Flying off the handle

God, I hate it when I lose it. And boy did I lose it this morning.

It started last night. I had a stressful day at work. We were operating on a Condition Red which means all the beds were full and people were backed up in the ER waiting to be admitted to the hospital for hours. This puts a huge strain on our department because one of our primary goals is to get patients discharged. Everyone was stretched to the max and freaking out a bit. So I left work and was feeling a bit frazzled.

Then, right after I got off work we met a friend of ours for pizza. After that I had to run to CVS because I had $20 in Extra Care Bucks that expired yesterday, so I had to use them last night or else it would be like throwing away money, and that would have been just ridiculous. So, I shopped and I got 2 Colgate toothpastes, 3 Gillette shampoos for hubby, and a luxurious Vitamin shampoo for myself, spent just 14 cents, and got about $15 in back in Extra Care Bucks to use on future retail therapy. Well worth the trip.

So, by the time I actually got home, it was nearly time for Kaylee to go to bed, which bummed me out. I hadn't had any good, quality one-on-one time with her that day. Here begins my bummed outedeness (I love inventing new words).

I had two sinks of dirty dishes, a dishwasher full of clean dishes that needed to be put away, a load of clothes in the washer (that are still there, by the way, and probably starting to get stinky...) and 3 loads of laundry on the couch that needed to be folded. The kitchen was starting to smell from the chicken guts that were in the trash from when I actually cooked dinner the previous night. The kitchen counter was being overtaken by random stuff.

So much for my new rules of not piling laundry on the couch unless I put it away immediately and the rule of picking up the kitchen nightly to prevent pileups.

I have always struggled with housekeeping, and I give myself no mercy. I lay the guilt trip on myself if things start to get messy, and I tell myself I suck at being a good housewife.

Remember how I spent an entire day cleaning while my mom watched Kaylee for me? Our kitchen, dining room and living room have been CLEAN ever since. I just maintain them daily by picking stuff up, and it's really not so hard.

So, last night I got home, and the last damn thing on my mind was doing anything domestic. I just needed to decompress, so I got on the computer, checked my email and did blog stuff.

Then it was time for bed. I couldn't sleep. I was feeling anxious. I felt like my house was headed for the shitter again because it's just a domino effect around here. Once things start piling up it goes down hill quickly, and before you know it, I will need another all day cleaning fest.

When Dennis came to bed I told him I couldn't sleep and was feeling anxious. I was getting that funny, anxious feeling in my chest and I was trying not to freak out because I didn't want to have an anxiety attack like the one and only one I've ever had, which was 4 days postpartum with Kaylee. It was terrifying. So, I just took some deep, slow breaths and tried to calm down.

I managed to sleep, and then this morning happened.

The house smelled like ass (excuse my French - I'm pissy this morning, and I cuss more when I'm pissy. It's just who I am.) from the damn rotting chicken in the garbage. It's a smell that just permeates the whole house and makes you feel nauseous.

Then I spent the better part of the morning working on getting our dinner ready (we're having crock pot chicken and dumplings tonight - thank God for comfort food), getting Kaylee's food ready for the day, and packing her bag for the babysitter's. By the time all that was done, nearly an hour had gone by, and who wakes up but my little princess.

Crying. And hungry. As she very well should be after sleeping for 11 hours straight. But my hair was wet, dammit! My makeup wasn't on. My favorite jeans that I wanted to wear for casual Friday were frickin' WRINKLED and I didn't have time to iron them (which turned out to be okay because once I put them on and realized how wrinkled they were I also realized how tight they were). Add another thing to my list of frustrations. My damn pants are too tight. Grrrr...

I just couldn't take it. I flew off the handle. I blew up at Dennis. All because he couldn't read my mind and know all the things I wanted help with. Ice Queen had emerged, and apparently there are 6 more weeks of winter because she would NOT go back underground.

I hate it. I HATE it when I get like this. But I just can't keep it together all the time...

Dammit.

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.