Baby Blues or Postpartum Depression (Part 5) I don’t want to admit it

So, we got through a VERY LONG first month with our brand new alien, Kyler.  We decided to cancel the contract on the house we were building because it was taking them WAY too long.  (We signed a contract when I was 3 months pregnant and when Kyler was 1.5 months old, they had not even broken ground…)  Fortunately, we were able to find a brand new inventory home and just decided to buy it.  It worked out for the best.  Trying to deal with a newborn, being completely unhappy, “settling” on a new house, and now preparing to move was not the ideal situation.  Most people would be one the edge of a nervous breakdown-right?

Apparently, wrong.  I was so lucky to have my family help us move into our new home.  My parents stayed with us for a week while we unpacked.  Thank God they did because I may not have survived.  My emotions were out of control.  I was so at my wits end with Kyler that I basically refused to take care of him.  How terrible is that?  It was like I was turning a switch off in my head and just going to pretend that I didn’t have a child anymore.  I knew my parents were coming to help and I was going to let my mom have him.  My poor mom.

It was kind of out of nowhere that I just went out of control.  Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING either made me yell or cry.  I wanted no part of Kyler and let my mom take care of him all day every day.  I had moved into a brand new beautiful home but could not appreciate one bit of it.  All that I could see was everything that I couldn’t do anymore because of my alien.   There would be no time to decorate, much less shop for decorations, no time to enjoy the pool outside, no time to cook in the new big kitchen.  Again, pity me.  But, in my world, it was serious and that is how I felt.  I was losing control.  Well, I had already lost control but I was losing it mentally!  I can remember getting so mad at Baby Daddy for the smallest things such as how to make a grilled cheese sandwich.  I absolutely hated him.  It seemed (to me) that he had it so easy, could just work on projects outside, go to work, and not worry about his son or me.  Although my mom was caring for Kyler, I felt like I couldn’t get anything done.  I needed to empty boxes, pay and file bills, grocery shop, etc but felt as though I couldn’t get it done.  There was no reason why I couldn’t when I had plenty of help that week.  Subconsciously, I believe that I was so dreading my parents leaving and having to face the real world with Kyler again, that I was procrastinating and hoping that would somehow stall life.  The real story was that I didn’t want to face life so bad that I was taking everything out on everyone.  All of the yelling at Baby Daddy, all of the “poor me” conversations with my mom were really just me mad at myself for not getting it together.  Everyone has kids and survives.  What was wrong with me?

Finally, someone, I forget who first, mentioned that maybe I should talk to my doctor about postpartum depression.  WHAT?!  I DID NOT have postpartum depression.  My life just sucked, of course.  But, it didn’t.  I had a beautiful new house, a handy and helpful husband, and parents who were a blessing…I also had a healthy baby boy.  Why did I insist that my life was so bad?  Then, someone else mentioned that maybe I should consider talking to someone.  Again, I was offended.  I think when the third person (maybe my mom) mentioned that I was acting a bit out of control, I finally decided to mention it to my doctor.

Ok, I’ll mention it….although I do not have postpartum depression and I’m not taking any stupid anti-depressant that is going to make me fat.  I didn’t need medication – I thought it was ridiculous for people to take antidepressants anyway…  Finally, one afternoon after completely losing my cool with everyone and again realizing that I wanted NOTHING to do with my child, and coming to grips that my parents were leaving in two days, I did call the doctor.  They suggested that they would call in a prescription for me but that I still needed to come in to see my OB.  I was very concerned with the side effects of taking medication and thought that I probably wouldn’t take it anyway but at least I called…  When the nurse mentioned that it may cause weight gain- FORGET about it.  The last thing I needed for my “bad moods” was to gain weight.  I’d surely fall into depression then.  Regardless, I picked up the prescription in good faith but was not going to take it.

I did, however, go to see my OB.  My reasoning is actually hilarious yet sad.  I thought that if I cried enough and explained my sorry life to her that maybe somehow she would make it all go away.  Well, in a sense, she sort of did.  I did cry…but my tears were real.  I felt stupid and pathetic but let it all out anyway.  The important part was that she didn’t appear to judge me in the least.  She sympathized with my situation and comforted me in a way no one had been able to up to that point.  She “diagnosed” me like it was certain and no wonder I had been acting the way I had been.  I couldn’t help it.  The best part was that she did prescribe something for me (something different than before) and it changed my life.

Perhaps, I should have been much less judgemental of all the people on antidepressants.  What did I know?  Well, I learned quickly that if you are fortunate enough to find the right one for you, it may make all the difference in the world.  And it did.  Immediately.  I finally admitted that I did have postpartum depression and I wasn’t embarrassed to say it aloud.  I was also comfortable with admitting that I was treating it with medication.  Maybe it is just in my head and the medication really didn’t do all that much?  What I do know is that I still take it and wouldn’t dare stop.  I’m not going to go into detail about what sort of changes I felt or what I’m taking.  I do want to encourage anyone reading this who feels similar to the way I did to talk to someone, preferably a doctor.  Be open-minded.  I do not feel that I am healed.  I believe that maybe depression will always be with me somehow but I do feel better.  Over the past year since I was originally treated for postpartum depression, my husband has faced many potential layoffs with his job (fortunately, he still has it), we were transferred across the country to a state where I know no one, and my little Kyler (to whom is now absolutely BEAUTIFUL and in no way an alien) is now starting to show a developmental delay.  The latter situation is testing my strength right now.  I have been able to deal with selling and buying yet another house, moving far away from my family and friends; but this new issue with Kyler is very hard to deal with for me.  Hopefully, we will work through it but I am admitting that mentally, I’m losing it a little again. 

Well, if for nothing else, maybe someone reading this feels or felt similar to me and can either get help or at least relate.

Baby Blues or Postpartum Depression (part 4) The Everyday

So, I was on the third week of having had Kyler, I was still bleeding from the delivery, and still hoping that maybe I was bleeding bad enough to be sent back to the hospital.  Insane right?  We were so exhausted from not getting any sleep.  Kyler would grunt the entire night and we couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him besides the generic “colic” term.  Perhaps he really had colic; but no one was able to help us help him.  Meanwhile, the breastfeeding was such an issue.  I just hated every minute of it.  I hated waking up in the middle of the night and fighting to get him to latch on correctly.  I hated having to be half dressed for most of the day.  I hated how uncomfortable I was when he was feeding. 

Unfortunately, I was still not bonding with my baby.  Kyler was not “cute” by any means, he was so tiny and fragile.  He wasn’t progressing with anything that my friends’ babies were doing.  I was so expecting a gerber baby but had an alien baby.  This is definitely sounding like a pity me party; but in all honesty, it was very real to me.  Selfishly, I just wanted my old life back.  We waited until I was 30 to have a baby so perhaps I had just been independent for too long.  I wanted to feel like me again and not just a milk maker.  Still to this day, I get depressed to hear other mothers with their perfect new babies who slept all the time and never cried.

We were temporarily living in a condo while we waited for our new house to be built so our living situation didn’t help matters. I remember just holding Kyler for hours praying for him to stop crying while my husband was at work.  I would walk in mini circles outside our front door singing lullabyes to him for literally hours at a time.  Tears would just pour down my face.  Maybe I just didn’t know what to do with him.  Maybe if I had another one it would be better because I could do things differently.  At this point though, we’re not taking any chances, one is enough! 

It was so frustrating to not be in control of my life, home, baby, etc.  Our condo was a wreck which was definitely adding to the depression.  As mentioned in other posts, I am a perfectionist and when it comes to clutter and messes…they make me CRAZY!  When you have a newborn, you have clutter and messes- especially when you live in a tiny condo.  The baby gear was everywhere, our dog’s fur was everywhere because I couldn’t vacuum like I wanted, gunk was building up everywhere due to lack of alone time to get it cleaned.  I looked absolutely HORRIBLE.  Fortunately, I DID lose the weight and my body was returning to post pregnancy-ish again.  Sort of.  Jeans and tee shirts still weren’t fitting right but the scale was looking a bit better.  Basically, I didn’t have time to eat and what I did eat was coming right back out in the breastmilk.

My mother in law was truly a lifesaver throughout Kyler’s first few months.  She helped me by keeping him at least once a week.  Thank God!  While he was away,  I wouldn’t rest.   I’d just clean, read baby help books, and eat as much as I could!  I would analyze everything about the way I was taking care of Kyler trying to find a miracle solution to his eating and sleeping issues.  BTW,  I tried all sorts of herbal remedies and gas medicines: Colic Calm, various Little Tummies products, and Mylicon.  None of which were successful.

I felt sorry for myself everyday.  It was weird to be so down…I mean just DOWN.  Why wasn’t I bonding with my baby?  Why was I being so selfish wanting my free time back?  Why did it seem like I was the only one feeling this way?

Baby Blues or Postpartum Depression (Part 3) Crashing

It was Kyler’s 2 week birthday and my four year anniversary with my husband, Baby Daddy.  My MIL volunteered to keep Kyler for a few hours so that we could have some time to ourselves.  She thought maybe we could go to dinner or to a movie.  It was a nice gesture but I had so little energy and motivation that all I wanted to do was crawl under my covers and NEVER come out.  I felt guilty for letting someone babysit my infant this young.  My family members would surely have something to say about it.  I DESPERATELY wanted her to keep him though.  I was so incredibly thankful but pulled the “oh, you don’t have to do that” line.  Fortunately, my husband had enough sense to insist that she keep him. 

It was supposed to be for the best but it turned out to be for the worst.  What was left of my mental stability came crashing down as soon as we dropped him off at her house: uncontrollable tears, terrible thoughts about running away, even wishing for something bad to happen to me so that I could go back to the hospital.  I didn’t want to leave him with her because I didn’t want to have to get him back.  My husband kept assuring me that he would be ok with her…thinking that I was sad and worried to leave my baby.  I finally explained that my tears were because I didn’t want him back.  EVER.  We went straight home and the two hours that they kept him were the fastest two hours ever.  I just laid in bed and prayed for the ability to disappear. 

It was at this point that I wondered if something more than the baby blues was happening to me.  Was this postpartum depression?  I convinced myself that I was just feeling sorry for myself and that I needed to buck up.  Unfortunately, I was mentally and physically unable to buck up…things got worse.

Baby Blues or Postpartum depression? (Part 1)

I’d like to write about my experience with postpartum depession.  It may take a few posts to get everything out but I’m at least going to start it.

Let me go back a little over a year ago…Kyler at 3 days old….

In hindsight, maybe I should have known that something was not exactly “OK” when I just DID NOT want to be released from the hospital.  Seriously, I wanted to stay forever.  This alien, as he was known as, slept about 22 hours a day; so what was my problem?  It wasn’t that hard.  Well, the breastfeeding was kind of hard but I was determined.  I promised friends and family that I’d give it a try.   I enjoyed the sessions of help from the nurses- even if I was nude and at the mercy of a stranger.  At least they were telling me what to do.  I was really enjoying the free food which was actually managed like a hotel with room service.  The nurses didn’t exactly “take him” as much as I’d hoped but I was ok with that…I was hip and knew that the baby stays in the room these days.  Changing diapers was a bit of a problem at this point because it was so hard for me to get off the bed and waddle over to the changing table (that I couldn’t reach unless standing on my tippy toes).  So, my husband did most of the changing…bless his heart.  The nurses had that swaddling thing down pat; so Kyler would fall right to sleep after they finished with him.  Come to think about it, of course, I didn’t want to go home!!!  I was being waited on hand and foot and for the most part, so was Kyler. 

I have to say, it did all start when we were packing up to go home.  First of all, let me admit something about myself: I do struggle with a few OCD/perfectionism issues.  And, I didn’t want to get pregnant with fear of getting fat (lame but true).  So, when I tried on my “going home” outfit and my body was completely disproportioned, (and I mean DISPROPORTIONED!), I had the quick realization that I wasn’t going home to the “home” that I once knew.