PPD

I suffer from Postpartum depression. I don't know how long I will continue to be medicated for this. It is a whole new phenomenon for me. I have always considered myself a driven, multifunctioning individual. One day, however, I was sitting at my father's house listening to my "step-mom" and aunt talking about how completely foreign and/or selfish PPD is, and I wanted to scream at them. My aunt was unable to have children of her own and was begrudging the fact that women would want to hurt themselves, or their babies. PPD is much more complicated than that.

I never had feelings of hurting my baby. That's not how my PPD manifested itself. I became extremely irritable, completely overwhelmed, and flighty. I began to jump into hysterics over simple things. The sound of the baby crying made me want to slam my head against the wall. I didn't want to get up to feed the baby. I just wanted to cover my head and make him go away. I didn't, of course. I took care of my baby, and still do, the best I could. I loved and nurtured him. I did everything I could to help encourage a bond between us. I did all the right things, but inside,

I was dying.

Sitting in my father's house that day, though, I realized I was in trouble. I couldn't live in this bubble of denial anymore. I also realized that there is no shame in this disorder, which is completely chemical. I didn't call this on myself, and I wasn't encouraging it to stay. In fact, I needed to do everything I could to get through this with a healthy relationship to my kids. I also realized that, as with many things, unless you have been personally touched by this, you will never understand the intense, overpowering nature this disorder has.

My son is a year and a half old, and while I still have some complications of this disorder, I feel as if most days I am on the mend. If you want more information regarding this disorder, see the website below. It is very informative.

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/postpartum-depression/DS00546

My hero

On Sunday, we had to take Logan in for a sleep study. Logan was such a trooper.

I don't know how anyone could sleep with all of this stuff on them. Even seeing these pictures makes me want to cry. We have been practicing sleeping with the nasal canula all week, but no amount of practice could prepare him for this sort of torture. I had to hold him down while they attached the electrodes. He cried and trembled in fear. The worst was the look of betrayal that swept across his face. I could see the question written in his eyes, "Why are you letting him do this to me?"

I wanted to tell him that it was for his own good. I wanted to tell him that the doctor was just trying to help. He is two years and 7 months old. He wouldn't understand any of that logic. Instead, I tried to distract him and reassure him that everything was going to be ok. We sang the ABC song. Or rather, I sang it while Logan waled it. He loves the ABCs and is particularly fond of the ABC song. He didn't want to miss out on singing it, but at the same time, he wanted the world to know that he was in anquish. It's heartbreaking.

I hate seeing my son go through this. I often wonder what my life would be like if I didn't have a child who needed extra medical care. When people ask me how I do it, I usually tell them, 'you just do what you have to do and sort it out later.' I know the Lord never gives us more than we can handle, but I sometimes feel he's got me mixed up with someone else. Surely, he has this life set for someone else.

I try not to be discouraged. I try not to be ungrateful. I know it could be much worse. I guess, maybe, the many sleepless nights are starting to catch up with me. I feel a little worn out. When I start to feel run down, I just think of my son who is actually enduring all of this. He is my hero.

Loss

My friend Rebekah posed an interesting question today. She asked, "In what ways are you teaching your kids that God allows bad things to happen? That sometimes we don't always understand his plan for us, but that he always has a plan?"

My reply was this, "We haven't really gotten into the thick of this lesson yet, but I think we will encounter it before I am ready. Right now, we are still in the phase of, even though you use your words, the answer is sometimes no. I still struggle with this one, as an adult. I prayed about it, God should say yes, right?!" Of course, I made that last comment tongue in cheek. I realize that sometimes God answers us with a no, and it is for our own good. Thankfully, God doesn't always answer yes. Unfortunately, in our own selfishness, we don't always ask the right questions. To get back to the original question though. It is something that I have been struggling with.

My boys have an awesome relationship with my parents. In fact, I find myself with a tinge of jealousy sometimes when I watch my boys interact and play with my mother. She watches them 3 days a week, while I work. Their bond is precious. The thing that breaks my heart the most is that both my parents have failing health. My dad is living in a nursing home right now, and my Mom, while still very active, is slowly declining due to Multiple Sclerosis. Every day I notice a little more wear in corners of her countenance. She is dealing with the same loss as me. Her parents are 90 and 89.

In my selfishness, I want to hang on to my parents and grandparents for as long as possible. My desire is for my parents to watch my boys grow up and to become respectable, godly young men. Reality is, I will be, probably in the next few years, dealing with several sets of loss. I try not to think about it. In fact, I push it away every time it creeps into my mind. I don't want to deal with the hurt and confusion it will cause my kids. Ultimately, I don't want to address Rebekah's question. I guess it is because I can't think of a good answer. I can give them the Romans 8 account of suffering vs glory. I can tell them how even Jesus suffered and he was blameless. At their ages, they will not be able to comprehend how this makes up for the loss.

I try to remember that our time here are earth is fleeting and that we all face trials and hardship here on earth. The two year old in me wants to stand and wail at the top of my lungs. The 8 year old in me wants to stomp my foot and say it isn't fair. The teenager in me wants to crumble into a ball and say, "Why, me?" The mother wants to shield my children from all the hurt. In the end, I am not sure who wins, but the question will have to be answered.

Mother's Day...

...everyday. I am not referring to the Hallmark inflated, shower you with homemade gifts and corsages Mother's day either. I am talking about the real mother's day. The one that only mother's know about. The day that starts the minute you're awake and never ends.
Friday, 1:30 AM
I awake to the sound of Gavin beckoning his dad, 'Da, Da, Da'. I get out of bed and make a bottle. I sludge into the boys' room and notice that Logan is sitting up in bed. "Logan," I say, "It's not time to get up baby. Time to go Nigh, Night". Logan lays back down. I gather Gavin and feed him in the other room. When Gavin is done eating, I rock him for a little while and then go to lay him back down. Logan is sitting up again.
"Logan," I said, "You need to lay down. It's not morning." Blech! Blech! Yes, that is the sound of vomitting. Thus began my week. Logan's fever was 101. I call into work because it is quite obvious that I'm not going to make it. Logan layed around all day. He wouldn't eat or drink. He wouldn't sleep. The three things my son loves more than anything in the world is to run & jump, drink water, and take naps. He did none of those things. What he did was cry, constantly. He was a mess. I was a mess. Luckily, my mom had anticipated adverse weather and stayed the night. I was glad for her help. Around 3:30 PM, Logan's temperature escalated even with Tylenol. He cannot have Ibuprofen as it is a degranulator, so I wasn't sure what else to do. I decided to take him in. So, I packed both boys up and headed to Urgent care.
We resided in urgent care for about 4 hours. They took X-Rays, drew blood, did cultures, urine dips. You name it, they did it. Both boys sat there and cried. They both wanted to be held. All the while, Logan's temperature continued to sky rocket. Eventually, they determined that Logan had two things going on. The first was that he had a "small spot on his lower left lung quadrant that could be pneumonia." Let's start antibiotics. The second, he has staph infection present in his urine. "UTI," Let's start antibiotics. Yes, four hours later, their solution was antibiotics. They sent me home with a 2 year old that wouldn't drink or eat and had a temperature of 102.9 with a prescription of antibiotics. We could have done that 3 hours ago?!
I am not one of those moms who feels like I need to throw antibiotics at my kids for every little sniffle. On the contrary, I feel like antibiotics sometimes do more harm than good. I was willing to try anything at this point though.
Finally, later that night, Logan's fever broke. Then, however, the adverse effects of the antibiotics started to take hold. Now my dehydrated little boy had the scoots. Enter probiotics. It seems a little counterproductive to give a kid antibiotics to wipe out bacteria and then give them bacteria. I try to look at it like an oil change or transmission service.
Needless to say, by the time this all got under control, I was exhausted. Praise the Lord, one week later, Logan is on the mend. He is still not my normal, active, 2 year old boy, but is slowly getting his naughty back.
I sometimes wish I could videotape days like this and replay them to every girl out there that is considering having children. It might deter a few, and rightly so. Hopefully then they would see that it is not all glorious, baby powder filled snuggle time. Motherhood has it's rewards, but it is challenging, nonetheless. I, personally, marvel in Mother's day. There is nothing more fulfilling than being the most important person in someone's life. Motherhood does that.

My husband

I have the greatest husband in the world. I am sure there are others who feel the same way, but they're wrong. I kid. Yesterday was a morning to go in the record books. After nearly no sleep I erupted into what I will call a "abstract interpretive dance". In reality, I threw a tantrum. I was mad because both of my boys kept me up nearly all night. I was irritated because I could hear my husbands "soft" snoring. I was anxious because we are in the process of a lot of change which scares me. I was overwhelmed because the household chores and everyday tasks are looming. After no sleep, I snapped. Aric responded.
At first, Aric's response was not so pleasant. Mine wouldn't have been either. I stormed through the house begrudgingly cleaning at 4:00 AM. I silently told myself that I was going to just leave. Aric could find child care. Aric could deal with the stress of the housework. I insisted to myself that I had been violently insulted. How dare he!
After a while I decided that I wasn't going to just leave without having my say. I went up to the room, but on the way there, something happened. God spoke to my heart. A calmness overcame me. I realized that I needed to let Aric know how I was feeling, but not in an offensive manner. There is not one person in this world who will respond well to being attacked.
I went into the room and told Aric that we needed to talk. I began to sob and tell him all of the things that were on my mind. I unloaded all of the stressors that were haunting me. Aric wrapped me in his warm embrace and told me he was sorry and that everything would be ok.
He was sorry? That's right. My husband apologized after I acted like a two year old. If that isn't humbling, I don't know what is. To top it off, he brought me dinner that night so that I could relax and not have to cook. Awwww! Right?!
The thing is, this is typical. My husband has been known to throw his fits too, but most of the times he acts as a defuser. I explode and he picks up the pieces. He tells me that I will be ok. He tells me that everything will be just fine. He picks up the slack that I have been tripping over. He is patient, compassionate, and understanding. I couldn't have asked for a better man.

Joys of my life

There is nothing that brings me joy more than the smiles and giggles from my boys. OK, maybe that is an exaggeration, but you understand. I love when I tickle Gavin and he breaks out in that full belly, throaty laugh. It is contagious. Once Gavin starts laughing, everyone in the household laughs. Logan usually wants in on the action. At this point, he either wants to be tickled too, or he wants to tickle his brother. He likes to make him laugh.
Lately, Logan has been a source of laughter. He is just learning the arts of communication and humor. We were out and about the other day when Logan and Aric had a conversation that made us all laugh. It went something like this:
Logan, "Deah-yee" , Aric, "What?" , Logan, "Deah-yee" , Aric, "What?" , Logan, "Deah-yee" , Aric, "What?" , Logan, "Deah-yee" , Aric, "Logan" , Logan, "What?"

It made me laugh. Then today I smashed my finger in a door. While that was not a laughing matter, the conversation that followed was. It went something like this:
(Mommy nearly jumping up and down trying not to curse)
Logan, "Happen, Mah-nee?", "Happen?"
Me, "Mommy smashed her finger and got a bad owie."
Logan, "es OK Mah-nee.", "OK, Happy Mah-nee".
I couldn't help but chuckle. In my mind I was saying, "If only." Yet, at the same time, it gave me something to think about. Maybe it is that simple. Maybe we should just choose to be happy. Maybe when the bible talks about becoming like children, this is part of it. Children show their happiness and joy without reserve. So maybe, in this world where we are surrounded by grief and distress, it is ok to be "Happy Mah-nee". It is ok to look at the blessings and focus on the positive.
Now, I am not talking about shoving your emotions away and disregarding true feelings. I'm not. What I am saying is that even when things are not perfect, we can still choose joy. We can, in hard circumstances, choose to look to the small blessings that are around us. That being said, this Mah-nee (Mommy) is going to choose happy.

Finally Brothers

At last! The day has finally come. When I first had my second son, I wasn't sure I would make it. Logan had an obvious distain toward this new being in our house. I couldn't leave them alone without fear of some form of toddler torture taking place. Logan did his best to make his brother feel unwelcome.

I guess Gavin passed the hazing though. Logan has begun to interact with Gavin, and vice versa. They look at eachother from their high chairs and just laugh and laugh. Logan searches the living room to find toys to place in Gavin's lap. Gavin, coincidentally, is making no effort to crawl. Why should he when he has his brother at his beck and call? There is even hugging. Logan can hardly go to bed most days without giving "bwudder" a hug.

That's what he calls Gavin, "bwudder". If you tell him to call him Gavin, he says, "No, bwudder". If Logan and I go upstairs, he gets insistent that we take bwudder with us. He says, "Bwudder, come on" or "Bwudder go". Heaven forbid we should leave the house without him.

I am elated. I can finally sit back and take a deep breath. I am not fooling myself into believing that there will never be conflict. Far from it. It does bring me joy, however, to know that my boys are becoming friends. I look forward to watching them grow, both as brothers, and as friends.

Ambivalence

Ambivalent. That's the word I've been looking for. I was reading a magazine the other day when a mother described herself as ambivalent toward being a mother. It struck a chord.

Don't get me wrong. I am absolutely in love with my children. I can't wait to get home after work and play with them. I begrudge dinner time because it interrupts our play. I rejoice in the daily miracles that take place in their growth. My entire house has been turned upside down to cater to their safety. Last night, while laying on Aric's chest, Gavin looked up at his dad and whispered, "Da Da", over and over. I nearly cried. Yet, in this loving, consuming relationship, I find hardship.

Besides the fatigue from not having a good nights sleep in almost 3 years, I feel overwhelmed sometimes. There are days when, let's face it, I just don't feel like being a mom. I would rather come home, order out, and read a good book. Sometimes I'd rather spend the $100 a month diaper bill on a gym membership and get my body back. I know, that will never happen.

I'm ok with that. I guess that is why I use the word ambivalent. In between dirty diapers, stepping on Hotwheels, and posing as a human burp rag, there are moments of pure joy. At first I was afraid of my feelings of ambivalence. Now I realize that they are ok. It is just a word that describes being torn, as most mother's are. Occasionally, every mother wants to step out of her mom jeans and go out on the town. Every mother wants to feel human, attractive, and, dare I say, vibrant. At the same time, I love the feeling I get when I come home and both of my boys are vying for my attention. It helps caress away any wounds I might have gathered throughout the day.

I am also realizing that no mom is perfect, just as no wife is perfect. No mom wakes up everyday thinking that motherhood is delightful. I don't. Especially when the wake up call happens at 3 am. Nonetheless, even in the midst of those aggrevating moments, I realize just how blessed I am to have my children. They are a delight. I have friends who try desperately to conceive, to no avail. I can't imagine their anguish. It wasn't hard for us. In fact, it was so easy it was sickening. I am thankful for that to. Just as I am thankful for mothers, like the one in the magazine, who are real. I appreciate those who aren't afraid to show you their stretch marks, figuratively speaking. Motherhood is a journey, and with every journey comes wear and tear. I just hope to cross the finish line with two godly, respectful, and purposeful young men.

Death and Life

My half sister's aunt passed away on New Year's Eve. I remember hearing stories of this aunt from time to time. From what I'm told, this woman was a spitfire. She was the kind of lady that traveled in large groups of one and entered the room with gusto. She was less than five feet, but had a hefty presence. I never really knew her, but I can't help but feel a sense of loss knowing she is no longer with us. Perhaps I'm mourning for the person that I could have known.
It seems there are times in our lives that we are surrounded by death, or the prospects of it. I watch my Grandparents deteriorate by the week and it saddens me. There is a lot of wisdom and history that can be gained in the conversations they provide. I will miss them when they go.
At other times, I see the budding life around me. Many of my family and friends are having children right now. It is exciting. My boys will have lots of playdates in the future.
My life in a picture:
Walking through the valley dark, the withered trees surround.
The leaves have fallen to the earth.
Sorrow doth abound.
A brush of heel across the dirt, the verdure spots my eye.
A peeking sprout of fresh new life,
The supple spirit vies.