Mains Memories: Mommy's Sad

{Originally started to write in February 2017}

"Mommy's sad." If I had a dollar for every time my darling Ava has said that phrase to me since Greyson was born, I could buy...I don't know...perhaps a yacht. Though, I get terribly sea sick, so that would probably be a tremendous waste of money ;)

Toddlers are very observant and very perceptive. Even the days when I'm (strong? brave? rested? less anxious?) enough to not have tears rolling down my cheeks, Ava is able to see right through my often-forced smiles and point out that I'm sad.

And it's the truth. I am sad. About many things...all of which are connected by this fierce love I have for my family (my amazing husband and our incredible two children) and the dramatic, never-could-be-adequately-expected change that instantly occurs when you have a new baby.

I've been on this ride before (you can read about it here if you so desire). It wasn't fun. I would never go back and relive the first four months of Ava's life if I could. They were the most painful, darkest months of my life...until I had Greyson.

Though it manifests somewhat differently for each person, for me, the cruelest part of post partum anxiety and depression is that it robs you of enjoying your baby. And, it's now robbed me of enjoying the first few months of both my babies' lives. I never got to experience what it's like to peacefully breastfeed, gently rock a baby to sleep, or heck, even just easily give a bottle. Instead, I got to experience two babies with severe silent GERD who were, quite understandably, not happy about it! And, unlike other "perfectly mentally healthy" mamas, my brain would not and could not allow me to face those challenges rationally. Instead, my brain put me on a warpath that would wreck havoc on me not just mentally, but emotionally and physically as well.

I also find it cruel that PPA/D can sneak up on you...you can think you've escaped it, but it can hit at any point up to a whole year post partum. Just as it likes to present somewhat differently for each person, it also likes to present differently with each new baby. So cruel it is to have you on the lookout for all the symptoms you experienced last time, only to come and side swipe you with nearly entirely different feelings and symptoms the second time around.

Why share something so personal, so publicly?

I love social media mostly; but, what I hate about it is this false perception it gives so many people that others have it so easy, so perfect, so happy. Not many go out of their way to post the bad and the ugly, but I think we should - it's an encouragement to others who share similar struggles (and, don't we all struggle in some form?!). And, it's one of my life's missions to spread more awareness about this condition/ailment so that more women suffering can be helped as early as possible. It still pains me that I suffered for 4 excruciatingly long months with Ava not having a clue what I was suffering from. At least with Greyson, I knew immediately what I was feeling and how to get help.

So here is my story of post partum anxiety and depression round two...

I.was.READY. I'm a type A perfectionist personality, so how could I not be ready? 5 weeks of non-stop post partum help lined up? Check! Primary care physician/pediatrician aware of my concern of facing PPA again and on the lookout? Check! Sharing my fear of enduring it again with my friends? Check! Have another complicated/high risk pregnancy? Check! Another stressful delivery? Check!

But, never forget how cruel PPA/D is...

Ah...bliss. Holding your baby for the first time. Greyson Lee was born at 6:35 pm on 9/9/16 after a bit of a stressful induction. I wanted him to wait another 5 hours and 25 minutes so he could share a birthday with his daddy; but, just like his sister, he doesn't listen to mama. My heart nearly exploded the next morning when Ava came into my hospital room and said hello and held her baby brother for the first time. Nothing is more precious than that sweet moment your first born meets their new sibling. He latched beautifully, he had absolutely perfect health (a huge surprise to me, as I had a damned hard battle with gestational diabetes that could never get fully in control despite strict dieting, intense daily exercising, and continually increased insulin injections), and I'll never forget how he instantly stopped crying and calmed when I followed my instinct of how best to calm him and started singing him a lullaby in his first few minutes of life.

Everything went eerily smoothly, and we were discharged 25 hours after he was born - they practically booted us out!

Recovery was a bit brutal. From the moment Greyson was born, he refused to be put down and fought sleep like crazy. Forget lying there peacefully swaddled in the bedside crib (or any of the plethora of contraptions we tried!) and sleeping away. Not Greyson. Then, I had complications - 48 hours after delivery I developed a bladder infection and rushed to the ER. Due to both of those two circumstances, I slept all of 60 minutes in those 48 hours post partum. Despite a baby constantly attached to my breasts, my milk didn't come in for 6 days; and, even supplementing with formula, Greyson lost more weight than they wanted him to and developed borderline dangerous jaundice. I was exhausted, in tears constantly, and stressed about feeding my baby. But, it all felt normal given the circumstances.

Then, the milk came in, he was eating regularly and predictably and gaining a pound a week (holy smokes). Everything seemed to be fine other than him refusing to sleep anywhere or anyway other than in our arms.

Instantly we noticed two sharp differences between Greyson and Ava - Greyson fed a lot better and Greyson screamed bloody murder....and we do sincerely mean blood curdling screams.... if you dare put him in anything other than your arms no matter how deeply asleep he was.

Another difference, and a quite strange one at that...he did not sleep out and about. Not in the stroller, not in the car seat (oh no...let's scream as though our limb is being sawed off when placed in that contraption and never stop), not in my arms and almost never in a baby wrap. He was so incredibly alert from the get-go. Alert and cranky! He also HATED being rocked. He would only sleep held tightly in your arms while you walked around, bouncing and swaying him. He had this uncanny ability to detect the moment you would sit, even if you held your arms perfectly still in the same position.

Looking back now, it's those nuances - those "high-needs" tendencies - that weighed on me day after day. That wore me down to the born in desperation - desperation for rest, for sleep, for respite. But, those first few weeks of his life I just told myself this was normal newborn behavior and was able to shrug a lot of it off with all the help we had from visitors.

It wasn't until all the visitors subsided, until Greyson's third week of life, that things suddenly took a sharp turn. He woke up even more alert to the world and decided he wasn't happy about it...he screamed and cried about 95% of the time he was awake and seemed to be in constant pain. The screaming (and I mean, ear-piercing screaming) would send my anxiety surging, as I tried to find a way to comfort him...and he hated all the go-to's most people think of (seriously, what baby hates to be rocked?!). I felt trapped in my house with a baby who didn't just cry, but screamed inconsolably and wouldn't sleep...I couldn't get a long enough break to even use the bathroom in peace! Forget a long enough break to spend even just a few minutes of quality time with my toddler who was desperately longing for my attention. The only way to make him scream worse was to put him in the car...he'd scream so badly he'd choke, vomit, and hyperventilate. It was awful feeling like a failing mother to both kids and feeling trapped in a nightmare.

At Greyson's 1 month check-up he was diagnosed with colic and acid reflux. Things I already knew based on my experience with Ava. All I wanted to know was how to comfort my baby and get him to sleep longer than 30 minutes at a time. He liked one thing - being held tightly in your arms while you walked and bounced him with the blowdryer next to you on full speed. So we did that...A LOT. And, we tried to go for walks A LOT, because I could feel myself getting depressed being trapped inside and listening to screaming and stressing about whether it was hunger, acid reflux, gas, something I ate, etc. and not being able to take away his pain. He'd scream and cry nearly our entire walk through the neighborhood,...but we did it anyway. For my sanity. I got strangely used to random neighbors asking if I was okay (knowing they really were trying to say, "you are aware that baby is screaming bloody murder right?!").

At 5 weeks post partum, I broke down crying to my husband. I remember asking him if I would ever feel happy again; or, heck....if I would ever even just wake in the morning without severe dread for the day and a heart racing with anxiety about facing it. And I truly meant that...I did not believe I would ever feel excitement and happiness again - that I would ever feel reprieve from the unrelenting burden that is an inconsolable baby and toddler who obviously cannot be ignored 24/7 while you attempt to console the baby!

It had been 5 long weeks of never feeling happy for a moment. I felt happy the day he was born, and ever since that day I had felt anxious, stressed, tired, and sad about the immediate change in my relationship and time with Ava and our routine. I had not felt happy once. Every smile since that day was forced for the sake of Ava. And every day was spent in tears that I tried so desperately to hide. I resented this baby who I loved and tried so desperately to care for, but wouldn't and couldn't be comforted by me. He couldn't be soothed, he could only scream and it's damned near impossible to bond with a baby who never sleeps and never stops screaming. And then there's my toddler, Ava, who is handling things amazingly well, but is of course screaming and crying for my attention...for any time with me alone...but, it wasn't possible with Greyson. The emotional, mental and even physical pain of it all was so crushing, I truly wished I had never had him. I loved him...and I certainly never had any desire to hurt him, but I really regretted having another baby and wished so badly I could go back to the way things were before he was born. And, I absolutely HATED that I felt that way....but, it was the honest truth.

When my doctor (who is very conveniently also my kids' amazing pediatrician) heard these feelings, he and I both agreed I was suffering from PPA/D, and we instantly started medication. I was trying a different one than I was on with Ava, as I was still breastfeeding Greyson.

It didn't go well...the medication gave me insomnia so badly, I was even more sleep deprived. And, it was hard to tell if the medication was making my anxiety worse, or if the sleep deprivation was...but, regardless, I was not feeling better.

I knew I had to give up breastfeeding...I couldn't handle being the only one able to care for Greyson 24/7. I needed a little more than 20 minutes of uninterrupted time to sleep, or be with Ava each day, and Greyson couldn't do that. He wanted to be attached to my breasts every second he was awake, and when he hardly ever sleeps....well, I never got a break, never an escape.

The absolute best decision we made at this time was hiring a mother's helper, Lisa. With tear filled eyes, I poured my heart out onto the Good Neighbors page of Facebook, and Lisa was the first woman to message me. From the moment I spoke with her on the phone, I knew God brought her into our life. A mother of two herself, a heart of gold, and so incredibly good with Greyson, she rescued me when I was drowning. Since I was no longer breastfeeding (I was pumping and supplementing), I had her be the one to feed and hold Greyson, so I could have some special time with Ava, or shower, or prep dinner. In the 20-30 minute naps he'd take she would help me with housework, encourage me, and make me laugh. We had her help for four months, but she's remained a special part of our family ever since. I honestly believe she was an angel sent to us by God, and I owe so much of my recovery to her. <3

Two months postpartum: Things were going better, but still rough. Greyson still screamed bloody murder 90% of the time he was awake. It was reassuring to have Lisa validate my observations with him (I'm not crazy after all!). I was torturing myself about all the things I was eating that could be killing his tummy - dairy? wheat? corn? soy? peanuts? eggs? fish? nuts? I was going nuts on a severely restricted diet! That in combination with the breastfeeding-safe anti-anxiety meds not working, let me to the decision to stop breastmilk and switch to 100% formula.

So, with a heavy heart and more tear filled eyes, I told my doctor/the pediatrician that I HAD to quit breastfeeding. I couldn't be the mommy my kids needed if I continued doing it. Our pediatrician agreed it was best, and we put Greyson on the same prescription insanely expensive formula Ava was on (Neocate). I then was able to go on the anti-aniety meds I knew worked for me.

Much to my dismay, Greyson only seemed to get worse. I'll never know if it's because I quit breastfeeding, or because the colic worsened. And I tried so very hard not to despair, but failed miserably...

At nearly rock bottom, my incredibly selfless and absolutely amazing husband insisted he get up with Greyson at night so that I could get sleep, and I welcomed that with open arms...only my hormones and brain wouldn't let me. I'd think I'd hear Greyson crying when he wasn't and my anxiety would surge. After the loooooong process of getting myself calm enough to sleep (drugged with the anti-axiety medication, melatonin, and benadryl), I'd surge awake shortly thereafter thinking I heard him cry and run down the hall to his room only to find him peacefully asleep. Then, when my husband was up with him, I would genuinely hear him cry and repeat the process. I wasn't sleeping, and it wasn't for lack of trying. I was sick of living on a constant adrenaline rush. The worst part was the early morning hours. Something must happen with hormones in those early morning hours, because that's when I'd have genuine panic attacks.

And one early morning, Halloween morning 2016 to be exact, it all came to a head. Greyson was so horrible the previous night, my incredibly strong, able-to-survive-on-nearly-no-sleep husband came to me with tears in his eyes saying he hadn't slept all night and needed me to take Greyson. So, I of course did. And, I tried not to panic when Greyson was nearly inconsolable that whole day, while needing to juggle caring for Ava too. So, Halloween morning, those hormones woke me up with what I could only describe as a heart attack while drowning. That's what it felt like. I couldn't feel my feet or hands, I was shaking uncontrollably. I was having difficulty breathing. I couldn't even put my feet on the floor to get out of bed. I felt like I had already put so much of the burden that was on my shoulders onto my husbands, so I called my mother...at 6:30 in the morning, while breathing into a paper bag.

My mother, who doesn't exactly have just an ordinary job, so selflessly dropped everything on that early Monday morning to come to me, hearing and knowing what pain I was suffering from. She has amazing people she works with, who insisted she take the company jet from Kansas straight to Sacramento, getting her to me so quickly. She and my Aunt Darrlyn came together, and they helped pick me up, dust me off and get me back on my feet. I abruptly stopped pumping (I was continuing under the belief that I could stop anti-anxiety medication in the near future), enjoyed having delicious, home-cooked meals made for me and my family, indulged in dairy and soy that I had to cut out of my diet the last two months, cried and cried and cried to my mother about how guilty and horrible I felt that I couldn't control my feelings, that I couldn't make this baby less miserable, that I couldn't be a good mother to Ava, and I begged her to help me.

Using the tough love only a parent can use, my mother ensured I went to the doctor, shared all my feelings openly, accepted all the medicine he thought I needed, found a therapist who I could meet with weekly, and told me over and over again what I was feeling was truly normal (I think all of us suffering from PPA and/or PPD cannot ever hear that enough!).

Saying goodbye to my mother that week was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I was rescued from drowning, and truly felt just exactly that - like I'd been saved from dying. And, I wasn't ready to go back to reality and try to swim on my own again. Luckily, I'm married to the most amazing, selfless man on this planet who vowed, while continuing to work more than full time, that he would help me in every way he could - he promised I wouldn't drown. To him, that meant forcing us to sleep in separate bedrooms so that he could be the one getting up with greyson indefinitely. It meant coming home from work early, unexpectedly, and often, and catching up on those missed hours at night after I'd gone to sleep. He's truly the most amazing man, and I just love that he's the example Ava has in her life of what to expect from a husband - expect someone who understands that marriage is 100/100, and if one of you doesn't have that full 100%, the other picks it up until they're strong enough to be back to their 100%. I'd say Dee was carrying 190%...and, I'll never know how he did that, while continuing to be the most incredible, loving and patient father, and excelling at work, earning promotions and raises he so deserved.

I could write a plethora more, but the point of this post is not share every nitty gritty detail of my experience - it's to share how I felt when I was at rock bottom and how I got a plan for recovery put together that got me out.

And now, as Greyson is nearing 13 months old, I can finally say I'm long out of rock bottom. He is still an incredibly difficult/high-needs/whatever-you-want-to-call-it toddler, but he's better in so many ways. We're able to go on stroller walks without ear piecing screams, and car rides without him hyperventilating to the point of vomit, and he smiles and snuggles and does sweet things - all of which I truly never thought could possibly happen for the baby who was truly miserable 99.9% of his waking time.

I don't remember the last time I heard Ava say "Mommy's sad." And truthfully, I don't remember the last time I truly felt sad. I've felt many other emotions, mostly around being driven crazy by a 1 and 3 year old, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I have happiness every single day. Some days it's just a moment or two because both kids woke up conspiring to be terrorists to mommy: but, many days it's enduring. I feel like a normal mom. Like I dreamed I would feel when I was pregnant with Greyson...I just had to wait about 9 months to get there.

I pray daily that God guides me to use these experiences with PPA/D for good, and to help others. I don't yet know what that looks like, beyond sharing this story. I hope it helps even just one other mother. I hope it shows you, your feelings are NORMAL. I hope it shows you, your life WILL get better. Your baby WILL eventually sleep and his/her crying/screaming/wailing WILL eventually lessen. I hope it shows you that you WILL (I promise) find your happiness as a mother again. It'll never be exactly the same, but the happiness will come back in a different light. Most importantly, I hope it shows you how to get help:

Tell your spouse/significant other/family how you're feeling, and be 100% honest
Talk openly and honestly with your doctor about it
Don't be afraid to accept medication - if you went through a limb aputation, you'd gladly accept hardcore pain meds; so, if you're going through the mentally, emotionally, and physically hard battle that is PPA/D, you really need the help that is offered with medication to be able to sleep and start to enjoy pieces of life again
Find a counselor or therapist, preferably one experienced with PPA/D, and see them weekly. Don't be afraid to ask about financial help offered. Where I live (CA) many grants are given to practices by the state to 100% cover cost of weekly sessions for 3 months. I cannot adequately describe what seeing a counselor did for me - truly, it was such an important part of my recovery.
ASK FOR HELP. Then, ask some more. And when people offer it, don't try to be a hero or overly gracious by denying it. ACCEPT ANY AND ALL HELP, even if it's your neighbor kindly watching your kids lose their minds screaming while you take a longer than 90 second shower. If you're able to afford it, hire someone to help you regularly.
Make time for yourself EVERY FREAKING DAY. It doesn't matter how exhausted you are. When dad is home from work, you toss those babies to him and you take at least 30 minutes to yourself (preferably out of the house where you can't hear them losing their minds) every day. I would just go outside and breathe fresh air. Sometimes I would walk. Sometimes I would go to Costco. Sometimes I would just get in my car and drive and cry. Every single time it was a battle with myself - feeling like I was failing as a mother to take a break, which is ridiculous, but seriously - just do it.
Pray. Pray for God's grace and His guidance. He will help you form your recovery path if you make yourself available to Him.
Find someone who's gone through (or is currently going through PPA/D) that you can talk with - even if they're currently a stranger. Odds are, this person will become your new best friend as you bond over struggling in nearly all the same ways with your journey as a mother.
Tell your spouse/significant other what you need from them to help you. Just because you're the mother does not mean you carry the overwhelming majority of child-rearing responsibility 24/7 (we're a long ways from 1950)
Know that no matter how much you struggle (emotionally, mentally and/or physically), none of that speaks to the love you have for your kids.

Even "normal" (AKA happy, well-sleeping) babies are HARD. Combined with a toddler, they're really freaking hard. Every mama out there is amazing - it's truly the hardest and most rewarding job there is.

First day home from the hospital: