i am good. we are good.

Writing here hasn't exactly been at the top of my priority list these last six months, but I miss it. I thought I'd get back in a routine after my last post (two months ago...sheesh). Not so much. Yet.

Thank you for your support after I wrote about my postpartum depression. It took a few weeks of therapy and onboarding meds, but I'm doing so much better. It was rough for awhile. I felt so disconnected and was back to crying at the drop of a hat. I was so anxious. I was impatient waiting for the meds to work. I saw my therapist weekly for a good while, and now I'm on a monthly maintenance schedule. And it feels good.

Focusing has still been challenging as it doesn't take much for my thoughts to spin. But with the help of lists, I'm productive at work most of the time! And yes, I add things I've done to the list just so I can cross them off.

This summer has been SO busy. We've been out of town often seeing family, and family can be exhausting. Especially 13 in-laws staying together in one cabin, with about 60 other relatives in neighboring cabins. We had a wonderful lake week in northern Minnesota with nearly all of Paul's aunts, uncles and varying degrees of cousins from his mom's side. I think we had six babies who are one year and under there at one time! Fishing, tie dying, reading, smores-ing, sleeping, talking, laughing. That was the week. Add a pedicure at Wal-Mart, and it really was a memorable week.

Anders is SO big. I can't believe he's already six months old. And 20 pounds. Chunky thighs + fluffy cloth diaper butt = needs a few more summer items in bigger sizes to see us through the next few weeks. I'll edit this post a bit later on the other computer so I can add a few photos.

He is just so much fun right now! Last week he started rolling EVERYWHERE and eating solid foods. I love each new adventure. I am so thankful to be in a place where I can enjoy him and all that is happening.

I am good.

and it's back...now in the form of postpartum depression

Aside from the fact that I HAVE been meaning to update this blog, the impetus to write tonight is my diagnosis of postpartum depression.

A switch flipped last week. Why last week? Anders is 19 weeks old in two days. We made it past the difficult first two weeks of breastfeeding and no sleep, six weeks with a touch of colic, returning to work at 10 weeks, pumping around the clock for the last four months. Why now?

I didn't want to go home. I was at work with a pit in my stomach because I didn't want to go home. I knew that wasn't normal, though I take normal with a grain of salt. I looked at my beautiful baby and felt nothing.  Except guilt that I didn't feel anything. I knew. Paul knew. And I called my psychiatrist the next morning.

Two months ago, I dropped Lexapro from my med list. I wasn't anxious anymore. I didn't need it. One month ago I decreased my Wellbutrin dose. It took two weeks before I felt like I lost my edge at work, but that was it. I was going to give it a month before calling to schedule an appointment. I didn't make it that far. Last week I wanted little to do with my baby. I didn't want to pump anymore. I suggested we just take out the disposable diapers instead of doing the cloth laundry. This wasn't like me. I knew it and I hated it.

So here I am. Back in the hole not knowing how to get out. Standing still while everything spins around me. I'm sad and angry and frustrated and embarrassed. And trying to figure out how to push these aside to love and care for my baby who needs me.

We caught it early. My Wellbutrin is back up and I'm seeing my pysch weekly until this levels out. Then biweekly. Then monthly. With my history, I'll be on meds for a year and with any future pregnancies/babies. I've had good days in the last week, but today was particularly bad. I don't think I managed to complete anything at work today.

But I did tell my coworker, who is both a very close friend, second mother and mental health ally. She'd been waiting for this. Not in a pessimistic way, but in a watch my back way. She's the same friend who sat with us at the ER with my first miscarriage, when we had no idea what to do or think.

This isn't me. It's my body, brain, chemicals, hormones. An illness. I didn't do anything wrong. It just is. So we're dealing with it. This much I know, though it's hard to feel. I don't want to tell people what is going on with me because I'm afraid they'll ask why. Why when I finally have the baby I've been wanting? [That's so loaded, I don't even want to go there. I don't know why. I wanted the other babies, too. Yes, Anders is a good baby. I don't know what's wrong.] And I spin...

I always knew this was a possibility given my history. My doctors have been vigilant and so has Paul. So have I, for that matter. But I wanted to be okay. To not have to deal with something on my very long list of concerns/complications. I wanted SOMEthing to go right.

Anders is right, so very right. That's what I have to remember. I need to take care of myself so I can take care of him. I don't want Anders to EVER wonder where his mom is or why she isn't hugging him. That thought breaks my heart.

So here it is. Back on this journey. I don't know how to navigate PPD. It's different than the depression I struggled with earlier. It's scarier.

But this is temporary. I'm doing what I need to do. Paul is the best dad and can pick up what I can't give at the moment. Anders is well-cared for. And I'm doing the best I can at this moment, with what I have to give.

But it's hard accepting that. Maybe writing it will help.