Postpartum.... stuff

Excuse the personal, journal-ish nature of this very long post. Today, it's part of my therapy.

Sunday morning I woke up at 4-something-A.M., fed the baby, and finally got back to sleep around 5-something, bringing her into bed with me so she'd fall asleep. I turned off my alarm when it rang and went back to sleep. Man woke me at 7-something and asked if I was going to church. I said no, I have a sore throat. Then I felt guilty. I did, indeed, have a sore throat but I knew that my real reason was I just didn't want to see other humans. I should have recognized that sign for what it was.

We got to church, through church, and home from church. We had Ramen and berry smoothies for a snack and I picked up around the house, did some dishes, changed some diapers, broke up some rough-housing, and generally puttered. I was tired but wanted to "get things done" while I had Man here with me. It's the same attitude I had while both my mother and mother in law were here. I spent a lot of time torn between "getting things done" and letting my body recover from giving birth. By 10-something-P.M., I was falling asleep in my seat but had an hour to go before Frieda would putter out. Man hit the hay an hour before I did so I sat, crying, trying to stay awake while feeding the baby for the 6th hour of our nightly nursing marathon. She's going through a growth spurt and is desperately trying to pork up for it. Rest that night was broken from the need for more porking.

I woke up finally at 8:30, drug myself out of bed to feed again, and told Princess to get ready for school since late is better than never, right? By 10, I had been crying for over an hour and told her never mind, she can just go the next day. I cried some more, feeling guilty that I couldn't even take my child to school, that the house was already dirty again, and I started to hate nursing. I hated building my milk supply, I hated being yelled at for not having enough milk on demand, I hated never being able to leave the house without some little person coming with me, I hated not being able to help Princess as much and asking so much of her that this very morning she cried and said that being an older sister is too much work. I ask Tag for a lot too, but he has a tendency to be more resilient about helping as long as it doesn't involve cleaning up a mess he made. I despaired over my lost Saturday morning sleep ins, my unbroken 8 hours, my ability to put the kids in bed and go walking with a friend for as long as I desired without worry, and my ability to take a shower without keeping a wary ear out for the sounds of the kidlets in distress.

Then it hit me: this is the baby blues.

Alright, so I looked that up. No, not the baby blues.

It's postpartum depression.

I called my doctor's office and couldn't keep from crying some more as I pleaded for help before my 6 week visit this coming Friday. The nurse said to take a warm bath, get a friend to come over so I could nap, have the husband help more...

My heart sank. A warm bath? All four kids were awake and running around. Well, of course Frieda wasn't running but she was attached to my hip while I ran around. A friend to come over? All of my friends are pregnant, have new babies, or full time jobs. In fact, I had one sweet friend over who wanted to provide me with company but to make that long story short, it wasn't helpful. Have the husband help? When he's already pulling 18 hour days? Right.

So I thanked the nurse, considered her recommendation to take the mini pill (progesterone only birth control) to help smooth out my frazzled hormones, and told her I'd see her Friday. The last time I took the mini pill I cried for two weeks straight and considered radical self-harm. Not an option.

But then...

My good friend M called. That conversation perked my spirits tremendously. My visiting teachers came over and one of them has offered to bring dinner tonight. My mom called which also perked my spirits. Man came home, I tried to put on a brave face while being honest about my day and he forsook some of his homework to help with the kids. I took vitamins in earnest, threw out all of the sugary things in the house, and made a real dinner. Man helped me get Frieda to sleep earlier in the evening and let me cry on his shoulder for several minutes even though I knew he was sacrificing sleep to do so.

I felt cared for. I know enough now to be able to force my way through this. I won't quit nursing just because it's hard. I swallowed my pride and accepted the offer of dinner. I swallowed more pride and called people who I know love me (guys, don't worry, I didn't make it all the way down my list before I was overwhelmed with loving attention both over the phone and in real life) to help shake the funk. Tag enjoyed answering the phone for me and chatting with people before I got to them.

By the time I crawled into bed, sniffling a little still but grateful to lay down, I realized how much of an introvert this sort of depression makes me. It was painful to make myself stay open and reach out. But I believe that doing so right away has made a big difference in my ability to deal with this whole wretched affair.

This would be the third time I've faced crippling postpartum depression. There isn't a whole lot I can do about various extremely stressful elements of my life except to give them to God. I'm driving myself so thoroughly crazy that I'm being forced to empty myself of self to even function. But in emptying myself of self, I'm also being forced to realize that I simply must take care of myself if I'm going to survive this and get over it quickly.

So, today, when I took my shower, I used my nice conditioner. I bought a bottle over a year and a half ago and use it when I want to pamper myself. I also got dressed instead of staying in pajamas and had a good breakfast full of protein and fruit. I have yet to steel myself for the pills since lately they make me ill, but they helped yesterday. If I can sit on my kids and force them to take medications that resolve their illnesses, I can at least be mature enough to swallow my own medicine. But this medicine also includes things like taking time to type out my feelings, going outside (maybe back to that beach parking lot), opening my windows, and soliciting lots of love from the kids who are so willing and generous with their hugs and kisses.

Most of all, I need to remember to take time for God. And remember the valuable love of my husband. Last night I was once again astounded to realize that just a few minutes with him cleansed me of so much sadness.

And remember that it's all one day, one moment, one deep breath at a time.

(unless I take too many deep breaths too quickly, in which case I'd pass out and not have a care in the world for at least a little while so that works, too)