Get over it!

I am neurotic. There is no need to sugar coat it or pretend otherwise. I am not trying to get people to jump on here and pump up my confidence by saying I am not neurotic or anything like that I am just making a blunt statement so that I can make people see what it is like to be me. I have been cover to cover on the DSM IV (diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders) and I cannot find any that fit me exactly. There are several of them that come close, but none that I meet all of the diagnostic criteria on. Well I take that back, I do meet the criteria for ADHD, but that has nothing to do with the crazy that I feel I live with. I wish there was a definable diagnosis so that when people say to me that I need to let things go or stop stressing all of the time, I could just tell them that I have blah blah blah and it makes it very hard to just stop worrying or obsessing.

Trust me; I do not want to do the things I do. I would love to get upsetting news and be plagued by it for an hour and then move on. It would be a gift to handle stress the way normal people do, but I am not normal. I can take normal levels of stress and be okay for the most part depending on what the stressful situation is. If I feel I have the slightest sense of control over the issue, I do not take it into me like a poison. If, however, I cannot control the outcome of whatever I am stressed about, the stress fills me with a dread so crippling, it takes all of my energy to function.

When the stress gets bad there is a process that I go through. The very first thing is that my heart speeds up and my heart is not the strongest. Then the worrying sets in. I obsess over every single tiny detail of something until I am entirely consumed with it. I have no control over this and it is the one aspect of dealing with stress that I hate the most. From there, the nerves kick in and every little thing sets me on edge. After that the nausea takes over and I get so worked up and so sick that I am unable to eat or drink. If the stress is severe enough I can go for days with only a few teaspoons of something to drink and I can go for days and weeks with only eating a bite of food a day. It usually isn’t until the dehydration has gotten so bad that I am disoriented that I usually realize that it has been 2-3 days without more than a sip or two of water. It is about that point I realize that I am so tense; I am in danger of snapping.

As I said earlier, I am not saying these things for sympathy. I am saying them in hopes that people may understand just a tiny bit what it is like to be me. When I get stressed out it is okay to tell me to take a deep breath and try to relax, but telling me to get over it, let it go, move on, forget about it, stop obsessing, etc. does not help me, it makes it worse. I know people are just trying to help, but you can help me more by saying you support me and are here for me. Telling me I am overreacting only makes me feel bad which starts the cycle all over again. 

Dear 16 year old me

One of the best public service announcements I have seen in a long time and one that I think every person should watch.

It is okay to ask for help.

We were talking about this in class today and some jerk made a rude comment and it prompted me to not only jump his shit, but to share my story with others so that they may know PPD is not anything to be ashamed of.

People say that having a baby is the most joyous time in a person’s life and while that may be true, there is a darker side to having a baby that many people don’t consider and a whole lot of people don’t talk about. While a mom should feel joy over having a baby, it is not uncommon for her to also feel despair and overwhelming sadness. I know this personally because this is how I felt after having both of my children.

With Pooka, I did not realize anything was wrong with me. I was so scared all of the time and I felt as though I couldn’t do anything right. Every time she made the smallest sound while she slept I was certain something was wrong with her and not only that, but I was sure I was the cause of whatever it was. I remember when she was 4 or 5 days old she had the worst gas and she was not crying, but screaming out in pain. After 4-5 hours I had exhausted everything I had read about in every parenting book and magazine I had and I called the advice nurse for her pediatrician and tried their remedies as well. Nothing was helping and her screaming was becoming desperate. My mother in law took her from me, rocked her in the chair just I had been doing, and patted her bottom just I had been doing. Pooka stopped crying and soon she was expelling the gas that was hurting her so much. I felt like my heart was going to break watching Dot with my daughter. Don’t get me wrong I am so glad she was there and able to help Pooka, but I was her mommy. Why couldn’t it have been me? After that I went in the bathroom, laid on the floor, and cried. I remember thinking she would have been better off if she had been born to a different mother. It was with that thought that I began to think something was not right with me, though I didn’t know what it was.

A couple of days after that I was feeding Pooka and she was frantic. Those of you who have babies know that when they get real hungry there is an urgent feel to them when they first start feeding and they calm the longer they feed. This was not the case with Pooka and the longer she fed, the more frantic she became. I had been feeding her for almost 3 full hours out of the last 5 and I could no longer get any milk out of me because she had taken it all. What was I going to do? Her crying was heartbreaking and I knew she needed more food, but I had no more to give. I did, however, have some formula samples that the hospital had given me, but I did not want formula. I wanted to feed my daughter myself. After arguing for more than an hour I was told it didn’t matter what I wanted, it mattered what she needed and that was more food and since I still was unable to get anymore, I would have to give her a bottle. It felt like defeat to go to the kitchen and make those couple of ounces. I sat in front of the stove with tears streaming down my face as I waited for the bottle to heat up. What was wrong with me? I gave her the bottle, she drank it down so fast I thought it was leaking out somewhere and then I realized she was just that hungry, but I didn’t know why. The rest of the night she would feed from me and then from a bottle because I was not enough to satisfy her.

Her 2 week checkup was the next day and I explained to her doctor the situation. After weighing her, feeding her, and weighing her again the doctor determined I was not making enough milk and that Pooka was developing failure to thrive (growing at a rate that is too slow for healthy development). They then gave me a contraption to wear around my neck that would hold formula and I would tape to myself and allow Pokka to feed from me thereby stimulating me to make milk, while also getting formula at the same time. 

It was humiliating. I also was given an electrical pump and was told to pump for 10 minutes at the end of each feeding and I was given a medication that would hopefully increase my milk production. I was scheduled a follow up to see how things were going a week later and while Pooka had gained a little bit of weight, it was still not enough. They then had me wait for 4 hours while feeding Pooka only formula and then they hooked me up to some fancy-schmancy machine to pump my milk and see how much I was making. The lactation consultant and doctor said I should be able to pump 4-5 ounces from each side after waiting for 4 hours. I pumped a total of just less than an ounce. How was that possible. I was doing everything they said and I was drying up after only a couple of weeks. I was devastated. I was a failure. What kind of mother could not feed her own child? That was what we were made to do and I was failing on the most basic levels of being a mommy. I had no hope after that. I wore the device for another month and pumped at the same time. Eventually it was all gone and she moved on to formula.

Slowly, but surely I got out of my funk. It took about 6-8 months, but the depression went away and I began to not feel so worthless. When I got pregnant with Trouble I did not think of the depression I had with Pooka and it was not until I was 8 months pregnant with him, that I knew it even was Post-Partum Depression. This time I was going to go at it with all the gusto I could manage, but I had the mindset that if breastfeeding didn’t work I would use a bottle and all would be fine. Things were going very well and in order to make LOTS of milk I fed him every hour and I pumped after each feeding. The day we went to check out, they weighed and measured him. All babies lose a bit of weight, but they tend to get concerned if they lose 10% or more of their birth weight in the first 2 days. I was confident we would not have that problem since I was feeding him even when he was not hungry just to make doubly sure he was getting enough to eat and I was being stimulated enough to make plenty of milk. It turns out I was right. He did not lose 10% of his weight. He lost 13%. The doctors put me through the entire process like they did with Pooka. Weigh, feed, weigh again and sure enough he was getting very little from me. A new prescription was given for the milk production along with strict instructions to come back in 2 days for another weigh, feed, weigh session.

I had said it would not matter if things came out the same way, but here I was again in the same situation only I felt even worse. I could almost literally see the black wave of despair build up and then shallow me. This time it was worse. I could not enjoy my little boy and feedings became so stressful I would gag and sometimes get sick (my reaction to stress). I stopped eating and it became unbearable to even smell food much less eat it. One bite of pizza, which I love more than any other food, would make me so full I thought I would get sick. After 3 more days of that, I began to resent my baby. I was so consumed over my failure to make milk and feed my child that I could not appreciate him.

Then one day I thought he and I would both be better off if I had never had him. The shock of those feelings was like ice water in my veins. I was terrified. How could I think that? I made Mack take me to the hospital and though he didn’t know it, I had every intention of making them commit me. I feared I was a danger to my child. I had to be locked away. I talked with a nurse at the hospital for a long time and she sent me over to my OB who I also talked with for a long time. New medications were prescribed, but this time they were antipsychotics rather than milk makers. I was also told to stop breastfeeding Trouble and use only the bottle with formula. The first feeding using my new Prescription and feeding instructions was eventful to say the least. I think it may have been the first time I really bonded with him. I watched his every single movement while he ate and he watched me right back. I did not gag, I did not get sick, and I finally felt like I was his mommy instead of someone who gave birth to him.

It took a couple of days, but my emotions settled down and I was able to appreciate my baby. I lived for feeding him and received joy from it I had not known. I look back now and can see the wide variety of warning signs that were hidden or misinterpreted, but they are not what is important. What is important is that when it really mattered, I asked for help. Any woman out there reading this needs to know that being a mom is hard, but it is more rewarding. Do not do you or your child a disservice by keeping your head down and muddling through it as I did with my daughter. Look up and meet depression in the eye and tell it you will not lie down for it. There is never any shame ever in asking for help and anyone who tells you otherwise is not worth your time. 

Being a mommy ROCKS!!!

Before I had kids I always thought it was cheesy to hear someone say that the best gift they had ever received was their children. Now that I am a mom I understand the sentiment. Yesterday made me reflect on my kids and how much joy they bring into my life and I started thinking about how they came to be.

Growing up I never wanted kids. I wasn’t the little girl who planned her wedding down to the place cards or had names picked out for 2.3 kids I planned on having. I just wasn’t that kind of girl. I was the kind that enjoyed playing in the mud and searching for bugs out in the woods. I remember people telling me I would change my mind when I got older and I also remember being irritated that they didn’t know me very well if they believed that.

What irritates me now is that they must have known me better than I knew myself because they were right. All through school and even through my first major relationship, I detested the idea of having a kid. Why would I want something that never sleeps and demands all of my time? I took great precautions to not have children including using a birth control method that made me gain 40 pounds and lose 2 cup sizes in my bra, but neither of those mattered to me nearly as much as not having a kid. I would have given my arm at that point to not have a child especially not with that person.

After my relationship ended, I began to think about things in my life ditfferently, but I still held true to not wanting kids. I had moved on and met someone new and we were enjoying the beginning stages of our relationship. He had two children already and for the first time it didn’t send me into a panic to think about being a mom to a child even if it was only as a stepmom to his kids.

About a year after we moved in together I went to my lady doctor to have everything checked out. He was updating some missing info on my chart and asked me how long I had been using the birth control I was on. It turns out I had been on it for just over 6 years. After telling him this, he left the room and then came back a few minutes later with several large books. He would look in one and then turn to a section in one of the others and go back and forth. This went on for about 10 minutes before he said that he wanted to take me off of the medication because this particular birth control could make it difficult to get pregnant if you take it for more than three years. He said the damage may have already been done given that I had been on it for 6 years, but he felt it was best to try something else and see how things went. I was about to tell him that I didn’t care if the medication made me lose the ability to have kids because I had no intention of having them and then I felt all the air whoosh out of me. In that moment I realized that my fiancée’s kids were not enough for me. I wanted to have kids myself.

The doctor and I decided that the shot I had been given just 2 weeks ago would be my last one and since he wanted to run some tests after the birth control wore off, my fiancée and I would use condoms to prevent pregnancy. After doing the math, my doctor told me I should start using the alternate form of birth control at the beginning of November and we would begin testing after the new year. In January I was having some blood work done for something else and they asked me if I could be pregnant. I said I doubt it, but since they needed to know for whatever it was they were doing, they ran a test. Then I got excited because I figured out I was a week late. I knew I shouldn’t have because my cycles would be very irregular for the first 6 months or more, but I couldn’t help it. The nurse who drew my blood said they would know by 10am and she would call me and let me know. By 10:05 I had not heard from her. At 10:10am I couldn’t take it and I called the lab result phone number. The lady looked it up and said they never ran a pregnancy test so she couldn’t tell me if it was positive or not. I was crushed and began babbling about how they said they had to know so they were going to add it to my labs and then I just kind of trailed off and I think I may have said thanks for your help. I was about to hang up the phone when I realized she was saying something about added labs being in a different part of the screen so she would check and yep there it was and “oh honey, I am sorry. Your test came back positive.” I don’t remember my exact reaction, but I know I was crying and I think I may have done a double back flip triple axel combo. I could hardly wait to tell Mack and considered leaving work right then and there to tell him, but I settled for a phone call during my lunch break.

It seems so silly now to think that I was ever worried about it since we didn’t even know if there was a problem and there apparently wasn’t seeing how my doctor figured I got pregnant about a month after the birth control was out of my system. In fact, when I got pregnant with my second child it was very soon after stopping birth control. Maybe I was meant to have these kids or maybe the chemistry between my husband and I works very well. Whatever it was, I have two perfect and beautiful children to show for it. Sure they have their moments when I am so desperate to sell them to first gypsy I find I cannot see straight, but they are my babies. I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world and they are THE BEST gift I have ever received.

 My daughter and her first diaper change

My son right before we left for the hospital

I don't even know what to say...

While waiting to see Trouble’s doctor in Vancouver today, I had quite possibly the strangest conversation with someone. I was sitting there waiting to be seen, but I was about 25 minutes early for the appointment. I was trying to compare Harry Sullivan’s theory with Sigmund Freud’s in my head so that I could do this week’s homework assignment when I got home. While I was waiting, a teenage girl came up to me. It is so hard to tell nowadays, but I would say that she was 16 or 17. She was fiercly whispering to the two girls with her and finally she came over and stood in front of me. When I looked up at her, she opened her mouth and the words just fell out of her mouth.

Girl: OMG! I just have to tell you that you are so great and I loved your husband. He was so great and I cannot believe he is dead. What are you doing in Washington? Are you filming a movie? Can I have your autograph? Is this your daughter? She looks just like her dad. Is that your son? I didn’t know you had another kid.

Me: Um, I think you have me confused with someone else.

Girl: I bet you say that to all of your fans just so that they don’t know who you are, right?

Me: No. My name is Katie, who do you think I am?

Girl: (High pitch painful laughing) Hi, Katie (she winked at me and then whispered) Can I have your autograph?

(Insert this same round and round where I said I was not famous and she didn't believe me at least 3 more times.)

Me: (A little pissy now) Really, I am not whoever it is that you think I am. My name is Katie and I am a student. I do not make movies. My husband is not dead, he is a teacher.

Girl: So, you aren’t Michelle Williams?

Me: No.

The girl then left and went back over to her friends and told them the news. One of her friends then looked over at me and said “Of course she isn’t Michelle Williams. She is way too fat to be her"

Me. O.O 

FML

So I leave it up to you. Do I resemble Michelle Williams?

Today was a good day

Today got much better after I vented my little tirade earlier. Mack and I got to talk with the boys and we had a good video chat. Stitch, Trouble, and I went outside and played with some bubbles on this beautiful day and then we packed up and went to the park. We let the kids play and chased Noah around the playground for a bit and then got some amazing burgers from 5 Guys Burgers and Fries. I do not care for their fries at all, but their burgers are so good. Probably have 1000 calories in them, but I don't are. After that we did some shopping and hung out with my man of honor. From there we went to look at a house that we may get if all of the stars line up perfectly.  There are only 3 things that could make this day better. In reverse order they are: Reduced fat Original Pringles, a ICE cold Pepsi, and my laying in bed with my hubby.The pringles and pepsi will have to wait, but I think I am going to go see what I can do about last one.

Excuse me while I lose my mind for a moment.

Really people? I know that I am guilty of it too sometimes, but the whining and the drama that some people go on and on about is enough to make me want to punch them in the face. Face Punch! I am so unbelievably tired of logging on to my Facebook account who are all "boohoo my life is over. I cannot buy the new Iphone 4 because the store is out of stock. What am I going to do??!!?" (insert whatever whinyass bitchy diatribe you would like here) 

What really pisses me off is when the drama queens cry, whine, and complain so you offer some advice and they freak out and get pissed off that you even bothered to respond to them. Then the real kicker for me that makes me want to really cause physical pain is when they complain forever about the same crap, get pissed off when you try to help them, and then they say it was all a big joke. Seriously? Just admit that you were not joking, that you are an attention whore who thrives off of the sympathy of others, and get over your damn self because your life really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things and the sooner you get over yourself, the better of your life will be.