Monday

Let's face it.  Nobody likes Mondays.

But this last Monday, for me?... was a living nightmare.

It's no secret that I'm dealing with a potential breakdown over here.  Baby #1 was pretty dang difficult.  Baby #2 was actually pretty easy but the PPD kind of screwed that up.  Baby #3 is not as bad as Malia was, but she's definitely colicky.  Her last nap of the day often falls apart.  And bedtime is hit or miss.  For every 1 decent bedtime, we get 3 terrible ones.  However, on Monday?  She cried.... ALL. DAY!

And so did I.

And because of that, I now have another experience in my life contributing to my anticipatory anxiety.  I'm trying to cope.  I have the cognitive tools.  But I'm giving it 2 weeks (the weeks I'm currently in with Daphne are reputably the most fussy for all babies) and then I may have to cave - cave to the world of anti-depressants and feeling like I wasn't strong enough and putting all the baby weight I've actually lost from breastfeeding right back on and then some.

David keeps trying to remind me of the small successes.  Daphne is quite pleasant when she's awake.  She doesn't get mad at me until I try to get her to take a nap.  But if I don't make her take a nap, she will become overstimulated/tired and eventually become a non-sleeping and screaming nightmare. 

Something was wrong on Monday, because I asked David to stay home on Tuesday "just in case" to help me cope.  And Tuesday?  She was perfection.  Flawless naps!  And then night came... and she was not coping.  But after the 2-3 hours of not coping, she did sleep a fairly decent chunk... for her anyway.

Basically?  I'm writing all of this down because I keep asking myself what it was like with CC in order to help me better figure out Daphne, and to be honest?  I can hardly remember.  But I need to remember this time.  I have to have it in print so that when I'm hungering for #4, I can remember how hard this is for me.  I need to remember for the sake of my currently existing 3 children and my poor, amazing husband, that if I try to go through this even one more time, I may have to be committed.  I was already crazy.  No need to certify it.

Just being honest, as you know I'm wont to do.

But as hard as it is, I need to also let you all know how beautiful and wonderful my baby girl is:

She just wanted to let that baby bird toy know who's boss... and she took a real mature approach with the tongue.

We like to produce brilliant scholars over here.  It all begins with the "Belly Button Book."

Our resident thumb-sucker thinks this is the guaranteed way to stop a baby from crying.

I try so hard to capture her smiles.  Although they come often, they are brief.  So I end up with a lot of these.

THERE it is!

And a quick reminder that I still have the other 2, as well:

Drive-by Pictures

A quick post-family-prayer pre-bedtime picture

Backyard fun in the sun

The weather here goes from boiling hot to freezing cold over night.

"I'm tired, Mommy!"

"... and now I'm contemplating the meaning of my existence."

Cecily has finally decided she likes Daphne and will keep her.

  "Citizenship Honor Roll" means all "O"s in citizenship AND academics.  *proud*

I figured we see so many pre-baby belly pictures that ya'll deserved a post-baby belly picture!  HA!  No shame over here, folks.  This is "4 weeks."

Her smiles always start to get weird before I have a chance to grab the camera.

"AGH!  She's leaking!  Hold her, David, while I go grab a diaper!"

See what I mean about the weather?!  (I took them outside to splash after having a worse-than-average day of yelling at them. "I'm sorry for being so mean, girls.  Want to go make a mess?!"  All was forgiven).

This is right before I had to yell at her NOT to drink the puddles...

Malia's boots were FILLED to capacity when I took them off.

"One hundred BILLION dollars!"

Again with the contemplation.  I birthe geniuses, I tell you.

THIS picture is going to have to be hidden away in two years when I get baby hungry again so as to NOT make my ovaries yearn for more children.

Easter 2012

Last Friday, I went on an outing, with all 3 girls, all by my lonesome. It was exhausting, but I'd say successful. I don't think I'll be doing that again for a while. LOL. Maybe once a month until Daphne can handle outings awake. It's just too hard with her in the carrier, me trying to keep her asleep, all while holding Malia's hand, and doing everything in my power to not swear at CC full volume to hold my hand.

Proof that Daphne & I were there. I wish someone would carry me around while I napped.

Malia had the day off from school, and since we've been holed up in this house since Daphne was born - the only exceptions being trips to Target, etc. - I decided to take the girls to Irvine Park because it was a good distance away which would give Daphne a chance to fall into a deep enough sleep in her carseat. I didn't realize how many people were going to think that was the ideal location for their "Good Friday" as well. Good NIGHT! it was crowded! We couldn't do everything I promised the girls because the lines were so long, so we picked the top 3. The most important was the horses. And even though the line was long, it helped that they got to see the horses up close in between each rider.

Then we went to get their faces painted. Cecily knew from the get-go that she wanted a butterfly, no a flower, no a butterfly, no a flower, no a butterfly! Malia thought about it for a while and then told me she wanted to get a bunny for Easter. I wanted her to get something prettier but she was so settled on the bunny thing. It was one of those times I had to scold myself to not care about something so dumb. Just let the kid get a bunny, for crying out loud.

CC was talking the guy's ear off. She was making him laugh so much, he could hardly do his job.

I was pretty impressed she sat so still with him putting this crap directly on her eyes.

I love this picture. She was so excited when he handed her the mirror.

Have you ever seen a mischievous butterfly? You have now...

At first, her bunny was looking like an old man, and I had to bite my tongue.

It turned out really cute, though. Who am I kidding? Malia makes anything look cute.

The girls then went in a bounce house, of which I got no pictures because I spent the majority of their jumping time making sure they didn't get killed by the boys in there who think it's WWF.

Beautiful, sleeping baby...

... and a somewhat cute, somewhat creepy Easter Bunny.

The day before Easter, I took the girls to a community Easter Egg Hunt. I despise those things. I can't even explain the mounting tension you feel as you stand next to other parents, who are already pushing and pawing before the Easter Bunny drops his "GO!" arms. It's the parents, not the kids, who terrify me. And in this particular case, it was speed that got you the booty. How was my petite Malia going to compete with 8-year-old boys who are future track stars of America?! And I thought Cecily would be fine, seeing as how she can be pretty tough. But the moment the whistle blew and kids started to scream and run, she became terrified and just froze. Some kids left that field with a dozen eggs in their baskets. My girls both left with 3, and that was only because a nice little boy came up and gave them each one of his. It was a beautiful day, and I enjoyed getting out of the house. But it was another "I hate people sometimes" moment. I usually have those moments whenever I feel like I'm in the movie "War of the Worlds." You know what I'm talking about. When it's every man for himself and humanity rears its naturally ugly self? Yeah. Over Easter eggs. No, thanks.

Waiting for the hunt to start.

More waiting...

Because Malia & Cecily were both born in December, they've both been old enough to be at Church by this season, so I've never missed an Easter Sunday before. And I also have never not directed or participated in the Easter Music Program. I got the 2 older girls ready and sent them with their father and I stayed home with Daphne. It made me kind of sad. I love Easter. And I love Church during Easter. Oh, well. There's always next year.

Even though Daphne & I didn't go to Church, I dressed her up just long enough for this picture... that she struggled to sit up for. (I have 3 or 4 blurry ones of her little head bobbing around).

This one turned out better. Isn't she beautiful?!

I like to have our own egg hunt just for our little family so that it can be enjoyed and so the girls score as many eggs as possible. I usually try to do it on Saturday to focus on the true meaning of Easter, but I wanted an excuse to get more pictures of the girls in their pretty dresses.

She totally posed for this. "Get me like this, Mommy!" and she froze with the candy held there for a good 5 seconds. She cracks me up.

Sister loves.

I have to add that, the next morning, when I ate a dyed egg for breakfast, Cecily, who's never had one, wanted in on the action. I gave her a bite, and she was bitterly disappointed. I don't know what she expected it to taste like, but she didn't get what she expected.

I would write a long post about the true meaning of Easter. But I'm tired. And I'm going to have to nurse a baby in 5 minutes.

But I know that I know what Easter is truly about. And that's more important than some long diatribe written to prove it to the rest of the world. There's always room for my piety some other time. ;)

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...