I'm Learning Some Things About Myself...

In some ways, I hate that.  I feel like I should know myself pretty well at this stage in the game.  But, whatever.  If you have followed my FB posts or even these blog posts over the past few months, you have probably noticed that there have been a lot of violent ups and downs.  If you've been privileged (and I use that word tongue in cheek) enough to also have more personal interactions with me, you might even be worried.  Don't be.  Really.  I mean, sometimes I'm actually not OK, but I will be.  I channel my emotions into writing.  For the most part, as soon as it's written I can move on.  But I do have to write it.  Whatever it is.  Much of the time I also need an audience lately, but not always.  If you saw the things I write and don't share, you'd really be worried.  Here's what I'm learning, today...     

1.  I am never happy unless I am helping someone.  This seems like it should fall under the category of "positive qualities to possess".  Sometimes it does.  Actually, much of the time it does.  But let's go back to the word, "never".  It would appear that I need people in my life who are in perpetual crisis in order to be happy, in order to feel as if I am doing something useful and redemptive in the world.  On days where everyone I know is feeling fine, I'm in trouble!  And I shouldn't be.  I should really like those days, because I love those people!      

2.  People are afraid to call me on the carpet.  I have been living a particular story over the past few months that has leaked its way out in bits and pieces to trusted friends and mentors, over time.  I honestly can't remember who knows which pieces of the story, exactly, but I'm pretty sure no one knows it all.  It's an ugly story, and, no, I'm not going to share it here where anyone in the world could potentially read it.  Apparently, though, I scare people.  I mean, if someone else shared this story, about themselves, with me, I would kick their butt.  Maybe this is why I scare people.  I'm not as tough as you think (and that's hard to write).  I need people in my life who are willing to kick my butt (but only when I deserve it, please).

3.  I broke the mold, and I don't care.  But it still hurts when people are mean.  Which, I guess, means I do care... at least, sort of.  'Nough said...

This is kind of random.  I need to go help somebody now.

L.

Dear House,

Seven years ago, on the day before Thanksgiving, we pulled into your driveway and began our journey here.  I could not believe that you were mine.  Tomorrow, on the day before Thanksgiving, we will pull out of your driveway and end this journey.  And I am reminded that the things we think belong to us usually don't... at least not forever. 

 

It's been a good trip.  We built a life here, and I'm glad to take the memories with us.  Walking through you, I can see scenes from our life.  So many people we were glad to know.  So many happy moments.  I wouldn't even trade the difficult ones.  I know you're an inanimate object, but somehow you also feel like an old friend.  It is hard for me to look around and see a collection of empty rooms.  I have taken everything that wasn't nailed down, and let's face it, I took some stuff that was, as well.   

But I am leaving you one memory of us:

And the chalkboard.  I am leaving you the chalkboard, because I can't figure out how to get it off the wall:

I hope you will soon have new inhabitants that love you as much as we did.  I wonder if they will walk in, declare you the house of their dreams, and then begin to repaint and remodel.  I wonder if they will outgrow you.  If they do, I hope another family will come... and another... and another...  I hope more babies come home here and more children grow up here.  And I have asked God to bless you, from top to bottom, and to bless the people that live here in the days and years to come.

I have to stop writing now.  I wish I could stop crying.

Love,

L.

Where I'm At Today...

Some background information first…


3 Weeks ago I gave birth to an amazingly beautiful and wonderful little princess…


2 Weeks ago I thought I was losing my mind and was seriously steeped in a combination of “baby blues”, panic attacks, and postpartum anxiety…


1 Week ago, I was doing much better, although still teary…


Today… I don’t really know…


By the time a baby is 3 weeks old, the mommy is supposed to be over this “baby blues” thing, or else she’s supposed to call it postpartum depression and get help… or drugs… or something, I guess. This has all been really new territory for me (see my post from April 10th).


I am finding that I feel almost normal again: I am eating reasonably… sleeping like anyone with a newborn and a 3 year old who wakes up in the middle of nearly every night should sleep (believe it or not, this is a vast improvement over a couple of weeks ago)… my milk supply is back and Miah is really happy with it, so we dumped the bottles… haven’t taken any kind of pain meds. in many days… generally good stuff…


On the other hand: I am quite exhausted… run down with a cold that keeps hanging on… still teary, but less teary… somewhat sensitive to… well… everything… not as good stuff…


So I’m sitting here trying to figure out if this is a problem or if I can just chalk it up to: new baby after difficult pregnancy, labor, and delivery, so it’s alright that I currently feel kind of like I did when I first brought my other kids home, only it’s sort of delayed…


Hmmm… now that I see it written out like that, I think I’m probably going to be OK… although I do wonder if other people think I should be “bouncing back” (as a friend of mine would put it) at this point, when I’m struggling to keep my eyes open… let alone get dinner on the table…


Will update in another week… hopefully one more step closer to “normal” (whatever that is)…


Lisa

This Is Harder Than I Thought...

After my first four children were born, I never experienced more than a day or so of "Baby Blues". For the most part, I just didn't "have time" for it, I guess. There was always so much going on, that I literally couldn't stop to worry about hormones and tears even if I'd been so inclined to. Not that I didn't have some weepy moments here and there. Seth wouldn't nurse, and I cried over that. We moved across the country when Grace was 3 weeks old, and I got sick and my asthma kicked in, and I cried over that. The hospital lost Caleb's ID bracelet... and baby pictures... and we had basically no help when he was born, so I was exhausted, and I cried over that (and even threatened to check myself back into the hospital if I didn't get some sleep). Shortly after Ian was born, a friend of mine asked me if I'd had a "blue day", and I remember looking at her like she just told me there was life on Mars, because I don't remember crying about anything when Ian was a baby. All in all... any sadness I experienced with the births of my first four children was very mild, short lived, and generally existed for a good reason. And then came Miah...

I probably should have recognized that there was potential for a very real issue, as my pregnancy came to an end. I was sick for the last two months of my pregnancy, dealing with high blood pressure... and migraine headaches... and a very high heart rate for the baby. I did not sleep well for the last few weeks, and often just went downstairs to the sofa bed around midnight or so and watched TV on my laptop until 5am, when I was usually exhausted enough to pass out for a few hours. I couldn't exercise, and I didn't have the energy to cook healthy meals, so we mostly lived on fast or frozen food (and pizza... and peanut butter eggs (a hazard of being pregnant near Easter)... and cherry coke (which is ridiculous, since I basically gave up pop early in high school, some 15 years ago)). It wasn't a textbook pregnancy, to say the least.

If you've read the account of Miah's birth, you know that it wasn't the easiest delivery ever, either. But I felt alright while we were in the hospital (minus the fact that I got little to no rest there, because there was constantly a nurse coming to check on something, or a medical student coming to learn something, or a visitor (and let me make it clear that we loved having friends come by, and I wouldn't change that at all... it's just that there was never a moment to just sleep)). By the time we got home, I was completely wiped out...

I did sleep that first night home. I don't think my body could continue to function, so it just didn't. Unfortunately, starting with the second night home I returned to my sleepless nights, and they were even worse than before Miah's birth. I just couldn't sleep at all. Since Phil's mom was staying with us to help take care of the kids for a few days (thank goodness), I couldn't go sleep on the sofa bed. I ended up kicking Grace out of her bed and camping out there with Miah for 3 nights. Grace didn't mind so much, as Seth gave her his bed and slept on his floor, which I found very self sacrificing of my oldest son.

I started counting the number of hours of sleep I was getting in every 24 hour period, and including naps, it was coming to 4-6 hours... not enough... and Miah was even sleeping well! On top of this, I was having what amounted to panic attacks over basically nothing. These would start mid-afternoon (around 4:00 or so) and wouldn't let up until morning. If you know me well, you know that I have a tendency to engage in some OCD habits. For the most part, I laugh with my closest friends about these things, and they tend to be mild in reality, but it got pretty bad those first few days home. I could not relax at all, and my mind was constantly running.

And then things got worse...

By the time Phil's mom went home, I had progressed to being very weepy about most everything. For a couple of days, I found myself breaking down in front of my kids at random times. I started feeling like it was necessary to somehow document or record everything about Miah, because she is my last baby and I am never going to get these moments back or have another chance at them. And then in addition to wanting to remember and enjoy every moment, I was getting stressed out about trying to remember and enjoy every moment, making the moments neither memorable nor enjoyable!

At this point I thought, "Oh my gosh, I must have postpartum depression." This brought on a whole new wave of upset and panic, because I didn't want to have postpartum depression, and I certainly didn't want to deal with postpartum depression. And so now I was crying, in essence, about crying... and a whole wave of other things...

There have been a lot of things that have been hitting me really hard. In reality, they are probably not important things, but they are still in the back of my mind, causing me frustration. For example... Miah does not have a nursery. In almost ten years of having babies, I have never managed to paint and decorate a nursery to bring one home to. So, I want to paint a room for Miah and make everything match and have my little dream nursery for my last baby... except I don't have a room...

Another example of frustrating circumstances is that upon arriving home, Ian was sick with some sort of upper respiratory thing. I promptly caught it and had to go on medication for asthma, because I just couldn't breathe. Although I'm off the meds now, this has definitely affected my milk supply, and I am constantly worried that Miah is not getting enough to eat (which is made more troublesome by the fact that she is not pooping... but Ian did that, too). So... for the first time in almost a decade, I have made bottles, and I keep thinking that Miah is not going to want to nurse or be able to nurse for very long, and it's going to be a nightmare like it was when I was trying to nurse Seth. In reality, this is unfounded, because Miah loves to nurse, and she pretty much looks at me like I'm crazy when I stick a bottle in her mouth to supplement, but I wish my milk supply would just hurry up and increase so I can scrap the stupid bottles altogether (and I wish she would poop, too)!

I am having trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that Miah already doesn't smell like a newborn anymore... and that she's never going to be all slimy and cheesy again... and that those precious little sounds she makes are only going to last for so long, and our video camera is pretty much worthless. I am frustrated that we didn't get pictures of Phil with my huge, pregnant belly and that I forgot to tape her heartbeat even though I was hooked up to those monitors for hours at a time (I think the ultrasound video will have some sound to it, but I am almost afraid to watch it, because if it doesn't I am going to be disappointed). And here come the tears again, although more manageable than they were in recent days...

I think I'm getting better... But it is not lost on me that everything is going to be different (maybe more intense) with this child...

Please don't misunderstand... I am actually elated about Miah! This sadness has nothing to do with having her. In fact, it is just the opposite. I think this sadness is so intense, because I have already experienced how quickly time flies with four other precious little people. I just wish I could slow it down and really capture every moment. I have been so very blessed, and I don't want to miss a single opportunity to make memories that last.

This is harder than I thought it would be...

Lisa