On Friday, Isaac will start at his new daycare center. This is the bigger daycare center right down the street from our house. He is going to be going there on Fridays until November, when he will start full time. (The other two days he is playing at Miss C's house, who has him 3 days right now).
Anyway, I am feeling all kinds of anxiety about taking him there. Not really bad, but...anxious. I don't know how to accurately describe it. I filled out the thick packet of paperwork, signing forms, filling out phone numbers, copying vaccination papers. And as I was signing the form that waived liabilty of the center to pay any medical expenses that Isaac may incur while in their care...I got all...anxious. Not that I think that Isaac will incur mass medical expenses and I need to have my proof of medical insurance, etc. But that here I am for the third time in his little life, entrusting my precious baby boy in someone else's care and leaving him there.
This is the third stranger he has to meet. The third new house he has to learn and adapt to. The third new group of kids he has to learn to play with, share with, get along with.
It just seems really unfair, that I am putting him through this again, just when he is getting so happy at Miss C's. I know he is young, and he adapts so easily (so far). He is social and friendly. And I am sure he will be absolutely fine.
I feel like I am being selfish. Like I should have planned better before and while I was pregnant. I should have saved more and payed more bills, so we would be in a better position for me to stay home with Isaac. I should have done something, ANYTHING differently, because I just feel so...anxious about it. Like, maybe I should have agreed to leave him at Miss C's until November and make another clean break for him. Maybe I should have agreed to take him to a different place that was available for full time right now, instead of waiting for this center.
Maybe I should not feel like I need my job in my life, like I need that part of my old life in my new life as mom. The truth is, 9 days out of 10, I relish the 8 hours I am at work and doing what I am good at. I like having this bit of my life that doesn't really revolve around me being a mommy. That makes me feel guilty. I don't like feeling that way.
Despite how I feel today or tomorrow, inevitably, on Friday morning, I will pack up his diapers, wipes, extra clothes, extra medicines, blankie and cup, and drop my son off at his third daycare. His third daycare in 19 months.
Showing posts with label PPD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PPD. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Friends Don't Let Friends Make Life-Altering Decisions on Hormones
When I was about 7 and a half months pregnant, hormones raging, I told my husband that I wanted to go back to school. I made this decision based on a commericial. I don't remember the commercial, and in all likelihood, it was for Ra.gu or carpet installation. This commercial was so impactful, I felt the need to wake up my husband and share the great decision I just made. I mean, great! I wanted to go back to school!
My husband, being the tactful man he is, especially when awoke by his wife who was NOT in labor or bleeding profusely, rolled his eyes and went back to sleep. Whatever, I was all in my zone and was already thinking about what school I wanted to go to and what I wanted to study.
The next day, my husband nixed my idea. COMPLETELY. He simply said, you can't make life-altering decisions when your hormones are like this.
And you know, as much as it pains me to say, he was absolutely right.
A few days later, I was over my back to school obsession. And I was glad I hadn't seriously gone after it, because now the thought of spending another 4+ years in school seemed absolutely, certifiably INSANE.
My new one was cutting all my hair off and dyeing it a different color.
Again, not allowed to do so, because of the hormone thing.
I felt like this many times throughout the past year, all during stages in which my hormones were completely out of whack. Right after I gave birth, when my milk supply came in, when my IUD was put in, and now that I have stopped nursing and my hormones are assumably trying to stablize themselves.
And my thoughts aren't rationale. Combined with sleep deprivation and working and everything else, I manage to come up with some doozies.
I am lucid enough to know that these ideas really aren't good or even logical ones. Still, in that moment, I think that they are the best ideas I have ever had and I can't figure out why my friends and family aren't roaring with support. Quite a few of my friends are pregnant now and just getting into the hormones. Oh, the hormones! I try my best to be tactful and supportive because I have been there. I am still there.
There are certain areas of my life that I want to change or at least work on changing. I am hoping that now my hormones are steadying out, I will be able to make decisions with more ration and logic, rather than...well...my hormones.
My husband, being the tactful man he is, especially when awoke by his wife who was NOT in labor or bleeding profusely, rolled his eyes and went back to sleep. Whatever, I was all in my zone and was already thinking about what school I wanted to go to and what I wanted to study.
The next day, my husband nixed my idea. COMPLETELY. He simply said, you can't make life-altering decisions when your hormones are like this.
And you know, as much as it pains me to say, he was absolutely right.
A few days later, I was over my back to school obsession. And I was glad I hadn't seriously gone after it, because now the thought of spending another 4+ years in school seemed absolutely, certifiably INSANE.
My new one was cutting all my hair off and dyeing it a different color.
Again, not allowed to do so, because of the hormone thing.
I felt like this many times throughout the past year, all during stages in which my hormones were completely out of whack. Right after I gave birth, when my milk supply came in, when my IUD was put in, and now that I have stopped nursing and my hormones are assumably trying to stablize themselves.
And my thoughts aren't rationale. Combined with sleep deprivation and working and everything else, I manage to come up with some doozies.
I am lucid enough to know that these ideas really aren't good or even logical ones. Still, in that moment, I think that they are the best ideas I have ever had and I can't figure out why my friends and family aren't roaring with support. Quite a few of my friends are pregnant now and just getting into the hormones. Oh, the hormones! I try my best to be tactful and supportive because I have been there. I am still there.
There are certain areas of my life that I want to change or at least work on changing. I am hoping that now my hormones are steadying out, I will be able to make decisions with more ration and logic, rather than...well...my hormones.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Imperfect
I like to boast Isaac's accomplishments. I think this is natural, right? Comes with the motherhood territory. I do it because I am proud of him, and the progress he is making. I share these things because I want his family and friends to be able to keep up with his development and I don't have to have awkward conversation on why I didn't let them know Isaac was crawling?
I don't do it to imply my baby is perfect in any way.
He's not.
Oh, he's perfect to me.
But he's a baby boy who doesn't sleep through the night, hates bottles and formula, likes to smack me in the face and eat dirt from the floor. He burps and farts and pees on me and laughs about it. He's got a great set of lungs and isn't afraid to demonstrate their endurance in marathon screaming sessions.
And I am not a perfect parent by any means. I get frustrated. I yell. I plead and beg. I get irritated. I cry. And sometimes I go into my bedroom and close the door and turn the TV up full blast, leaving Isaac and his screams in the other room with his father. I am dealing with PPD, and I am not ashamed of it. Some days I downright hate myself, and I will be the first to say it. I make mistakes every day.
I am not afraid to scream our imperfections as loud as the accomplishments.
Why? Because I know that every single mother out there at some moment feels the same way. And it comforts me to read about it, knowing that I am not alone.
What I don't like to read is endless taunting of "oh my god my little angel is so completely perfect and never cries and has poop that smells like roses and chanel no. 5 and has been sleeping through the night since the day of birth and I have fountains of milk flowing from my skinny body that looks better than before I had a baby and I have never had mastitis and my baby's teeth came in as gentle as kittens lapping up milk and I have no stretch marks and I love my job and I make tons of money and I have no problems and every one loves me and my perfect Norman Rockwell family."
Yeah, I am pretty sure that is a crock of shite.
Don't get me wrong, I love to read about other mother's and their babies' joys and acheivements. When I hear a mother's infant is sleeping through the night or has finally cut that tooth, I want to run to them and high five her and hug her because she shared their struggles and helped me through mine. It makes me feel WORSE when I don't read that something is just not going smoothly. Maybe it is just me, but I feel empowered by the encouragement of a mother who I know has been there and made it through.
No, I don't mean I wish health struggles onto anyone. And I don't laugh gleefully at other people's pain. I don't wish hardship onto anyone.
I understand that maybe some people are not comfortable sharing hard times and frustrations. And that is fine too. The tone of those people's conversations is completely different than those up on their high horses. I respect their privacy and I won't pry into their lives to find problems.
All I am saying is that I am not perfect. And I know you aren't either. So let's be imperfect together.
I don't do it to imply my baby is perfect in any way.
He's not.
Oh, he's perfect to me.
But he's a baby boy who doesn't sleep through the night, hates bottles and formula, likes to smack me in the face and eat dirt from the floor. He burps and farts and pees on me and laughs about it. He's got a great set of lungs and isn't afraid to demonstrate their endurance in marathon screaming sessions.
And I am not a perfect parent by any means. I get frustrated. I yell. I plead and beg. I get irritated. I cry. And sometimes I go into my bedroom and close the door and turn the TV up full blast, leaving Isaac and his screams in the other room with his father. I am dealing with PPD, and I am not ashamed of it. Some days I downright hate myself, and I will be the first to say it. I make mistakes every day.
I am not afraid to scream our imperfections as loud as the accomplishments.
Why? Because I know that every single mother out there at some moment feels the same way. And it comforts me to read about it, knowing that I am not alone.
What I don't like to read is endless taunting of "oh my god my little angel is so completely perfect and never cries and has poop that smells like roses and chanel no. 5 and has been sleeping through the night since the day of birth and I have fountains of milk flowing from my skinny body that looks better than before I had a baby and I have never had mastitis and my baby's teeth came in as gentle as kittens lapping up milk and I have no stretch marks and I love my job and I make tons of money and I have no problems and every one loves me and my perfect Norman Rockwell family."
Yeah, I am pretty sure that is a crock of shite.
Don't get me wrong, I love to read about other mother's and their babies' joys and acheivements. When I hear a mother's infant is sleeping through the night or has finally cut that tooth, I want to run to them and high five her and hug her because she shared their struggles and helped me through mine. It makes me feel WORSE when I don't read that something is just not going smoothly. Maybe it is just me, but I feel empowered by the encouragement of a mother who I know has been there and made it through.
No, I don't mean I wish health struggles onto anyone. And I don't laugh gleefully at other people's pain. I don't wish hardship onto anyone.
I understand that maybe some people are not comfortable sharing hard times and frustrations. And that is fine too. The tone of those people's conversations is completely different than those up on their high horses. I respect their privacy and I won't pry into their lives to find problems.
All I am saying is that I am not perfect. And I know you aren't either. So let's be imperfect together.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Split
Packing up clothes and toys and other things that Isaac has outgrown holds two very distinct emotions for me.
It makes me sad.
Sad, because like every parent, I think he is growing up too fast and I want to freeze time for just a moment to hold him a little longer, while he lets me. I remember certain moments related to specific items and remember them with wistful smile as I pack up memories of bring home my newborn; memories of first smiles, first times he met family and friends. As I packed up his bouncer, I remembered how he used to sleep in it as a teeny baby while I showered, seat in the bathroom.
And it makes me excited.
Excited, because it marks new steps in his life. It means he is growing up healthily, albeit too fast. Moving past certain milestones means knew ones are close ahead. Packing up the bassinet meant that Isaac was finally sleeping in his crib. Moving the bouncer into the basement makes room for the activity chair. Each item marks a transition into something new. It marks how far we've come.
Saying so long to certain baby items has been bittersweet. But at the same time, it has been relieving.
Isaac doesn't need to sit in the bouncer in the bathroom anymore. Nor do I have to wait until he is asleep to take a shower. I can put him in his playpen or in his room and take the monitor into the bathroom...and finally enjoy a shower that is longer than 5 minutes. I don't have to stand there and make the split decision on washing my hair or face because I only have time for one.
I no longer wake to every whimper that he makes while sleeping. We both sleep better. He is able to roll around to find a comfortable position, and so am I. I no longer have a newborn cradle in the crook of my arm while I sleep, nor have a co sleeper taking up a third of my bed. I don't have to worry about blankets falling into the bassinet. He's safe and happy in his crib, in his toasty room.
But still, every time I go into the basement for laundry, I pause at the bassinet. I run my hands along the rim and recall how small my boy looked in it. It seems like a lifetime ago and yesterday all at the same time.
I hold up his sleeper that we brought him home from the hospital in. I look at the picture of him wearing it, drowning in it because the newborn size was too big on him. I look at the newborn diaper I saved, belittled by the size 2-3 that fills the diaper stacker. So small. So very, very small.
He has come so far so quickly. I am so proud of him.
This is why you have more babies right? :)
It makes me sad.
Sad, because like every parent, I think he is growing up too fast and I want to freeze time for just a moment to hold him a little longer, while he lets me. I remember certain moments related to specific items and remember them with wistful smile as I pack up memories of bring home my newborn; memories of first smiles, first times he met family and friends. As I packed up his bouncer, I remembered how he used to sleep in it as a teeny baby while I showered, seat in the bathroom.
And it makes me excited.
Excited, because it marks new steps in his life. It means he is growing up healthily, albeit too fast. Moving past certain milestones means knew ones are close ahead. Packing up the bassinet meant that Isaac was finally sleeping in his crib. Moving the bouncer into the basement makes room for the activity chair. Each item marks a transition into something new. It marks how far we've come.
Saying so long to certain baby items has been bittersweet. But at the same time, it has been relieving.
Isaac doesn't need to sit in the bouncer in the bathroom anymore. Nor do I have to wait until he is asleep to take a shower. I can put him in his playpen or in his room and take the monitor into the bathroom...and finally enjoy a shower that is longer than 5 minutes. I don't have to stand there and make the split decision on washing my hair or face because I only have time for one.
I no longer wake to every whimper that he makes while sleeping. We both sleep better. He is able to roll around to find a comfortable position, and so am I. I no longer have a newborn cradle in the crook of my arm while I sleep, nor have a co sleeper taking up a third of my bed. I don't have to worry about blankets falling into the bassinet. He's safe and happy in his crib, in his toasty room.
But still, every time I go into the basement for laundry, I pause at the bassinet. I run my hands along the rim and recall how small my boy looked in it. It seems like a lifetime ago and yesterday all at the same time.
I hold up his sleeper that we brought him home from the hospital in. I look at the picture of him wearing it, drowning in it because the newborn size was too big on him. I look at the newborn diaper I saved, belittled by the size 2-3 that fills the diaper stacker. So small. So very, very small.
He has come so far so quickly. I am so proud of him.
This is why you have more babies right? :)
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Blogroll
A friend commented that I have alot of blogs on my blogroll. Yes, yes I do. And yes, I keep up with most of them.
No, I really do. I may not read them all every single day or as soon as there is a new post. I don't get a chance to comment on every single post that I would like to. But, each day I pick a few and catch up on them. I laugh at other's witty antecdotes and jokes. I smile at their pictures. My heart breaks for their sorrows. For the time that I am reading, I get to escape my life and step into someone else's.
There is a reason I read each and every blog on my list.
And those blogs are pretty diverse across the spectrum. Some of the mommy-blogs I read are those of people who deal with infertility and tought pregnancies. This was not my situation, but I read them because those women inspire me. I appreciate their perservance and their desire to have children. I read anxiously for their announcements of pregnancies. Although their stories are not related to mine in certain terms, we all have one thing in common: We love our babies and are trying to relish every day we have as being a mother. There are mother's on there that had babies within days and weeks of Isaac's birth. We share their growth and development. We talk about our struggles as new parents. We seek the advice of our peers and those who have been parents longer than we have. I read what mothers of several children have to say. The bottom line is that now matter how we got to be the mother we are, we are mothers in the same.
And that it the key. We are separated by miles upon miles, and in all actuality will most likely never meet one another. But we know each other. And we are not alone.
I am pretty much separated from all of my friends and family but thousands of miles. Even my friends in California are a good couple of hours around me. I don't have alot of people around me who can help me in my life on a day to day basis. Not the way that family and close friends can. I don't like to feel alone. So I blog.
I blog for me. I blog to get out the story of my life so if friends and family want to read it, it's there. I blog because I am pressed for time and can't call each and every person I want to every day to update them on our life as parents. But my blog provides a place that they can go at their own leisure, if they so desire.
I read the blogs of friends who aren't parents. I read about their lives and where they are going, what they are doing. I feel more in touch and more grounded.
And these people who share their lives, these wonderful people who write the blogs that I read...they keep me from feeling completely alone. They provide me with answers, with guidance, with an outlet. They tell their stories, and I tell mine. And we are never alone.
No, I really do. I may not read them all every single day or as soon as there is a new post. I don't get a chance to comment on every single post that I would like to. But, each day I pick a few and catch up on them. I laugh at other's witty antecdotes and jokes. I smile at their pictures. My heart breaks for their sorrows. For the time that I am reading, I get to escape my life and step into someone else's.
There is a reason I read each and every blog on my list.
And those blogs are pretty diverse across the spectrum. Some of the mommy-blogs I read are those of people who deal with infertility and tought pregnancies. This was not my situation, but I read them because those women inspire me. I appreciate their perservance and their desire to have children. I read anxiously for their announcements of pregnancies. Although their stories are not related to mine in certain terms, we all have one thing in common: We love our babies and are trying to relish every day we have as being a mother. There are mother's on there that had babies within days and weeks of Isaac's birth. We share their growth and development. We talk about our struggles as new parents. We seek the advice of our peers and those who have been parents longer than we have. I read what mothers of several children have to say. The bottom line is that now matter how we got to be the mother we are, we are mothers in the same.
And that it the key. We are separated by miles upon miles, and in all actuality will most likely never meet one another. But we know each other. And we are not alone.
I am pretty much separated from all of my friends and family but thousands of miles. Even my friends in California are a good couple of hours around me. I don't have alot of people around me who can help me in my life on a day to day basis. Not the way that family and close friends can. I don't like to feel alone. So I blog.
I blog for me. I blog to get out the story of my life so if friends and family want to read it, it's there. I blog because I am pressed for time and can't call each and every person I want to every day to update them on our life as parents. But my blog provides a place that they can go at their own leisure, if they so desire.
I read the blogs of friends who aren't parents. I read about their lives and where they are going, what they are doing. I feel more in touch and more grounded.
And these people who share their lives, these wonderful people who write the blogs that I read...they keep me from feeling completely alone. They provide me with answers, with guidance, with an outlet. They tell their stories, and I tell mine. And we are never alone.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Welcome to Motherhood!
My mind has been stolen.
I still have my brain, but it isn't functioning quite the same. I am pretty sure my mind is floating around out there somewhere. The one that graduated valedictorian, magna cum laude, and got her Master's. I am pretty sure it is next to that flip flop I can't find for the life of me.
I recently read (or maybe it was a while ago...again, my mind is missing. It could have been years ago, really.) that everyone talks about how your mind goes to mush when you are pregnant, and you get pregnancy brain. And what they don't tell you is that YOU NEVER GET YOUR MIND BACK. (If the person that said this is reading this, let me know. You are my hero.)
IT'S TRUE.
Sometimes I wander into a room and forget why I came in there. Oh wait, it gets better. After a couple of dumbfounded minutes, I give up and go back to what I was doing. Then I will remember and go back into the other room, only to realize...I have forgotten again. After about the third time, I give up. Sometimes I am determined, and I will let it go to 6 times. True story.
So I am pretty sure that when that baby popped out, my mind popped out with him and rolled under the hospital bed. In all the commotion, I am pretty sure it got thrown out with the bedsheets.
And you know what went with it? THE ABILITY TO RELAX.
I used to enjoy filling up the tub with bubbles, pouring a glass of wine and watching SATC episodes on my laptop everynight to unwind. (Relax, the computer was always on the closed toilet or counter. I wasn't THAT tipsy.) I can't do that anymore. For several reasons.
First, I can't go anywhere in this house while Isaac is here and in a different room without hearing him cry. He is most times not even crying. But I hear him in my mind. I am constantly listening for his cries, so subconsiously, I rush through whatever I am doing. Monitors don't help. I have tried.
Second, our bath tub here is ginormous and I would drown. I can't get comfy or I will drown. Plus you know, I can't consume as much alcohol while I am nursing.
Even when I am in the house by myself, I can't relax. I try to catch up on some DVRed shows (because I can never watch shows when they are airing. DVR was invented by a mother. I am sure of it.), and I can't focus on them because I am thinking about 10 million other things that I should be doing instead of watched the DVRed shows. Every time I close my eyes at night, I see things I should be doing. If I wasn't so exhausted\, I would probably haul myself out of bed to do them. Really.
I must need to try some meditation classes or yog or SOMETHING. I need to learn to shut this busy mind off and escape somewhere where I don't hear imaginary baby cries or see dust bunnies blow across the floor amongst the crushed kitty crunchies and gerber puffs. And where I can cut out of work a few hours early without having to recrunch our budget in my head to see if I can actually afford to do so without forcing my hsuband and baby to eat ramen for dinner. I am pretty sure this land doesn't exist.
How do I know this?
Um...because I am a mother.
So fellow mommies, fellow bloggers, ANYONE. HOW DO YOU RELAX? HELP ME!!!!!!
I still have my brain, but it isn't functioning quite the same. I am pretty sure my mind is floating around out there somewhere. The one that graduated valedictorian, magna cum laude, and got her Master's. I am pretty sure it is next to that flip flop I can't find for the life of me.
I recently read (or maybe it was a while ago...again, my mind is missing. It could have been years ago, really.) that everyone talks about how your mind goes to mush when you are pregnant, and you get pregnancy brain. And what they don't tell you is that YOU NEVER GET YOUR MIND BACK. (If the person that said this is reading this, let me know. You are my hero.)
IT'S TRUE.
Sometimes I wander into a room and forget why I came in there. Oh wait, it gets better. After a couple of dumbfounded minutes, I give up and go back to what I was doing. Then I will remember and go back into the other room, only to realize...I have forgotten again. After about the third time, I give up. Sometimes I am determined, and I will let it go to 6 times. True story.
So I am pretty sure that when that baby popped out, my mind popped out with him and rolled under the hospital bed. In all the commotion, I am pretty sure it got thrown out with the bedsheets.
And you know what went with it? THE ABILITY TO RELAX.
I used to enjoy filling up the tub with bubbles, pouring a glass of wine and watching SATC episodes on my laptop everynight to unwind. (Relax, the computer was always on the closed toilet or counter. I wasn't THAT tipsy.) I can't do that anymore. For several reasons.
First, I can't go anywhere in this house while Isaac is here and in a different room without hearing him cry. He is most times not even crying. But I hear him in my mind. I am constantly listening for his cries, so subconsiously, I rush through whatever I am doing. Monitors don't help. I have tried.
Second, our bath tub here is ginormous and I would drown. I can't get comfy or I will drown. Plus you know, I can't consume as much alcohol while I am nursing.
Even when I am in the house by myself, I can't relax. I try to catch up on some DVRed shows (because I can never watch shows when they are airing. DVR was invented by a mother. I am sure of it.), and I can't focus on them because I am thinking about 10 million other things that I should be doing instead of watched the DVRed shows. Every time I close my eyes at night, I see things I should be doing. If I wasn't so exhausted\, I would probably haul myself out of bed to do them. Really.
I must need to try some meditation classes or yog or SOMETHING. I need to learn to shut this busy mind off and escape somewhere where I don't hear imaginary baby cries or see dust bunnies blow across the floor amongst the crushed kitty crunchies and gerber puffs. And where I can cut out of work a few hours early without having to recrunch our budget in my head to see if I can actually afford to do so without forcing my hsuband and baby to eat ramen for dinner. I am pretty sure this land doesn't exist.
How do I know this?
Um...because I am a mother.
So fellow mommies, fellow bloggers, ANYONE. HOW DO YOU RELAX? HELP ME!!!!!!
I will say I do enjoy naming all the things I can now do one-handed though. It's staggering and impressive.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Time
Time goes really really fast.
I mean, duh, right?
But seriously, it goes really fast.
And I feel like ever since Isaac was born, it has upped it's speed of passing several thousand notches. There is never enough time anymore. I need about 10 more hours in my day.
I used to be hyper-organized and motivated. And now I am just...not. It's not that I don't try to be. It's like something gets lost in translation between me and my mind. I have millions of things that I need to do, and technically have time to do, I just can't focus.
It's wasting time. Seriously wasting time. Time that is flying by. Time that I don't have to waste.
It's sloppy. And I hate it.
I have always been an advocate for changing what you are not happy with in your life (Ok, not always, I had a few blips...but that's another story). I don't feeling like I don't have any control over my life. I don't like that most days I have zero motivation. It tells me something is drastically wrong.
I am not happy with the way things are going. I know there are some things I can't change and don't have control of at this point. I am trying to learn to relax and just not harp on some things. Like when something goes awry and I have to have it fixed RIGHT NOW and I can't focus on anything else until it's taken care of. This usually happens on a Friday evening and involves parties that cannot be reached until Monday.
I can't blame PPD for everything. It's only part of the problem. And I refuse to be defined by it. It doesn't change who I am.
I used to be really good at balancing. I color-coded my planner. I was a wiz at time management. I mean, I could teach 2 bio labs, do my thesis research, take my own classes, work almost full time, plan my wedding, and maintain my apartment and relationships.
I can't do that anymore. I have cobwebs in my kitchen that have their own cobwebs. I have clothes in bags that haven't been touched since they were purchased. I haven't talked to some of my friends in what feels like centuries.
My brain goes in 50 million directions at once. I am not sure if it is sleep deprivation on top of PPD on top of something else on top of something else. For example, while pumping I was thinking about the proposal that needs to go out next week, what I need to do for Mary Kay, what I can make for dinner, that I still have to order Isaac's photo prints, all while trying to catch up on blogs (on my blackberry) and singing a song in my head that has been stuck there all day.
I want my motivation back. I don't want to be wasting time, letting precious moments slip by untouched. They could be spent doing things way more constructive, relaxing, or with my baby. They could be filled with a million things that they are not.
I often change my mind on which direction I want my life to go, who I want to be. It changes as my life changes. It changes to accomodate new things.
I have some ideas on what I want next.
No more wasted time.
I mean, duh, right?
But seriously, it goes really fast.
And I feel like ever since Isaac was born, it has upped it's speed of passing several thousand notches. There is never enough time anymore. I need about 10 more hours in my day.
I used to be hyper-organized and motivated. And now I am just...not. It's not that I don't try to be. It's like something gets lost in translation between me and my mind. I have millions of things that I need to do, and technically have time to do, I just can't focus.
It's wasting time. Seriously wasting time. Time that is flying by. Time that I don't have to waste.
It's sloppy. And I hate it.
I have always been an advocate for changing what you are not happy with in your life (Ok, not always, I had a few blips...but that's another story). I don't feeling like I don't have any control over my life. I don't like that most days I have zero motivation. It tells me something is drastically wrong.
I am not happy with the way things are going. I know there are some things I can't change and don't have control of at this point. I am trying to learn to relax and just not harp on some things. Like when something goes awry and I have to have it fixed RIGHT NOW and I can't focus on anything else until it's taken care of. This usually happens on a Friday evening and involves parties that cannot be reached until Monday.
I can't blame PPD for everything. It's only part of the problem. And I refuse to be defined by it. It doesn't change who I am.
I used to be really good at balancing. I color-coded my planner. I was a wiz at time management. I mean, I could teach 2 bio labs, do my thesis research, take my own classes, work almost full time, plan my wedding, and maintain my apartment and relationships.
I can't do that anymore. I have cobwebs in my kitchen that have their own cobwebs. I have clothes in bags that haven't been touched since they were purchased. I haven't talked to some of my friends in what feels like centuries.
My brain goes in 50 million directions at once. I am not sure if it is sleep deprivation on top of PPD on top of something else on top of something else. For example, while pumping I was thinking about the proposal that needs to go out next week, what I need to do for Mary Kay, what I can make for dinner, that I still have to order Isaac's photo prints, all while trying to catch up on blogs (on my blackberry) and singing a song in my head that has been stuck there all day.
I want my motivation back. I don't want to be wasting time, letting precious moments slip by untouched. They could be spent doing things way more constructive, relaxing, or with my baby. They could be filled with a million things that they are not.
I often change my mind on which direction I want my life to go, who I want to be. It changes as my life changes. It changes to accomodate new things.
I have some ideas on what I want next.
No more wasted time.
Friday, September 18, 2009
When Enough Isn't Enough
Yesterday was a bad day.
It wasn't a bad day just because Isaac didn't feel good, and when he doesn't feel good, he doesn't sleep well. When he doesn't sleep well, I don't sleep well.
It wasn't just a bad day because it was 10million degrees outside and the neighbors dogs were running rampant through my yard and barking, preventing Isaac from taking his nap and I'll be damned if I was going out there to send them on their merry way while they are covered in dirt and a mysterious water like substance and look down right rabid and like carriers of H1N1 (haven't had that vaccination, thanks).
I woke up to a black cloud. I couldn't help it. It was just one of those days. Some days I wake up in an amazingly sugary happy you would want to slap me if you were around me moods. And others. Nope. Not even close.
Yesterday was one of those days where no matter what I do, how little or how much, how hard or not I try, I end up crying for hours on end and feeling like a failure. And once I start crying, I can't stop. I cry about everything, even the fact that I am crying and because I am crying I can't be the type of mother I want to be to my son. He sits in the play pen and stares at me, confused and concerned so I have to pop in Handy Manny or Baby Einstein or something and retreat into the back of the house or the kitchen. And it just descends from there. It's pulling at the preverbial thread. Everything unravels, and it unravels quickly.
We drove to pediatrician in So.no.ma to get the 1st flu shot, and a song on my ipod set me off. That's what really started the tears. And the only time I have for phone calls on days like these are when we are in the car and Isaac is contained. No one answered. That made me cry harder. And I know that my friends weren't ignoring me. And I don't ever like to sound full of desperation in voicemails. Everyone has their lives that go on. It is mine that seems to be at a stand still and moving too fast all at once.
I felt all alone and overcrowded at once. I was jealous of friends' freedom and frivolity and independence. I was resentful of being tied down with a baby so I couldn't be that way. And then I felt horrible for feeling that way and I cried harder.
Everything felt like a blow. A parking ticket bill that came in the mail turned me irrate at my husband, who thankfully wasn't around for me to cut up. A broken glass in the sink. The aforementioned rabid dogs. A telemarketer that got an earfull respect and tact.
It was a day where nothing makes it better. No amount of talking, or distraction. It dragged on forever and ever. I craved any form of relief, just a little escape from being stuck in my own head that screams at me what a horrible mother I am and how much I hate myself for being me from one side and the rational other side that tells me to chill the %$&# out and breathe and that everything will be just fine.
It was a day when no matter what anyone tried to do for me was enough. Nothing helped. It made every single step of progress I made to becoming a healthier person seem fruitless and worthless. Because that is how I felt. I craved just a second of relief. I just wanted to be someone else for a minute. Just a minute. Preferably someone who was sleeping. (Note: PPD apparently is a type of depression that makes you exhausted but you can't be depressed in bed all day. Makes it suck more.) It made all the days that I felt happy and more like myself seem so far off and like they never happened. It kicked me back down.
Anyone that doesn't think Post Partum Depression exists or is a serious thing can kiss my @)*$.
It wasn't a bad day just because Isaac didn't feel good, and when he doesn't feel good, he doesn't sleep well. When he doesn't sleep well, I don't sleep well.
It wasn't just a bad day because it was 10million degrees outside and the neighbors dogs were running rampant through my yard and barking, preventing Isaac from taking his nap and I'll be damned if I was going out there to send them on their merry way while they are covered in dirt and a mysterious water like substance and look down right rabid and like carriers of H1N1 (haven't had that vaccination, thanks).
I woke up to a black cloud. I couldn't help it. It was just one of those days. Some days I wake up in an amazingly sugary happy you would want to slap me if you were around me moods. And others. Nope. Not even close.
Yesterday was one of those days where no matter what I do, how little or how much, how hard or not I try, I end up crying for hours on end and feeling like a failure. And once I start crying, I can't stop. I cry about everything, even the fact that I am crying and because I am crying I can't be the type of mother I want to be to my son. He sits in the play pen and stares at me, confused and concerned so I have to pop in Handy Manny or Baby Einstein or something and retreat into the back of the house or the kitchen. And it just descends from there. It's pulling at the preverbial thread. Everything unravels, and it unravels quickly.
We drove to pediatrician in So.no.ma to get the 1st flu shot, and a song on my ipod set me off. That's what really started the tears. And the only time I have for phone calls on days like these are when we are in the car and Isaac is contained. No one answered. That made me cry harder. And I know that my friends weren't ignoring me. And I don't ever like to sound full of desperation in voicemails. Everyone has their lives that go on. It is mine that seems to be at a stand still and moving too fast all at once.
I felt all alone and overcrowded at once. I was jealous of friends' freedom and frivolity and independence. I was resentful of being tied down with a baby so I couldn't be that way. And then I felt horrible for feeling that way and I cried harder.
Everything felt like a blow. A parking ticket bill that came in the mail turned me irrate at my husband, who thankfully wasn't around for me to cut up. A broken glass in the sink. The aforementioned rabid dogs. A telemarketer that got an earfull respect and tact.
It was a day where nothing makes it better. No amount of talking, or distraction. It dragged on forever and ever. I craved any form of relief, just a little escape from being stuck in my own head that screams at me what a horrible mother I am and how much I hate myself for being me from one side and the rational other side that tells me to chill the %$&# out and breathe and that everything will be just fine.
It was a day when no matter what anyone tried to do for me was enough. Nothing helped. It made every single step of progress I made to becoming a healthier person seem fruitless and worthless. Because that is how I felt. I craved just a second of relief. I just wanted to be someone else for a minute. Just a minute. Preferably someone who was sleeping. (Note: PPD apparently is a type of depression that makes you exhausted but you can't be depressed in bed all day. Makes it suck more.) It made all the days that I felt happy and more like myself seem so far off and like they never happened. It kicked me back down.
Anyone that doesn't think Post Partum Depression exists or is a serious thing can kiss my @)*$.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Phantom
Right after Isaac was born, I would often feel the "phantom" kicks and hiccups in my belly. When he would curl up on my chest, I just knew that is what he looked like when he was en utero.
I haven't felt them in a while. Then the other day, I did. Maybe it was just gas bubbles or something, but I was instantly transported back to the days when I had a big baby belly. And I felt some pangs of sadness.
Isaac came three weeks early. Don't get me wrong, I am extremely glad he came early, cause I was getting mighty uncomfy.
But I kind of wanted those three weeks. He came so suddenly, I didn't really have a chance to prepare. I was planning on doing a lot of things over those three weeks. And I really wanted the time to mentally prepare and rest up. I wanted to close out my pregnancy. Does that make sense? I was ready for him, but I wasn't. I just really wanted those three weeks and for some reason it really gets to me that I didn't.
I loved being pregnant. I loved having my baby as a part of me, completely and 100% dependent on me and let's face it, completely and 100% mine at that time (possession is 9/10 of the law right? :) ). I loved being able to feel him and I used to dream about what my boy would look like. I loved feeling him move in me.
I don't know why it makes me sad and I don't know why it bothers me so much. Is it possible that I am having these bouts of PPD because of Isaac came early?
I haven't felt them in a while. Then the other day, I did. Maybe it was just gas bubbles or something, but I was instantly transported back to the days when I had a big baby belly. And I felt some pangs of sadness.
Isaac came three weeks early. Don't get me wrong, I am extremely glad he came early, cause I was getting mighty uncomfy.
But I kind of wanted those three weeks. He came so suddenly, I didn't really have a chance to prepare. I was planning on doing a lot of things over those three weeks. And I really wanted the time to mentally prepare and rest up. I wanted to close out my pregnancy. Does that make sense? I was ready for him, but I wasn't. I just really wanted those three weeks and for some reason it really gets to me that I didn't.
I loved being pregnant. I loved having my baby as a part of me, completely and 100% dependent on me and let's face it, completely and 100% mine at that time (possession is 9/10 of the law right? :) ). I loved being able to feel him and I used to dream about what my boy would look like. I loved feeling him move in me.
I don't know why it makes me sad and I don't know why it bothers me so much. Is it possible that I am having these bouts of PPD because of Isaac came early?
Friday, August 28, 2009
A Much Needed Vacation
So babies....yeah, they are HARD WORK. Rewarding work, mind you, and I wouldn't trade being Isaac's Mommy for anything. I love being a mother to my baby boy.
But it takes its toll on me. I haven't slept in what feels like DECADES (even though I have really only been alive for 2, going on 3). My personal appearance upkeep has gone to poo. I have very few clothes that fit right (because breastfeeding changes my body every 5 minutes, I think) or that do not smell like baby slobber and/or vomit. And I am ok with that. I mean, what's the point in buying new clothes so frequently when they are just going to get ruined in a few days? Especially now that I am rolling around with my littl guy, since he is THIS CLOSE to mobility on all fours. I don't have more than about 5 minutes to myself on any given day. Each moment is filled with stuff that has to be done. Like going to the potty or washing bottles. I have cut back on what I do, I SWEAR. I don't make and freeze dinners anymore (this is another topic for a later time...I have many thoughts on this). Laundry gets washed and dried but then sits in the baskets, unfolded and un-put away. This morning I literally got Isaac's outfit and bibs out of the laundry basket which was previously known as his bassinet. That is what the weekends are for...laundry. Dammit. I pay bills, I take care of my family, I work, I stock the fridge (Safe.way, GOD BLESS YOU FOR GIVING ME 60 DAYS OF FREE DELIVERY ON MY GROCERIES!), I make sure we are all able to be clean and fed, I take my best shot at making sure the house is not coated in a layer of pure disgusting filth and growing things, and then...the day is over. I attempt sleep for as long as Isaac lets me. And the cycle begins again.
I am stressed to high heavens most days and I can feel my BP rising throughout the day. I don't TRY to do this. I try anything and everything to relax myself, but you know, the other day I cried for like 2 hours at work (don't worry, I was by myself) and I couldn't stop.
In attempt to relieve my PPD state, I have been scheduling more "Me" time. Call me a bad mother, or whatever you want, but this involves time away from my baby. He goes to daycare. And yes, I feel WRETCHED for having to take him there in order to steal a few hours of sleep, or get my hair cut, or go to the DM.V. But it is what it is. I miss him, but I feel more like a person, more like a sane person, when I see him again. I don't feel all chaotic and twirly.
This past Tuesday saw the beginning of "Girls' Day." I met friends K and G in SF for some good ol' fashioned girly talk, shopping, and a chic flick. I am not ashamed to say that we consumed 2 bottles of Prosecco at the delectable lunching destination of Puc.cini and Pin.etti. It was an afternoon of good drinks and food, good convo, and a good movie (The Ti.me Trav.eler's Wi.fe) that raced by way to quickly and before I knew it, I was in the car on my way home.
I needed Tuesday so badly, I can't even tell you how much.
Sure, things are way different. For example, I learned just how glamorous my life has become as I pumped in the backseat of my car parked in a garage that smelled like pee on Mi.ss.ion. Yep, pumping never stops, folks.
I listened with envy to conversations about indulgent purchases and trips of my friends. I don't begrudge them...I just miss it sometimes.
I watched in vain as they purchased at Edi.tion (the new BR accessories store. OMG, thank goodness I live close to SF where the only one is!) and began to come up with a plan to afford the charm necklace and little blue hat that I am dying to have. Seriously, diapers aren't cheap. And the little dude eats quite a bit now. All I purchased was some body spray so I could score my free undies and some clearance Gym.boree for Isaac because I had a coupon. I missed the old Sara, who would have purchased the stuff she wanted without a second thought because she and he husband bring home decent paychecks and learned how to manage their money. Unfortunately the new budget that was born the same time Isaac was doesn't include such items. I know my priorities and they revolve around the baby. His needs first, always.
As the day went on, I saw just how much life has changed. How different my life has become from their lives. How all I have to really take up is my beautiful baby and how amazing I think Rob.eez are and how to make a kick butt baby puree.
And I am ok with it.
I LOVE BEING ISAAC'S MOMMY. I love my baby. I know he needs me and I know he needs me to be healthy and happy.
And I love my friends for giving me back some sanity, and some release from the screaming in my head. I had such a fantabulous day, and can't wait for the next one.
This is my life, and as much as it drives me insane, I LOVE IT.
But it takes its toll on me. I haven't slept in what feels like DECADES (even though I have really only been alive for 2, going on 3). My personal appearance upkeep has gone to poo. I have very few clothes that fit right (because breastfeeding changes my body every 5 minutes, I think) or that do not smell like baby slobber and/or vomit. And I am ok with that. I mean, what's the point in buying new clothes so frequently when they are just going to get ruined in a few days? Especially now that I am rolling around with my littl guy, since he is THIS CLOSE to mobility on all fours. I don't have more than about 5 minutes to myself on any given day. Each moment is filled with stuff that has to be done. Like going to the potty or washing bottles. I have cut back on what I do, I SWEAR. I don't make and freeze dinners anymore (this is another topic for a later time...I have many thoughts on this). Laundry gets washed and dried but then sits in the baskets, unfolded and un-put away. This morning I literally got Isaac's outfit and bibs out of the laundry basket which was previously known as his bassinet. That is what the weekends are for...laundry. Dammit. I pay bills, I take care of my family, I work, I stock the fridge (Safe.way, GOD BLESS YOU FOR GIVING ME 60 DAYS OF FREE DELIVERY ON MY GROCERIES!), I make sure we are all able to be clean and fed, I take my best shot at making sure the house is not coated in a layer of pure disgusting filth and growing things, and then...the day is over. I attempt sleep for as long as Isaac lets me. And the cycle begins again.
I am stressed to high heavens most days and I can feel my BP rising throughout the day. I don't TRY to do this. I try anything and everything to relax myself, but you know, the other day I cried for like 2 hours at work (don't worry, I was by myself) and I couldn't stop.
In attempt to relieve my PPD state, I have been scheduling more "Me" time. Call me a bad mother, or whatever you want, but this involves time away from my baby. He goes to daycare. And yes, I feel WRETCHED for having to take him there in order to steal a few hours of sleep, or get my hair cut, or go to the DM.V. But it is what it is. I miss him, but I feel more like a person, more like a sane person, when I see him again. I don't feel all chaotic and twirly.
This past Tuesday saw the beginning of "Girls' Day." I met friends K and G in SF for some good ol' fashioned girly talk, shopping, and a chic flick. I am not ashamed to say that we consumed 2 bottles of Prosecco at the delectable lunching destination of Puc.cini and Pin.etti. It was an afternoon of good drinks and food, good convo, and a good movie (The Ti.me Trav.eler's Wi.fe) that raced by way to quickly and before I knew it, I was in the car on my way home.
I needed Tuesday so badly, I can't even tell you how much.
Sure, things are way different. For example, I learned just how glamorous my life has become as I pumped in the backseat of my car parked in a garage that smelled like pee on Mi.ss.ion. Yep, pumping never stops, folks.
I listened with envy to conversations about indulgent purchases and trips of my friends. I don't begrudge them...I just miss it sometimes.
I watched in vain as they purchased at Edi.tion (the new BR accessories store. OMG, thank goodness I live close to SF where the only one is!) and began to come up with a plan to afford the charm necklace and little blue hat that I am dying to have. Seriously, diapers aren't cheap. And the little dude eats quite a bit now. All I purchased was some body spray so I could score my free undies and some clearance Gym.boree for Isaac because I had a coupon. I missed the old Sara, who would have purchased the stuff she wanted without a second thought because she and he husband bring home decent paychecks and learned how to manage their money. Unfortunately the new budget that was born the same time Isaac was doesn't include such items. I know my priorities and they revolve around the baby. His needs first, always.
As the day went on, I saw just how much life has changed. How different my life has become from their lives. How all I have to really take up is my beautiful baby and how amazing I think Rob.eez are and how to make a kick butt baby puree.
And I am ok with it.
I LOVE BEING ISAAC'S MOMMY. I love my baby. I know he needs me and I know he needs me to be healthy and happy.
And I love my friends for giving me back some sanity, and some release from the screaming in my head. I had such a fantabulous day, and can't wait for the next one.
This is my life, and as much as it drives me insane, I LOVE IT.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Where Credit Is Due
My husband and I have been together for over 11 years, married for 4. Like every couple, we have our share of ups and downs. And we have our differences. In my opinion, it is not what you have in common that makes a marriage work, it is how you handle the things you don't.
Having a baby, it changes things. The relationship between me and my husband has changed about 400 times since the double pink line appeared. In some respects, it has gotten harder, some easier.
I have to say since the PPD came into play, my husband has really stepped it up. He was actually the first to say something (I swear he read those pamphlets we got from the hospital every night. He had the symptoms memorized.). Anyway, he has been helping out alot more, even with things not in his comfort zone. He is concerned about me and the baby. And he is proving that he is the bestest husband I ever could have asked for. Snaps for Ben! :)
Monday night was a bad night. He and BIL were have one of their Face.book/Beer/Fai.lblog parties on the patio and I was not sleeping well. Isaac woke up at 1. The damn cat was being clingy and followed me into his room. I fed him on the couch and carried him back to the crib. It was at that moment the Guiliani jumped up on the crib tent and woke him up again. Sigh. I rubbed his back but no go. Picked him back up and booted the cat.
I had just gotten him back to sleep when Guiliani hurt something rustling behind the blinds on the window closest to the crib. I had heard it, but honestly didn't care if it was a big spider or Sa.tan himself. I just wanted to put Isaac down and go back to bed. Guiliani however...he cared and needed to get back there NOW.
Yep, baby woke up again. And this time he was up and ready to party. DAMN CAT.
At 3 am, I couldn't take it anymore. Isaac was screaming because he is teething and didn't want to sleep. He wanted to nurse more and I had been nursing for 2 hours now, so I was out. DRY. I defrosted a bottle. And I went to get Ben.
He must have heard the desperation in my voice. He woke up and took the fussy teething baby. And I got his bottle ready. I was standing up in the kitchen sleeping pretty much when I heard these beautiful words:
"Honey, go back to sleep. I don't have to work tomorrow. I will take the baby."
Oh. My. God.
I was soooo happy. I was back in bed before he could change his mind.
When my alarm went off at 6:00, I found them asleep on the couch. I fed Isaac and put him in his swing to snooze. Ben went to bed. The day went on as normal, me going to work and Isaac going to daycare until mid-afternoon when Ben picked him up.
I was so grateful to my husband. He has been my favoritest person this week, just because of that. And he brought me home a chiliburger last night. ;) BIG FAT GREASY CHILIBURGER. mmmmmmmmm.
And now it is Friday. Isaac has been up and down the past few nights, with teething. And apparently a double ear infection, so says the pediatrician this morning. His first ear infection. Overacheiver had to have it in both ears. :( He was clawing at his ears and literally pushed my hand away from his head. It isn't bad enough for anitbiotics, just keep up with his pain medicine and keep his head dry.
And he also has some bling, in the form of a holistic teething necklace from India that my Dr (who is from Brooklyn btw) SWEARS by. It's like a magic necklace.
Honestly, I am so desperate, I WILL TRY ANYTHING! I just want to sleep! And of course, I don't want my baby to be in pain anymore. But, SLEEEEEEPPPPP.
Having a baby, it changes things. The relationship between me and my husband has changed about 400 times since the double pink line appeared. In some respects, it has gotten harder, some easier.
I have to say since the PPD came into play, my husband has really stepped it up. He was actually the first to say something (I swear he read those pamphlets we got from the hospital every night. He had the symptoms memorized.). Anyway, he has been helping out alot more, even with things not in his comfort zone. He is concerned about me and the baby. And he is proving that he is the bestest husband I ever could have asked for. Snaps for Ben! :)
Monday night was a bad night. He and BIL were have one of their Face.book/Beer/Fai.lblog parties on the patio and I was not sleeping well. Isaac woke up at 1. The damn cat was being clingy and followed me into his room. I fed him on the couch and carried him back to the crib. It was at that moment the Guiliani jumped up on the crib tent and woke him up again. Sigh. I rubbed his back but no go. Picked him back up and booted the cat.
I had just gotten him back to sleep when Guiliani hurt something rustling behind the blinds on the window closest to the crib. I had heard it, but honestly didn't care if it was a big spider or Sa.tan himself. I just wanted to put Isaac down and go back to bed. Guiliani however...he cared and needed to get back there NOW.
Yep, baby woke up again. And this time he was up and ready to party. DAMN CAT.
At 3 am, I couldn't take it anymore. Isaac was screaming because he is teething and didn't want to sleep. He wanted to nurse more and I had been nursing for 2 hours now, so I was out. DRY. I defrosted a bottle. And I went to get Ben.
He must have heard the desperation in my voice. He woke up and took the fussy teething baby. And I got his bottle ready. I was standing up in the kitchen sleeping pretty much when I heard these beautiful words:
"Honey, go back to sleep. I don't have to work tomorrow. I will take the baby."
Oh. My. God.
I was soooo happy. I was back in bed before he could change his mind.
When my alarm went off at 6:00, I found them asleep on the couch. I fed Isaac and put him in his swing to snooze. Ben went to bed. The day went on as normal, me going to work and Isaac going to daycare until mid-afternoon when Ben picked him up.
I was so grateful to my husband. He has been my favoritest person this week, just because of that. And he brought me home a chiliburger last night. ;) BIG FAT GREASY CHILIBURGER. mmmmmmmmm.
And now it is Friday. Isaac has been up and down the past few nights, with teething. And apparently a double ear infection, so says the pediatrician this morning. His first ear infection. Overacheiver had to have it in both ears. :( He was clawing at his ears and literally pushed my hand away from his head. It isn't bad enough for anitbiotics, just keep up with his pain medicine and keep his head dry.
And he also has some bling, in the form of a holistic teething necklace from India that my Dr (who is from Brooklyn btw) SWEARS by. It's like a magic necklace.
Honestly, I am so desperate, I WILL TRY ANYTHING! I just want to sleep! And of course, I don't want my baby to be in pain anymore. But, SLEEEEEEPPPPP.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Uneven
I don't understand my boobs.
Whoops, sorry. ALERT: This is a post about breastfeeding.
Ok, like I said, I don't understand my boobs. My milk supply has gone all wonky.
A few months ago I started taking Fenugreek to help my milk production. Man, oh man, did it WORK. I was still getting the same amount from the right side, but the left side kicked into high gear. And then I stopped taking the supplement. Mostly because I ran out, was too lazy to go up to Whol.e Fo.ods for more (Ok, loading that little chunker in and out of the car and shopping carts takes its toll FAST!), and I wanted to see what would happen. And a little part of me almost believed that this supplement was having an effect on my PPD.
Not so much. I was off it for about 2 weeks I'd say. And there would be times that I would get 3 ounces from the left side after 8 HOURS, 3 ounces from the left side after 3 hours, and 1 ounce from that same left side after 3 hours. In no particular order, and no, that is not my pumping schedule.
Meanwhile, my right side stayed constant at 3-4 ounces per pumping every 3 hours.
And I saw no difference in my demeanor. Although I think my blood sugar levels bounced around. I got dizzy every now and then. I thought it was earthquakes. Seriously, I did.
So then...I was at the store buying produce for Isaac's food and thought what the hey, I will start it up again. Into my basket went the month's supply of Fenugreek and I began the twice a day regimen once again.
Now I still get the 3-4 ounces from the right side. 6 in the morning And anywhere from 1-5 ounces on the left side. At any given time.
I understand that this unevenness is common in breastfeeding. But every time I think I have it figured out, BAM! Changes again. It is getting to be a pain changing my pumping schedule and trying to guess when I will have enough milk to pump in order to keep up our supply.
Breastfeeding is challenging. I say challenging and not hard because well, I enjoy not having to measure out formula and mix it and all that stuff. That seems taxing. And I know that breastfeeding is not for everyone, and is sometimes not even possible for mothers. But it is for us. I like that Isaac's food is automatically ready to go whereever he goes (for the most part). And I love that his food is made to order as he needs it. Yes, pumping is a pain in the arse. And it was rough being tied to my sofa for the first 4 weeks of Isaac's life because he wanted to eat every 2 hours. ON. THE. DOT. But I love doing this for him. Really, I do. I love the bonding experience it provides me with. And let's face it, the calorie burn doesn't suck. :) It still makes me a little nutso every now and then and there are time when I think it would be so much better to stop. At the end of the day, I know I can get through the next 5 months or so. We have come through almost 7.
And with that said, it is time to pump.
Whoops, sorry. ALERT: This is a post about breastfeeding.
Ok, like I said, I don't understand my boobs. My milk supply has gone all wonky.
A few months ago I started taking Fenugreek to help my milk production. Man, oh man, did it WORK. I was still getting the same amount from the right side, but the left side kicked into high gear. And then I stopped taking the supplement. Mostly because I ran out, was too lazy to go up to Whol.e Fo.ods for more (Ok, loading that little chunker in and out of the car and shopping carts takes its toll FAST!), and I wanted to see what would happen. And a little part of me almost believed that this supplement was having an effect on my PPD.
Not so much. I was off it for about 2 weeks I'd say. And there would be times that I would get 3 ounces from the left side after 8 HOURS, 3 ounces from the left side after 3 hours, and 1 ounce from that same left side after 3 hours. In no particular order, and no, that is not my pumping schedule.
Meanwhile, my right side stayed constant at 3-4 ounces per pumping every 3 hours.
And I saw no difference in my demeanor. Although I think my blood sugar levels bounced around. I got dizzy every now and then. I thought it was earthquakes. Seriously, I did.
So then...I was at the store buying produce for Isaac's food and thought what the hey, I will start it up again. Into my basket went the month's supply of Fenugreek and I began the twice a day regimen once again.
Now I still get the 3-4 ounces from the right side. 6 in the morning And anywhere from 1-5 ounces on the left side. At any given time.
I understand that this unevenness is common in breastfeeding. But every time I think I have it figured out, BAM! Changes again. It is getting to be a pain changing my pumping schedule and trying to guess when I will have enough milk to pump in order to keep up our supply.
Breastfeeding is challenging. I say challenging and not hard because well, I enjoy not having to measure out formula and mix it and all that stuff. That seems taxing. And I know that breastfeeding is not for everyone, and is sometimes not even possible for mothers. But it is for us. I like that Isaac's food is automatically ready to go whereever he goes (for the most part). And I love that his food is made to order as he needs it. Yes, pumping is a pain in the arse. And it was rough being tied to my sofa for the first 4 weeks of Isaac's life because he wanted to eat every 2 hours. ON. THE. DOT. But I love doing this for him. Really, I do. I love the bonding experience it provides me with. And let's face it, the calorie burn doesn't suck. :) It still makes me a little nutso every now and then and there are time when I think it would be so much better to stop. At the end of the day, I know I can get through the next 5 months or so. We have come through almost 7.
And with that said, it is time to pump.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Daydream Believer
Some days I wake up and I feel a renewed sense of optimism. I am happy and feel like I will be able to take on the challenges that the day will bring.
And then there are days, like yesterday, that I want to crawl back under the covers and pretend like I don't hear the baby screaming for his mommy, like I don't have a job or any other obligation. I don't have the motivation to do JACK and I get out of bed with tears in my eyes that I have to handle a day like this.
I have alot of goals, both personal and for my family. Feeling this way really makes me feel like I am delaying these goals by an inevitable amount of time. I know there are setbacks in life for everyone, not just me. Everyone has their own sets of issues and problems that they deal with on a day to day basis. Everyone's life is filled with highs and lows, and everyone deals with their own struggles. Believe me, I know my husband and I had our own set of these before we even found out about our little man growing in my belly.
Struggles take on a whole new life now. Everything looks different, and my goals seem so far off. Even when I am in a great mood and feel optimistic, I feel like there is this looming storm hanging around in the background, just waiting to pour down. It sucks because I have always tried to be upbeat and stay positive.
We have come to a point in our lives where the decisions we make don't just affect my husband and me, but also our son. And it trickles from there, touching the rest of our family somehow. It is hard to make a decision in those circumstances anyway, and now with this PPD shadow, we are not trying to make any decisions, just trying to get everyone through it in one piece.
I say in one piece, because believe me...I think last night when I flipped out, my head actually spun around on my neck. I went from 0 to PISSED OFF GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT RIGHT NOW OR YOU WILL LOSE AN ARM OR YOUR LIFE in less than a second.
So now when I am daydreaming about what the future holds for me and Ben and Isaac, the picture has changed a little. I still see the house we want to buy. I still see us moving closer to our familiy. I still see us paying off our debt and taking our anniversary trip to Hawaii. I still see our family vacations and evenutally Isaac's siblings. But in these daydreams, I am not the raving lunatic that I feel like inside. I am not the mommy who is crying all the time for no apparent reason. My daydreams all involve a happy, healthy family and I believe with all my heart that we will get to that place. It won't be this way forever, I just have to hold on to that. Then I don't feel like such a failure. It's a daydream that I believe. Yep, Cheer up Sleepy Jean.
I called my Doctor this morning and he is having me take my BP for a week or so. Thankfully the Ri.te A.id is just across the street from my office. The nurses are contacting my Health insurance to find covered therapists, if we decide to go that route. It's getting kind of scary, but relieving at the same time. I guess a part of me just still believes that one morning I will wake up and everything will be all sunshine again. (Sidenote: I also called the Dr. because my eyelashes are falling out. No joke. I rub my eye and about 20 fall out.)
UPDATE: remember when I talked about the 529? I finally heard back from our financial advisor, the new one nto the tardo from our old bank. A 529 is taken into consideration when a child applies for federal aid.
And then there are days, like yesterday, that I want to crawl back under the covers and pretend like I don't hear the baby screaming for his mommy, like I don't have a job or any other obligation. I don't have the motivation to do JACK and I get out of bed with tears in my eyes that I have to handle a day like this.
I have alot of goals, both personal and for my family. Feeling this way really makes me feel like I am delaying these goals by an inevitable amount of time. I know there are setbacks in life for everyone, not just me. Everyone has their own sets of issues and problems that they deal with on a day to day basis. Everyone's life is filled with highs and lows, and everyone deals with their own struggles. Believe me, I know my husband and I had our own set of these before we even found out about our little man growing in my belly.
Struggles take on a whole new life now. Everything looks different, and my goals seem so far off. Even when I am in a great mood and feel optimistic, I feel like there is this looming storm hanging around in the background, just waiting to pour down. It sucks because I have always tried to be upbeat and stay positive.
We have come to a point in our lives where the decisions we make don't just affect my husband and me, but also our son. And it trickles from there, touching the rest of our family somehow. It is hard to make a decision in those circumstances anyway, and now with this PPD shadow, we are not trying to make any decisions, just trying to get everyone through it in one piece.
I say in one piece, because believe me...I think last night when I flipped out, my head actually spun around on my neck. I went from 0 to PISSED OFF GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT RIGHT NOW OR YOU WILL LOSE AN ARM OR YOUR LIFE in less than a second.
So now when I am daydreaming about what the future holds for me and Ben and Isaac, the picture has changed a little. I still see the house we want to buy. I still see us moving closer to our familiy. I still see us paying off our debt and taking our anniversary trip to Hawaii. I still see our family vacations and evenutally Isaac's siblings. But in these daydreams, I am not the raving lunatic that I feel like inside. I am not the mommy who is crying all the time for no apparent reason. My daydreams all involve a happy, healthy family and I believe with all my heart that we will get to that place. It won't be this way forever, I just have to hold on to that. Then I don't feel like such a failure. It's a daydream that I believe. Yep, Cheer up Sleepy Jean.
I called my Doctor this morning and he is having me take my BP for a week or so. Thankfully the Ri.te A.id is just across the street from my office. The nurses are contacting my Health insurance to find covered therapists, if we decide to go that route. It's getting kind of scary, but relieving at the same time. I guess a part of me just still believes that one morning I will wake up and everything will be all sunshine again. (Sidenote: I also called the Dr. because my eyelashes are falling out. No joke. I rub my eye and about 20 fall out.)
UPDATE: remember when I talked about the 529? I finally heard back from our financial advisor, the new one nto the tardo from our old bank. A 529 is taken into consideration when a child applies for federal aid.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Mommy Day
It's after 3:30 in the afternoon, and I haven't showered. I am still in my pjs.
This morning when I woke up, I felt like a truck had run me over, backed up, then run me over again. And the time that I woke up was 4:30. Isaac was ready to party. I held him off until 5, but then we were up. And I had a fever.
(Sidenote: Husbands: When your wife goes to bed way after you and is up all night with the baby, maybe it isn't the wisest move to bitch about the coffee not being set up and just take the 2 minutes to do it yourself. CUT THE SWEARING OUT. It doesn't help matters.)
So today became Mommy Day. Isaac went to Miss K's and I collapsed on the sofa. Then on my bed. And just woke up.
AND IT FELT DAMN GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD. :)
I felt really guilty as I loaded Isaac into his seat. He looked so happy in his pack and play, playing with his new favorite toy, a little red crab. He smiled at me and cooed. He babbled all the way to daycare. He didn't know that it was a different day and he wasn't supposed to be there. But I did. And it feels wierd to be in the house, alone, without him here with me. It's like I am cheating on him or something. I feel so guilty. And I had to reschedule his 6 month shots.
But at least I am well rested with no fever.
This morning when I woke up, I felt like a truck had run me over, backed up, then run me over again. And the time that I woke up was 4:30. Isaac was ready to party. I held him off until 5, but then we were up. And I had a fever.
(Sidenote: Husbands: When your wife goes to bed way after you and is up all night with the baby, maybe it isn't the wisest move to bitch about the coffee not being set up and just take the 2 minutes to do it yourself. CUT THE SWEARING OUT. It doesn't help matters.)
So today became Mommy Day. Isaac went to Miss K's and I collapsed on the sofa. Then on my bed. And just woke up.
AND IT FELT DAMN GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD. :)
I felt really guilty as I loaded Isaac into his seat. He looked so happy in his pack and play, playing with his new favorite toy, a little red crab. He smiled at me and cooed. He babbled all the way to daycare. He didn't know that it was a different day and he wasn't supposed to be there. But I did. And it feels wierd to be in the house, alone, without him here with me. It's like I am cheating on him or something. I feel so guilty. And I had to reschedule his 6 month shots.
But at least I am well rested with no fever.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Isaac's Mommy
Isaac laughs when someone kisses his neck. I was the first person to know this because I was the first person to do it and see it happen. I know this because I am his mommy. He's my baby boy.
Ben and I say every night before I put him in his crib, how very much we love Isaac. Ben even says that he knew he would love him, and he knew it would be alot. But he had no idea how much and how strong that love would be. I love my son more than I could ever have fathomed would be possible.
That love changes you. It changed me in ways I can't even begin to explain. I run through so many emotions on a day to day basis, it makes my head hurt. This beautiful little boy, he deserves the best that life has to offer.
He doesn't know that his mommy is having a hard time. He doesn't understand that sometimes when he cries, he makes me want lock myself in my closet. I hate each negative feeling I have about being a mother, because it is the best job I could ever have. Isaac doesn't understand the ups and downs, but knows when his mommy is upset. And he gets upset. I hate making him upset.
I have yelled at him. I have cried to him. I have begged and pleaded with him. He stares at me with his beautiful baby eyes, and his little mouth turns downward. The guilt is instananeous. We both cry. And then we have to cuddle until we both feel better.
Sometimes daddy has to take him, because I can't. I can't look at him because I am too upset. I can't look at him because I feel like a freight train is roaring through my head. What kind of mother can't look at her own baby, who she loves so much it hurts? I know that I am not a bad mother. I know that things will get better. I hate that time is flying by, and that feeling this way takes away from each moment.
I am trying. I really am trying to make things better. But its scary. And for every step forward I take, I feel like there are 2 steps back. I keep thinking that one morning I will just wake up and everything will be better. That I won't feel sad or angry or like I have failed in every aspect possible. I will just be able to show the joy that I feel deep down that everyday when I wake up, I am Isaac's mommy.
I will do whatever it takes to get there.
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