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 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.

Armageddon is nowhere in sight, and a reflection on the newborn days

So, remember when I told you Kaylee's new sleeping habits may just be a hint that Armageddon was coming? Well, now I know that it most definitely is NOT.

We had two good nights.

The first night she slept for 9 hours and 45 minutes. Night # 2 was about 8 hours or so. And, last night we were back to the midnight wakeup call.

And wouldn't you know - each night she slept so well I went to bed by 9 to prepare myself in case she woke up multiple times. And she didn't. Last night I stayed up until the absolutely insane hour of 11 o'clock (oh, dear me!). I had trouble falling asleep, and just as I was dozing off at approximately 11:49, she starts crying.

I gave her a couple minutes because sometimes she just cries for a short bit and then goes back down. Not last night.

So, as I logged more rocking miles on the glider, I reminisced back to Kaylee's newborn days. I really struggled a lot then, and suddenly I recalled a conversation that I had with my mom.

Sleep was not a regular part of my life at that point, and it was really taking a toll on me. I was experiencing a fair amount of mommy guilt as well, and I felt the need to share it with my mom. At the time, I felt I was taking a risk by admitting my true struggle to her.

I remember telling her, "Mom, I feel so bad because I'd rather keep sleeping than get up to comfort Kaylee."

Man, I felt like an ass. I was so selfish, right? Wanting to sleep, wanting to put my needs above my child's, playing the tug of war between my pillow and the sweet babe in the Pack 'N Play at the end of my bed. I was seriously afraid my mom would think I was a bad mom (well, I know she wouldn't think that of me, but it's how I thought at the time).

Now I think back to that very feeling that made me feel so crappy. That feeling still exists sometimes, but I've lost much of the guilt over it.

Fortunately, I've accumulated enough sleep (and popped enough ABP's) to realize that it's okay to want to sleep instead of getting up with the baby. It doesn't mean I love her any less! I'll always want to comfort her and make her feel better when she's crying (and you better believe I'll always want to kick anyone's ass if they ever make her cry), but when I'm tired and I feel like staying in bed instead of getting up to rock her back to sleep, that's okay.

I'll eventually get my butt out of bed and stumble into the nursery to make her feel better (or I'll send Dennis in).

But, it's just one of those things that has taken me a good 8 months to realize that it's not worth feeling guilty about. It's not a bad thing to want sleep. And I want sleep. I want 8 hours of sleep. Every night. Really bad.

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.