I’m pretty sure the last couple of end of the year posts I’ve put together haven’t been good at all.  That would be because, with the exception of the birth of my son, the last few years have sucked big donkey balls.

2010 was no exception.  I’ve spent this entire year living with my MIL, with a hubs who has completely stopped looking for work, am battling serious PPD (which, Thank God, is getting better, then worse, but then better again), and did I mention I’m living with my MIL? Still! Since Sept ’09!

A good thing that came in 2010 was my sons 1st birthday! I can’t believe I have a 1 yr old.  It’s crazy! And I’m going to school again, to get my medical assistant cert, then on to nursing….hopefully, we’ll see how life plays out between now and then.

So, all in all, 2010 was just like every other year, it sucked with a few high points, but the high points I can’t even really enjoy because day after day I’m bombarded with crap.  At least no one in my family died this year…that’s a good point.

I have a lot of things to decide in 2011 (wow that was just weird to type)…we’ll see how it goes.  Maybe 2011 will be the year I can end with a post about how great life is.  But for now, this is an honest blog, and my life is not great.  It’s not as bad as it could be, by any means, but it’s not great.

So, see ya 2010, don’t let the door hit you on the way out…or do…I don’t really care either way.

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I’m fat.

December 29, 2010

Yeah. Just to throw that out there. I’ve been relatively overweight for most of my life. I’m at 205 now. I was about 160 when I got married…180 when I got knocked up. So it’s been progressively gaining on me for the last 3.5 years. I would love to get back to 160 but that’s a major long term goal. I’m looking at 180 to start with. At least where I was pre-Sam. That’s about 25 lbs to lose. I can do that.

I guess I forgot to throw out there that I’m starting the c25k program. It stands for couch to 5k (3.1 miles) and is supposed to help increase your endurance. I’ve always wanted to be a runner, I used to run… That was 6 years ago though. I miss it and the body that came with it. Running can be relaxing.

So, that’s the plan for now. Starting Friday I plan on getting up at 5 am one hr before Sam and going for a jog/walk. Hopefully I can lose the first 25 lbs by summer if not more.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the money or sponsors chasing after me, so I don’t have any real plan to follow like Jenny Craig or anything, just good old fashioned calorie counting with the help of my fitness pal and doing c25k mon wed and fri and some strength on tues and thurs.

Wish me luck, because to be honest…I’m scared shitless.

Oops.

December 20, 2010

My poor blog has been neglected, and like most mommy bloggers, I intend on picking it up in the new year…hopefully starting tonight.  I just have some stuff to drop from my chest right now.

 

My biggest thing right now is people who think it is okay to question my judgment as a mama when it comes to trivial things.  Especially when those people are family.  J and I discussed it before Sam was even born, what will we do when it comes to gifts…birthday, Christmas and otherwise.  We chose that for Christmas, and granted we chose this because it is easier for us too since our jobs do not provide us with a lot of extra spending money, but also because we do not want Sam to be spoiled rotten…anyway, we chose to do 3 gifts for Christmas…Christmas is the Birthday for Jesus, and as a symbol of the Nativity story we give Sam 3 gifts since Jesus got 3 gifts for His birthday.  I mean who are we to think we are more important than Christ that we need more stuff (read: useless crap) than he did?   It works for us, so far anyway, this is Sam’s first real Christmas, he was only 3 days old last year and slept through the whole thing.

When we divulged this to our families we asked them only one thing.  Please, only get Sam one gift.  1. Because we don’t want him to get too much stuff because he’s 1 he doesn’t need it and 2. Because we don’t want our families making J and I look bad and make Sam ungrateful for the things he does get.  My mom has already got him 4 or more and MIL has got him at least 3 that I know of.  I love that people love Sam and want him to have the best, but we have to remember he JUST had a b-day party a couple of days ago and got plenty of new stuff.

Second, I think people think J and I are kidding when we tell them we are not doing Santa Claus.  We will tell Sam that there was once a St. Nick who was a giving man and that is who Santa is based on, but he is not around anymore…he is just supposed to be a Christmas symbol of giving and kindness to everyone.  We do not see the need to encourage Sam to believe in something that will last only a few years, especially if he has any younger siblings, I do not desire for him to have to keep that secret and pretend for their sake.  We have chosen not to encourage Santa in our home.  However, since we do not live in our own home as of now (which is another post for another day) my MIL takes it upon herself to continue to ask when we are taking Sam to see Santa and get a picture…we do not have the money for that and she hasn’t offered to do it, so it’s not really any place for her to ask us that when we have said more than once that we will not be doing Santa with Sam.

It’s just frustrating when J and I go against the norm for what is considered the “Right” way to raise  a child in most cases, I was raised believing in Santa, but I didn’t really care, my parents never gave me a meaning behind Christmas.  I didn’t care how the presents got there, I just cared that they were there.  When Santa was no longer “real” it didn’t bother me, because the presents still were.  J and I are going to raise Sam in such a way that he understands presents are not what Christmas is about, and Santa isn’t part of that for us.

 

Woo, went off on a tangent there for not having posted in so long.  I hope it makes sense.  I promise I will try to post more soon.

Loss

October 15, 2010

Today is pregnancy and infant loss remembrance day. At 7pm you should light a candle or say a prayer for the babies lost and parents left to learn how to live without them.

My baby would be almost 18 months old…on the 18th. It’s crazy to look at my almost 10 month old and think of baby r. Baby r was an early loss I was only about 7 weeks when I miscarried. But the pain was no less real, no less hurtful.

I will say a prayer for my baby and all others out there like Harpie, Jillian, Jude, Gabriel and Joshua. I will say a prayer for the mending hearts of the parents. I hope you will join me. Because speaking from experience… We can use all the prayers we can get.

I may need to go back

October 7, 2010

I think I may need to go visit my dr again. When I went and got my original ppd diagnosis I was put on 20mg of celexa. I was told to wait 3-4 weeks and if I felt no different to come back. I just started my 5th week. And while I am having less “If you don’t stop screaming I’m going to throw you against the wall” type feelings I am becoming more complacent. I find myself thinking over and over “this life is full of choices. You can make a different choice. You can just get up and leave.”

So as you can tell I may not want to physically harm my son or myself as much as I did a month ago but I still have no real feelings for this little person next to me. And my feelings for my husband are waning as well. All he wants is sex and that is the last thing on my mind right now. So the more I say no the more distant he becomes. When he gets home from work we have some half hearted family play time then he ignores me and Sam. After Sam is in bed we eat dinner and maybe watch a movie then we don’t speak the rest of the night. We play on the computers until sleep time. Then he asks for sex I say no and it starts all over again.

I know the right thing to do is stay but I can’t help but feeling like I’m doing more damage than good being here. I’m a half way wife and less than half way mom. No one deserves that.

I would expect hate mail if I said I wanted to be single and go out partying and drinking and having random sex but that’s not it at all. I just want to do what’s best for my boys and I feel like I’m not it.

I just want to be miserable on my own without being a burden and so they can have the chance at a happy life. Is that to much to ask?

In, Out and One year.

September 18, 2010

Most Mommy Blogs I read wait until the 9month letter to post this, but since Sam was born a wee bit earlier than we anticipated he get’s a special early post.  As of yesterday, Friday September 17th Sam has been an outside baby just as long as he was an inside baby.  He was born at 38w4d and that’s how old he was on Friday.  It’s a cliche thing to write about, but as a mom, it really is a significant thought.  To realize that you’ve kept this person alive and well in the real world just as much and as long as you did when he was on the inside and so much more easily protected.  Sam will be 9 months old on Tuesday, poor baby has a Dr visit that same day.  They have usually been the day before his “birthday” so he was happy on the actual “birthday” and I got great monthly pictures and all was well.  I do not like that I have to take him on the actual day, one because I hate his shots, the last time he got them at 6 months (geez was it really that long ago?) he cried a lot harder and longer than he ever had before.  Also, this time I will be taking him alone…yikes!

I have started planning his 1st birthday party.  We have decided to do a Green Eggs and Ham birthday-Sam I am!-get it? I thought it was a cute idea…and that’s all that matters right? Right.  So, I’m glad to get that on the ball, I would much rather it be all planed way early than be scrambling at the last minute..haha I made a funny!  Scrambling-eggs.  Sorry, it’s been a long day and I’m hopped up on allergy meds.

Anyway, for the sad part of this post, as of today Sept 18th- I have been living in a house with my MIL for a year!  A whole-farking-year!  It’s not anywhere near cool.  We had a decent relationship until she started micromanaging my whole life.  Oh, and the talking bad about me behind my back when she thinks I can’t hear her thing…that’s dumb too.  It sucks all the more because Mr is actually working now, and it’s a full time job, but they are paying him crap!  Not anywhere near enough for us to live on (think less than 15000-for full-time….yeah).  But he does have a full time job in Austin looking at him, he is supposed to chat with them for kind of a pre-interview sometime this week…pray that it goes well.  I adore Austin, and it’s far, far away from here (ok only like 3ish hours but that’s far, far away when it comes to our families), and it is doing something he would absolutely love.  So, it’s a good thing all around.

Anywho, I guess to sum up-

  • Sam’s officially older than he ever was as a fetus,
  • he’s going to be 1 yr old in 3 months! (yes, seriously) and we’re doing a Dr. Seuss, Green Eggs&Ham/Sam I am theme,
  • my MIL stinks and makes my life hell because I’ve been living with her for a year,
  • pray and send good vibes for the Mr to get the job in Austin.

I feel like I haven’t been totally honest with my readers, the few I have.  I feel like I can’t blog because I face the wrath of judgmental eyes and comments, and I love to blog, I just want it to be about happier things, but this has been clouding my mind for years.  I know I’m not alone, and I know that my story is about to cross over to the other side when I can start trying to heal and feel better.  So, if you feel like you want to read this, it’s the longest post I’ve ever done, so I don’t blame you if you skip it, however, I know it’s out there for the world to read so no one can say I never told them.

I don’t know what I did to deserve this, these feelings of hate, of anger, depression, and anxiety—death.  Death.  That’s not even the right word.  It’s not that I want to die; I just want to simply not exist, curl up into a ball and disappear, like none of this ever happened.  I don’t even have the luxury of saying I’m not sure how this happened.  I know exactly when I started to feel this way.  I was a happy kid, it’s not like I lived all my life feeling this way, it’s not like I was the gothic girl in school and everyone just knew I would be the one to grow up wanting to not exist.  But, I do know exactly the moment I became that girl.

My story is different from most.  The ailment that I have is what most would consider Postpartum Depression-PPD.  My depression started long before I had my son, the postpartum hormones just threw me over the edge.  They launched my soul into a never-ending black abyss that I cannot find my way out of.  I am still trying to find my way out, so if you are reading this hoping for a light at the end of the tunnel, I cannot provide that for you.  I can only show you the pain and fear that I have experienced in hopes that you can recognize it if, and I truly hope for your sake it is if and not when, it happens to you, and you can get help if you can.

Most of the stories you read about mother’s with PPD they have their aching bad thoughts, most of which revolve around just  not wanting to deal with the baby anymore and they run to their doctor and get the pills to sedate their brains into feeling how they are supposed to as new moms.  Most new moms have insurance to cover these visits.  I don’t.  That is why I am fighting this alone, the best I can.

My story begins, as I mentioned, long before my son was even a thought, in December of 2007-New Year’s Eve to be exact.  I was 20 years old newly married-just 5 months in-and happier than I could have ever hoped.  My family gathered at my parent’s home for New Year’s Eve and a night of playing games and enjoying a few drinks, rousing laughter and hilarity ensuing the grumpiness my Dad had when he was losing.  Midnight grew near and my Mom, Dad, Sister, Brother-in-Law, Husband and I all sat in the living room, that was the time they chose to tell us.  My Dad has Cancer. Happy Freaking New Year everybody!  I’ll spare the sad and terrible details of the next couple of months.  I will just add in for effect that in my family, my Sister was the Momma’s girl and I was the Daddy’s girl.  My Sister, actually my half-sister, was my Dad’s step daughter.  My Mom and she had spent a long time with it just being the two of them when my Mom divorced her Dad, so their great bond was something I understood that I couldn’t compete with, so I grew up in my Daddy’s arms.  He knew me to my very core; he was the one that understood what I was saying behind the “nothing” and the “I’m fine”.  He was my hero, my Dad.  On March 28, 2008 he lost his battle to Cancer, he had just turned 45, I was 21.  That was it.  The moment the light left my soul.  When he exhaled his last breath and I collapsed to the floor in a heap of tears and overwhelming grief. The moment I knew my place in the family had been changed forever.  That was it.

Four months later my husband moved us away from home for his new job, a Youth Minister at a new Church.  I began school again and resumed my new normal.  The girl who smiled when she wanted to cry, the girl who got up and out the door when all she wanted was to stay in bed with the covers over her head.  I remember several days when I couldn’t leave the house.  Specifically one Sunday that I couldn’t go to church, I remember clinging to my pillows telling my husband I couldn’t go and lie.  I couldn’t make myself lie, when someone asked me how I was doing that day, I couldn’t say fine.  Usually I could.  I had become a professional at the faux happy face, but that day I just couldn’t do it.

I continued my life just like that.  The up-and-down of the everyday, no relief to be seen or felt, although you could ask anyone about this time and they would say they never knew.  I’m convinced were I a toothpick with no brain I could be a great actress.  By the time I did begin to feel somewhat normal again, about 6 months later, I found out I was pregnant.  Joy-somewhat, Elation-probably not, Fear-most definitely.  I wanted a baby with my husband and I knew that, I just didn’t know what to do with a baby.  Of course, at the time, my first thought was, he’s not going to know his Pawpaw.  We were excited, but didn’t know what to do, if we should tell yet or not, thankfully, we didn’t.  Six months-to the day- after my dad died, I had a miscarriage.  Great freaking year!  I would hope it goes without saying that this event completely shut me down for months.  I cried every day, several times a day.  I vowed never to get pregnant again; I couldn’t live through that much hurt again.  When I told my Mom she was insistent on coming down and staying with me, she brought my sister.  My Mom had a miscarriage before, my sister hasn’t so she didn’t understand and she made damn well sure that I knew she thought I had no right to feel bad about it.

After these two events, was when the depression really began to hit hard.  I began having day dreams while driving about what it would be like to take off my seatbelt and run into a brick wall doing 90mph.  What it would feel like to die.

I should stop to make a note- I mentioned my husband was a Youth Minister, I am a Christian, but after the miscarriage God and I were not really on speaking terms.  I’m still struggling to find a way back to Him, wondering if He would even take me back after all of this.

Obviously about seven months later I became pregnant again.  That was the hardest time in my life.  I think instead of being able to feel the joy and happiness I should have, deserved, to feel, it was tainted by all the bad feelings I had been living with for over a year.  If anything, it caused the depression to worsen.  I was very, very sick for the first 14 weeks of my pregnancy with my son, and after that I actually enjoyed it a little.  I loved being pregnant, and this is where it gets bad, I loved being pregnant exponentially more than I love being a mother. Just as I was starting to enjoy my pregnancy my grandmother passed away from Cancer as well. Then about 5 months into my pregnancy my husband was laid off from his job.  We lost everything.  We had to move in with his mother, my son was born having to live with his grandmother.

When my son was born, the postpartum hormones hit within a few hours.  I never had that “Oh my gosh, I’m so in love with this baby I could die” moment.  My moment was more “oh my gosh, why did I have a baby?  I want to die!”

The next few weeks that followed were anything but the picture of a sweet new family.  The baby had a bad case of jaundice and my husband could sleep through every scream and wail our son made so I had to crawl over him, having just given birth, to take care of our son every couple of hours, every night.  One night in particular I remember thinking I was going to just leave and then he would understand what it’s like to have to care for the baby alone.  Then it progressed to, I wish I had a blunt object to hit him in the head with then at least he would have an excuse for not hearing the baby.   The next few weeks as the baby became fussier at night and I would try to rock him and console him again and again night after night, was when the scary thoughts began for me.  If I just threw him up against the wall he wouldn’t scream anymore.  It got to the point that after I threatened my husband to his face to leave if he didn’t start helping, that when the baby would wail my husband would put him in bed with us and he would stop crying for a moment, but once it would start again I would think things like “I’m so exhausted no one would question me if I rolled over and placed my arm just right over his face or if the pillow slipped over his face.”  Yeah, I know, you can think I’m horrible, I do.  I know I shouldn’t be a mom.  But, he’s my son so I have to find a way to love him.  Of course, since my husband had lost his job when I had my son it was on Medicaid and after my six-week check-up, my Medicaid was cut off.  Which I think is crap, what about moms who lost their jobs and need to be on Medicaid and end up with PPD?  It’s not covered, we are screwed.  So, I have been fighting this battle on my own since my son was born. I have done everything my Ob-Gyn suggested at my six-week visit.  I get outside as much as I can force my lead-laden limbs to carry me there.  I don’t get to go out, the one time I tried to make plans with my friends since my son was born they fell through.  I haven’t spent one day with my friends without my son since he was born, that was 8 months ago.  I’ve been living with my mother-in-law for a year now, I have the typical mother-in-law, daughter-in-law relationship with her, it’s not pretty, and so you can imagine how much that helps me get over my bad thoughts.

I suppose if there is a silver lining to this dark, ominous cloud it is that my husband has finally found a new job, however it doesn’t pay enough for us to move out of here and it’s an hour drive away, but it is full time so we will be getting insurance again.  I intend on going to my doctor as soon as I can.  I suppose a sedated brain is better than a frighteningly black and sick one any day.  I suppose I can finally get the therapy I’ve so desperately needed for the last 3 years.  I never liked the idea of therapy but I have no one to talk to who wouldn’t try to have me committed by divulging all these secrets.  Just writing them out has lifted some weight, but not enough for me to want to go pick up my son and hug or kiss him.  My fight is different because I have no one to help, I have no resources to depend on, I hope that fact changes soon and I can write a rebuttal to this post.  I hope that I can see my doctor and get the help I know I need now.  I hope that I can allow myself to want more children one day like my husband does.  I would hate to take that dream away from him.  But right now, for my own sanity, I know I can’t have more kids.  For my own sanity I can’t be anyone else’s mother.  It’s hard enough having the one and feeling the way I do.  One, two, three more wouldn’t be fair to anyone, especially those children.

If you kept up and read this all the way through, I don’t know if I should be grateful that I have people who care that much or if I should say I’m sorry you had to waste that much of your life reading it.  I’m sure it doesn’t make much sense to anyone, but that’s okay.  It’s not really supposed to.  Especially if you have never been there, which I pray and hope that you never have to be.  It is a dark and sad and scary place to be.  From my point of view, there is no light at the end of this tunnel.  Just a long, dark, never-ending abyss.