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.

Remembering

Thursday night, I got the call we all dread getting. The call that says someone you love is gone and that as a result, others you love are hurting in ways you can't fix. I've gotten this call many times, as most of us have. Usually, it's not a huge surprise - usually, the person is elderly, or has been ill for a long time. Not so this time. I went into a kind of shock, which is why it's late Sunday night and I'm just now posting.

That night, my dear, kind uncle passed away suddenly. He had just turned 70, but you'd never have known it, based on his appearance and vitality. He seemed more like someone in his late fifties.

Some of my earliest memories in life involve him. He was pretty badass when I was little and seemed larger than life (perhaps in part because he was over six feet tall). He wore combat boots sometimes. He was a Vietnam vet. As we grew up, he took up car racing. He had an unreal knack for making good time on the trip from PA to MA or vice versa. He was a giver of sound, level-headed advice on many topics.

He was a gentle soul, but although I don't think I ever heard him raise his voice, we all just knew as kids that he was the one you didn't mess with. We weren't scared of him, really, we just knew that whatever we were trying to pull, we weren't going to put it over on him and it probably wasn't worth trying. But we knew without question that he loved us and was unfailingly focused on our well being.

As I got older, and became a truly stereotypical middle child, always feeling invisible and/or inadequate, my uncle was someone who had an uncanny and welcome ability to make me feel like I was very, very important, and that whatever answer I was giving to his questions of, "What's new, Linds?" were the only thing in the world he wanted to hear about right then.

When my husband joined our family, he was, of course, welcomed by my close-knit family as a whole, but even he picked up on how warm and genuine my uncle was. And my son, likewise, immediately adored my uncle and followed him around whenever he was near. At my brother's wedding last summer, although he'd only met my uncle a couple of times before, he ran to him, jumped into his arms, and proceeded to be generally enthralled the entire weekend.

It's hard to wrap my head around a world without this man in it. He wasn't someone I saw all that often, but he was a strong and constant presence nonetheless. I will miss him more than words can express. I wish my words could somehow ease the ache that my aunt and three cousins and their families are feeling, but I know that's an awfully tall order for mere words.

I hope my uncle is enjoying the peace wherever he is, perhaps chatting with my grandfather. I hope he knows how loved he was, and what an impact he had on all of us who knew and loved him. I hope he knows how much I'm going to miss being asked, "What's new, Linds?"

Possibly Overly Self-Centered Ramblings (at least I'm honest...right?)

ABC, or at least the Boston/Manchester ABC affiliates, pulled a bait and switch with today's Oprah broadcast. The guide told me that today was the blooper show. Promos have run all week for it, in fact. Instead, what I saw was the first few minutes of the show the guide claimed played yesterday, about a little boy whose father and step mother were unbelievable monsters who kept him chained and locked in a bathroom closet. I don't know that I would knowingly have watched that episode - thinking it was on yesterday, I sure didn't. But it caught me off guard and I started to watch. I think I shouldn't have.

There are certain news stories, or stories on Oprah, or what have you, that stick with me. Most of them are about little boys. I'd say it's a result of my being the mother of a little boy, which I think is part of it, but this actually started long before I had him. It probably started when my second grade teacher described, in detail, what had happened to Adam Walsh (which I think I've mentioned here before). Or maybe it started because I had two little brothers, of whom I was, and am, fiercely protective.

There was the case maybe a month or so ago, wherein a mother and her boyfriend beat and kicked a three year old to death for wetting his pants. I don't remember how I stumbled across that one, but it quite literally made me physically ill to think of it, particularly since I'm also in the process of potty training a three year old, and while I realize how frustrating it is to do this, I cannot, cannot, cannot imagine ever hurting him for wetting his pants. He gets so upset when he does it that I can't imagine making that worse.

I think what really killed me with this Oprah was when they played the police recordings of this kid, at six years old, describing what had happened to him. Sure, it would've been horrifying regardless, but hearing that little voice describe it was physically painful.

Those ubiquitous "they" always say that when you become a mother, you suddenly cannot hear these kinds of stories without relating them to your own child/children. I guess that's true. But since this is a lifelong thing with me, there is this part of me that feels like it's my higher self or intuition telling me I should DO something about it- help in some way. But...what? That's what I need to figure out.