What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger?

THAT's my question of the year.

I think the answer is yes.

This post goes out to the other first time mother strugglers, like myself. I thought at 37, having partied and lived life to the fullest until now (traveling, writing, playing music, always working in the background), having a baby would be easy peasy. Oh how wrong I was. Turns out that the longer you have had your life to yourself, the harder it is to give it up, NOT the other way around. Especially if you were like me, who honestly was on the fence about ever having any kids in the first place and ended up with birth trauma and a major birth injury. You can read more about those first weeks at my other depressing new motherhood post here.
I don't mean to sound brutal. But having a child is brutal. Childbirth is BRUTAL. At least the way it went for me it was.

To top it off...this past 4th of July week I have to say I have suffered through one of the most intensely unhappy, miserable, terrible times I have ever known. I guess I could also say the past entire 6 months has been the same, at least mentally and emotionally inside myself, despite having brought an amazing, sweet, and beautiful little soul into the world. (See postpartum anxiety and PTSD part at the end of this post). But last week, on top of all the other chaos in my world (and thanks TO it) we moved from one home to another and despite multitudes of help and sweet people that held my baby all along, it was one of the hardest things I've done. On day one of new beginnings, sitting here at the new house, old house totally cleaned (down to the very last baseboard and doorframe) I feel a great sense of relief. I believe Rock Bottom 2013 #5 may be over. UGgghghhhhhh... and PHEW. Moving with a 5 month old is something I would not suggest to anyone I've ever known!

I thought the move from Pollock Pines to Nevada City in 2011 was as bad as it could get. I was in the middle of finals, our electricity almost started a fire the FIRST night at our Nevada City house and at 1 in the morning we had to collect goldfish and cats and GET OUT with a huge alarm sounding thru the forest. We stayed in a motorhome for 3 days at Art's parents while the landlord and prop managment figured out the problem. I had to drive to Folsom to finish finals a couple times whilst living out of a motorhome and trying to figure out where all my stuff was. It was pretty lame. But through all of this, at least there wasn't an INSANE CALIFORNIA HEAT AND HUMIDITY WAVE.

Vyvian Utah, the strongest boy soul in the world

Like this time. I have figured out that one of my major downfalls during moving is being a Virgo. I am a perfectionist and hate clutter and messes. Therefore moving is abominable to me at times. Especially this time because with a baby it was about twenty times more haphazard. See, with a baby like ours, someone always has to be holding the baby. Meaning where once there were two adults to help out in situations, there is now one. Whomever isn't holding the baby. And sure, you can wear a baby carrier thing like our awesome Beco, yes, you can "babywear" but it doesn't change the fact that you cannot bend down or over to pick things up or squat to do things (at least not with my injury), meaning whatever chores you are helping out with must be about waist level or higher. Which is also OK but still means that things like packing and cleaning which were once a cinch become extremely complicated. Thank goodness to my baby helpers so I could pitch in with our house here and there.

The worst part was going back to empty and clean clean clean our old house for a week and then returning to our new house in the 102 degree evenings,  and the house being like 90 degrees INSIDE. I was like, OK, WHAT ARE WE DOING moving to this new place??? (there were good reasons tho). It was hot and sticky and almost unbearable in the new house. Not to mention filled to the brim with unpacked boxes and baskets and boxes of junk, always those last horrid items that get moved from the old house. Plus our old house had air conditioning of the coldest sort. Icy AC. Brand new and central throughout home. This new house FELT LIKE HELL. Not to mention at about 40% humidity a swamp cooler barely does a thing and we were experiencing 60-70% humidity which is extremely rare around here. To top it off our new home's forest-teal green carpet felt kind of stiff and yet wet to the touch. SO GROSS. I was scared to let my baby crawl on it. (Still kind of am I HATE carpet). The heat wave thankfully only lasted until yesterday and today it will be a cool 91-95 here tops. I am utterly grateful to mother nature. It was 103 for way too many days!

To make matters worse, we had a precious $2250 deposit in the old house and it happened to be managed by the strictest property management around. Supposedly the owner, Betty Collins of Collins Property Management is super strict about CLEAN and will keep your money for very little reason. WE WORKED OUR ASSES OFF. And so did Art's entire family. Especially his dear young grandma Vickey who surprised us with Grandpa Gene as if they had become cleaning elves one morning, driving all the way from Placerville and getting some of the hardest parts out of the way- the areas without AC like the basement and garage area, filled with cobwebs and trash and junk and music studio equipment and piles of tools and planters, etc. I don't know how I'll ever return the favor.

What were we doing moving??? Our old house was spectacular. It looked over a stream with a beautiful deck and was perfect walking distance to Nevada City. It was across from a trailhead and was on a beautiful street. The deck was two and a half stories tall and on stilts. It was in a lush forest. Butterflies and red shouldered hawks and great blue herons abounded. It had all the amenities and great heating and a gigantic grand wood stove in a 20 foot plus ceiling lodge style living room with wood beams.

The big beautiful but dark living room

Springtime in the middle room

BUT IT WAS DARK. Nine months out of the year sunlight barely made it there. The lodge living room was DARK ALL of THE TIME even in the middle of summer. It felt cold in there to me. Too big and full of nothing for no reason. Too far in the forest with no neighbors driving by. I felt claustrophobic in the forest after giving birth. I used to LOVE this house to death! And suddenly it had become this place that seemed dark and ominous to me. The only thing I ended up liking was my garden and the birds. I started resenting EVERYTHING there. Our night routine for ourselves and the boy because I had insomnia. Like insane, awful, unexplainable insomnia. I started dreading our bedroom, the hallway, the dark living room, the shade of the cedars and tall pines which came every day at 3 in the middle of summer and in other seasons covered our whole house constantly. My dream house became my nightmare home. So odd. So strange to have loved a house so much and then to have turned on it from deep inside my new mama soul. We had such amazing parties there, so much fun, so much lighthearted goodness, and then yet suddenly the home itself became like a tall dark shadow... always preventing the light I felt I desperately needed, literally and figuratively. The new house we found had GOBS of sunshine! It is out in the open with a thousand stars to see above, even tho all horizons and hills around have oaks and pines and other trees. And Art's wonderful family lives across the street. Support system, check. I have never needed one so badly. Complete with a gourmet great Aunt (Pauline) and her composer husband as well as the coolest grandparents whom all reside on adjacent parcels of land here. To top it off, my solar lights now work all night long here. There is sun, sun, and more sun. And I have looked into it and have found out that sun is dire in regulating postpartum hormones!

the kitchen window looking out to the sweet garden there

I also came to find out that much of my postpartum mental struggle was from PTSD, in real life. Something I experienced from a very difficult birth and then a botched episiotomy that left everything down there a huge mess and led to being diagnosed with a fistula, which thank the Lord I ended up NOT having. For the first two months postpartum I thought I had a rectal-vaginal fistula. During those first weeks I experienced pain as bad as the birth itself (well... not quite but close) plus I read absolute horror stories about the condition online. About being housebound for the rest of my life. Insane stuff that was confounding me with darkness. And there are facets to this sort of birth injury that are heartbreaking, disgusting, and absolutely horrible. If you have never heard of a rectal vaginal fistula just imagine what the name conjures up and you are probably thinking along the right lines. Some people think they only happen in third world countries. THINK AGAIN. I am in a Facebook group of amazingly strong women who have suffered these fistulas, and all in first world countries with supposedly "good" health care. It is a rare injury but it happens and what makes it even worse is that most medical professionals are very uneducated on it. Here in the good ol' US of A our health and hospital care for new moms is actually very SUBPAR compared to some other countries. Anyways... I couldn't get in to a colorectal surgeon (who could tell me what was actually up with my body) until April, even though I birthed Utah in January. I was a wreck. I had panic attacks, was diagnosed with postpartum depression (which I actually didn't really have so much) and felt like I was living on the outskirts of my own life. The injury didn't just injure my body, it was ruining my mind. I was so grateful in the beginning of April when I found out that what I had was not an actual fistula, just something very close. The colorectal surgeon recommended (still does) extensive surgery that would require 2 weeks of laying down (no sitting up allowed), 2 weeks of NO FOOD except clear liquieds, as well as MONTHS, perhaps even a year, of not lifting anything or doing strenuous exercise. While having a new baby? YEA RIGHT!

Even tho I was relieved to not have an actual fistula I still was mortified at the issues my body was having. It overtook my psyche. I couldn't remember MY OWN LIFE. MY OWN MEMORIES seemed to be M.I.A. And around 6 weeks the pure, unadulterated insomnia began. I would get 4-5 hours TOTAL of sleep over three days sometimes, and not because my baby was keeping me awake. It was just me, lying there, awake. Like one hour of sleep one night, two the next, and three the next. I tried acupuncture, antidepressants (quit in three days though), meditations, counseling... nothing was changing it.  I FINALLY got in touch with a postpartum specialist, a wonderful woman who was able to tell me why I was experiencing what I was experiencing and how I could get back to my old self. My old self seemed like a dreamy vision. A girl who used to be happy, be excited for each new day and night, who studied, loved to celebrate everything, wanted the adventure of life at any given moment, whatever it may bring. I was gone. I could barely remember ME. Photographs and diary entries proved I had existed. I was scared to the point of considering suicide. I think it was the insomnia working against me, almost killing me. I felt like the birth itself was a weird dream nightmare. I would wake up at 2 am and could not stop thinking about it. It overcame me.  I couldn't let go of how wrong it had gone and how so many other women I knew seemed to have such normal births and recoveries, even when involving C sections. I felt like a failure at the entire thing, including new motherhood. It almost made me insane. At times I was an inch away from being admitted into a mental hospital. I had panic attacks at night, this awful sense of doom, of having lost all hope (upon losing sight of the sun or when dusk came). Dealing with all of this insanity while at the same time never having a moment to yourself to try to look cute or put on makeup and go out with the girls or go to concerts or play piano when once upon a time that is ALL YOU EVER DID is a mental and emotional ROAD TRIP to say the least.

Me and Utah, he's about 4 months

But my postpartum therapist/specialist, Lindsey Plumer, let me know WHAT WAS GOING ON IN MY BRAIN.  She assured me that she had seen similar situations in other new moms and just hearing that was a huge relief! I felt like all around me every new mom I knew was breezing through the whole thing, with semi-uncomplicated births and babies and no weird mental states. She told me that during birth there is a probable chance of trauma because of what is happening to your body, but most of the time the brain reaction to trauma ends neatly and those memories are stored in a certain area in your brain. However sometimes, especially when a traumatic event ends in a major bodily injury that goes ignored and/or denied, your brain does not close off the part of itself that kicks up the adrenaline and allows you to deal with the trauma. That is what happens with PTSD. She diagnosed me with PTSD and let me know that most likely it was causing not only the insomnia, but the severe anxiety (of which I had never experienced anything like before) as well as panic attacks and the detached feeling from my own life. And so I attended EMDR therapy which saved my soul. In real life. Actually saved my soul. Like I could remember my life pre-the birth. Until the end of June when i had the EMDR i could NOT remember my life before the birth. Suddenly memories came back. I could sleep. I felt like me again. I wasn't scared of night coming! I felt like I actually had BIRTHED my baby instead of having been horribly nightmarishly injured and accidentally wound up as a mom. Two sessions of EMDR after an introductory session with Lindsey healed my life. I can not tell you the struggles I had with this "PTSD" situation. The first 6 months of my baby's life was the hardest time in my life. I could barely enjoy my boy, although I DID very much bond with him and fall in love with him.

A sign in the bathroom at my therapist's practice in Roseville.

Update, September....

But I learned so much, now that I can see clearly and see that I made it thru. One amazing thing is that by some sort of miracle, and thru the echoes of so much love and kindness of my sweet and amazing friends, my body is healing itself enough for me to feel almost completely normal. I can run! I can lift anything I want (thanks to choosing no surgery)! I can have sex! I can hold my sweet sweet boy until he is 18. I blame this miracle on the awesome support of my friends and family, they have helped to heal me. They have told me TIME AND AGAIN that the body is an amazing thing in healing itself, and I began to truly believe them. I also believe that if I hadn't had the support system that I do I may not be alive right now. Also, our new home is beautiful and the land here is filled with wildlife. I go on evening walks with Ute and have seen quail, red-shouldered hawks, jackrabbits, deer, ducks and more. I love our new home and all of its sunshine. I love having family close by! I love living here. I love that I can remember my life before Utah's birth. And I am loving being a mother! Some days it is still hard, but most days I am so proud of how far we have come, the three of us. Utah, me, and my totally supportive awesome husb, arth.

One thing that I learned is that it is extremely difficult to find postpartum resources online. I had the hardest time finding my amazing therapist, who specializes in postpartum and women's issues. I am an internet research WIZ pretty much- I'm completely geeky about it- and it took HOURS to find decent postpartum links, and then to find the therapists in my area by calling and emails.

Utah and I at the new house, I'm giving a "motorcycle ride"...

I am going to create a website for women that covers the entire United States and pulls together resources for postpartum difficulties to make it much much easier for women to find the specialists and support groups that exist in their area. Not just for postpartum depression, but for postpartum anxiety, birth trauma and PTSD, birth injuries, etc. etc. I am GOING to make it happen. There is a reason I have been in school to learn web and graphic design for the past 2 1/2 years- and this is DEFINITELY one of them.

And there is a reason I had this beautiful boy baby. My mission to help other women being SECOND. The first is that this amazingly spirited, lovely, intensely happy and sometimes intensely mad wonderful boy soul NEEDED to arrive on planet earth. I don't mean to sound like every other momma in the world, but I'll go ahead and do so, THIS BOY HAS GOT SOME PLANS IN HIS BONES. I don't know what he's gonna do but I have a feeling he is going to ROCK THE BOAT in the best way possible. What more could a girl ask for? I gave birth to a revolutionary, I JUST KNOW IT.

Intervention (The trials of new motherhood and the joy of being rescued)

Before I go into my little story, I will make it known, that I bore a baby. I had a baby! I never even knew if I would ever be a mother, uncertain if I could handle it or had the personality for it, but here I am- now a mother! My sweet boy was born at 12:41 am on January 10th. Vyvian Utah Everson Spark. I call him Utah.

Childbirth was not kind to me. I will say that. I ended up with a terrible birth complication that had me at the ER three days after birth. It was beyond terrible. Even the nurses at the ER were holding their hands over their mouths and exclaiming in horror over my body. They called it "a defect". I have never been so scared in my life of what was happening to my body. Now I know much more as to what went on and what I am dealing with... but back then I read about similar situations online and only found negative stories about being housebound. Thank you God my situation turned out better than I feared, but I definitely may have a slight case of PTSD thanks to that awful complication and all of its involved pain and fear.

Not only that but birthing without an epidural or intrathecal was absolute torture for me. I think I screamed every other minute FOR AN ENTIRE MINUTE for THREE FREAKING HOURS. I HAVE NEVER HATED A PERSON SO MUCH as I hated the doctor when he told me I was progressing too fast to get the intrathecal.

And in the weeks following birth, I just didn't do so great. Although I loved my new darling so much, I was constantly filled with fear about my bodily health (the botched episiotomy) situation and having to spend hours in the bathroom with herbs and sitz baths. It's worse than you can imagine. I was one of 3 women that my doctor had seen with such an issue, after 35 years of practice. I am SOOOOO BLESSED that things ended up healing better than I initially was told they could. Art went back to work and I actually didn't have that much help after the first week. Thank God someone from my family came out once a week or so and so did Art's mom, to help in the mornings. Let's just say bearing a child turned my world around in WAY MORE WAYS than I even knew possible. My hormones raged with sorrow, beauty, loss, and even a sense of doom. No one had warned me of it! Not ONE PERSON had warned me of postpartum hormones and PPD and PP Anxiety disorders! I thought for sure I wouldn't encounter such miseries!!! How wrong I was.


And that's where I sort of can begin my story.
"Aching muscles, memory lapses or loss, depression, hallucinations, headaches, increased blood pressure, increased stress hormone levels, hand tremors.."

The effects of sleep deprivation. What stands out to me is hallucinations and loss of memory. No wonder the last 3 weeks have seemed like a half-dream.

*PART ONE*  Rock-bottom.

I'm guessing that's where I was at, for me, at least. Friday night February 1st. Three weeks plus into having a newborn, three weeks plus into finding out that I have a rare birth complication requiring surgery to patch up my episiotomy and other nearby situations, three weeks into my whole life seeming like an entirely different life than it was four weeks ago. And there it was... rock-bottom. I had felt the tears of post-partum, the genuine bright necessity of a wonderful friend and family support system, the occasional bouts of hope and optimism, and the darkness of my health issue situation. But combining all the emotions and physical hardship with total lack of sleep and I was no longer human. I was part monster.

I knew going into having a baby that the sleep situation can be more than difficult. I hoped to God that somehow I would be one of the lucky ones. And in a way, I am. My baby sleeps for good solid chunks from 2-4 hours. Occasionally even 5 hours. So between midnight and noon I can often get 7-8 hours of sleep if you combine the chunks. It takes longer to get that amount of sleep, but in between at least I can say I am nourishing and tending to an innocent sweet new being in the world, and helping to keep him thriving and alive. Thinking of it in those terms, it's totally worth it. But I also am a person that has a terrible time with less than 6 hours of sleep. I don't mind if it's broken up, but I need the amount. I can get by on one night of 4 hours, provided the next night is 7 or 8 again. But give me less than that, and I start to lose my wits, COMPLETELY. So a 4 hour night followed by a 1 hour night of sleep gave me very little to go on. Anyhow, enough about my dumb sleep needs. I'm just trying to illustrate how the monster came about.

So picture this: 4 in the morning the night after my night of 1 hour sleep. My baby will not go to sleep. He eats, he ALMOST sleeps, he wakes, he cries. My sweet Arthie has to get up at 7:30 am so I have total baby duty. My body is collapsing upon itself. I cannot describe the pain of the exhaustion and then my eyes closing. And then the cry of my baby reminding me I cannot go to dreamland. It was the 3rd time over the course of 4 hours that I had got him to sleep only to have him wake up again crying. It was then that I lost it. I wailed out in deep throaty scream-cries of tears and desperation. I cried as my baby cried, our cries echoing thru the dark house, but Art still not waking (he can sleep through anything). And then my desperation turned to anger. Not towards my baby but towards everything. Towards Art having to work. Towards schedules in general. Towards living in a different town than my family. The anger started to tremor thru my body. I marched into Art's room, screaming that I couldn't do it. That I wanted to leave. That I didn't know what else I could do... That I needed help. All the while bawling. A raw picture, I know, but there she was, a raging monster-mama inside of me. It seriously was horrible. Art awoke and was taken aback. I was out of control. I will leave it at that and to say the monstrosity continued for a while, all hell escalating... because writing all this brings tears back to my eyes. I am so ashamed I even got to this point. But it made some things very very clear. I NEEDED HELP, and I NEEDED to sleep. I want to paint an honest picture here, because I know so many new mamas probably get to similar points and just try to keep quiet about it. I don't know if holding it all in really helps anyone else or yourself.

After the melt-down, I ended up giving my baby 2 ounces of formula. It was the first time I had, and I felt terribly guilty about it. The night before my sister and I had finally (after 3 weeks of him screaming all the time) figured out that my baby was actually very very hungry, and that I am one of the 5% of women who have problems breast-feeding due to actual low supply. Of course lactation consultants unite to tell you it's "all in your mind", to "try harder", to do a million different tactics to keep baby from screaming at the breast, but when it comes down to a hungry baby not getting any milk... there's not much else you can do besides TRY to increase your supply over a few days and quell his hunger in the meantime. My sister, being a breastfeeding mama herself, was able to do that the night she was over, but alone at 4am I realized I was gonna have to break down and give him formula if I ever wanted to sleep. And HOW he gulped it down. And then how he slept. But after my monstrosity and rock-bottom I could no longer sleep. I felt terrible terrible terrible like a drug addict mama like a bad bad person. My heart raced, my mind raced. When Art woke again for work at 7 am, I still hadn't slept. I was in my own personal hell. After he left, my baby woke again and I gave him my breast and he went back to sleep. I finally slept too, for an hour and a half. And I also texted my sis and told her what had happened, a brief note about how terrible it was and I was.

That afternoon Heather called me and asked if I needed to come to Placerville for a respite. I was in the midst of just crying and crying. I'd been wearing the same pajamas for two days. I was miserable. Another dear friend, Rebecca also called and asked me if I needed her. I could hardly answer either of them. So they took matters into their own hands and told me that Rebecca was coming to pick up me and my baby and take us to Placerville so that they could soothe us both and I could sleep. Deep down in my soul, I knew it had to happen. Even with my bathroom equipment (I need special gear now every time I go to the bathroom)... I knew I should just put it all in a bag and go. Pack mine and Utah's things and go. I texted Art at work that I was going. I felt absolutely anxious, nervous, torn up about it. As thought it were some life or death situation. I felt bad for leaving Art and my cats, but also mad that Art would get a night free from the chaos. I felt like there was no way I could manage another night on my own with the baby (no Art) but my sister called again and told me "We'll take the baby and take care of him, and you can just sleep and sleep". Nothing ever sounded so good.

Sweet Rebecca showed up with food and treats and her awesome son Sylvan. I was in absolute disarray, ashamed to be seen in my condition, but also not really caring. Art got home from work and helped with the baby while I took a quick shower, packed bags, and got ready to leave. My heart was RACING with anxiety about leaving. I honestly felt INSANE about the whole thing. I kept panicking that my baby was already asleep which meant I needed to sleep too but wasn't. I was PANICKING about sleep and about leaving. As though leaving would burn down my house or cause me to die. Little did I know how much the opposite.

PART TWO *Respite*

One awesome thing about little Utah so far is how much he likes the car seat and driving. He falls peacefully asleep. Rebecca and Sylvan loaded our things and Utah into the car and I climbed in to their SUV beside him in the back seat. I told Rebecc I was going to try to sleep. As we drove through the town of Grass Valley the tiny lights of gas stations and homes and fast food places looked surreal and neon, like distant fairy lights. I felt like a five year old myself, in the back of the parents car on a long road trip to somewhere nice, sleepy in the night. I actually did sleep for fifteen or twenty minutes, with a pillow lodged behind my head, sinking towards the car seat. I felt strong, for some weird reason, and alone, but comforted by the knowledge of great goodness and kindness of my wonderful friends and family. I also felt dead to the world, like an almost lifeless ragdoll. My sweet baby sleeping next to me reminding me of how alive I needed to be but also reminding me of Heather's promise of sleep to me. I've never wanted anything so badly in all my life, I swear it. Around the descent into the canyon, also seeming ghostly and haunting- silhouettes of pines and the light of the river under the moon- I spoke quietly with Sylvan and Rebecca. They had been absolutely quiet until that point, trying to let me rest.
We spoke quietly til our arrival in Placerville.

We got to Placerville and my things were brought in with ease by Sylvan and Rebecca and Heather. As I walked into her home I felt relief flood over me. Her living room seemed alive with color and peacefulness. Bob Dylan was playing on the record player, not too loud, not too soft. My family was all there, or a bunch of them, my sister-in-law, my little brother, my sweet Lucy niece baby, Heather, my dad, my brother-in-law. The gathering of them along with Rebecca and Sylvan in the same house seemed HEAVENLY. I cannot describe the warmth they all exuded of togetherness, of strength, of willingness to help us (me and Ute), of family. Heather took me to my room I would be staying in which was actually THEIR room (her and her baby's and her husband's) which they had kindly given over to me. It was glowing and warm and beautiful. The bed practically shined. Colorful quilts and hanging glowy lights and clean things and warm cats. I was overwhelmed with sweetness. Then they brought little Utah to me to nurse, best I could. I did. And then Heather, sweet sweet wonderful-with-babies-Heather finished him off when he showed how hungry he still was. I will never forget her lying him in Lucy's crib afterwards, and his big peaceful eyes looking up at us all, with a look of the satisfaction of hunger having been met. His needs having been quelled. His peace having been found. There we all looked down at him, Heather, Emily, myself, Joey. My sweet sweet new baby who I had been so rough around the night before. I hadn't been rough to him, but near him. In my house, my screams that had shaken the whole walls. I felt so awfully terrible, and I cried and cried. I cried so much in that bedroom with my sweet family, thanking them again and again, and remembering my breakdown the night before with shame and sorrow.

But Rebecca brought me snacks of berries and nuts and they brought me pizza and told me to eat eat eat for my breastmilk supply. No lactation consultants had even mentioned how important that was yet! Even after I'd told then of my birth complications they just kept acting like no matter how exhausted or no-appetite you were your body would just make abundant milk. I will probably hold life long resentment against lactation consultants, acting as though my bodily health and stress and nutrition and sleep should not affect my supply whatsoever! Acting as though I was being selfish to even wonder of it!!! I actually ended up with a very sweet kind lactation consultant from WIC, she never questioned me or my supply issues. It was the higher-ups, the lactation "GURUS", WHO HAD BEEN SO WRONG.

And then Heather said- "Don't worry about a thing, he seems very sleepy. You- GO TO SLEEP."

(I am picking this post up from months down the line just to tie these ends together- it's now May 27th)

And sleep I did. I slept in the comfort of Heather's lovely soft colorful bed, with her twinkly lights cozy above me. Woody the cat would wake every once and awhile and shift positions. He would stay exactly where he was seated right next to me, but just turn three points clockwise. I smiled to myself at his sweetness and catness. I woke at midnight and my baby had too, and they brought him in to me to nurse again. And then sleep again we did. This time, next to each other. Him in the bed with me. And there I slept and woke to feed, slept and woke to feed until 10 am. And I felt amazing by that point.

I would like to report that after this rock-bottom there were no other hangups or obstacles or bumps in the road. But that would be far from the truth. Instead there were many more sleepless nights, much of which, later at 6 weeks, was my own problem with insomnia and postpartum anxiety and had nothing to do with my baby. I got sick at least twice totaling a month of my time. Worse, my baby got pneumonia before he was 3 months and we ended up in the ICU for 4 nights. Thank Jesus Lord that since then the days and nights have settled and my hormones have somewhat as well. I feel as though my brush with PPD was WAY too close of an encounter. One child will be enough for me, thank you. ANd truly, it isn't him, it's me.

I have to believe that my hormones went ABSOLUTELY CHAOS HAYWIRE after I had my baby. Pregnancy was a breeze for me. If pregnancy was all that was involved, I would have 3 more kids. But the birth itself and postpartum hormones for me have been hell. I'm not gonna hide it or cover the sheer awfulness of it. I'm a wreck "down there". Hell, if I ever get a divorce I guess I can expect to be single the rest of my life as I am now somewhat of a freak. Here I write at 4.5 months postpartum... and I still battle anxiety and night sweats and insomnia. But I can take things much more lightly these days (most of the time).

This week has been good. I feel replenished and normal and I have slept wonderfully.