Blocked

One of the most unfortunate (for me) aspects of whatever it is I've been going through lately is that words are in short supply. For someone who relies so heavily on words, both spoken and written, this...is not helpful. But I'm going to do my best to put some words to what's in my head. Probably won't be my finest work, but it's worth a shot.

So, the official diagnosis is something like post-partum anxiety disorder. Which really just means anxiety disorder with an onset within one year of giving birth. Most likely, it's a pre-existing anxiety disorder that is exacerbated by the hormone swings in my body now. It's more likely to occur if the pregnancy or labor is traumatic in some way (my pregnancy wasn't the easiest but not traumatic - labor was maybe a little traumatic but was also crazy fast). It's also more likely to occur if the previous pregnancy ended in miscarriage, which applies to me.

On the upside, unlike the more severe, well-known form of PPD, I did not experience difficulty bonding with my daughter or feeling joy in her presence. I'm very grateful for that. What I did experience was a very acute form of anxiety, and an inability to talk myself down from that (I'm usually pretty good at talking myself down). I couldn't seem to envision a future in which I felt normal again and was happy. I kept convincing myself I was gravely ill and wouldn't make it to the future, or if I did, that I would always carry this feeling of terror about the future.

After a little over five weeks on the meds, I think I'm in a better place. I'm sure it also helps that E has begun sleeping through the night more often than not, which obviously means I'm getting closer to a full night's sleep regularly. But my mood overall does seem stabilized. I'm still having some anxiety spikes, and I still have to be really vigilant about not allowing the hypochondria to creep in and overtake me. But I think the worst may be behind me.

One of the things I'm dealing with now is guilt and frustration over not being myself - or at least not the self I'm used to being. I'm forgetful. I'm not great at communicating with people other than E and my mom. I'm still unsure how to describe what's going on with me to friends who ask me. I've actually sat down to write this post about six times, and have been completely unable to find the words. So, to anyone from whom I've been a bit more isolated than usual who happens upon this post, please accept my apologies. I know I'll be myself again soon.

In terms of my care for the kiddos, I feel really lucky. That's the one area where I've really felt pretty unaffected. I'm enjoying them and loving them. And they both seem to be pretty content, which tells me they're not being impacted by my anxiety. I also have the most amazing husband there is, who is supremely supportive, even at times when work is nutty for him. And my mother and sister are, of course, unfailingly willing to help whenever and wherever there is a need. My mom has been here about once a week which, above all, keeps my house from becoming a complete horror show (in terms of being messy and cluttered).

So, that's more or less where I'm at, at the moment.

9.11.11

In October 1989, I went to New York City on a trip with my Junior CYO group. One of the places we visited was the World Trade Center. We went to the top, and looked out of the observation deck, and we went on the sky walk. I have always been terribly afraid of heights, but what I remember about being up there was that it was so surreally high that it wasn't really scary. I remember looking down through the thick glass windows at the tiny taxi cabs. I remember feeling like I was IN the sky out on the sky walk.

Ten years later, it is still so hard to comprehend that those buildings are gone.

We will never forget.

A Year

A year ago today, I had an ultra-sound that revealed that the pregnancy I was carrying was no longer viable. I'll never forget the words, "I'm so sorry, I don't see a heartbeat," but what a difference a year makes.

How Kendra Wilkinson Saved Me...

Yes, you read that right. Some of what I'm about to write is kind of embarrassing, but much like I talked about my miscarriage because I felt like it needed not to be something we get embarrassed about, I feel the same about this topic. A lot of us go through it, and it's nice to know we're not alone in it.

My beautiful daughter is six weeks old now. I remember with B, the six week mark was a biggie. It was when things finally kind of fell into a groove and I started to feel more myself again, and to feel like maybe I could handle this gig, after all. So, I'd been really looking forward to hitting the six week mark this time, thinking the same would happen. Instead, this weekend was basically one prolonged panic attack.

The first couple of weeks after Baby E was born were pretty great. I felt much better, physically, than I had the first time. And emotionally, I felt way more prepared. And then, after those first couple of weeks, instead of continuing to improve, things...kind of backslid. I started having MORE trouble sleeping between feedings. I started having MORE anxiety. (I'm about to unleash the crazy, so buckle up.) Specifically, I started to develop this weirdly specific hypochondria. I spotted what I thought was a mole on my back that was changing, and convinced myself it was aggressive melanoma. I started to fixate on the idea that something (like melanoma) was going to happen to me, to take me away from my babies. I love them more than I ever imagined I could love anything, so this idea is obviously completely panic-inducing.

I talked a little bit about it with my therapist, and I talked around it with E, but there was still the part of my brain that knew how completely ludicrous I was being and was hesitant to discuss just how far the crazy had gotten. But even after seeing my primary care doc and having her tell me nothing looked suspicious to her, I couldn't quite shake the thoughts, or the accompanying panic. And I started to have similar episodes with other random symptoms I was either having or imagining (not quite sure). And I mean, at some point, you have to recognize that you're probably NOT dying of four different types of cancer simultaneously.

Then came this weekend. I'm sure the weather didn't help matters, but I was just an anxious mess all weekend. And then last night, during a bout with insomnia, I was on people.com and spotted an article about Kendra Wilkinson's battle with Post-Partum Depression. And all of a sudden, all the pieces kind of fell into place and a lightbulb went off in my head. All the nights of sleeplessness, the fixation on something happening to me, the brutal anxiety for no real reason, the lack of appetite during the day and middle of the night munchies, the random aches and brutal daytime fatigue. It was like, "Ohhhh...I'm sensing a pattern here..."

And I mean, this hasn't been a crippling thing, by any means. For the most part, I've been myself. But there are enough things that have been slightly askew that I knew something felt kind of off. And then the acute anxiety and the hypochondria...yea.

So, I saw my OB this morning and she confirmed my suspicions that PDD is probably the culprit. So, we're going to treat it. I'm really big on being proactive about my health - both physical and mental, so it's a relief to feel like maybe I've got a name for what's been bugging me.

On another ironic note, I just received in the mail a parcel sent to me by my friend B, containing Brooke Shields' book on Post-Partum Depression. Serendipity is cool.

My Girl

She's Heeeere...

Well, there's nothing quite like a newborn in the house to keep a girl from blogging...

On Friday, July 15th, our daughter E made her appearance. She arrived a couple of weeks early, and in a big hurry, at just 5 lbs 6 oz. My labor was only about three and a half hours long. I was one of those women who have natural childbirth because there is no time for anything else (luckily, I had been considering going epidural free anyway, because if that turn of events had taken me any MORE by surprise than it did...wow.). I'm glad I did it. It was great to prove to myself that I could do it, but WOW, was it a miserable and painful experience. I am not one of those women who finds beauty in it. Nosiree. Not enjoyable. But. SO WORTH IT, for my beautiful girl.

The past four weeks have been, as expected, a bit of a rollercoaster. On the upside, I have felt really good physically, aside from some difficulty adjusting my sleep schedule. On the downside, B is NOT happy with me AT ALL. On the upside, I've had a lot of help and support from my mother, my sister and my mother in law. On the downside, it's a new adjustment for B every time someone arrives or leaves. On the upside, B DOES adore his little sister. On the downside, he's had some instances of potty training regression.

But with four weeks under our belts, we are seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I remember when B was born, that the first six weeks were pretty brutal, and then we found our groove.

But even with the brutality, the joy so far outweighs anything else. We are so blessed.

Hush

I've been pretty quiet lately. I think it's been the late pregnancy brain muddle. I mean, I realize there are plenty of bloggers out there who've chronicled the later parts of their pregnancies with poignancy and eloquence. I just haven't been one of them.

This pregnancy has been utterly exhausting. Add to the pregnancy the fact that I spend all day every day with 3.5 year old B, and three days per week with Roasted Beat's adorable five month old son and there is often just nothing left in the tank.

As of today, there are three weeks until my due date. And I've already been showing signs of very early labor for days and days. It's exhausting.

As a result, we had to miss my family's annual get together at my oldest brother's place in LI. We were all pretty bummed out about that. B, especially, was NOT a happy camper. We never actually told him it was going on this weekend, but being the smarty and the keen observer he is, he put two and two together.

When I was putting him to bed on Friday night, he wanted to know why he hadn't been invited to the gathering. This absolutely broke my heart. Obviously, it wasn't the case, and obviously, I explained that to him. I think he got it. But all weekend, when I think of him saying those words, I get choked up all over again.

All this by way of saying we're in a kind of tricky transitional phase as a family and it's manifesting in some interesting ways. But I'm beyond excited for the new phase we're entering. I cannot wait to meet my daughter and to help her and her big brother get to know one another. Sure, it'll continue to be tricky, but it'll be so worth it.