Hot times, Friday night at the C household.
In response to my last post, I got several emails and calls from friends checking in to make sure I was off the ledge. Thanks, all. Yes, I'm fine. And even if I'm not, it helps so much to know I have such an incredible network of friends to help me figure things out.
So, the following post is written with a little bit of relief and perspective from my last post. Since Tuesday, we've doubled GHC's medication, and I've gotten a good haircut & blowdry, enjoyed a fun dinner out with Mama V and Abbe, had a PMS sandwich with Booty, and enjoyed a terrific Friday afternoon happy hour with JM and AKL. I'm feeling much better.
Well, at least I think I'm feeling better.
So, let's lay it all out there. I'm sure you've all been able to figure this out from my blog posts, but being a mom hasn't been the most natural thing in the world for me. Since day one, I've struggled in some regard. Breastfeeding was awful. Reflux was a bitch. Eczema was miserable. Food allergies were an added insult. The list could go on....
But just as soon as I get knee deep in crying "woe is me", I want to slap myself for being so ridiculous. RAISING AN INFANT IS HARD. DUH. I should be thanking whatever stars aligned and gods that smiled on me that I was able to get pregnant and have a beautiful healthy baby. A lot of people would love to be in my shoes.
I get this. I get the reality of how lucky I am.
But no matter how much rationalization I do, I still feel a little "off."
It's kind of like being scared of flying. You KNOW that air travel is hundreds of times safer than traveling by car, but you can't help but feel freaked out anyway. I KNOW I am very lucky. But I can't help but feel like this whole experience is a total train wreck, and not all unicorns and rainbows like it's supposed to be.
For the last 5+ months, I've been struggling to find the fine line between "feeling sorry for myself" and true "post-partum depression." And for most of this time, I've concluded that I'm just being ridiculous. As embarrassed as I am to admit it, I think I always dismissed depression as a change-able state of mind, and not a physical or clinical condition. Yeah, I know, sign me up for the next Christian Science seminar with Tom Cruise.
I think this attitude has stemmed from the fact that I've always been a happy, positive person. I certainly get mad about things, but I never hold grudges, and the things that make me upset have never really changed my outlook on life. Knock on wood, but things in my life have always just worked out. So, naturally, I think that even if things may be hard, it will inevitably get better. That's just the physics of life.
But physics have failed me for the last 5 months. GHC isn't getting "better" like everyone promised she would. Life isn't getting a whole lot easier. And any shadows that may be cast over my my narrow glimmers of hope send me into an immediate downward spiral of hysterics. And not in a subtle "awwww shucks" kind of way. Like in an "Oh, my god, I want to lock myself in the closet, cry, and pretend I don't have a baby" kind of way.
So, this week has been an eye opener for me. I realize I have some post-partum issues I need to work through. It might not be depression. But, it would certainly help to have someone (a trained professional) tell me that what I'm feeling is normal.
I've never seen a shrink. And I certainly don't even know where to begin to find one. Google? 1-800-U-R-CRAZY? Hopefully, I'll find someone (and the time) soon to sit down and hash this all out. But knowing me, I'll get busy this weekend and next week at work, GHC will start up with her cute bubbly antics, and I'll look back on this post with embarrassment and decide that I'm "cured" again. I hope that's not the case, but I'm pretty predictable that way.
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