Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Notes From the Underground

So, my efforts in regular blogging have failed miserably but, hey…I’m back!   Did’ja miss me?   I missed me.  Writing is like breathing to me, if I don’t do it regularly; I will die (for real).   The PPD (postpartum depression) really kicked my ass for a while and made it nearly impossible to do even the simplest of tasks and truly my life has been a bit of a disaster clean-up area for the last six weeks or so.   Well, that is enough of the excuses so here is what’s been going on behind the curtain:
As far as the PPD, it is all better!
Mmmmm snuggles!

Looking back on it now, it is quite mind blowing how warped I was.  I would get furiously angry with Sparreaux for normal baby behaviors such as crying or needing to be held.   It was almost like I had expectations that she would understand I was tired or sad and didn’t want to feed her, rock her, etc…   Very strange for me being the AP parent I am to be feeling this way.  Justin even brought up how little I wanted to hold or be with Sparreaux and I flipped on him for even suggesting such a thing.   I truly did not have a grasp on how far from myself I really was.   I think the anger flares are the most surprising aspect of my experience with PPD.   I have experienced depression before but nothing like this.   It was like I hightailed it outta my body when Sparreaux was born and some nut-job took my place.   We (Justin and I) invited our doula over to discuss what we should do.   We were both at a loss on how to handle my disappearance.  It truly was like I wasn’t even there.   I felt like I was orbiting above my life, watching myself act like a completely selfish jerk but had not control over it whatsoever.  Our really lovely and compassionate doula told us that in her experience, women generally did not “bounce back” from PPD but truly did need a combination of therapy and anti-depressant medication to recover from PPD.  
I did visit my doctor and took the depression screening test.   I checked off that everything was a problem except feeling suicidal, I didn’t have that.   Since I am nursing, I was not able to have a vast array of medicinal choices so I took a list of the three SSRIs that I could take home with me to do some research and ultimately decided upon Prozac.   It was kind of a bumpy ride starting the Prozac but in the course of time it did what it was supposed to.   The thick, heavy veil of depression was lifted and I could look around and breathe with clarity.   I bonded with Sparreaux, felt less anxiety, my OCD tendencies reduced greatly, Justin and I did not argue about everything, I could effectively live my life.   I could review my thoughts and emotions whereas before I would just spew them everywhere with no regard to my family’s needs.   I make it sound like I was a grade-A asshole but really I was just quite sick and in need of some support.   With my trusted therapist and a few weeks of this medication, I feel at home within my skin. 
More baby lovin'
Sparreaux is going to be four months old this month!   Man, does time fly.   She is starting to blow spit bubbles.   She can recognize herself in a mirror (which is a blast to watch).   Indra adores her.   She wants to kiss her all the time!   Just last week Sparreaux was crying and I was holding her on my lap.   Indra was very concerned so I asked her, “What should we do to help Sparreaux feel better?”   The little sweetheart started lifting my shirt and pointing to my breast and said, “nuse, nuse.”   How freakin’ adorable is that?   I melted, I really did.   Unfortunatley, Sparreaux had just nursed so I suggested a nuk which Indra felt confident in helping with. 
Indra hearts Sparreaux
Indra, she is a blog post all on her own.   She is a toddler-beast!   She makes the simplest of tasks daunting and difficult.   From putting her shoes on to eating her dinner, she is one obstinate little kid.   And you know what drives me absolutely crazy about this?   She is an angel at daycare.  NO crying, NO tantrums, NO fits; all love and kisses and sweetness.
My sweet little bear (oxymoron is intentional)

  Justin and I have to practically wrestle her into her clothes in the morning.   Threaten everything under the sun if she doesn’t stay in her bed.  Promise her rainbows and unicorns if she will just take ONE bite of her dinner.   We have her working with specialists to develop her speech and foster her independence which is going ACHINGLY slow.  I love her to little itty bitty pieces but sometimes I just want to scream, “Come on Indra, it’s just a pair of freaking socks!  Put them on and let's go!”   *deep breath* But, I don’t.   We plod on gently and carefully each and every day trying new charts, routines, techniques; our efforts are constantly being renewed.   She is 30 months this month and going to be heading into pre-school and she cannot even communicate.
That is actually her "puke bucket" on her head. She thought it made a better hat (btw, there is no puke in there)

  I truly think that the communication or lack thereof is so frustrating to her and may be the root of many of her meltdowns.   I worry about her entering into a world of make-believe and ABCs when she doesn’t even know how to tell me where on her body she just got an owie.   Oh, little love.  My heart aches for you.

Our funny faces!!   Aren't we FUNNY?!

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