she's been a little nursing pro ever since. Anyway, back to what I was saying...

4 days postpartum I had the first anxiety attack of my life. I'm a relatively laid back person and don't really get worked up about stuff. After I realized what happened, I was determined to figure out what triggered it so it wouldn't happen again. I quickly realized that it all began with food. I couldn't get it out of my head that the nurses at the hospital told me I had to consume between 500 and 1000 extra calories daily to sustain breast feeding. I wasn't really eating like I normally do because, well, I was either trying to sleep, remembering that I hadn't taken a shower in 2 days, wincing through pain, or listening to my baby cry. So, in the back of my severely sleep-deprived mind, there was something telling me that I had to eat A LOT, and I needed to eat a lot NOW. So, I started eating really fast - I felt like I hadn't eaten in days and shoot, if I wanted to breastfeed I had to eat, eat, eat, right?

Suddenly I was having trouble breathing. I was suddenly ice cold. I was trembling. And it was all completely out of my control. I was scared out of my mind and didn't know what was happening to my body. We called the doctor and he talked me through it - telling me that I was having a panic attack. I can't tell you how embarrassed I was, and what a WIMP I felt like at the time. I was mortified that my family had witnessed all that. But, I still remember my dad, standing behind me as I sat in the glider in the nursery. He would gently pat my arm and kept saying, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay" over and over. And over. And over. Because I told him not to stop saying that. He calmed me down and helped me get through it. I'm sure he was scared sh*tless, too, but he didn't let on that he was.

I'm getting better about it, but I can't even begin to describe to you how much I've beat myself up over the fact that I have had such a hard time adjusting to motherhood. I really didn't think it would be this hard. But it is. Thank God it's getting better, and thank God for medication. I'm slowly learning to cut myself some slack and not be SO hard on myself. A huge part of my being able to get through this is talking to people who have been there before, or who are going through this now. Because I realize that I'm not the only one.

I'm not a freak. I'm not a basket case (well, okay - maybe some days I am), and I don't need to be locked up somewhere and put in a straight jacket (not yet, anyway - although I did have a conversation with some of my mom friends one day and we all informed each other that we would like sparkly, rhinestone straight jackets if someone came to take us away...).

I'm a mom. A new mom. One that loves my baby tremendously and is living a dream that I always wished for. And, I'm wreck some days. And that's okay.

(This post is part of Wordful Wednesday, sponsored by 7 Clown Circus - head on over to check out more Wordful Wednesday work.)

5 Milligrams is All It Takes...

Ya ever seen that Honey Bunches of Oats commercial? One spoonful is all it takes?

My husband and I can joke around about my postpartum depression now that it's under control. I remember one night a couple weeks after I started my ABPs - I was joking around and being my usual goofy self. Dennis said, "I love medicine!" And I said, in the same tone as the lady from the Honey Bunches of Oats commercial - "5 milligrams is all it takes!"

I know about postpartum depression. I'm a social worker. I talk to new moms at the hospital about it all the time. I know the signs and symptoms. But, I guess when it's happening to you, you somehow become blinded to what's really going on.

I've got a great support network of other moms online, and one day I told them that I was really irritable and stupid little things were really pissing me off. I told them that I'd cry really easily over stuff that never would have bothered me before. Postpartum depression was brought up. I shrugged it off and said - nope, not me, not depressed. I didn't feel sad. I didn't have trouble getting out of bed in the morning. I was not depressed.

But, two of these moms in particular kindly reminded me that you don't have to feel depressed to have depression, and that it can manifest itself in different ways like anger, irritability, etc. These two moms encouraged me to talk to my doctor, and shortly after their suggestion, I did.

I told the doc that I didn't feel like myself - that I felt like I was PMS-ing all the time. Then we had the talk, and she suggested an anti-depressant. It was hard to swallow (the diagnosis, not the pill - the pill is rather tiny, thankyouverymuch). Come on - we all know there's a stigma attached to PPD, and I didn't want that. But, I had to accept it. It was something I never expected to deal with, but it was - IS - a very real part of my postpartum life.

My doctor prescribed Lexapro and said she'd start me out on a "baby dose" - just 5 mg because she said it seemed like things weren't too out of hand yet. She explained that, without treatment, things could escalate. She said the Lexapro should start working within a week, and she was right. After 2 weeks Dennis and I noticed an even bigger difference.

Once I started feeling better, I finally realized just how bad it really was. I had forgotten what it was like to feel like myself, and that made me sad.

I have no shame in my diagnosis, or in the fact that I have to take medication to deal with it. Once I've been on the ABPs for 6 months, I'll go see my doctor again and we'll talk about discontinuing the meds. Heck, I'll be glad to not have to fork out 80 bucks a month anymore. But, I told Dennis that if I come off of them and find out that I go back to being an Ice Queen, I have no reservations about getting back on them. We'll wiggle something else around in the budget if need be - we know these pills work, and to us, 80 bucks is more than worth it.

I realize that in order to be a good mother, and a good wife, I've gotta take good care of myself. I don't want my daughter to remember me as a cranky mama, and I don't want my husband to have a cranky wife. Huh-uh. Not in this house.

Mel and Karrie, thanks. You have no idea how grateful to you I am. If Dennis knew you, he'd thank you a million times as well. Love you, girls.

Now you weigh in - did you ever struggle with PPD? What did it look like for you, and were you able to manage it? How did your family react? Talk to me.

Welcome to the Chaos

I've wanted to be a mama ever since I was old enough to tote around a doll.

This blog is all about my journey through motherhood. I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. My daughter brings me more joy than I could have ever imagined. I just wish I had a clue how hard it was going to be. No one ever told me. I thought I'd have my baby, come home, breastfeed her, experience the usual sleep deprivation, deal with poop and puke and other bodily fluids, all the normal stuff you expect.

I had no freakin' clue that my baby would decide not to latch on for 2 months and that I would tirelessly pump around the clock - every three hours for that entire first 2 months- because I was so stubbornly set on providing her with breast milk.

And I didn't realize that I would feel like such an emotional wreck, and even somewhat of a failure, for not being able to breast feed my own child.

I had no clue that the physical recovery from child birth would be so painful.

I had no clue that sleep deprivation isn't just some silly phrase - it can totally mess with your body and your mind.

I had no clue that I would turn into such an Ice Queen, and that you can have postpartum depression even if you don't feel "depressed."

I had no clue that antidepressants (which I have fondly nicknamed "ABP's" - short for "anti-bitchy pills") would be my saving grace and bring the real me back into existence (have I mentioned I have the world's most patient husband?).

And that's just to name a few of the things I didn't have a clue about.

I feel like there are so many things no one ever told me. I'm learning that there are certain aspects of motherhood that too many "been there, done that" mamas don't like to discuss. But these are things that need to be put out there, because if they're not, then that means there are too many of us sitting at home thinking we're crazy, or that we're just not cut out for this gig.

I'm coming to realize that most of what we go through as moms is utterly and completely normal - but there's just too much of it that no one is really willing to talk about. Well, I'm ready to talk about it. Humor has always played a big part in my life, and to be honest, I think it's all that gets me through some days.

So, I can promise you that this blog isn't going to be a downer just because I talk about my struggles. I believe that humor is an incredible tool for dealing with the tough stuff, so, just like the title of my blog implies, you'll get to read all about how I laugh through the chaos that is my new life as a mother.

If no one ever comments on my posts and all I do is blabber on and on about my life, so be it. That's fine. At least I'll get a few things off my chest. But, I really, really encourage you to comment - let's get a dialogue going and share the ups and downs of motherhood together.

If I manage to make it to my bedroom without tripping over a bouncy seat, jumperoo, pile of laundry, stray shoe, or random breast pump part, I'll be back tomorrow to write more. Until then, I hope you get more sleep than I do tonight.