Change is always good

Big changes are coming to Maybrooke. 

And I mean BIG. 

(Speaking of BIG, look at how big this slugger is!)

Change gives me anxiety. It makes my stomach twist and turn and I feel sick. My hands get painfully cold (I have Raynauds Syndrome) and my face gets hot and I can't focus on anything. 

My mom used to always say, "Change is always good." 

And she is right. It is what you make it to be. But If I could, I would stay in my cozy little comfort zone and never leave. But this change is good. It will be hard and it might be stressful, but it will be good.

Say hello to my two new managers!!! 

I have put in my two weeks notice at my work. I'll still be working a couple of days a week at another location but we are doing it so I can be home with my sweet little heroes more. 

No more stressful, rushed and often miserable mornings. No more stressing because one boy is sick and I can't be there. No more crying my heart out when my mom texts me to tell me Drew learned a new word or Ben rolled over and I missed it. No more messes sitting around the house, patiently waiting for Saturday to come. No more afternoon traffic or going to work looking like a truck hit me because I was up all night with a baby. No more waiting until 3PM to eat because that is literally the only chance I get to eat something. 

I'm looking forward to spending my days barefoot, in an apron and working hard to make this work. There will be a lot of budgeting and meal planning, but I'm REALLY looking forward to running Maybrooke more and doing more fun things with my little heroes. And I plan on blogging it the whole way. 

P.S. Did you notice the blog makeover? Not sure if I like it just yet... It may or may not change again. 

Happy Wednesdee! 

The Bully

Bully: A person who uses strength or power to harm or intimidate someone weaker. 

Everyone knows a bully. Everyone has been bullied or maybe even been the bully themselves. 

I wasn't too popular in school. I knew it. I was different. Even a little weird. Sometimes I was ok with it and sometimes I wasn't. But I wish I had confidence then like I do now. 

I am going to share a few of my personal bully experiences but I'm not doing it for a pity party. I promise there is a point to it. :) 

I can distinctly remember the night after cheerleader try outs my 8th grade year. I made the squad. I had celebrated with my family, I called my grandparents, and texted my friends all night. Before I went to shower I plugged my phone in to charge. When I came back I had a miss call and a voicemail. I can still hear the voice on the message so clearly. 

"U-G-L-Y! U-G-L-Y! You ugly!" 

I remember looking at myself in my bedroom floor length mirror as I listened. My scrawny 13 year old self. And I burst into tears. Because I believed it. And I believed it for a long time. I never told anyone about the message. I was so embarrassed about it. But I let it control my thoughts for too long. 

Another time was the summer before my senior year. I was in the choir presidency and we were having a meeting at a park. I was waiting for a ride from a dear friend in my ward. 

I heard her pull up and knock on the door. 

I opened the door ready to go. And then I noticed her nervous expression. 

"I didn't do it," she said. 

"I don't know who did. But you need to come see this." 

And there, on my very own driveway, in permanent marker, someone wrote, "Avery is a.... (Long list of profanities)." 

Thankfully my mom is a master as getting stains out so she immediately scrubbed it off. I went to the meeting (that didn't last long because no one else showed up) and then I went home. I remember staring at the spot where the message was and wondering what I did to make someone hate me so much. This bullying incident is probably the closest I ever came to experiencing depression before I had children. 

Now, here I am. Just a few months away from my 21st birthday. I'm a little more confident in myself and I've learned to shake off rude comments and ignore bullies like everyone says to. 

Except one. 

There is a bully who just won't leave me alone. She is cruel. She is unforgiving. And she is hard to ignore because she is me. 

Some of the symptoms of PPD are feelings of helplessness, guilt and inadequacy. This second round of PPD wasn't as obvious as the first. It started with little thoughts here and there. 

"I snapped at Tyler. That was bad. I'm ashamed and sorry. I need to do better." 

"I can't keep up with the house work. I am just not cut out to be a good wife and mother." 

"I just sounded like an idiot in front of a customer. I just need to keep my dumb mouth shut. No wonder no one wants to hang out with me."

I am the bully. 

A fellow PPD survivor recently said, "Be kind to yourself." 

And every time one of those mean thoughts comes into my head I can hear those words. 

Be kind to yourself. 

I can't run from this bully. 

But I can stand up for myself.

And I'm ready for this bully to be gone for good. 

Then vs Now

When I wrote up my Post-Birth Plan I had a section that was specifically for doing things that I loved. Things that made me happy. 

The list included things like: 

• learn a new song to sing to the boys

• go to see a movie in theatre (which is a rare treat when you have small children and are poor!) 

• go on walks 

• go somewhere new 

(We went to the dinosaur park.) 

• create something big and fun for our house 

We made this. And we love it but now we have strangers that stand in front of our yard or people that pull over to look at it. 

I didn't do those things the first time around. I was lucky to even write a journal entry. And when I did, it was of things not worth remembering. Those entries are full of anxiety. Thoughts of not being good enough for Andrew or Tyler. 

At one point I wrote, "I'm trapped. I'm being held prisoner in my own mind. And I have no idea how to get out. It's so dark. My thoughts are not my own. HELP ME!" 

I don't feel that darkness now. Not like before. I can tell something is not quite right though. 

For example: A dear friend was looking at my pictures on my phone and said, "You take great pictures! You should be a photographer! I'd pay you!" 

I got excited about the idea. I started to day dream about it and looked into cameras and classes. And then it hit me. Completely out of no where. I burst into tears and had a terrible crying spell. I cried so hard that I puked. It was one of the worst anxiety attacks I have ever had. I hardly ate the next couple of days and I didn't want to take a picture at all. After a few days I was fine. 

A few days later I had another bad anxiety attack, but this time it was because I felt like I wasn't a good mom. Andrew was sick and was calling for Nana and I just lost it. I thought I had lost him for good and that my mom might as well just keep him because I clearly wasn't good enough. That hit me HARD. 

After a priesthood blessing from Tyler and  a reminder that I would probably want to go to my mom too if she'd let me eat all the Oreos I want, I felt a bit better. But that pain stayed with me. I carried it like a weight on my heart. 

It was at that point that Tyler noticed I had lost "the spark in my eyes" as he put it. I didn't want to write, read, craft, sing or go for a walk anymore. We argue more. I now cry over the simplest little things. Even while sticking to my plan for my low days, (like making that sign for our yard- we finished it a week early, hoping that crafting would help boost my spirits.) I can't seem to get back up. It's kind of like feeling yourself lose your mind, but being completely helpless to it. The walls are closing in.

But I think I caught it early enough that it won't turn into that dark, cold place like before. I never want to be in that dark state again. Ever. 

A lot of my dear friends and even strangers have reached out to me after my last post. And it means SO much to me that I'm not alone in this. Even with different problems, any mental disorder is like a cancer of the mind. It is just as serious as any other physical disorder. Mental health is SO important. And I wish it was more normal to speak of instead of being this painful secret. 

Thank you for all the support! I know I can beat it this time. :) 

Andrew and Benjamin

As a baby, Andrew hated to be hot. His toes had to stick out of the blanket and he had to stay cool or he would become sweaty and uncomfortable. 

But Benjamin LOVES to be wrapped up all snug and warm. He doesn't sweat easily and he loves to cuddle.

Andrew was serious about his food. If the bottle wasn't ready the moment he opened his eyes, you'd seriously regret it. 

Benjamin is pretty cool about waiting to nurse while I change a diaper or clean up an overturned bowl of cocoa puffs. 

Andrew wasn't a very fussy baby. As long as the basics were taken care of, he was pretty chill. 

Benjamin is the boss and he knows it. 

Andrew loved stories and playing at an early age. 

Benjamin did too.

Andrew pulled some hilarious faces. 

Benjamin does too.

I love these boys! 

Breaking the Silence

I can't believe Benjamin is almost 8 weeks old already! He is getting big and chubby so fast. 

As for me?

 I'm doing a lot better than I did during my last recovery. Sticking to my post-birth plan has helped a lot. I still have days where my anxiety is through the roof or I'm just not feeling myself but it doesn't get bad or last very long. 

I had the opportunity to talk to my favorite nurse at my OB's office during my 6 week Post Partum check up. And that lead to our long discussion about the things that no one talks about after childbirth. 

Before I get into what I learned, I feel prompted to point out that up to 80% of moms experience "baby blues" up to two weeks after giving birth. And that any of those feelings after two weeks is considered Postpartum Depression. Only 10-20% of moms experience PPD. 

Postpartum Depression is the most under-diagnosed obstetricial complication in the United States.

Postpartum Depression does not always hit you right away. 

It can come on anytime within the first year of having your baby. 

It can come on even if you didn't have it with your previous deliveries, no matter how many children you have had. 

It can happen to women who have never experienced depression before. (Like myself.) 

Mothers who miscarry at any point in pregnancy or have a still-birth can also experience Postpartum Depression.

My nurse and I talked about how things like PPD have only recently come into light. If you had it before it was recognized as an actual condition, you were treated like you were crazy, and possibly shunned, depending on how severe the condition. There was no help. There was no treatment. You just sucked it up and delt with it. If I had lived in that time period, I would have taken my own life when Drew was four months old. (Postpartum Phycosis) 

 

I was surprised to learn just how common PPD is. My nurse said that she wished there were more resources and awareness for PPD because every PPD patient she sees is always embarrassed about it. I know I was. I literally had felt like I had gone crazy. But they acted as if it was the most normal thing. My doctor told me over and over that it was NOT my fault and that I would get through this. Every time I have a trial with pregnancy (like my hyperemesis gravidarum) or PPD he always says, "This too shall pass." I didn't think it would. I felt too far gone. But it did. And now I'm so much better. 

I have A LOT of friends who have just recently had children, or are newly pregnant. And I urge all of you, if you even think you MIGHT have PPD, even if it's "not that bad," PLEASE go see your doctor. 

You won't become dependent on the pill. You only take it for a little while to balance out your hormones. (I only needed it for two months.) If untreated it could get worse. 

And even if it doesn't get worse, there is no reason you and your loved ones should suffer because of a hormonal imbalance. I was bad enough that Tyler and I considered not having any more children after Andrew. It was just as hard on him. He felt so helpless. 

I often hear people say, "As long as the baby is healthy, that is all that matters." 

No. 

A mother's mental health is JUST AS IMPORTANT as a baby's health. And a baby needs a happy momma. As much as I hate to admit it, I feel so guilty because I was so depressed I wouldn't even look at Drew as I fed him his bottle of pumped milk. I remember feeling his big blue eyes on me and I wouldn't look at him. I didn't hate him. I loved him with my whole heart. But I was so depressed I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I felt like I wasn't good enough to be his mother. And I will forever regret that. 

I definitely look Benjamin in the eyes as much as I can. 

Signs of Postpartum Depression are: 

•Loss of appetite 

•insomnia

•intense irritability and anger

•overwhelming fatigue

•feelings of shame, guilt or inadequacy 

•loss of joy in life 

•severe mood swings

•difficulty bonding with your baby

•feelings of hopelessness 

•thoughts of harming yourself or your baby 

If you have any of these symptoms, please seek help. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's real. And you deserve to feel better. You deserve to be happy. 

Formula vs Breastfeeding vs Pumping

*Please note that these are my personal opinions based on my own experiences.* 

One of the biggest issues I see in the "Mommy Wars" is the way we feed our children. It's only understandable that as good mothers we want THEE BEST for our little ones. I think we often forget that the "best" needs to be our PERSONAL best, not the "best" compared to every other mom in the universe. 

There are three options for feeding your new baby. Breastfeeding, formula feeding and exclusively pumping. And like girls in high school, mothers have formed themselves into these groups or cliques to support each other in their "feeding journey." Even worse- they tend to bash those who choose a different method of feeding. Never mind that their children are all healthy and growing.

I have done all three methods of feeding with my two sons. And I can honestly say that each method has it's own struggles. They are hard in their own way. One is not harder than the other. And in my personal opinion, one is not better than the rest. No mother should feel guilty just for feeding her baby! And seriously- you cannot walk into a room full of Kindergarteners and recognize who had breast milk and who had formula. It's not going on their resume. It doesn't count toward their college education. 

Breastfeeding: It is typically the intention of all new mothers to breastfeed. It has been the way to feed an infant since Adam and Eve. It's what our bodies were made to do. It doesn't cost anything, it comes ready made and science has proved that it is the healthiest option-for MOST mothers and their babies. I say "most" because there are several cases that breastfeeding is not the best option. Life saving medication for the mother may harm her baby through the breast milk. Sometimes the child does not thrive on the milk the mother provides. Sometimes the mother does not make enough. Sometimes there are cases where the mother suffered a form of abuse that makes breastfeeding uncomfortable. And sometimes things just don't work out. Guess what? Breastfeeding is HARD! At least it was for me. Some mothers take to breastfeeding like it is second nature to them. No one told me it was going to be hard. I had no idea what I was doing when I tried to breastfeed Andrew. I did a lot if things wrong and was too afraid to ask for help. He wouldn't latch. When I had Benjamin I was more educated and knew what to do. And so far we have been exclusively breastfeeding for almost two weeks. It hurts. I cried. Bleeding and sore nipples are no walk in the park! Not to mention I over produce and often feel like I have milk coming out my ears. My lactation consultant said I'd make a great wet nurse and could easily feed twins. I love breast feeding. I love knowing he is getting it from me, and that I can provide for him on my own. But it is hard. 

Pumping: When Andrew wouldn't latch, I was devistated. I was determined he would get my milk. I felt like it was the only thing I was doing right. So I started pumping. And it was HARD. I'd pump for 30 minutes every two hours. I'd pump, feed it to him, rock him back to sleep and then start pumping for the next feeding. This made me seriously sleep deprived, which also contributed to my PPD. I did all this research on keeping my supply up, which wasn't a problem until I developed mastitis- three times. One landed me in the ER. The pump doesn't completely drain you like a baby would. I often felt like people thought that because I was pumping it wasn't as good as breastfeeding. And that hurt. After all, he was still getting MY milk. Why wasn't that good enough? I was working so hard just to feed him and it still didn't feel like it was enough. I pumped for six months before I switched to formula. And I don't regret it, but I will never do it again. 

Formula: I want to slap someone when they say that formula is for lazy moms. It is NOT for lazy moms. Thank heavens for formula! Think of all the children who would have died without it. It's truly a miracle. But Formula has it's own set of trials. Finding one that is right for your baby can be a nightmare. Andrew was allergic to cows milk based formula and then began reacting to soy formula too. And Hypoallergenic formula is so expensive it makes me sick to think about it. We slowly got him used to cow milk formula, but not without many tearful and sleepless nights. His poor tummy hurt him so much and it killed me to see him in pain. It also stabbed at my heart every time Tyler complained about the cost of formula. He didn't mean to, but it made me feel so guilty that I wasn't breastfeeding and saving us money every month. We often had to settle for macaroni and cheese for a few nights in a row just to make sure we had enough for formula. I felt like breastfeeding moms looked down on me. One breastfeeding group on Facebook is so against formula that they call it the "f-word" and it is forbidden to be suggested or talked about. One mom tried to convince me that formula was poison. But it is truly a scientific miracle and nothing to be ashamed of. 

The biggest problem with my three experiences is that I was so worried about what everyone else thought. I wanted to wear the invisible breastfeeding badge so badly that I looked down on myself when things didn't work out. I felt guilty for making my child healthy. Now what is wrong with that picture? 

And now that I am breastfeeding, I don't think it's worth prancing around with a holier-than-thou attitude. Yes, I'm ecstatic that I'm actually doing it successfully. But my only regret with the way I fed Andrew is my attitude. If I could go back I would only change my way of thinking. Being a mom is hard enough, why make it harder? If something happens and I have to put Benjamin on formula, I will have a much better attitude about it. Because I don't want approval from other moms. I want approval from my sweet baby. I want HIM to be happy and healthy. 

I was an exclusively Breastfed baby. Tyler was formula fed. And guess what? We are both healthy, happy, intelligent adults. Our mothers did their very best for us and they did a fantastic job. That is exactly what I want for my boys. 

April Fools

April 1st, 2014

I woke up 15 minutes before my 5:00AM alarm. I closed my eyes and thought about all the things I needed to do today. I stewed in my thoughts for so long that surely those 15 minutes had passed and my alarm would go off at any moment. I checked my phone. Only three minutes had passed. 

I decided to get up anyway. I rushed to the bathroom and emptied my stomach. No zofran today! I did my hair. I threw up again, this time loud enough that I woke up Tyler. I double checked all the bags and then made toast for Drew. I threw up again and then woke him up. 

He is normally grouchy if he wakes up too early but today he was all smiles. 

We dropped off Drew and Abbie at my mom's and headed to the hospital. We checked in and settled. I was dilated to a 5. We finally got my IV going and started the pitocen. I got an epidural. And then we waited. 

Three hours passed. I dilated to a 7 and stay there for a while. I started to get nervous that something was wrong as they gave me more pitocen and had me lie on my side. My nurse came to check me once again. Her face became stern. As she pulled her hand away I noticed a good amount of blood on her glove. 

"Sometimes," she said softly, "the cervix swells and causes things to close back up. You're back to a five." 

I caught my breath. Did this mean I would need a c-section? I hadn't prepared myself for that. I felt my anxiety sink in and I began to panic. 

"April Fools!" She shouted. She laughed at my expression. 

"Sorry, I had to do it! You're dilated to a ten! I now pronounce Benjamin ready to come! I'll get your doctor." 

The next thing I know I hear Tyler saying, "Ree! He has hair! And such chubby cheeks! He looks like Drew!"

 And my doctor saying, "He is so big! I can't believe he is so big!" 

And the nurses saying, "Wow, look at the snow storm outside!" 

Sure enough it looked just like Christmas Eve outside on this Spring day. 

7 pounds 14 ounces and 21 inches. Because I was so sick we were told not to expect him to be more than 7 pounds. That is why my doctor was so shocked he came out so big. He was even bigger than Andrew was. What a blessing! 

Andrew desperately needed a nap and could have cared less about his new role as a brother. 

And now I have three sweet Furlong boys to love! 

How lucky am I??