I haven't been writing. I've been breathing.
I've been living.
I've been taking care of a sick baby.
I've been calming myself.
I've been spending time with my son, consumed by love.
I've breathed deeply through anger.
I have posts and pictures, but I took a break.
A time to reflect. A time to center myself and play online without feeling pressure.
Today, I came home and felt pure joy playing on the floor with my boy.
I saw a bright future.
Showing posts with label PPD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PPD. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
My Dark PPD Secret
I’ve seen atrocities committed against animals in my day and I’m not talking about on TV. I’ve been in the lower level of a two story barn that had horses in manure up to their knees, manure built up so high they could not lift their heads or they would hit it on the ceiling. Horses who have spent their entire lives starving in a stall of manure who have never seen sunlight.
I’ve snuck around property in the dead of night to film horses and dogs, skin and bones, eating insulation from a mobile home because there was nothing else to eat so that we would have enough evidence for a judge to grant a warrant for removal.
I’ve cried tears over animals we couldn’t save despite our best efforts because we rescued them from hell too late.
Having spent years fighting against the cruelty to animals and the pathetic laws we have to punish animal abusers, I should have caught it sooner. I should have realized something was wrong with me when I could not control my temper for the smallest infraction of my dogs.
I excused myself over and over because it is true that the more advanced my son progresses, the more my dogs act out for attention, but that doesn’t excuse my behavior. I have cried and begged my husband to get rid of the dogs because I don’t want my son growing up thinking its okay to abuse animals. I’m embarrassed that I have stood on my porch screaming at my dogs knowing the neighbors can hear me. I’m ashamed that I have struck out at them, kicking them away as they swarm in like vultures for the smallest amount of food my son drops. I’m horrified at my negative feelings toward them, the hatred I feel towards these creatures who only want love and affection.
I look in the mirror at the end of the day and I see a monster. How could my son possibly love this ghastly face that stares back at me? And still I would feel uncontrollable rage building up in my chest like bile as my son fights sleep and the dogs bark at every shadow jerking his eyes awake once again. I know its wrong, but it’s like watching me from outside my body as I pick up a crate with a dog huddled inside it and throw the whole thing out on the porch in the cold and rain. These pampered pooches that have ruled their kingdom and known basic discipline are now subject to the wrath of an ogre.
When I leave the house and drop off my son at daycare, I cry and sob because I want to hug my dogs and give them treats and for a few days we are good. I play in the floor with them and give them extra time in the yard. Then Cody (who is obsessive with licking Matthew in the face) accidentally knocks Matthew down as he tries to eat the crumbs directly from his mouth. As my son begins to cry the ire of the banshee emerges and I scream and rail at the dog causing both of them to flee to their crates in pathetic trembles.
What must my son feel from me when I’m choking on my own fury. It’s amazing that he even calms down when I scoop him up as I’m bellowing at the dogs.
Even if he knows my anger has nothing to do with him, I don’t want him thinking its okay. I don’t want him growing up remembering to be afraid of his own mother. I’m not a happy person when my anger consumes me. I have NO Reason to be this angry and it’s not like me. A temper? Yes, I have that but this deep controlling consuming seething rage that takes over? It isn’t natural and its certainly isn’t me! I don’t want to be this repulsive and hostile person anymore. I want to be loving and sweet and in control of my own body and emotions.
I failed to catch it even though it was right in front of me. I have become one of the most vile things I can think of, abusive. Being what they are, they forgive me. (sometimes over and over again).
As I sat on the floor last night with my son and his snack on the coffee table, the dogs drooling beneath him, I breathed deep and let it go. There are worse things then bits of roast beef being licked off the carpet. My son is at the stage where he thinks its funny to feed the dogs and feel their tongues on his hand so he is often sharing with them (even eating after them which I find appalling but I can’t stop it all the time) staring over the side of his highchair and purposely dropping food to them and laughing. They are performing on instinct and I can’t fault them. I can’t begrudge them anything given that they will lay there and let my son yank their ears into the position of a Joan Crawford Face Lift. Cody is already becoming Matthew’s shadow, constantly trying to play with him. When Matthew crawls to their food bowl while they are eating, they both back away and sit knowing he has priority and they would gladly share their food with him.
I love my dogs (even though they aggravate the crap out of me with some of their antics and have the most horrible breath on the planet) and I know they will be great playmates and loving with Matthew as he grows. I have no idea why my wrath has centered on them (not just on them) and I will have to continue to work on controlling my anger. They deserve better than me but I can make it up to them. If the meds do nothing else, I hope they ease my anger and my house becomes loving and peaceful again.
I am so revolted by myself in this, that I didn’t even want to write it but I have to admit it. I have to get it out because I’ve hidden too much from everyone, from myself. I have to face it in order to correct and move on.
I’ve snuck around property in the dead of night to film horses and dogs, skin and bones, eating insulation from a mobile home because there was nothing else to eat so that we would have enough evidence for a judge to grant a warrant for removal.
I’ve cried tears over animals we couldn’t save despite our best efforts because we rescued them from hell too late.
Having spent years fighting against the cruelty to animals and the pathetic laws we have to punish animal abusers, I should have caught it sooner. I should have realized something was wrong with me when I could not control my temper for the smallest infraction of my dogs.
I excused myself over and over because it is true that the more advanced my son progresses, the more my dogs act out for attention, but that doesn’t excuse my behavior. I have cried and begged my husband to get rid of the dogs because I don’t want my son growing up thinking its okay to abuse animals. I’m embarrassed that I have stood on my porch screaming at my dogs knowing the neighbors can hear me. I’m ashamed that I have struck out at them, kicking them away as they swarm in like vultures for the smallest amount of food my son drops. I’m horrified at my negative feelings toward them, the hatred I feel towards these creatures who only want love and affection.
I look in the mirror at the end of the day and I see a monster. How could my son possibly love this ghastly face that stares back at me? And still I would feel uncontrollable rage building up in my chest like bile as my son fights sleep and the dogs bark at every shadow jerking his eyes awake once again. I know its wrong, but it’s like watching me from outside my body as I pick up a crate with a dog huddled inside it and throw the whole thing out on the porch in the cold and rain. These pampered pooches that have ruled their kingdom and known basic discipline are now subject to the wrath of an ogre.
When I leave the house and drop off my son at daycare, I cry and sob because I want to hug my dogs and give them treats and for a few days we are good. I play in the floor with them and give them extra time in the yard. Then Cody (who is obsessive with licking Matthew in the face) accidentally knocks Matthew down as he tries to eat the crumbs directly from his mouth. As my son begins to cry the ire of the banshee emerges and I scream and rail at the dog causing both of them to flee to their crates in pathetic trembles.What must my son feel from me when I’m choking on my own fury. It’s amazing that he even calms down when I scoop him up as I’m bellowing at the dogs.
Even if he knows my anger has nothing to do with him, I don’t want him thinking its okay. I don’t want him growing up remembering to be afraid of his own mother. I’m not a happy person when my anger consumes me. I have NO Reason to be this angry and it’s not like me. A temper? Yes, I have that but this deep controlling consuming seething rage that takes over? It isn’t natural and its certainly isn’t me! I don’t want to be this repulsive and hostile person anymore. I want to be loving and sweet and in control of my own body and emotions.
I failed to catch it even though it was right in front of me. I have become one of the most vile things I can think of, abusive. Being what they are, they forgive me. (sometimes over and over again).
As I sat on the floor last night with my son and his snack on the coffee table, the dogs drooling beneath him, I breathed deep and let it go. There are worse things then bits of roast beef being licked off the carpet. My son is at the stage where he thinks its funny to feed the dogs and feel their tongues on his hand so he is often sharing with them (even eating after them which I find appalling but I can’t stop it all the time) staring over the side of his highchair and purposely dropping food to them and laughing. They are performing on instinct and I can’t fault them. I can’t begrudge them anything given that they will lay there and let my son yank their ears into the position of a Joan Crawford Face Lift. Cody is already becoming Matthew’s shadow, constantly trying to play with him. When Matthew crawls to their food bowl while they are eating, they both back away and sit knowing he has priority and they would gladly share their food with him.
I love my dogs (even though they aggravate the crap out of me with some of their antics and have the most horrible breath on the planet) and I know they will be great playmates and loving with Matthew as he grows. I have no idea why my wrath has centered on them (not just on them) and I will have to continue to work on controlling my anger. They deserve better than me but I can make it up to them. If the meds do nothing else, I hope they ease my anger and my house becomes loving and peaceful again.
I am so revolted by myself in this, that I didn’t even want to write it but I have to admit it. I have to get it out because I’ve hidden too much from everyone, from myself. I have to face it in order to correct and move on.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
My War Isn't Over; My Fight with PPD
Infertile people are often self-righteous and selfish. We think after going through years of struggle, loss etc. that our battles should be won. We succeeded; Our war is over. We have to qualify any complaints or pass them off as tongue-in-cheek jokes. "I gladly throw up ten times a day for the joy of being pregnant, but if I see one more dry cracker I'm going to punch something." Why do we do this to ourselves? We won a battle but that doesn't mean we can't complain because our leg got blown off. What sense does that make?
And while we admit to the world that "no one should have to suffer from morning sickness or PPD" etc. we really mean "we shouldn't have to suffer from any of those other things because we have suffered enough." It's entitlement at its best.
Then there are some of us who really feel like we are not entitled to complain about anything because we DID succeed where some of our friends are still struggling. We shouldn't draw attention to ourselves because how many issues can we honestly have without looking like an Attention Whore. Will people think we are real if we have every issue under the sun? Will people believe us if we keep crying wolf?
But it happens. There is no rhyme or reason for any one person to be afflicted with infertility, miscarriage, morning sickness (though mine wasn't that bad) and Post Partum Depression. We can pretend, we can fight, we can hide it so as not to draw attention to ourselves or more importantly not to face the truth. If I pretend it doesn't exist I don't have to feel like I have failed AT EVERY SINGLE THING involving parenthood.
I failed to get pregnant for four years. I failed to bring my first child into the world. I failed to push my second child out after four days of labor. I failed to breastfeed him and had to supplement. I fail everyday in being supermom because I fight to be strong and to not admit I have anger issues, sadness, physical pain, a sickness deep in my gut over certain aspects of my life. I plaster a smile on my face and tell the world I'm fine, just tired, and play with my son.
And then it hits me. I'm not okay. I add it all up and face the music. Face the drugs the Dr. tells me to take so I can be okay. So I can be a better mom because I am failing my son the way I am. I continue to fail. Can the drugs wipe that out? Can they make me succeed? Hopefully. Drugs helped me succeed in getting pregnant. Drugs helped me succeed in getting him out (Bless God for the invention of an epidural and Csection). Maybe just maybe if I give in, drugs can help me control the anger, the sadness, the neurosis, the hormonal imbalance that plagues my house.
Hello. My name is Krista. I have survived Infertility and Miscarriage. I WILL conquer Post Partum Depression.
And while we admit to the world that "no one should have to suffer from morning sickness or PPD" etc. we really mean "we shouldn't have to suffer from any of those other things because we have suffered enough." It's entitlement at its best.
Then there are some of us who really feel like we are not entitled to complain about anything because we DID succeed where some of our friends are still struggling. We shouldn't draw attention to ourselves because how many issues can we honestly have without looking like an Attention Whore. Will people think we are real if we have every issue under the sun? Will people believe us if we keep crying wolf?
But it happens. There is no rhyme or reason for any one person to be afflicted with infertility, miscarriage, morning sickness (though mine wasn't that bad) and Post Partum Depression. We can pretend, we can fight, we can hide it so as not to draw attention to ourselves or more importantly not to face the truth. If I pretend it doesn't exist I don't have to feel like I have failed AT EVERY SINGLE THING involving parenthood.
I failed to get pregnant for four years. I failed to bring my first child into the world. I failed to push my second child out after four days of labor. I failed to breastfeed him and had to supplement. I fail everyday in being supermom because I fight to be strong and to not admit I have anger issues, sadness, physical pain, a sickness deep in my gut over certain aspects of my life. I plaster a smile on my face and tell the world I'm fine, just tired, and play with my son.
And then it hits me. I'm not okay. I add it all up and face the music. Face the drugs the Dr. tells me to take so I can be okay. So I can be a better mom because I am failing my son the way I am. I continue to fail. Can the drugs wipe that out? Can they make me succeed? Hopefully. Drugs helped me succeed in getting pregnant. Drugs helped me succeed in getting him out (Bless God for the invention of an epidural and Csection). Maybe just maybe if I give in, drugs can help me control the anger, the sadness, the neurosis, the hormonal imbalance that plagues my house.
Hello. My name is Krista. I have survived Infertility and Miscarriage. I WILL conquer Post Partum Depression.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
I think I may need help of the mental variety
I feel like my mental stability as a mom is coming unhinged. I've been rationalizing it as sleep deprivation because this week has been hell. I've been racking my brain and studying symptoms etc to see if it's something wrong with him causing him to be so fussy besides colic. Does he have reflux? Is he getting enough to eat?
Thursday my milk supply TANKED. So I increased the pumping, ordered FENUGREEK and Mother's MILK TEA and upped the oatmeal and food intake because I had started skipping meals again dealing with a fussy baby.
Everything had to do with HIM being fussy but that doesn't excuse the things I've done or thoughts I've had.
Last night I wasn't alert. He was screaming and i was in a fog. I was literally running into furniture and doorways and stumbling down the hall while holding him to change his diaper. That's not safe.
As I'm trying to change him he is full on screaming and kicking and I'm struggling just to get a diaper on. How is a 5 week old that strong and how is that I can't seem to "overpower" a 5 week olds legs to fasten some velcro tabs? And I'm telling him in a firm voice to "stop." Yea, because that's going to work.
I'm trying to burp him him and he's flailing fists and his head in my face and clawing at my chest. My chest is actually sore and I can't figure that out because I clip his nails every week. They are not long. Again, I'm telling him to "Stop, you are hurting mommy." Why do I bother? What possesses me to try and rationalize with an irate new born?
I'm so mad but I can't figure out if I'm mad at him, mad at my DH for being oblivious to all of this and giving me no help or support this week, mad at the world because I'm so tired I can't think straight or what. He is fighting me so hard he didn't even want to take the boob and I was being stubborn and not feeding him a bottle because I'm trying to get my supply up and I new damn well there was milk in the tits. I could feel it. He just wanted to scream and flail and suck on his fists instead. One point he grabbed my nipple (I'm sure by complete accident as he doesn't ahve control of his limbs yet) but once he got ahold of it he clamped down and wouldn't let go and was trying to rip it off. The same nipple that he has created a blister on from sucking so roughly. The same nipple he tried to rip off with his mouther earlier by bashing his head side to side with a hell of a latch going.
I think I may have been screaming in pain louder than him at this point. DH slept through it all.
Then when I didn't think I could take anymore he fell asleep in my arms while I rocked him and my tears fell on his face. I put him in his crib for the first time to actually get him away from me because I was so emotionally confused.
He slept for about 45 minutes and we started all over again. I finally broke down to give him a bottle and as I sit down with him he immediately stops crying and the most amazing smile lights up his face as he looks at me and I lose it.
I sat there while he happily sucked down a bottle and cried my eyes out.
I'm an emotional wreck. Most of the time I'm fine but there are hours when he is screaming that I get so confused at night on what I'm feeling. Last night as an added bonus I had gone through family crisis earlier in the evening. My dad had run over my sisters dog and left him there thinking he wasn't hurt that badly instead of taking him to the vet because he was in a hurry. My sister was irate and then called me from the emergency vet bawling her eyes out because the dogs pelvis, legs and base of his spine were shattered. This was her children's dog. They are 6 and 3. She had to put him down. I had to talk her through it while crying with her. Then I had to call my mom and warn her that all hell was going to break loose when she got home and Dad better run. As it turned out, my father was devastated when he found out. He really thought he had just bumped into him with the corner of the trailer he was pulling. He didn't realize the trailer had ran over him. He punched a wall, messed up his hand and they thought he was going to have a heartattack while he was burying the dog because he was crying so hard blaming himself he wasn't breathing. I'm dealing with all of this over the phone as they all live on a farm over an hour away and my kid is screaming the entire time as well. Last night, every time I drifted off for a cat nap in his quiet moments all of it replayed in my head...including the scene where the dog gets hit as if I were there. W.T.F. I'm losing my everloving mind.
I want to protect my son. I love him more than words can say but sometimes when I'm so tired that I'm a physical menace to both of us and I just don't have the mental capacity to even to through the motions I think I need to protect him from me.
I'm sick of hearing "Sleep when he sleeps." I can't fucking sleep. There is too much to do. There is laundry to be done because he pees through everything. There's bottles to be washed. I have to pump to stimulate my milk. I have to try and shove something passable as food down my throat to stimulate my milk. I have to do dishes and cook in order to have said food. I have to do our laundry. I have to take care of insurance claims and pay bills and go to the grocery store and Dr's appointments. That doesn't include the other household chores and yardwork that I have completely let go. I have dust buffalo hiding under my barstools because I haven't so much as swiffered my hardwoods in over a week. I haven't vacuumed in prob. four. I can see dust on my furniture. My flowerbeds are weed beds and there's overturned patio furniture on the porch from all the storms. If you drive by my house you would think we were Sampson and Son it looks so bad right now. AND IT DRIVES ME INSANE because I can't stop thinking about it or trying to get SOMEthing DONE IF i HAVE a spare ten minutes.
On his good days, things are awesome. Even on some of his bad days they are still great...but there have been two or three times in this hell week that I've been like this.
I despise medicines. I don't want to subject him to antidepressents. If I have to go on meds, breastfeeding is probably over. Part of me wants to give up breastfeeding and the other part of me can't. I feel like such a failure right now. As a wife, a mom, a sane human being.
Thursday my milk supply TANKED. So I increased the pumping, ordered FENUGREEK and Mother's MILK TEA and upped the oatmeal and food intake because I had started skipping meals again dealing with a fussy baby.
Everything had to do with HIM being fussy but that doesn't excuse the things I've done or thoughts I've had.
Last night I wasn't alert. He was screaming and i was in a fog. I was literally running into furniture and doorways and stumbling down the hall while holding him to change his diaper. That's not safe.
As I'm trying to change him he is full on screaming and kicking and I'm struggling just to get a diaper on. How is a 5 week old that strong and how is that I can't seem to "overpower" a 5 week olds legs to fasten some velcro tabs? And I'm telling him in a firm voice to "stop." Yea, because that's going to work.
I'm trying to burp him him and he's flailing fists and his head in my face and clawing at my chest. My chest is actually sore and I can't figure that out because I clip his nails every week. They are not long. Again, I'm telling him to "Stop, you are hurting mommy." Why do I bother? What possesses me to try and rationalize with an irate new born?
I'm so mad but I can't figure out if I'm mad at him, mad at my DH for being oblivious to all of this and giving me no help or support this week, mad at the world because I'm so tired I can't think straight or what. He is fighting me so hard he didn't even want to take the boob and I was being stubborn and not feeding him a bottle because I'm trying to get my supply up and I new damn well there was milk in the tits. I could feel it. He just wanted to scream and flail and suck on his fists instead. One point he grabbed my nipple (I'm sure by complete accident as he doesn't ahve control of his limbs yet) but once he got ahold of it he clamped down and wouldn't let go and was trying to rip it off. The same nipple that he has created a blister on from sucking so roughly. The same nipple he tried to rip off with his mouther earlier by bashing his head side to side with a hell of a latch going.
I think I may have been screaming in pain louder than him at this point. DH slept through it all.
Then when I didn't think I could take anymore he fell asleep in my arms while I rocked him and my tears fell on his face. I put him in his crib for the first time to actually get him away from me because I was so emotionally confused.
He slept for about 45 minutes and we started all over again. I finally broke down to give him a bottle and as I sit down with him he immediately stops crying and the most amazing smile lights up his face as he looks at me and I lose it.
I sat there while he happily sucked down a bottle and cried my eyes out.
I'm an emotional wreck. Most of the time I'm fine but there are hours when he is screaming that I get so confused at night on what I'm feeling. Last night as an added bonus I had gone through family crisis earlier in the evening. My dad had run over my sisters dog and left him there thinking he wasn't hurt that badly instead of taking him to the vet because he was in a hurry. My sister was irate and then called me from the emergency vet bawling her eyes out because the dogs pelvis, legs and base of his spine were shattered. This was her children's dog. They are 6 and 3. She had to put him down. I had to talk her through it while crying with her. Then I had to call my mom and warn her that all hell was going to break loose when she got home and Dad better run. As it turned out, my father was devastated when he found out. He really thought he had just bumped into him with the corner of the trailer he was pulling. He didn't realize the trailer had ran over him. He punched a wall, messed up his hand and they thought he was going to have a heartattack while he was burying the dog because he was crying so hard blaming himself he wasn't breathing. I'm dealing with all of this over the phone as they all live on a farm over an hour away and my kid is screaming the entire time as well. Last night, every time I drifted off for a cat nap in his quiet moments all of it replayed in my head...including the scene where the dog gets hit as if I were there. W.T.F. I'm losing my everloving mind.
I want to protect my son. I love him more than words can say but sometimes when I'm so tired that I'm a physical menace to both of us and I just don't have the mental capacity to even to through the motions I think I need to protect him from me.
I'm sick of hearing "Sleep when he sleeps." I can't fucking sleep. There is too much to do. There is laundry to be done because he pees through everything. There's bottles to be washed. I have to pump to stimulate my milk. I have to try and shove something passable as food down my throat to stimulate my milk. I have to do dishes and cook in order to have said food. I have to do our laundry. I have to take care of insurance claims and pay bills and go to the grocery store and Dr's appointments. That doesn't include the other household chores and yardwork that I have completely let go. I have dust buffalo hiding under my barstools because I haven't so much as swiffered my hardwoods in over a week. I haven't vacuumed in prob. four. I can see dust on my furniture. My flowerbeds are weed beds and there's overturned patio furniture on the porch from all the storms. If you drive by my house you would think we were Sampson and Son it looks so bad right now. AND IT DRIVES ME INSANE because I can't stop thinking about it or trying to get SOMEthing DONE IF i HAVE a spare ten minutes.
On his good days, things are awesome. Even on some of his bad days they are still great...but there have been two or three times in this hell week that I've been like this.
I despise medicines. I don't want to subject him to antidepressents. If I have to go on meds, breastfeeding is probably over. Part of me wants to give up breastfeeding and the other part of me can't. I feel like such a failure right now. As a wife, a mom, a sane human being.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Reality Check
I had this idea during pregnancy that I would be supermom. I sideeyed people who constantly had babysitters while they were stay at home moms. I had no doubt that I would be able to clean, cook, garden etc. all while taking care of this perfect baby.
Matthew didn't get that memo. I'm tired and cranky. My milk supply has tanked. I have a migraine and am sick on my stomach running back and forth to the bathroom. My child screamed and cried all morning but is blessedly sleeping right now.
I want nothing more than to beg someone, anyone to come help me or keep me company. DH has been working overtime, going to school and when he is home he's been taking care of the outside work or holed up in his office studying. I feel isolated, alone and inadequate.
And yet I have too much pride to ask for help because I still feel I should be able to handle this. I'm 33 years old and have wanted to be a parent for 5 years. I damn well should be able to deal with a cranky baby.
Why do I still cringe away from anyone thinking I'm incapable or weak? Why do I feel that I'm not a good parent if I need some attention and a little help? I have no idea. I guess me being a non-understanding judgemental bitch in the past years towards other's way of parenting by way of "it takes a village" am reaping the karma now by this self-imposed isolation.
I still don't think it takes a village and I don't WANT to have help too often but if the nanny fairy showed up at my door I would kiss her feet this week.
Matthew didn't get that memo. I'm tired and cranky. My milk supply has tanked. I have a migraine and am sick on my stomach running back and forth to the bathroom. My child screamed and cried all morning but is blessedly sleeping right now.
I want nothing more than to beg someone, anyone to come help me or keep me company. DH has been working overtime, going to school and when he is home he's been taking care of the outside work or holed up in his office studying. I feel isolated, alone and inadequate.
And yet I have too much pride to ask for help because I still feel I should be able to handle this. I'm 33 years old and have wanted to be a parent for 5 years. I damn well should be able to deal with a cranky baby.
Why do I still cringe away from anyone thinking I'm incapable or weak? Why do I feel that I'm not a good parent if I need some attention and a little help? I have no idea. I guess me being a non-understanding judgemental bitch in the past years towards other's way of parenting by way of "it takes a village" am reaping the karma now by this self-imposed isolation.
I still don't think it takes a village and I don't WANT to have help too often but if the nanny fairy showed up at my door I would kiss her feet this week.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
He beats me down and then lifts me up.
At 5:30 this morning I felt like I had reached my breaking point. Since Sunday, I have not had any amount of consecutive sleep nor a break. My husband has been so busy with school, work, the garden etc. that I have been on parenting duty 24 hours a day...and my child has been fussy that entire time. I think I may have had 2 hours of sleep total during each night.
So as he literally beat up on me this morning, whining, kicking me, punching me, flailing limbs, I thought I had reached my breaking point when it crossed my mind to go wake DH, hand him my child and walk out the door.
Don't get me wrong, I never thought about staying gone. I just needed down time and was desperate. I wanted to go for a thirty minute drive, a walk, something outside of this house to brush away the cobwebs in my brain.
As the tears started to fall, my child suddenly started smiling at me and staring at me with those gourgeous eyes and cooing. He was happy and I cried harder.
I worry that this is the beginning of Post Partum Depression but on the other hand I think any sane person may feel this desperate with this little sleep and a baby that is sleeping in 15 minute increments and needs a lot of attention. According to the Girlfriends Guide every single person experiences some type of Baby Blues or thoughts like that on some scale so maybe I'm normal and I not at the point of needing intervention.
I'm a good mom. He is a happy baby. He is just having some stomach issues right now and is very needy...and the result is a very zombie like, worn out, emotional mom. I can get through this.
Hopefully, my husband will get off work at a decent time tonight and can give me a much needed break.
So as he literally beat up on me this morning, whining, kicking me, punching me, flailing limbs, I thought I had reached my breaking point when it crossed my mind to go wake DH, hand him my child and walk out the door.
Don't get me wrong, I never thought about staying gone. I just needed down time and was desperate. I wanted to go for a thirty minute drive, a walk, something outside of this house to brush away the cobwebs in my brain.
As the tears started to fall, my child suddenly started smiling at me and staring at me with those gourgeous eyes and cooing. He was happy and I cried harder.
I worry that this is the beginning of Post Partum Depression but on the other hand I think any sane person may feel this desperate with this little sleep and a baby that is sleeping in 15 minute increments and needs a lot of attention. According to the Girlfriends Guide every single person experiences some type of Baby Blues or thoughts like that on some scale so maybe I'm normal and I not at the point of needing intervention.
I'm a good mom. He is a happy baby. He is just having some stomach issues right now and is very needy...and the result is a very zombie like, worn out, emotional mom. I can get through this.
Hopefully, my husband will get off work at a decent time tonight and can give me a much needed break.
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