Back to the real world tomorrow

I'm at the tail end of six days off in a row from work. Normally, that would be a really bad thing, but I managed to pick up several extra shifts the second have of December, so it was actually just fine.

Usually, when I have that many days off in a row, I cram each day full of things to get done, places to be, and before the time off even starts, I can see a panic attack at the end of the hallway.

But, this stretch of days was finally different. Finally. Lowering my expectations of myself has been so freeing.

I have by no means mastered balance, and I know I never will, but I'm learning how to let go of some things, and I'm figuring out how I can add more enjoyable things into my life every day.

Like I mentioned a few days ago, by breaking up all my stuff to do into just a couple things per day, I was able to get stuff done that needed to get done, but I was able to relax, enjoy my baby and the rest of my family, and not feel like I constantly had to be doing something.

Kaylee and I played outside. I read books - books that were written for grown-ups! We knocked down towers of blocks over and over. and over. and over. and over. We colored. I did some Gilad workout videos. I got caught up with some friends. The house didn't blow up. The dishes didn't pile up to the ceiling, and miraculously, we all have clean clothes to wear and we have eaten food every single day. Crazy. I know.

So, while I get ready to have a whirlwind of days at work from now to the end of the month, I can actually look back on this past week and be proud of the fact that I was able to fill it with fun memories instead of unrealistic expectations and high levels of stress.

Now...time to dig out those work clothes and bring home some BACON!

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.

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.

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.)