Being a Mommy is so Glamorous

I have an umbilical hernia.

Apparently after Henry was born and everything was supposed to grow back together... it didn't. I just thought my belly button was just going to be an outtie now- not so, my friends.

I have a glamorous bulge of insides on the outside. I went last Thursday and got the diagnosis, then this Tuesday I went for my surgical consult. Next Monday I'll be chillin' in an OR getting myself fully reassembled. I'm really excited for how quickly everything is happening because my commitments to my family and to yoga are certainly being affected. After a week recovery I should be 'good as new'. That makes me happy because I really want to get back to life.

Thinking back to Jack's c-section I'm a little worried about recovery being more challenging than I expect. I'm also wondering if being back in an OR will bring back any of the twitchy trauma type stuff I felt right after Jack was born. But those concerns are really in the back of my mind compared with my desire to be well for myself for my family and for my yoga practice.

I will totally be posting a 'before' pic the morning of the surgery. ::shudder:: Here's hoping the after is dead sexy! HAH!

Feeling twitchy?

Not me. Not so much anymore.

I wrote about what I supposed is diagnosed as Postpartum Anxiety. But really, giving it a name doesn't mean much to me, finding a solution- well that's money in the bank. So I'm about 4 weeks into Zoloft and I'm loving the changes.

Every winter of my adult life I've needed to use my asthma inhaler daily. Since starting Zoloft I've used it once. I cannot tell you how amazing that is to me.

Every time I was running late, or even on time but could be running late I would panic. Totally freak out, sometimes burst into tears and always drive like speed racer. The other day I met a friend at Ikea, I was 12 minutes late and I didn't really care. I mean I kinda was worried she'd be waiting for me (I still want to be considerate) but I just figured she'd assume I was running late and she'd understand. Frankly that logical thought process was something I had been without for YEARS and to be able to be on time or late to something without it being a disaster is pretty freakin awesome.

At the end of every day I used to replay all my failings as a parent that day. The time I yelled too much. The time I didn't interact enough. The time I didn't want to get up and crawl around under the table. Each excruciating moment I chose to be what I considered "a crappy parent" I forced myself to relive and feel the guilt. Whether I'm a "less crappy" parent or I perceive myself to be less crappy or I'm finally willing to give myself a break in the parenting department who knows. But all of that the guilt the feelings of falling short it's basically gone. I don't think I'm perfect or anything, I'm just less concerned about trying to be perfect and more focused on doing what I can as each moment requires.

I'm also less frustrated by other people; bad drivers don't get under my skin anymore. I'm not up in arms about things people say in real life, on the interwebs, on the news. People used to talk about letting things roll off their backs and, to be honest, I wanted to punch them in the face because I had no idea how anyone under any circumstances could just let something roll off their back. Now? I actually understand what they mean.

Each little change isn't earth shattering, but all the little changes together amount to a very happy Mommy. I'm sure the boys are grateful I decided to accept help.

The whole truth

I haven't been honest.

I've been living this way for so long I don't remember when it began. The hardest part about realizing I should get help was because it's not that bad. When I compare my mental health to people I would describe as having "real problems" things seem fine. I'm not depressed; joyless; or detached from my boys. I don't have panic attacks that leave me in the fetal position on the floor. I'm not even necessarily unhappy, for lack of a better way to describe it... I'm just really pissed off.

I'm pissed off at myself more than anything. Why? I could be a better mother than I am. Every morning I wake up and tell myself that I will not raise my voice, I will encourage not threaten, I will not loose my cool. But every day I yell, threaten and loose my cool. I avoid calling and seeing my friends often because I'm afraid of how they will judge me, because I feel like a terrible failure of a mother. Also I find that I have to bite my tongue from yelling at friends, strangers on the street, dust mites.

Who parents in anger? Me. Apparently.

A month ago I decided enough is enough. I started meeting with an LCSW (Licensed Clinical Social Worker) to talk about ... everything. We decided that my symptoms, though not nearly as serious as people with 'real' problems, were pervasive enough that medication would help. I mean, with stories about mothers who feel no attachment to their kids, harm themselves and/or their kids or who have persistent negative thoughts- my problems seemed silly.

I dragged my feet. Even me, with my enlightened view of mental health, hesitated to actually take medication (again) to solve a problem. Couldn't I just decide to change? Couldn't I just chill the heck out? Well then I read this blog and it spoke to me. I also read these blogs where women bravely share their stories. That was it, big or small I wanted help with my problems.

The first Psychiatrist I called didn't have an appointment till after Christmas. The second Psychiatrist told me that I needed to stop breastfeeding because and I quote "What is the benefit of breastfeeding?" Um, okay...

So when I got off the phone with them I called my midwives and ironically the lactation consultant answered the phone. We discussed Shrink #2's narrow world view and she made an appointment for me.

Within an hour the midwife who I was to see the following week called me from her personal cell to make sure I was okay and to tell me she was willing to write a script right now. Have I told you how awesome those midwives are? I picked up my generic 25mg of Zoloft (breastfeeding safe, thankyouverymuch) and took the first that evening. I could feel it when it hit my bloodstream, if you've ever taken Adderall or Benadryl or even Tylenol with Codeine you know how it feels when a medication first starts to metabolize. I felt a little loopy- but the tension in my shoulders almost immediately relaxed.

It's been 4 days and it's honestly incredible. It's like a veil is lifting. It's impossible to explain without using metaphor and hyperbole. Suffice it to say I feel much, much better... and this is just the beginning. The oddest 'side effect' is I was using my inhaler 3-4 times a day before I started the Zoloft and now I haven't used it in 3 days. Dare I say- I'm kinda excited?! I don't really freak out much anymore. I don't hardly see a need to yell. I feel so relived.

Foggy?

I read this blog about baby blues & post partum depression recently, and the description of a "fog lifting" struck me. What a great description! With Jack I felt more than foggy, I was completely overwhelmed. This time it's much harder to describe. There is something that's off, and I can't put my finger on it. I've been feeling like I'm about to come down with a cold or something- like I feel off, extra tired but no specific symptoms like runny nose or sore throat.

Well Friday morning I believe I experienced the lifting of said fog. I woke up with Henry, fed and changed him, brushed my teeth (which in the last few weeks has been skipped sometimes), put in my contacts (also skipped sometimes), put on deodorant (also skipped), put hairspray in my hair to tame the flyaways (skipped), got dressed (skipped), came downstairs put Henry in his swing for a nap, ate a leisurely breakfast, drank some tea, got Jack up and dressed (yes, he's also been living in his PJs), and decided to go to Trader Joe's. I decided to let Jack walk through the store while I pushed Henry in the cart. I took this on as an intentional test of Jack's ability and my patience- it went really well. When we got back I let Jack play outside with the neighbors (which I've also been avoiding because I'm worried he won't listen when it's time to go home).

Honestly if I was still feeling "foggy" I wouldn't have done more than 1 or maybe 2 things this morning. But it was like this morning I felt mostly like myself and it just felt like it was time to get back to normal.

Confessions

Before Henry was born my greatest fear was juggling the needs of two at once. I was, frankly, terrified of what would happen when they both needed me at once; or worse when Jack decided Mommy was busy with the baby so now's the time to get into trouble. I wasn't worried about what to do, but how I would FEEL that I couldn't help both boys at once. The reality is, it's not that bad. Yes, sometimes Henry starts to cry when I'm making Jack's sandwich or helping Jack on the potty, but it doesn't bother me like I thought it would.

I wasn't worried about taking care of a baby again. I didn't do anything to remind myself about baby care. Clearly, I forgot all about those pesky growth spurts. I wonder what else I forgot about?

I didn't rest properly at first because I was afraid of the baby blues. I had them pretty bad with Jack, so anytime I felt tired I wondered if it was just physical tiredness or if it's wasn't that I was going to start crying over nothing and not feeling attached to my new little man. Turns out, feeling tired can be just as simple as that.

Leaving the house is daunting. It's certainly not impossible for me to take both boys out by myself, but I really don't want to. Why? The scariest part is Jack is not old enough to be reliably trusted to be safe in a parking lot or store. This means I wait for Matt to come home and take just one boy out, or leave them both with Daddy while I run an errand.

I'm glad that Henry takes formula because I have no plans to pump for the times I'm out and Matt needs to feed him. Why? I don't want to ever have to think about whether or not I should pump to store, I have enough, it's gone bad and I NEVER want a call from Matt telling me that he ran out and I have to come home to provide more.

I eat more TJs ice cream sandwiches than any normal person should.

I might be back in my pre-pregnancy jeans but I am not back to my pre-pregnancy weight.

I like that my midwives told me to take it easy because I now have eliminated nap-guilt.

I should drink more water, but it's hard and I use my toddler as an excuse because he's always "stealing" my water.

Ok, I confessed... so now it's your turn.

Random Victories

1. I put on my pre-pregnancy jeans Sunday- and they FIT! (Comfortably, with only minimal muffin top.)

2. Despite my daily snuggles with Henry, Jack isn't jealous he just wants to participate. Which means double the snuggles! Also in spite my frequent tummy-to-tummy cat naps with Henry he's still sleeping 5 hours at a time, alone in his pack n play every night.

3. We replaced the bushes in the front yard for the third spring in a row. I'm going to move before I have to do this again, it's driving me nuts!

How's it going?

Over all I'd say, great. I'm a little tired, which is to be expected. Having my mom here to help while Matt was back at work was key. She made some more meals and did a bunch of playing with Jack. Being at home alone with the boys isn't a super scary proposition... going to a friend's house is fine too it's the running errands/making doctors appointments even going to the mall or going for a walk seems really daunting right now.

But as I start to get out more and more and as Henry's diaper changes and feedings become more and more spread out it will be easier to make these trips without risking juggling a toddler having a breakdown while I'm stuck changing or nursing his brother.

Hello, Jack!

I'm finally getting around to deleting the 'fluff' birth story I wrote right after Jack was born and writing the actual events as they transpired. (As much as I can remember 3.5 years later.) Why now? Because I finally have enough perspective to write the events as they transpired and how I felt at the time without reliving the good the bad and the ugly.

Suffice it to say nearly every sentence of this story would end with "If only I knew then what I know now."

Jack's EDD was January 21. So when January 31st rolled around I went into the hospital for my scheduled induction (with a Bishop score of 6). My cervix didn't require ripening so we went in the morning, birthing ball in hand, for some pitocin.

January 31st:

I had a cough and as a life-long asthmatic I knew I was coming down with bronchitis. I had the flu last week and my body always follows the formula, head cold + a few days = bronchitis. Fun, right? But the midwife simply said "I'm not a respiratory therapist so lets just wait and see."

Fast forward a few hours (like maybe 6) I was 5 cm dilated (from zero) and my fever was hovering around 102. I was on and off the birthing ball, because I really wanted to go natural. It was at this point they talked about unhooking me and sending me home and my water broke. It was not clear, it was brown. Meconium. Grrrreat. I knew that meant I was delivering today or tomorrow.

Then came the Stadol to give me some pain relief (more from the pain of coughing my lungs out than the pain of contractions). Suddenly my Labor and Delivery room becomes a high-traffic zone. Internists, respiratory therapists and every idiot doctor they could find came in to 'diagnose me'. And by diagnose I mean, not actually listen to me at all, but make cockamamie assumptions about my symptoms and pull a guess out of their ass.

I was diagnosed with:

*a UTI (because I said I was peeing a lot, at 10 months pregnant I can't imagine why I was peeing a lot.)

*the flu.

*walking pneumonia (as determined by a chest ex-ray taken at 12/14 hours into labor)

and my personal favorite...

*SARS (as diagnosed by the oh-so-competent Anesthesiologist, who determined this because I said I had a cough.)

During this time Jack (who was either Jack or Lily because we were team green) was having crazy high heart rates like 210 for hours and hours on end. The midwives explained that he/she still had normal accelerations and decelerations though the baseline was higher than normal so they were watching me closely but still trying to let me deliver vaginally.

February 1st:

So when my uterus stopped contracting entirely (no matter how many gallons of pitocin they tried) they finally went to wheel me into the OR to put me out of my misery. The genius anesthesiologist who decided on a whim I had SARS (I did not in fact have SARS) started screaming at the nurse that I couldn't go in there because I had SARS and I was going to contaminate toe OR. I have never in my life heard so many eff-bombs dropped at one time in my entire life, no less by a mild mannered L&D nurse.

It did feel nice to have someone advocate for me though. But perhaps it was too little too late.

So after some 'calling of supervisors' and some cursing like a sailor I was wheeled into the OR so my baby could be removed.

At 12:25pm on February 1st Jack Thomas came into the world, healthy, sassy and nursing like a champ.

I spent 5 days in literal quarantine. There were warning signs on my door telling visitors to run screaming in the other direction. All thanks to the SARS guy.

My hospital had the sensitivity to send a counselor into all the rooms where women had delivered via c-section. They knew that women would be dealing with complex emotions, feeling betrayed by their body, blaming themselves, blaming the baby, having difficulty breastfeeding, having trouble bonding. But my door had a warning sign on it, I was a leper, a pariah, I was dangerous for a healthy therapist to be around. So no one ever came into my room even though I needed it more than most.

One woman was brave enough to come in. She was a volunteer from a county program. A New Mom's Support Group. She came in. She talked to me. She treated me like someone who deserved care and consideration. I went to that group. And until that time despite my successful exclusive breastfeeding and my diligent baby-wearing I had not bonded at all with poor Jack. But at that group with the support and validation of our leader and the other new moms. I finally loved deeply and bonded fully with my sassy and gregarious first born.

His birth was nothing if not an indicator for how much trouble he was going to be. And I can say that with nothing but love. My first handsome boy, my trouble maker, my drama king.