The Big D

"... Big D, Little A, Double L, A, S!"

I belted that song out with my friend, David Walker, 2 times a night, 2 nights a week, wearing a bolo tie, denim skirt, and red boots at the Playmill Theatre in West Yellowstone, MT in the summer of 2000. In case you couldn't tell, "That spells Dallas! Just dig your toe in Dallas and there's oil all over your address!"

I have it on video (VHS) somewhere. I really should dig all that up and get it transferred to digital. How does one even do that? Does it cost a lot?

All of the above has absolutely nothing to do with my original intention with this post. But the title reminded me of that song... and it's a good memory. Plus I make no sense lately. Blame my good ol' pal, Sleep Deprivation.

So "the Big D." Or, in other words, depression.

I know some people have been wondering (or maybe not) whether or not it has reared it's ugly head this time around.

Sorta'.

At my 2 week post-partum appointment (us c-section gals are lucky and have that in addition to the 6 week), I talked to the R.N. about my impending anxiety. I cried. A lot. My blood pressure literally read high, which is something that's never happened to me before. The nurse kept handing me Kleenex. We talked for quite a while. I asked her if I appeared more weepy than the average woman at this point. She replied with an honest, "Yes." She asked if I wanted Prozac or the gentler Zoloft. I told her I had been previously informed that it's not truly diagnosable as PPD until about 6 weeks post-partum, and that I had hoped to avoid the medication until I hit that point. She prescribed me a natural supplement of Progesterone (what used to be prescribed for PMS and PPD in "the old days"). "Maybe it can take the edge off," she said.

That was almost 3 weeks ago.

Daphne is now 4 1/2 weeks old. Some of you may say, "Already?!" I say, "Still?!"

But I digress.

I am a week and a 1/2 away from that magical scary number of hormonal/emotional doom: 6 weeks. I also would like to note that newborns are known to be at the peak of their fussiness at 6-8 weeks. I do not think that is just a coincidence. CC's crying at 5 & 6 weeks old most likely triggered the post-partum-depression-inducing PTSD that had been a result of Malia's colic. Daphne's crying on Day 1 of her birth tied a deep knot into the pit of my stomach that is still there and that most likely triggered the high blood pressure reading at my 2 week check.

Do I have PPD? I think so. Is it as bad as last time? Probably. Have I started hurting myself, yet? No. Do I think I need the anti-depressants...?

Here's the good part: I don't think so. Going to therapy last time gave me some tools I use every time I hear Daphne cry. While Daphne learns to self-soothe in her crib, I learn to self-soothe in my head. I have to remind myself it's important for a baby to learn to not need me to fall asleep, and that sometimes that involves blowing off some steam. I have to remind myself that in order to feel like a decent mother, I still have to parent 2 other children and can't lug a sleeping infant around while also caring for Malia & CC. I have to remind myself that sometimes Daphne is safer (even crying) in her crib than in my frustrated arms.

Does talking to myself totally take away all the anxiety? Nope. But does it help? A little. And will it help me overcome the hurdle in the next month otherwise known as "Tiffany's Scary Time?" I hope so. Is it annoying when I ask myself all these questions? Yup. But I don't have a lot of adults to talk to, so I settle for Myself.

I think I'm ok. I'm tired. I'm anxious. I'm craving chocolate like there's no freaking tomorrow! But I think I'm ok.

But could you do me a little favor? Throw me into a prayer or two for the next few weeks, if you don't mind.

I could use all the help I can get...