The albatross around my neck

Or more like the tell-tale heart. I believe one of the biggest blocks to my writing (other than my ever active self-censor) is an incident that happened at the beginning of this year. This incident has been weighing so heavily on my mind and conscience that I was unsure of how to tackle it - or whether I even should - in a blog post. I came to the conclusion that since I am attempting to write honestly about my battle with postpartum depression, I need to share the story of this event since it represents my lowest of low points during my long (and arguably still ongoing) battle with this disease.

We flew home to Illinois in January for a belated Christmas celebration figuring it would be less chaotic for Maggie's first flight. We were very nervous about traveling with our perpetually screamy infant, and my gut was in knots for fear of being "those people" on the flight. We talked to a lot of other parents to get tips for our trip, and decided to fly out on a red eye. It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time (and it probably is a brilliant idea for people with non-colicky babies). The theory is that you're working with their natural sleep rhythms and the airports and planes are quieter, darker and more conducive to sleep. Without going into great detail, I can tell you this plan failed miserably for us. Our Peanut DID NOT SLEEP. I think we finally got her to drift fitfully off for about an hour during the flight, but the entire time before and after that she - WE - were miserably awake. Then we had jet lag to deal with...

Once we arrived at our final destination, Peanut seemed to adjust well to all the commotion - thanks to awesome grandparents, aunties, uncles and cousins all more than willing to play, coo, read, sing and swing with her. I now know the trip was a lot harder on me, partly because I had wound myself up about it for so long before the trip even happened. I was already cranky, and then had the misconception that I would be able to hand the baby off to all the willing family members and have some personal time and get some rest. This was not the case. Though Peanut did quite well during the day, sleep - whether naptime or nighttime - was even more challenging than it was at home.

On our second day there, I was trying to put Peanut down for a nap. It was not going well. She was obviously tired and in need of a nap, and I was trying desperately to create some semblance of schedule while we were away from home. She screamed and cried and carried on... I normally would swaddle her and walk her around (and around and around...) until she'd fall asleep. I was attempting to do this, but she was fighting it - screaming, wriggling, protesting. I could feel myself losing my patience - quickly. My anger was accelerating. That feeling of losing control - of never really having had it to begin with - was making my brain spin. That's when it happened.

I bit the baby.

Like an animal.

As my teeth were encompassing her sweet, soft cheek flesh, I was even thinking, "Oh my GOD. I am BITING my child. What the HELL is going on???" She screamed and wailed even louder, of course. But this time the scream was not one of fatigue or frustration. It was the scream of pain and hurt, and I had caused it. I was instantly nauseous.

My grip on her softened, and I kissed her face and apologized over and over and over again. Shame swelled within me as tears streamed down our faces. Surely I am the worst mother to ever walk the face of the earth. I rushed downstairs with the baby still cradled in my arms to where my mother-in-law was. My husband was out, so I just asked her to send him up to me as soon as he returned which was mercifully soon afterwards.

Speaking the words of what I had done was by far one of the hardest things I'd ever done in my whole life. And it didn't get any easier having to repeat it. I knew I had to tell my mother-in-law, too, in large part because the following day she'd scheduled a photo shoot for all the cousins. AND I HAD BITTEN MY BABY. On her cheek. She had a big reddish purple ring on her cheek that would be preserved for all photographic eternity so I will never be able to forget what happened.

My husband and mother-in-law took over baby duty from me and I called my therapist. It wasn't any easier repeating it to her, either. It didn't help my guilt that my husband and mother-in-law helped concoct a story to tell the rest of the family about what happened to Peanut's cheek so that I wouldn't have to recount the atrocity: "She fell on a toy." God, it sounded just like the bullshit story the abused wife tells her friends, "I lost my balance and fell down the stairs." Even though I knew that my act of aggression had not come from a place of hatred or disgust for my child, it felt disgusting. I guess spousal abuse is not really about hatred either. It all comes down to power and control.

Part Two of this will deal with how I worked through the aftermath of this incident.

To be continued...

Toddlers and Tiaras (blog tangent)

I found myself unable to look away from an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras this afternoon.  It started as mild amusement and my inner looky-loo saying, "Ooh, look at the freaks!"  But it really got me thinking... And it REALLY got me angry. 

How is this whole child pageant thing not considered child abuse?  In TV, there are strict rules in place about child performers.  Sure, there are still crazy stage moms, but there are rules for children who are working.  And, yes, a lot about acting (especially in film and TV) is about appearance, but in pageantry the MAIN FOCUS is appearance.  They claim it's also about the kids' personalities, but who are we kidding?  These people spend tens of thousands of dollars on wardrobe, hair (WIGS) and make-up (including spray tanning), coaches, blah, blah, blah - NONE of that is about personality.

The mother of "Pageant Superstar" Eden Wood spends an awful lot of time insisting that she only does this because her daughter (who is currently FIVE and has been involved in modelling and pageants since she was 18 months old) wants to.  A few quick points: NO 18 month old voluntarily involves themselves in modelling and pageantry; Eden's mother is clearly an attention whore who swept in and lifted Eden in a huge circle on stage after she won a title right at her crowning moment and then proceeded to run hooting and hollering throughout the audience; Eden's mother is clearly passing on her desperate and grotesque need for attention to her daughter who announces at every opportunity that she is a "Pageant Superstar" who LOVES doing what she does.  Of course you do, sweetheart.  What little kid wouldn't love being showered with praise and attention, constantly doted on and made the center of attention?  Kids already think the world revolves around them, and now this little girl's world DOES revolve around her.  God forbid she ever decides to pursue anything in life outside of this warped little world.

How do these parents not realize what they are doing to their kids?  I know, I know, how can I judge?  I'm certainly far from a perfect parent and I'm sure these women would have an earful for how I treat my daughter ("How can you let her chew on that SHOE???").  I know we are all doomed to pass on our issues to our kids.  But seriously.  SERIOUSLY.  When your kid is kicking and screaming at every turn and you are spending all this time and money to drag them to pageants and your kid is THREE FUCKING YEARS OLD and you're doing it because YOU did it in your youth - YOU SUCK AS A MOM.  There.  I said it.  These women are NOT doing the right thing for their kids.  At all.

But the bulk of the blame can't even lie with these parents (who are mostly the moms).  Granted, after watching just one episode, I can hardly be an expert, but let me tell you where much deserved blame lies: THE PAGEANT DIRECTORS AND AGENTS.  They are manipulative - of the children, the parents, and the entire situation.  They create the structure within which all of these parents and kids live where they feel they need to measure up.  It is grotesque.  The women all gush over how BEAUTIFUL their daughters are.  Of course your kid is beautiful (if only to you), and that's wonderful.  But what are you teaching them about the world and about themselves when you place so much value on appearance?

Maybe I'm very wrong.  Maybe these pageants teach kids about how to lose.  About having confidence and believing in yourself.  I was never in pageants and I still grew up with a miserable perception of myself and let my self-worth come from what I perceived other people thought of me - ESPECIALLY when it came to my appearance.  I didn't think I was pretty - in fact, I KNEW I wasn't pretty - so I learned to be funny (or at least to try to use humor).  It didn't necessarily make me a better or happier person.

I am truly interested to see where all of these kids end up in 10 years or so.  Some of them may indeed follow their mothers' dreams and footsteps and become successful pageant queens and be totally happy.  Some will absolutely have major behavioral issues and need therapy for years and years to come.  Which majority will rule?  Reality TV certainly will not help - adding more fuel to the attention-seeking fire.  Eden (AT FIVE) has been on TV, in magazines, has her own DOLL - all because she's PRETTY, CUTE, and does whatever her mom tells her to (on stage, anyway).  There will always be people at every turn waiting to take a piece of her to turn it for a profit.  And when they're done with her, there are dozens of other TV shows that will be waiting to feed off the scraps: Intervention, Where Are They Now?, Celebrity Rehab (and a billion others that will come and go in the next 10 years or so).

Don't you forget about me

Have you forgotten me? I haven't forgotten you.

The thought of blog posts has been weighing heavily on my head... This is why I hesitated publishing in the first place; once I know "people are watching", I get lost in my head and my inner critic takes over. My inner critic is not kind, though - I can acknowledge - not usually right. Still, it's so easy to ignore my goals that I started out with especially as Peanut gets older, more independent, and more assertive in the world.

I know what I need to do and it sounds so simple: JUST WRITE. I will try to not make it harder than it needs to be. That being said, part of what has held me back is my control freak nature that wants me to write about everything chronologically, when in reality I will never be able to accurately share my story that way. Not yet.

So I'm writing. Just writing. I can't promise what will come out. And for now, though I will not forget that I have supporters, I need to try and ignore you for a while so I can fool my Censor into thinking that s/he is very, very alone and unwanted.

CUE: Simple Minds "Don't You Forget About Me"

I'm sorry that I'm sorry.

I'm sorry... For what? Oh, for my existence. I'm part Canadian after all - apologies are in the DNA! But I'm sorry that I feel sorry because I should just WRITE and not feel badly that I've disappointed anyone - even myself for letting another goal of mine (i.e. writing this blog) just float away on the busy wings of day to day "schtuph".

I'm finding myself back in a rut - the same rut I was in before Maggie was even born. My great existential quarter-life - AHEM - mid-life crisis: what am I DOING with my life? What do I WANT to do with my life? I knew these questions would not get any easier to answer once a kid came into my life. The thing is, it has little to do with how busy and preoccupied I've been with all things Maggie, but A LOT to do with my own motivation issues. I'm so bored "just" being a mom. Some days it's fine. Some days go by quickly and they are enjoyable and I don't even think twice about it. Then there are the days when the hands on the clock barely budge and I can't stand the thought of having to wrangle another human life for one more minute.

That's what it is, you know? That feeling of not having figured ANYTHING out for myself, yet now having to bear witness to and guide someone else's path. I totally get that "living through your kids" thing. I get it, but I don't want to be that. I don't want to be the pushy stage mom who forces my kid to go on auditions because I lost the motivation to pursue them myself.

Gratitude

Today is the one year anniversary of my first baby shower (yes, I was spoiled and had two), and I have yet to send out the thank you notes.  *Sigh*  Sure, I could make excuses for how busy I've been and how I've had my hands full dealing with the Peanut and adjusting to parenthood, but I think there's more to it.

It's not at all that I am not grateful for the gifts we have received.  I completed about a dozen thank you cards the weekend before Peanut was born, but never managed to get them in the mail - Peanut arrived before I could complete the process.  I've been sitting on them since then because I feel like now they need to be amended in some way since I wrote them before all the madness happened.  And then there are all the other thank yous... And I feel this pressure to make each thank you perfect and personal, and the more time that passes, the harder that goal seems to be to reach, because now in addition to "thank you", I have to say, "sorry I'm such a heel".

I know I need to just stop procrastinating and thinking about it so much and just write them and get them in the damn mail already.  (Mom, I know you're mortified that I still haven't completed this task.  Yes, you did raise me better than that.)  I don't know why I have such a difficult time with this.  I have the same blockage when it comes to sending birthday cards and the like.  I guess I put this pressure on myself for things to be perfect, then I am afraid to try because I know it won't be perfect or it will require a lot of effort to achieve my perceived perfection, and I get so exhausted just thinking about it all that I end up not doing any of it.

I probably should have sat and written a thank you card or two instead of writing this post.  Hopefully writing about the perplexing difficulty I am having putting my thanks down in writing will help move things along.

I couldn't have said it better myself

In my struggle to figure out how to get my thoughts sorted out of my crazy brain, I found the following blog post which pretty much sums things up exactly how I WISH I could express myself:

http://the818.com/2010/09/i-carried-a-watermelon/

I'll try not to let this derail me, but I know I am easily derailed.  It's just so much easier to do the dishes and the laundry to satisfy my need for productivity, because that stuff is right THERE in my face all the time and harder to ignore.

One foot in front of the other...

I know, I know, I know... I fell off the blog horse.  And it is so easy for me to make excuses for why it happened.  The truth most specifically lies in the question, "What next?"  I have felt my posts need to start getting more specific now regarding some of the issues I've battled with this illness, but trying to lay things out chronologically seems too daunting a task.  I will have to practice with this blog what I am practicing in life - take it day by day (or minute by minute sometimes); just put one foot in front of the other.* (*Now I want to watch "What About Bob?" - "Baby steps to the door... Baby steps to the chair...")

I have a lot to sort out.  In the past few weeks, I feel like I have finally resurfaced from the depths of PPD.  It's gonna take some time to readjust and absorb what has happened.  I was struggling with my identity BEFORE the baby came along, so you can only imagine what kind of chaos is swirling in my soul these days.  Mama?  Me?  Take a deep breath.  Let's do this.

The Big "D"

I've battled depression my whole life, so when we began planning for a family, I knew that I was a prime candidate for postpartum.  Maybe that's why I never wanted kids (or thought I never wanted kids).  Maybe there was a subconscious knowledge within myself that having a baby would be very, VERY difficult, challenging and potentially damaging for me and my offspring.  Maybe my own nature was encouraging me to tie my tubes and just adopt a whole crap load of animals instead.  I have thought a lot about all of this since becoming pregnant and especially since Peanut arrived on the scene.  The thing is, she is here now; there is no going back. ("You can't take it back; it's already out there.")

Before I got pregnant, I talked with my psychiatrist at the time about getting ready to have a family.  He knew about my battles with depression and acknowledged that we'd have to keep a close eye on my postpartum health, yet he never actually spoke with me about what specifically I might face with postpartum.  I have blamed myself for not doing more research about postpartum before I got pregnant.  I guess I just assumed PPD would just be a severe case of the blues for a more extended period of time than I had experienced previously.

Little did I know what actually awaited me.  I spent several of Peanut's first months wishing she weren't here.  And then feeling gut-wrenchingly guilty for feeling that way.  That's the thing about PPD - there is a lot of guilt that comes along with the feelings that keeps the vicious cycle churning.  In those first few months, I wanted so badly to escape my situation, to not be a mom, to somehow go back in time and make a different decision.  I felt completely helpless and, despite my team of friends and family around me, completely alone.  My fight or flight instinct was screaming, "FLIGHT!  FLIGHT!  Cut and run!"  I truly believed I had made the wrong decision.  It felt like I was not only doomed to a life of unhappiness, but also I was now dragging my spouse and a whole new human being into the mess.

In the early stages of parenthood, your internal resources are just too tapped to deal with these feelings in any rational way.  THERE IS A REASON THAT SLEEP DEPRIVATION IS USED AS A TORTURE TECHNIQUE.  Dealing with the combo of sleep deprivation and surging hormones all while trying to take care of a baby (and yourself), would challenge even the sturdiest of folk.  I felt like I had agreed to try out a new job that I ended up hating only to find myself stuck in that job forever and unable to resign.  Well, I could have resigned, I suppose, and trust me I did think about it... but I just couldn't bring myself to bail.  This was the first and most visceral lesson I learned about parenting:  I am not first.

The first 35 years of my life were all about me.  Now, even when things get ugly and uncomfortable, I am unable to run away because I have someone else to think about.  I am now making all my decisions for her.  After 35 years, this is a very difficult transition to make.  I'm not sure that I'll ever get used to being a "Mom", but I believe I'm on the road to finding peace with my position.

Here's the After School Special portion of this post:  If you or someone you know has a history of depression and is thinking about conceiving or is currently on the nest, PLEASE take some time to research the symptoms of postpartum and make a list of resources for help (here is an excellent start: http://www.postpartumprogress.com/).  The best thing I ever did for myself and my family was to go get help.  You've heard it before, but you'll need to repeat it to yourself OFTEN:  There's no shame in asking for help.  And also, THIS TOO SHALL PASS.  It might take a while, but I'm living proof that it does get better.

Research, My Censor, and Me

I keep losing sleep because I'm writing and rewriting posts in my head when I should be sleeping.  I need to train myself to just get up and WRITE them already instead of trying to quiet my brain by ignoring the thoughts and beating myself up about not sleeping when I should be (self-defeatist, but I'm so GOOD at that!).


I've recently hit a road block of sorts (in case you hadn't noticed the lack of posting recently).  It's not just because I'm a busy mom, it's because I started doing research and ran smack dab into my Censor.  The Censor, for those of you unfamiliar with The Artist's Way, is that little (or in my case, BOOMING) voice in your head that sometimes (or in my case, CONSTANTLY) tells you that you suck, that you're not good enough or smart enough or pretty enough or ENOUGH enough.  The Censor is a big bully that convinces you that you have nothing of value to share with others and you should therefore just shut up, stop typing, put away your paints, burn your headshots, etc.

I've been doing research partly for personal support in dealing with my postpartum, and also see if anyone out there on the interwebs or good old-fashioned printing press has really discussed some of the issues relating to motherhood, depression and postpartum, and identity that I have been struggling with.  I've come across some really great blogs (my favorite right now:  TheBloggess.com), and have a stack of books (Anne Lamott's "Operating Instructions" for one) I'm slowly working through with the 15 minutes I'm able to stay awake and read at the end of the night.

Yesterday, I also came across a few articles specifically about "Mommy Bloggers", including some do's and don'ts (i.e. don't overshare).  The specifics aren't really important at this point, but it got me thinking... doing too much thinking, in fact, and it brought my Censor roaring back into play.  I couldn't even motivate myself to write an unpublished blow-off post.  I've come to hefty blows with my Censor in the past (there will likely be more on this in subsequent posts), and I'm not anxious to step into the ring again, but I have no choice.  There is no other way to get rid of the Censor.  You must fight or flee, and I have too much I need to get off my chest to run away right now.

Some who read these posts may think I am oversharing, but the only thing I'm really worried about with that is what Maggie will think when she reads all this one day.  So I am writing as honestly and openly as I can, but there will still be thoughts, feelings and observations that I keep to myself.  Ultimately, I need to protect my daughter and my family, and though I believe in the long run this blog will be good for all of us, I'm not doing this to air all my dirty laundry or to purposely shock or surprise anyone.

There will always be others out there doing the same thing I am - blogging about challenges with mommyhood (and life in general) - and being more informative, funnier, and more clever than I (again:  TheBloggess.com).  I can't focus on that.  I'm not writing this blog for them.  As my therapist constantly reminds me, "What you think of me is none of my business".  I'm not really writing this blog for anyone but myself right now.  Selfish?  Perhaps.  Cathartic?  Definitely, and I'm in a great deal of catharsis after the past year and a half.  If anyone else happens to find the contents of this blog to be helpful, enlightening, inspiring, whatever, that is just icing on the cake (although the icing is usually my favorite part, so perhaps that analogy isn't appropriate in this context, but you get what I mean, yeah?).

Where to begin? Statement of goals.

I seriously need to stop thinking about this and just write it, because with the way my memory works (or doesn't, these days), I'm going to forget everything before I can get it all down. I use the word "forget" quite loosely, as there are many things about my experience of becoming a mom I will never be able to forget. Sure, many details are already gone or slipping away, but the memory of the pain, anguish, heartbreak, devastation, hopelessness (need I go on?), will remain for years to come, I believe - reverberating like aftershocks from an earthquake.

Actually, the recent earthquake and resulting tsunami in Japan is a good example of what my internal world felt like for the first several months after Maggie was born. I know this may seem overly dramatic to many, but my goal in blogging my experiences is to be as completely honest as I can be. I have yet to encounter (and to be fair, I'm still just starting my research) anyone who has expressed as brutal an experience as I have had. I am here to share the dark and debilitating world that I am only recently emerging from. I don't believe there will be a lot of humor to be found, so perhaps it will seem like an exaggeration or over-dramatization. I hope to find the balance between the truth and emotion and to bring clarity to my experience for myself and hopefully for other women who feel similarly.

Slippery slope...

At the encouragement of my therapist, Maggie is currently watching her first TV program. Something called "Word World" on PBS. She's exhausted and still wouldn't nap (shocker) this afternoon. She's been crabby all day, too. In order to give myself a break, I've put the TV on and stood her at her play table. She is really digging it. She's mesmerized by the telly, but is still breaking focus to look at me, look around the room, and play with her table.

I, however, still feel like I'm cheating. Like I'm being a lazy slacker mom and any day now everyone will find out. I'll be exposed for the layabout Facebook addict that I am. I also feel like I can see Maggie's brain melting with each second her eyes are glued to the tube.  It wigs me out completely, but as usual, I'm sure it's more about MY issues than about Maggie at all.

Motivation

I don't know why, even when inspiration strikes, I have such a hard time sitting down and writing when I have a minute. It's partly because the distraction of TV and internet makes it all too easy to goof off. Okay, that's probably most of it. That's also probably what has killed my focus and creativity.

I really WANT to create something. I want to write and draw and paint and sculpt, but my laziness and censor keep getting in the way.

Sharing is Caring

I'm far from proud of much of my postpartum behavior - at least in relation to my actions towards my daughter. Though I'm not anxious to shout my misdeeds from the rooftops, there has been a great deal of liberation in sharing my feelings and resulting actions with friends (as well as my therapist and psychiatrist). I don't want to hide. I don't want to whisper in secret. I don't want to be a downer, either, but I want to be able to openly share what MY experience with motherhood has been - and it has been far from rosy. I was just so sidelined by some of the feelings I have experienced that it made me wonder why these issues are not discussed more openly BEFORE one has children.

Writing just to write

Jumping into the ocean... I have to start somewhere, right? Spurred on to write about my experience of becoming a mother because it has been - and continues to be - a crazier ride than I ever could have bargained for.

I don't remember ever having strong feelings about having children. I think having kids was a foregone conclusion, but I don't recall putting detailed thought into it the way I did when I imagined my wedding or my career.