The Truth. It hurts.

I wrote this the evening of April 30th in an email to a friend (sorry, the formatting is a little weird. It looks fine as I type it):

I'm calling my doctor first thing tomorrow morning to discuss my current
bout of depression.

It's funny; I've known I've been depressed for awhile now, but I was hoping
to "get over it" after the pregnancy was done, and to "wait the winter out"
and see how I was in the spring. Well, I DID get better once the pregnancy
was over, or at least I thought I had. I mean, I now have these two
beautiful little girls, and I can look at them and experience so much joy!
I mean, any time I'm feeling down, I can just tickle one of my girls or
snuggle with them, and it goes away. But I knew that underneath all the
joyful MOMENTS, there was this long lasting dull depression that wasn't
really going away. But there was still spring on the horizon, so I thought
I'd wait it out a little more.

I discussed some of this with Armondo, telling him that I felt like I might
need to go back onto anti-depressants, and his immediate response was "How
much is that going to cost?" We're not exactly in the best financial
position right now due to him taking a bunch of time off when Peach was
born, as well as owing thousands of dollars in income tax, so when he said
that, I immediately felt guilty for "wanting" to spend money on something.
And while he was home, I was trying really hard to implement a budget for us
to follow while we struggled through this rough patch, and he would make me
feel like I was "punishing" him or something by not letting him buy a CD one
week 'cause we had already spent the budget for that week. He got the CD a
couple of days later, but he still whined about how he's "working so hard
and isn't even allowed to spend any of (his) money."

But then he left again for fishing. And the paranoia started to kick in
again. I have these horrible thoughts of "bad men" hiding in closets and
hurting my children. I have sticks in their windows that have alarms in
them, so I can hear if anyone tries to open their windows, but still, I'm
paranoid. It takes me hours to fall asleep at night sometimes due to the
fact that I'm "scared" and/or I'm thinking about our financial difficulties
or thinking about Armondo dying out on the sea, and how, exactly I'd react and
deal with the loss-to the point of "rehearsing" the whole thing in my mind
over and over and over.

Then there's the whole "my house is going to catch on fire in the middle of
the night and how am I going to get all the animals AND my children out of
the house in time" story line that haunts me all the time.

Well, the other night, I decided to take fate into my own hands and actually
MADE A PLAN TO BURN DOWN MY HOUSE.

I spent over two hours laying in bed thinking about it. I would pack the
kids and the dogs up for a trip to my MIL's house, and let the cats outside.
I'd pack a bunch of the kids' favourite toys and a few important things of
mine, and make sure that the other important things like jewelry and papers
were all safe in our fire box. Armondo has most of his favourite things with
him on the boat, so there wouldn't be too much he'd miss that wouldn't be
replaceable. Then, the plan was to turn on a stove element, lay a roll of
paper towel on the element, put a bottle of cooking oil really close by and
leave the house.

In my mind burning down the house would solve a couple of problems, the most
prevalent would be to solve the rat problem in the crawl space, and we'd be
able to get money from the insurance in order to renovate the house, which
we've been trying to bit by bit but just can't afford to complete. (our
bathroom floor is rotting out, for instance) Also, we'd re-build or move to
a new house, which would hopefully have all new electrical, which would
"solve" my fear of the house burning down in the first place.

The next day (April 29th) I talked on the phone with one of my friends and
told her I wasn't feeling all that great, and that I *thought* I might be
having some emotional problems and that I might need to see a doctor. I
deliberately didn't tell her about my plan to burn down the house, 'cause I
WAS STILL PLANNING ON DOING IT, even after a night of rest. I didn't want
to tell anyone, 'cause I wanted it to look like an accident, and I didn't
want anyone to rat me out.

I went about my daily routine, and while I was bathing the kids, I started
to read through my insurance policy to make sure we were actually covered
enough to make the whole thing 'worth it'. I had rehearsed in my head how I
would react when I got home and saw the house burned down, deciding that I
wouldn't 'act' at all, but would rather just let my natural emotions take
over. I planned my words carefully though, so that I would never actually
"lie" to anyone. I would say "What do you think caused the fire?" to the
firemen, and then I'd say "Oh, I KNEW something was wrong when I left town!"
and I would say things like "It's all my fault!" and everyone would think
I was telling the truth, which I would, indeed be doing.

So, partway through reading the insurance policy, I started to realize that
I was actually, completely crazy. As in NOT SANE. Sane people don't plan
to burn down their houses.

I put the kids to bed and tried calling my father, who I knew would listen
to me, and not immediately call social services. I was scared to talk to
anyone else. He didn't answer his phone, so I started to panic. I couldn't
tell anyone what was going on with me, 'cause I was so scared that they'd
think I was going to hurt my children and they'd get taken away from me, or
that "they" would take me away to a psych ward and my children (one of whom
is still breast feeding) would be put into "care" somewhere. I couldn't
risk that.

So, I talked online to a friend who is currently in Japan teaching. She was
pretty good at "listening" to me, and getting it all out made me feel
better. It was telling someone that I was going to burn down the house that
made me throw that plan out completely. I mean, I couldn't exactly burn
down the house after I TOLD someone about it, right?

While I was online last night, I looked up the symptoms of post partum
depression. I don't really have any of the symptoms that are specific to
PPD, as in wanting to hurt my children, but I DO have almost all of the
symptoms of regular major depression and an anxiety disorder. It was sort
of scary reading the symptoms, 'cause I knew I was depressed, but I didn't
realize how CRAZY I actually was. When I started to read about how hearing
'voices' was a possible, very dangerous symptom, I all of a sudden realized,
that I had, indeed been hearing voices, and had been for a long time, but
didn't even really think anything of it. HOW CRAZY IS THAT?!?! The
'voices" I had been hearing though weren't telling me to do anything, or
really saying anything at all. I never made out any words, it just seemed
like I could hear people talking on the other side of a wall or something.

On the first of May, I went to the doctor and she put me on anti-depressants. I've taken them for a few days now, and I can't say whether they are working or not, but the fact that I'm being pro-active about what's happening to me has made me feel a bit better. She wants me to take them for two weeks then return for a visit to find out how they are working and if we need to adjust the dosage or type of med. Currently they are making me nauseous and very hungry, mostly for fatty snack foods, which isn't making me feel all that great about myself. I think I'm sleeping better now though, as I'm not staying awake for hours thinking about how messed up everything is. I feel more in "control" of what's happening to me now, which, really is good, 'cause the feeling of being out of control is what causes me to lose it in the first place.

My good friend Tricia came and stayed with me for two nights this week, which was totally awesome. She was here while I adjusted to the new meds, and she helped to take the edge off by entertaining Cherry, and even let me get an extra nap in! She is an awesome friend.

I don't know where to take this post now. I guess I just feel like if I tell my small corner of the world what I'm going through, that maybe it might help someone else out. Talk to your doctor if you're feeling weird. And do it before you have a breakdown.

Grrrr (TMI Alert)

Peach is barely a month and a half, and I'm breastfeeding exclusively, yet, I just got my period. I am extremely upset! I only finished my post-pardum bleeding two weeks ago!

Breast Feeding-the early days.

I never understood why women would get so upset if breast feeding didn't work out for them and their babies. I've heard many stories of babies who didn't latch properly, women who didn't have enough milk, and babies who couldn't tolerate the proteins in their own mother's milk. To me, it didn't seem like a big deal. I mean, just buck up and buy some formula already, what's the big deal?

I understand now. Peach is a good eater. She's been getting plenty of milk, and had surpassed her birth weight by several ounces in less than a week. She doesn't, however, quite have the latch down yet.

The other day, she ripped one of my nipples to shreds to the point where I stopped nursing her on that side and just expressed and froze the milk so that that nipple would have some time to heal. By the end of the day, it seemed to have healed enough to try again, and we had a successful day and a half using both breasts.

This morning, my midwife came for a scheduled visit and we discussed the latching problems. She observed, and saw that Peach's mouth was wide enough open, and that she seemed to have a good latch overall. I could see this as well, and thought that maybe we had it all worked out. My midwife went on to suggest switching up on different nursing positions in order to change up the spots where the most stress was, as well as showed me some ways to utilize pillows better to keep Peach's latch. When the midwife left, I was feeling confident that from there on in, Peach and I would have this whole nursing thing down pat.

That is, until early this evening when I looked down while she was feeding and watched as the blood pooled around her mouth and my nipple and ran down my belly. She got me good. Real good.

Right away, I took her off the breast and started to thaw out some expressed milk so she could have a bottle. For the past couple of nights, I've been giving Armondo bottles to feed her so they could have some bonding time while I got things done, like shower.

I told my midwife about the bottle a night thing, and of course, she told me what I knew already: feeding a young baby a bottle can cause nipple confusion and can lead to latching problems.

So, after I took her off the breast and handed her to Armondo to hold while I thawed out some milk, I couldn't help but start crying. Here I was, making her a bottle so that she's not ripping my nipples to shreds some more, because she has a bad latch, but in making her drink out of a bottle, I'm making it harder for her to learn how to latch properly. It seemed like a bit of a vicious circle, and at that particular moment, as I took Peach back from Armondo, and started feeding her the bottle, I could not see any way of resolving this issue. Armondo was finishing up giving Cherry a bath at the time, and I sat in the living room feeding Peach with tears running down my face.

I had calmed down significantly by the time Cherry's story time came around and all four of us went into her room to take part. Cherry was drinking her last bottle of the day as Daddy read the story, and I had Peach in my lap and she was drinking her bottle.

Well, Cherry finished her bottle first, and wanted Peach's bottle. She has never shown any interest or want for the breast (she was weened at five months), but when she saw Peach sipping at that bottle, Cherry wanted it. NOW. She started tantruming, so I handed Peach to Armondo, and they made their exit while I tried to calm Cherry down and explain to her how the milk was different, and that she had already finished her bottle anyway. Yeah. She's 18 months. I'm pretty sure the whole concept flew over her head. So she screamed. And screamed. She wouldn't let me hold her, she wouldn't get into her bed, she would not let me help her calm down. So, I turned off the light and left her in her room. Then I went to the couch (Armondo was in our bedroom with Peach), and I sobbed by myself for the next 15 minutes while Cherry pounded on her door and continued to tantrum about the injustice of it all.

So, now, not only was I failing Peach by giving her a bottle, and further ruining any chance of getting this latch thing down right, but I have also upset Cherry, who otherwise had had a pretty tantrum-free day.

I felt like a pretty crummy mother.

See, being a mother is all about nurturing, right? I mean, it's about hugs, and kisses, and love and giggles, and it's also about nourishing. And as a mother with plenty of milk, I should be able to nourish my little one, and that is being threatened, and it scares me.

I can't completely articulate what it feels like, but I'm sure it's sort of akin to a man with impotency problems.

But really, what's the big deal? I mean, just buck up and buy some formula, right? Well, that feels like giving up. It feels like failure.

And part of the whole problem is in my head too. And I think that in itself is making it harder for Peach to latch on. I KNOW it's going to hurt when she gets her grip, which makes me tentative, which makes it harder for her to get a good latch. (I'm having the same problem with another bodily function in that, I KNOW it'll hurt my stitches when I sit down to take care of business, which only makes me dread it, which, in turn, is causing constipation, which in turn, makes the whole business even MORE painful.)

The funny thing is, I don't even like nursing. I don't like the feeling of my breasts filling up, I don't like the heaviness, I don't like the leaking, or the sweatiness that goes along with it. I don't like having to sit down and stop what I'm doing in order to find a comfortable position and location to pull up my shirt and feed my child.

But I like the IDEA of it.

I like the idea of nourishing my child from my own body. I like the forced closeness (Cherry stopped cuddling when she was weened, and really hasn't been much of a cuddler since.). I like that there's no waste involved, in that you don't need bottle liners, you don't need to wash nipples (except in the shower once a day, but you know what I mean), you don't have to heat the milk (not that you really have to with formula if you don't want to, but just stick with me here). And that it's "natural". You're feeding your human child human milk instead of formula derived from a completely different animal.

And, being that I'm a mother, I'm SUPPOSED to be able to feed my child.

And that's what's bothering me the most.

I'm not giving up yet. In fact, I still have one nipple that's still usable for the time being, so I have fed her with that one since the bloody incident, and have expressed a bit from the injured one. But I am thisclose to switching to formula. And that bothers me.

Size.

We went out today.

My feet fit in my shoes! They were snug, but they fit!

My ring, however still does not fit, so it still hangs on my necklace.

My b00bs? The size of cantaloupes. That's why we had to go out today. To buy bras. To hold up my boulders. My shirts look really funny. I'm more than a little disproportionate.

My belly is still quite large. I'd say I look about four months pregnant. It's gone down though quite a lot since I gave birth. I left the hospital looking about five months pregnant.

All newborns lose weight after they're born. Peach was no exception. I can't remember off hand how much she lost, but it wasn't too much, and in the last two days, she's re-gained SEVEN OUNCES. They're supposed to gain 4-8 ounces per WEEK. Yeah, I've got milk. And she's quite the little eater. And my n!pples really hurt.

Cherry was an absolute doll today! It was a welcome change. Hopefully she'll be happy again tomorrow. It was nice to have her "old" self back, even if it was only for a day.

And, of course, since you're all really here just to see cute pictures, here you are:

Keeping you up to date.

Peach and I are doing surprisingly well. I'm sore and tired, but have been feeling better these past couple of days than I had been feeling for months!

Peach is an awesome eater, and my milk is in real good. I've been stuffing cabbage in my bra to help with the pain, which Armondo finds more than a little amusing. He's a big fan of "b00b salad".

I haven't been getting a lot of sleep, which is expected, but Armondo is so awesome with helping out as much as he can, that there's barely any burden on me.

Cherry, however, isn't doing so well. She seems to be experiencing some sort of night terror on and off. It's seems to have happened about five times in the last month, and it's quite upsetting. She wakes up in the middle of the night screaming, and it takes about from an hour to three hours to console her. She had another episode last night. I mentioned it to my midwife today, who mentioned one possible medical reason, so we'll be exploring that, as well as doing some research on toddler night terrors.

Cherry's very interested in the "de de". She loves to come over and look at her and poke at her, but she's extremely rough. I don't think she's TRYING to be mean when she's interacting, but she'll poke Peach, push her around, and today even smacked her in the face. It's not like she's got a mean look on her face, or that she's making any motion that she's trying to hurt her, it's just that she just doesn't know how to be gentle. Sort of makes me wonder if I should have waited a bit longer to have a second child. Cherry's also acting up quite a bit these days. It started before the baby was born, but has sort of escalated these past couple of days. She's quite whiney, and very clingy. She's demanding more attention from us than usual, and if she doesn't get it, she'll throw a tantrum. I've been trying my best to make sure we have some special time together while Peach isn't feeding, but it can be hard, 'cause newborns are literally quite attached to their mothers. Cherry IS, however getting lots of attention from Daddy, which is good, but makes me worry that she might distance herself further away from myself.

Back to Peach. She's so much easier so far than Cherry was. She rarely cries, and when she does, it's either 'cause she needs something, or Cherry has smacked her in the face. She sleeps often, though not for long stretches, and when she's awake, you can just leave her in her bassinette and she'll just quietly look around and coo if someone isn't there right away to pick her up. Cherry screamed for the first two and a half months straight. I know that part of the difference is due to the fact that they are different individuals, but I'd also like to think that with more experience, and more spousal support, that I'm doing a better job this time. (When Cherry was born, Armondo was working 6 days a week, often upwards to 11 hours a day.)

Anyway, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. I'll be calculating the contest entries soon enough, as well as writing out the official Peach "birth story" which will be the next part in my "Love Series". (The love series can be found on the sidebar.) I also have to do some template changes, including updating my "belly" shot on the side, and changing my title graphic to something a little more current.

But to tie you over, here are some more pictures:

When we got home from the hospital, we pulled out Cherry's "big sister" gift.

I think she likes it!


The following pictures were taken today, at 3 days old:

And here's a picture of Peach, looking suspiciously very much like her daddy.

What is it with newborns always having "red eye" in photos? (This one isn't TOO bad, but it was the best out of a series that I took.)


Exhausted after a good feeding.

Thanks to everyone for your kind comments and for all the de-lurking that's been going on. I really appreciate it! Oh! Babe's awake, bye for now!

Is Something Happening?

So, I'm getting some good contractions. They're about 5 min apart, and lasting about 35-40 seconds. My midwife told me to get some sleep and to call when I'm really "working" with the contractions. So, if I don't update by 10am Pacific Standard Time, then, you can assume I'm in the hospital.

Here's hoping I didn't just jinx the whole thing!

Dear Peach*

Hello there. I just want to start this letter off by directing your attention to that little counter in the top left hand corner there. That's right. It says I've had you in my belly for approximately 40 weeks and five days. That's a long time, you know? And I'm getting pretty anxious.

I can understand that it's nice and warm and snuggly inside, but there are a lot of people out here who would like to meet and see and cuddle you. Maybe you're just smart and know that it's freekin' freezing outside and that the ground is covered in snow. Not even born yet, and you're already showing signs of good common sense; you and I are sure to get along.

I am trying to be very patient while I wait for your arrival, but it's very difficult. You push on my bladder, you kick me in the ribs, you cause me to have heartburn, and make it very difficult to function on a very basic level. I'd love to house you for as long as you are comfortable, but you're not being overly gentle with your poor mamma.

Your Daddy isn't feeling very patient anymore either. I keep on getting contractions, and when I mention them to him, he sort of rolls his eyes and claims I'm "crying wolf". Daddy has been really awesome lately by taking care of pretty much all of the house hold and child care duties, and he hasn't complained much about it, but I KNOW he's ready to be able to snuggle his new little girl, and be able to take a rest from the house work after I've had a chance to recover.

Your big sister only sort of knows what's going on, but I'm sure she's ready to meet you as well. She knows there's a "De-de" in my belly, and she loves to run up to other babies and tries to hug them. I'm sure she'll love you to bits. For her sake, I hope you come soon, because Daddy and I purchased a special "big sister" present for her, and we've been dying to give it to her. (We bought it before Christmas, thinking you'd be on your way soon, and we put all 5000 pieces of it together the Saturday before Christmas in order to get it all ready for your not-so-impending arrival. It took two hours. But I'm not complaining.)

I can't wait to hold you in my arms and to gaze into your eyes. I can't wait to smell your downy head and tickle your newborn toes. I can't wait to study your personality and learn your little nuances. I can't wait to take hundreds of photos of both you and you with your sister. I'm looking forward to introducing you to all the special people in our lives including some of our family and several friends.

It's time for you to make your arrival, the world is waiting for you babe!

~Your loving Momma.

*I've decided on just "Peach" instead of "Peaches", 'cause um, there's just one kid coming out, and not two, so having a plural name is sort of weird. That, and it's confusing figuring out where the apostrophe is supposed to go when writing out possessive sentences.