Instagram Addiction APRIL/MAY 2012

So, I actually kind of blame instagram for my lack of blog posts because, let's face it, a lot of my life gets recorded in that way... even what I eat.  But some of my readers don't have IG (*cough, cough* MOM *cough*), so I'm going to post them here.

 APRIL 2012

 

MAY 2012

Just To Be Clear...

... I'm not always miserable.

I have this thing I do where I don't think to do any purging until I'm in a dark place.  I used to do it with my journals.  I mean, the journal I kept in 7th and 8th grade has, maybe, 1/2 a dozen entries... maybe. If that.  And junior high was obviously more than 6 or 7 days (let's be honest - junior high felt like it was eternal damnation).  But I digress....

If you were to read any of my journals from my adolescence, you'd think I'd had the most depressing life there ever was.  But anyone who knew me, at least in high school anyway, thought of me as a really happy, energetic person.  There's just something about me where I only really feel the need to release when things just feel crappy.

So, in an effort to make sure, for the sake of my future, that this last year is not just a memory of PPD-fueled rants and freak outs, I need to do a little 2012 recapping.  I mean, I literally have HALF as many posts from last year as the year before, and a third compared to the two years before that. 

YIKES.

So be prepared.  I have some catching up to do in regards to the joy we have felt in our home... and there has actually been some, believe it or not.  David and I celebrated 10 years of marriage together, I moved the girls back into their own rooms after working my tail off to make them look as they desired, Malia had her 1st multi-dance recital, CC started taking dance classes, we went through the stress, success, and graduation of Daphne's cranial band, Malia started 1st grade and CC started pre-school, we got to go to Disneyland for Halloween with Dave's family, Malia has started losing teeth every other month or so, I had CC's hair chopped into a bob (that's a big deal in this house!),  BOTH girls got to dance in the holiday recital, CC turned 4 and Malia turned 7 and Daphne is only a month shy of turning 1, we got to celebrate our 1st Christmas at home by CHOICE and not because I'd just had a baby, we had a reunion in my hometown with my family, Dave and I are both.... getting older.

So be prepared.  There are going to be a lot of flashback posts filled with pictures.  I'm reminding myself that I am blessed and that life is good.  And I'm letting you all know as well. 

Thanks for sticking around... if you did.

Hey Guys. I'm Still Here... Somewhere.

A friend of mine expressed interest in the letter I wrote to myself when Daphne was only 2 weeks old.  It sits on my computer Desktop, and bears the title: "To Tiffany - OPEN IF BABY HUNGRY" (and yes, it is in all caps).

I read that letter today.  Daphne has been teething, and then sick, and then... well... Daphne.  She is an incredibly beautiful  and loving child... with the worst case of separation anxiety I have ever witnessed.  That, coupled with her high maintenance sleep nature (which I diagnosed her with when she was only a month old and has proven to be accurate) is bringing me to a low point these days.

I watched some baby videos of Malia & CC when they were Daphne's age.  I did this yesterday, after it took Daphne an HOUR to fall asleep for her nap.  I could hear, in my voice on those videos, a much happier Mommy.   Daphne is only two months shy of being 1 year old.  That was the expiration date I had given myself after her birth for my depression & anxiety.  And now I'm terrified my hopes will not come to fruition.

My reason for posting today (which I rarely do anymore... the above complaints being one of the main reasons), is to share that letter.  I hope it might give some insight to some young moms.  If anyone out there is feeling like I am - self-abhorrence, anxiety, exhaustion - then maybe they can find a small sense of self-appeasing camaraderie when they read these words.

March 21, 2012

Dear Self:

You need to remember this time.  Daphne, your 3rd daughter, will be 2 weeks old tomorrow.  And while this can be a difficult time for MOST moms, it seems to be exponentially difficult for you.  The baby blues didn't help; sure.  Acknowledge that.  But the real problem is the anxious knot you feel in the pit of your stomach that nearly governs your every thought and action.  You feel trapped right now.  Again - that's part of the whole "newborn thing."  And because you made the choice to do some sleep-training so early on, it is a self-imposed trial, admittedly.  Nonetheless, it is not a feeling you like feeling.  You feel the need to call people 24-7, even though your husband is still home, just because you are so desperate for someone to tell you you're not screwing this up... even though you've done it TWICE.  You are constantly reading and re-reading sleep aide books, thinking it will have some magical answer that will solve all your problems and make this phase instantly easy.  It's unrealistic, and you know that.  Yet, you can't seem to stop yourself from fantasizing about it.

Your abilities as a mother, a wife - AS A PERSON - have become seriously impaired as you deal with the emotional struggle that the combination of sleep-deprivation, hormone irregularity, and your OCD provides.  You have regrets that you are ashamed to vocalize.  You get incredibly riled up and tense at the slightest little cry from your newborn if it happens when she's "supposed" to be sleeping.  The panic you are currently experiencing as you try to figure out how you're going to orchestrate taking her to the pediatrician without throwing too much of a wrench into her "schedule" is ridiculous, unnecessary, and far more debilitating to your spirit than it should be.   The word "overtired" when referring to your baby girl is used more often than "precious" or "blessing" or "wonderful."  That's not how it's supposed to be.  And yet, that's how you choose to function.

In 4 weeks, the peak of potential PPD will hit.  There's no guarantee it's coming, but the likelihood and statistics put it in your "favor."  Things will get ugly, then.  You may find yourself biting your hand again - or worse.  The fear this potential occurrence has put into your spirit is only exacerbating the problem because it is causing unnecessary anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

You are reputably fun-loving, outgoing, silly, and happy.  Any semblance of that person vanishes from you in this period of your children's lives.  And it debilitates your spirit.

In a year or so, life will be easier.  You will have more of the freedom you recently enjoyed before the addition.  You will see your 3rd baby girl gradually turning from infant to baby to toddler - it will make your heart sad.  You will start to long for another baby.  You swear off additional children after each and every one of your children.  But this time, you need to remember the state you are currently in because, each time it takes a definite toll on you AND your family.  And while you all bounce back, it seems it takes a little longer each time, and even though your children are resilient, don't be sure that you and your poor spouse are just as.

You feel the pressure from your religious culture to have more children.  Ignore that.  That is not God dictating it.  It's a culture.  You feel the need to produce a son for your husband. Ignore that.  He's fulfilled.  And odds are, you'll end up with a baseball team of girls.  You begin to miss the newborn smell, the tiny toes, the cute little dresses... IGNORE THAT!  You now have 3 existing children who may not smell as sweet, but who love you and need you and deserve the best you have to offer.

You.  Are.  Done. 

And that's ok.  There's so much you have to give and offer to the children you've already had.  There's so much you want to be able to offer your community both religiously and publicly.  There are things you need and want to achieve that won't happen if you are constantly in this dark place just because you wanted "... just one more."

When that baby hunger arises, remind yourself of the cherubic faces you've already brought into this world and how you owe it more to THEM to be the best Mommy you are capable of than to be able to fill some sort of ridiculous quota.  Remind yourself that your husband married a funny, sassy, intelligent woman who loses all sense of those traits when she enters this season of life and how a little bit of that vibrant woman gets chipped away, never to return.  Remind yourself that YOU miss you when you go through these struggles.

3 IS multiplying and replenishing.  3 IS a cup that runneth over.  3 IS where you will stay. 

Because, if not, you may find that in the finding of more children, you will lose yourself forever....

Sincerely -

YOU

In China, Sleep-Deprivation is a Form of Torture

So, there's this idea that when you work really hard towards something, you supposedly appreciate the success more than if it had come easily.  Like, in school, for example.  Kids who breeze by, acing exams and reports with little effort are, apparently, not going to appreciate that "A grade" like someone who had to really study and make some sacrifices in order to achieve the good marking.

But what about when you put everything you have into being successful at something and then you fail?  Is the degree of disappointment the same on the opposite scale?  If you screw something up you weren't very committed to, I'm sure the loss is no big deal.  But if you have been devoting your heart and soul to something and it is still not reaping any rewards, are you going to be more depressed when it tanks?

I will testify that, 100%, absolutely YES, when you put more effort into something, the feeling of success - or total failure - is that much more palpable.

And I am in a vicious cycle of "fail."

It's no secret that I am a huge advocate of sleep-training and getting babies/children onto decent routines and schedules.  It benefits not only the existing members of a new baby's family, but I know that it also is a huge issue of health, growth, and brain development for kids.  We live in a world where kids are diagnosed with ADD or food allergies before parents are willing to admit that maybe their kid just needs a nap or a decent bedtime.

It is also no secret (I don't think) that I am one of those people who struggles with post-partum depression.  I have not had the aide of medication or therapy this time (long story), and that probably hasn't helped.  But if you compound with that the fact that I am sleep-deprived and also feeling like a total failure, then you can imagine that the amount of "crazy" I often feel is quite exacerbated.

This post is going to come across as a little self-serving, but that's ok because that's my intention.  I need to purge some frustrations.

The hospital that I gave birth to Daphne in had been labeled "baby friendly."  Basically what that means is that they are huge advocates of breastfeeding, co-sleeping, etc.  The problem, however, was that it was difficult to get a nurse to come in for anything other then the checking of vitals.  As a C-section patient, this was a little irritating, because I could hardly get out of bed on my own, more or less, with a newborn infant in my arms.  As a result, Daphne spent almost all of the first 72 hours of her life in my arms.  When I got home, it was very difficult to get her to sleep ANYWHERE but in my arms.  With 2 other children to care for, this was just not going to be acceptable.

So, despite having never done it so young, I decided to do a little bit of sleep-training with her when she was only 5 days old.  This was a very difficult decision for me to make.  I can NOT stand to hear my babies cry.  Those of you who lived near me when Malia was a colicky infant will totally understand why.  I have actually been diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder because of Malia's colic (which is embarrassing for me to admit because, honestly, how can you get the same disorder over a baby crying that people get after being shot at every day and watching people die in a foreign country)?  But I digress...

At not even 1 week old, I made sure she was fed, clean, and burped, and as soon as she started to dose off, I sang her a quick lullaby, swaddled her up, laid her in her bassinet, and walked away.  And yes, she started to cry immediately.  I checked on her in increasing amounts - 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes - and soon discovered that she was the type who that only made things worse for.  So I had to leave her be.

When I sleep-trained Malia after her colic was gone, she was 6 months old.  The first time, she cried for HOURS!  But she was also much older and more manipulative.  However, after that first session, she never cried for more than, maybe, 30 seconds.  And she has been an angel ever since.  When I sleep-trained Cecily right after my PPD depression diagnosis, she was 6 weeks old, and she never cried for more than 20 minutes.  Ever!  And we never had to make her cry-it-out at night, either.  She weaned herself from any night feedings.  It was awesome!

Daphne's first cry-it-out session lasted the entire nap.  When I finally fed her again, she was, of course, exhausted, and crashed for the next nap.  Having read multiple books and already sleep-trained 2 other children, I knew it would take a few days.

Daphne is 7 1/2 months old, and she STILL is not a great sleeper.  No matter what I do with how long I keep her awake, trying to give her more solids, more naps, less naps, etc., she is still inconsistent. She is, without a doubt, my most sensitive baby.  She is actually quite pleasant in nature, but very touchy when it comes to sleep.  While she's awake, if I'm holding her, she rarely fusses.  But if ANYTHING (teeth, gas bubble, toes a little cold) is off, she does not sleep. And I'm exhausted.

And I feel like a terrible mother/wife.

I am so tired and so frustrated that I am rarely happy.  The post-partum depression mingled with sleep-deprivation and the fact that I have put every effort I have and all of my consolidated sleep knowledge (which is a lot!) into trying to help this child get onto a good routine and sleep well is turning me into someone I'm just... not.  I feel like I have completely lost myself in calculating naps and the length of how long she should be awake.

And one of my greatest pet peeves is when people say, "Well, maybe she doesn't need a schedule."  Are you kidding me?!  That only makes things worse for a baby like Daphne!  If I were just to go about my day and not try to give her regular naps then nighttime would be much worse than it is (hard to imagine).  I just want some SLEEP!  And a little predictability from her for this A-type OCD personality wouldn't hurt either.

If people were watching a movie of my life, they would probably be appalled at the moments (and there are many) where I am on my knees, sobbing in my room because Daphne is, yet again, not sleeping well.  For a while we thought it might be the cranial band she had to wear for 2 months.  And, admittedly, her sleep did improve a little once that came off.  But if you're wondering why the occasional bad nap and poor night sleep would send me into an emotional downward spiral,  it has a lot to do with being tired and battling PPD; but I think it has even more to do with what I mentioned at the beginning:

I have worked SO hard to understand Daphne's personal sleep needs and I have sequestered my extroverted self like a hermit in my home for nearly 7 months to respect those needs and keep her from getting overtired, and I feel like I have gotten nowhere.  If I was dragging her around on outings all day, I'd expect her to sleep poorly.  But I haven't been doing that.

All summer long, I kept promising Malia, "Next summer will be better.  We'll go do fun things. I promise."  And when the girls raised their voices to normal child-like volumes, I would be shushing them with aggressive intensity.  The tension in my home has been palpable, and I'm ashamed to admit that it's all my fault.

That's the hardest part of all.  Knowing that this affects me the way it does; the self-abhorrence.  I'm tired, yes.  I've put a lot of work into it and feel like the success is not equally reciprocating, yes.  But anyone who has ever had depression will understand that the feeling you get when you become disappointed in yourself is dark and horrid.

I wanted 6 children once.  To be honest, I still do.

But it saddens me beyond anything I can explain that I know I can't.  And it embarrasses me that the only explanation I have for it is basically because I'm crazy.  I know I should be careful what I wish for, but I can't help but think I'd rather say I'm done having kids because someone had to take my uterus or something of the like than to say it's because of my inability to just, plain and simple, "cope."

I'm crying as I type this, of course.  And I may look back on this post and wish I hadn't written it for the blogosphere to see.  But I'm hoping that, somewhere in the (please be near) future, I will able to look at this and say, "Hey!  I'm glad that's over!  Daphne is a great sleeper!  I'm having more fun with my kids!  I'm being nicer to my husband! ... and my house is clean!"

Until then, my posts will still be few and far between.  (I just don't enjoy depressing the rest of the world).  And, as hard as it is on my pride to say this, could you maybe throw a blurb up to God for me when you pray?  Don't go out of your way, or anything.  But just a quick reference?  I know He's aware of me.  I know there must be something I'm supposed to be learning.  But maybe if enough people bug Him... you know?

Thanks for listening.

A Letter

I got a call the other day from a friend who has a friend who is currently suffering with PPD.   She asked me to get in touch with her friend and offer her some words of advice/comfort/insight.  Last night, Daphne slept terribly, so I'm very tired.  I made the mistake of writing this friend of a friend this morning because, due to my sleep-depravity-induced emotion, it became quite embarrassingly long-winded. 

Who am I kidding?  I'm always long-winded. 

I put so much effort and heart into this letter to her that I felt the desire to put it into my blog for posterity's sake (or my sake).  Names have been taken out to protect the innocent:


Hi, D*******.

I'm a friend of A*** G*****'s.  She texted me the other day about getting in touch with you.  She thought maybe I could be a valuable resource for you.  I figure, there's always strength in numbers.

She mentioned you just had your 4th child (!!!) and that you may be struggling a little with PPD.  She knows I am very open about my bouts with it, and asked if I'd get in touch with you.  I had my 3rd daughter almost 5 months ago, and I think it is still lingering for me. 

I don't know if I had it after my 1st was born.  She had severe colic - the kind where the pediatrician often asked me how my marriage was since my baby was crying so often and so loud.  A chiropractor fixed it when she was about 6 months old, but then we had months of horrid sleep-training ahead of us.  Once she was on a good post-colic sleep schedule, though, she became an angel.  She is now 6.5 years old and an amazing little girl. 

My 2nd was born and my body seemed to go into a panic for no reason.  She wasn't colicky, but even the slightest little baby cry from her sent me into a spiral of anxiety.  When she was about 6 weeks old, I realized I was crying about 10 times a day and that something was wrong.  I went to a friend who's a therapist for LDS Services, and she connected me with a therapist and my OB got me onto Prozac right away.

I cried for 45 minutes before I took that first pill.  I felt weak; I felt like I was less of a person;  I felt I should be "above" all of this.

The therapy and the medication worked wonders.  But what helped even more was having the therapist tell me it was ok to let my baby cry a little in order to learn self-soothing skills.  She told me that a lot of my PPD was from PTSD from having such a colicky baby.  I was afraid of a baby crying because I felt so much guilt for letting my 1st cry at all once I had discovered she was actually in pain.    It wasn't perfect, but once I got the ball rolling, my 2nd little girl became a wonderful sleeper, and at such a young age!  Getting decent sleep coupled with an objective therapeutic perspective turned my world back around.  It wasn't all lollipops and rainbows... but I was more able to taste lollipops and see rainbows when they were there.

Because of my first's colic, I had read every sleep book known to man.  Some people thought I was obsessed.  But I am very type A and like to control situations, and putting my young babies on a routine helped combat the anxiety.

Baby #3 comes along.  To this day, despite all of my efforts and hard work to teach her otherwise, she is a terrible sleeper.  I didn't go on medication this time.  And we can't afford the therapy (last go-around, our ward covered the cost).  I've had struggles... a LOT of struggles.

There will be days when I'm fine and then she wakes early from a nap, and my blood begins to boil, my stomach twists in knots, and I'm a blink away from sobbing.  My PPD is very trigger-induced.  I'm ok until certain things go awry.

I don't know much about what you're going through.  But A*** seems to think maybe I could be a resource for you.  I'm still in the midst of it, I fear, so I don't know how much "help" I can be.  But it never hurts to feel like there are people out there who "get it."

Depression makes someone feel very lonely... because, unless someone's actually "been there," they really can't understand, can they?  They can't understand how one can be totally fine one minute, and then feel like they wish they could just vanish from existence the next.  They can't understand how one can sit there and hold and kiss and snuggle this baby they love so infinitely, but at the same time, wonder why they thought they wanted it in the first place.

I hope I am helping.  And, who knows?  Maybe we can help each other.  After all, misery does love company.  ;) 

Please don't be afraid to respond and reach out to me.  I can be a little abrasive and inappropriate and, sometimes, quite bitter and pessimistic.  But I still know, deep in my gut, there's a purpose to why some of us have to go through this.  I will not have any more children. I wanted 6.  I have 3.  It's more than I can handle, I fear.  But having this trial has taught me to be less judgmental of others.  Being a mom is HARD!  And I now look at other moms with a silent respect - even if their child is running up and down the Church halls like a psychopath.  I have no idea what they go through at home, so I've learned no to judge. 

Right now, my relationship with God teeter-totters.  But I know He knows I will never completely lose faith in Him.  I know He knows that this is something that is just so gosh-danged hard for me.  I know He knows when my breaking point will be.  I feel like I've hit it multiple times, but apparently, I haven't, because I'm still being bent.  I suppose I should take it as a compliment that He sees me as being able to withstand more pressure than I, myself, assumed I could.

One last thing:  Depression lies.  It tells you you're terrible.  It tells you you're incapable.  It tells you you're failing or weak or doing this motherhood thing all wrong.  It tells you that when you let your little baby cry for 10 minutes in order to fall asleep on her own  that you're abusive and that she's going to grow up hating you and her life will never be decent because she felt neglected at 3 months old.

But it's lying.  And sometimes, when we're in the midst of being lied to, we can't see it for ourselves. It's like the bad high school boyfriend who's cheating on you and when you're best friend tells you, you're so deceived by him you end up being angry at the best friend instead of at him.

If you need someone tangible to reach out to that you know "gets it,"  I'm just a facebook message away...

Because I "get it."  I get that, sometimes, when you're on your knees in the silence of your own tears, that the silence can be unbearable.  So I can be as much noise as you want until His comfort finally breaks through that lonely silence.

Until then... you know where to find me.