Crying it out

It's a good thing Saturday morning was so good. Because by Sunday night I had had it. Between getting sick, feeling like a failure because I had to have another IV (it was my goal to avoid it the rest of my pregnancy) the house was a mess and then Andrew spilled an entire giant bowl of Cheerios and milk all over my new dress. That triggered something in me and I lost it. 

I cried and cried. I cried because I'm tired. I cried because I hurt. I cried because I'm sick and overwhelmed and I just can't keep up. I cried because I hate being a working mom. I cried because I need a break. Tyler was on call for work so he wasn't home to witness my  breakdown. But Andrew saw the whole thing. And that made me feel even worse. I buried my face in my hands and just let it all out. 

Then I felt Andrew's tiny, chubby arms around my head. He rested his head on my shoulder and patted my back and softly started to sing in his baby talk. It's exactly what I do when he cries. And that made me smile. 

I pulled myself together and finished our routine: feeding, bath, story, songs and bed. By the time it was all done the only thing that made me want to cry was the fact I have to leave that perfect little boy in the morning so I can go count pieces of paper a million and one times, smile brightly at mean customers and hope and pray I don't throw up in the lobby.  

I am going to need my bright red lipstick and a good scripture before I take on this long week ahead. 

Blessings

This morning, at approximately 7:36AM I awoke to birds chirping just outside my window. The sun was casting a soft glow through the clouds as it inched over the mountain. Spring is coming to Maybrooke. 

Andrew was still asleep. And I was not about to wake him. I rolled over (which is quite a process at 34 weeks pregnant) and looked at Tyler's sweet sleeping face. He was scrunched in his usual tight ball with his blanket cocooned around him. I still don't know exactly how he manages to get his long 6ft 2in frame into such a tight ball. But it's the reason we have never been able to share a blanket in our two and a half years of marriage. We are both blanket-hogs.

Abbie was curled up at our feet, snoring softly. I was feeling the nausea start to take over as Benjamin began to squirm in my tummy. I shut my eyes and waited for it to pass. I love Saturday for this reason- I can go at my own pace. As I waited, I thought about my Friday night. Tyler and I had sat down to talk about a plan so that (hopefully) by the end of the year I will be able to be a stay-at-home mom. This thought made me so happy it brought tears to my eyes. I really hope it works out. 

I thought about how good life is. I'm the mother to a seriously cute little boy that I would do anything for. I am so proud to be Mrs. Tyler Furlong. I will soon deliver another son to sing to and read to. I have a dog. I have a small vintage house (seriously, 1950s!) that I love. Oh, how I love my house! 

And it struck me that this time last year I wasn't sure if I wanted to be living at all. I felt like everything was falling apart. But I held on. I pushed through. I want to shout to that dark place in my head, the part that held me prisoner and say, 

"LOOK AT ME NOW! Look at everything I have accomplished! I'm alive. And I'm happy! You were wrong. I CAN do this!" 

I smiled. It was such a happy moment. And then I rolled out of bed, took a sip of water and headed to the bathroom to throw it up. I do this because it puts something in my stomach to throw up other than nasty stomach acid. I took medications and just then I heard soft singing coming from Andrew's room. I opened the door and found him on the floor with a book in his hands, singing as he flipped through the pages. He dropped the book when he saw me and toddled over for a hug. Soon all I could think about were those dimpled cheeks and his chubby arms around my neck. 

He took my hand and led me to the kitchen and pointed to the toaster. He wanted me to make him our usual weekend breakfast- toast and honey. When did my baby get so big? I slipped on my apron and got to work while Andrew emptied my pots and pans from the bottom cupboard. 

So now he is happily eating breakfast while we listen to some of my favorite lullabies on our old-fashioned record player. I'm letting Tyler sleep in today. Hopefully we can make more homemade chocolate-covered strawberries. Even if this weekend gets crazy and turns out to be stressful and miserable, I'm so thankful for such a beautiful Saturday morning. Mornings like this recharge me. It's such a good reminder to count my blessings more often. 

My Post-Birth Plan

I started this blog as a way to help me share the reality and recovery of Postpartum Depression (PPD). I had heard of it before I had Andrew, but I thought it was something easily cured with some exercise and an attitude adjustment. 

Nothing could have prepared me for the storm that hit me.

 I had just had a baby. I should have been on cloud nine. I had every reason to be happy! Instead I was thrown into this dark, cold pit in a corner of my mind that I didn't even know existed. And it seemed that the harder I tried to climb out, the higher the walls got. 

I tried to hide it. And I thought I was doing a pretty good job. It's so easy to post a smiling face to Instagram and Facebook and say something creative. But those closest to me saw how badly I needed help. Tyler begged me to see my doctor. My mom gently suggested it multiple times. Even my boss at work pulled me aside to talk to me about it. And it wasn't until I caught myself fully ready to end my life that I finally caved. I didn't notice a difference when I started the medication. But everyone else saw a huge improvement. Tyler wrapped me in a tight hug and said, "Its so good to have you back!" 

And after a while, I was back. Thanks to A LOT of help and encouragement. But I was back. And it felt so good to finally smile at myself in the mirror and say, "I did it. I survived. I'm here. I WON. And I'm HAPPY!" I was living the life I had always wanted to live as a mother. I was thriving in my role, loving our new house and my wonderful Furlong boys. 

One day in late June we were all outside enjoying the sun. Andrew had on his Superman cape that is way too long for him and Tyler was tossing him dangerously high (a mother's exaggeration) as I watched from the porch. I reflected on how content we were in our Maybrooke home. And then I got the impression that someone was missing. It was like a spirit quietly tapping on my heart. "Don't forget me, mom." I told Tyler about it but we fully agreed that we wouldn't try for another baby for another year or so. 

Two months later I found out I was pregnant again, despite the pill I had religiously taken. Andrew was only 9 months old. It was too soon for me. "I can't do it again," I prayed out loud from the bathroom floor. I stared down at the four positive tests sitting neatly in front of me. They blurred through my tears. " I'm not ready. I don't think I can beat it again. I can't go back in the dark. I can't do this." 

I called Tyler and my mom to share the happy news and my fear of the depression. They both comfort and encouraged me, and Tyler gave me a beautiful priesthood blessing that night. I needed to be patient and all would be well. Benjamin was coming for a reason. And I loved him already. 

I have hard pregnancies with Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG). And this pregnancy has been nothing like my first. But I have tried so hard to keep a positive attitude. I often play "The Glad Game" from one of my favorite childhood movies Pollyanna. But it was sometimes hard to find something to be glad about when I had to drag that darn IV pole to put Andrew in his crib screaming so I could clean up the hulk-green stomach acid and blood I had deposited in the hall- a failed attempt to get to the bathroom in time. 

As my HG has become manageable and I am able to function like a real mother again, I'm getting more and more excited for another baby. I am now 32 weeks and I recently started having nightmares about after Benjamin is born. About the depression. I wake up crying and shaking. I am absolutely terrified it will come back. I'm worried that this time it will be worse, or that this time I won't recover. It makes me wish I still had months and months of puking left to go. Tyler needs me. Andrew and Benjamin need me. And I can't be the wife and mother they need if I'm not mentally healthy. 

So, Tyler and I are writing a Post-Birth Plan. I don't write Birth Plans. They are kind of a joke in my family. (Just my personal opinion. There is nothing wrong with them.) But I love the idea of a Post-Birth Plan. It helps me feel more in control of what may or may not happen in the weeks following Benjamin's arrival. The best advice a friend and fellow PPD survivor gave me about PPD is to expect and prepare for it. 

Maybe I'm overreacting? Maybe everything will be just fine and I'll be perfectly happy. But as one who suffers from anxiety, it's good for me to feel prepared if things take a wrong turn. 

My Post-Birth Plan includes things like who to call when I need help or feel overwhelmed. Plans for me to sleep as much as I can to avoid severe exhaustion. Plans to go outside and get fresh air, walking to the park down our street, date nights, and things Tyler will do to help me along the way as much as he can. It includes a time line of things to watch for, signs that I need help. How long will I wait before seeking medical attention and the kind of medical care I wish to receive. 

A lot of things are going to be different about this birth. I'm determined to breastfeed (Exclusively pumping for six months again is not an option this time. I felt like a cow. It's all or nothing and I'm definitely giving it my all.) I'm determined to give myself time to heal and not expect a quick recovery. I'm determined to let myself rest instead if stressing about a messy bedroom. I'm determined to have the best attitude I can. 

I can't wait to see his face. Will he have red hair like Andrew? Dimples? Will he be long and skinny, like his dad? Or plump like his big brother? I can't wait to see Andrew hold him for the first time. I can't wait to feed him and sing to him and get a chance to enjoy the weeks as a newborn. It will be hard. I'm probably going to cry a lot. But that's ok. I will be ok. I know I am a daughter of God. I have worth. This is my calling. Every calling has trials. And there is no trial we can't handle. And that it is very ok to ask for help. I have support. I have faith. I am not alone. I CAN DO THIS!