The Longest Entry to Date (and it won't be the last)

Originally I was going to post a semi positive missive in an effort to pull myself out of this funk that’s been like a cloud overhead. but then I thought hell, why fake it? If I can’t be totally honest here, then why bother having a blog to begin with?

I don’t think men don’t fully understand postpartum depression (PPD). The men I’ve spoken to recently seem to think it’s more of a “I’m so sad, pay attention to me” feeling. Their answer to PPD is to 1) get laid and get over it or 2) smile, be happy and get over it. Um, guys? Imagine having a nice, sharp knitting needle shoved up the head of your penis and bouncing back from that. If you think you can recover from something like with a nice chipper attitude, some pussy and a smile, by all means feel free to dispense advice to me at will.

But in fairness, how can they know how awful it is to feel this way and not know what to do to combat it? Sure it seems easy enough; normally when I am in a slump I can pull myself out of it by just “doing” it. You know, see the problem, find the solution and just do it. That’s the way I usually tackle life’s obstacles. But this… this… I don’t know, this feeling of moroseness, lethargy and helplessness… it’s hard to bounce back. It’s not just the feeling of helplessness there’s a feeling of hopelessness too. Like things will always be this way. I know that’s not true but it doesn’t stop the defeatist attitude and the “why even bother”. Rather than tackle the things that I know should and need to be done, I’d prefer to just sit around in my bathrobe weeping all day. If I didn’t have to get out of bed it’d suit me just fine. But I can’t do it obviously. I’ve two little ones depending on me to be their provider, their friend, their cheerleader and playmate, not to mention teacher (and chauffer and personal loan officer and hair dresser, maid, personal chef and… oh wait, where was I going with this?). You can’t be selfish and self absorbed and be a good parent. Yet at the same token, you can’t be a good parent if you don’t take some time out for yourself. I suppose the key is finding balance. And balance is what I am struggling to find. I’m on a quest to rediscover myself and it’s frightening. I’m discovering things about myself that quite frankly I’m afraid to face. For years I’ve been self sufficient, independent and selfless when it came to my daughter. Now I’ve two daughters and suddenly I feel the need to take time out for me.

I think that’s part of the problem now, you know, with the PPD and all. Since Trinity’s birth not once have I had a rest. It’s been like a train wreck in slow motion. From the moment Trinity arrived I’ve worried nonstop; I worried about her surgery & her recovery and leaving her alone in the NICU. On average I think I slept perhaps 2-3 hours per night. All other time was spent in the NICU until the nurses kicked me out every few hours to go eat and rest (ha). And since then I worry about SIDS, her constipation, this goddamned acne that is wrecking her beautiful, tender skin… Is she gaining enough weight? Is she gaining too much weight? Am I showing her enough attention? Am I showing her too much attention, especially when Jaalyn is around? Hell, am I showing Jaalyn enough attention? I look into my girls’ eyes and I wonder what they see. Do they see their mom that loves them more than life itself or do they see mom with her haggard appearance, a false, too-chipper-to-be-real façade, alternating between being really sad and really angry? Do they see the loving home and refuge I try to provide for them or do they see a dirty, cluttered house that mom just can’t keep clean to save her damned life?

I’m worn out. I need a break. I need to be selfish in a way that’s not destructive to the household. I need to be loved and I yearn to be loved. Not just by another person, but by me. I miss feeling confident. I miss being in control. I miss being ME. I need a life change, a new image and renewed self confidence. I need a clean fucking home and a place to relax. The house had gone to pot when I was pregnant because I either never had the energy to do anything, Jaalyn destroyed my progress, or the items that needed to be moved were simply too heavy for me at the time. Since I’ve been on maternity leave and depressed the house is out of control. I’m ashamed of it. I pay too much to live in this stupid townhouse to let it look like this (and yes even as I write this I’m trying to psyche myself up to clean up my act.) The problem isn’t the actual cleaning part, it’s my perfectionism in cleaning. I’m completely anal when it comes to cleaning therefore it‘ll take me an hour or more to do something that would take a normal person 15 minutes. For example, if I’m cleaning the bathroom, not only do the necessary components get cleaned (i.e. the tub, toilet, sink and countertops) but I have to take it a step further: the grout in the tiles must be spotless, floor scrubbed (by hand), the baseboards must be thoroughly cleaned with a special brush, walls scrubbed free of dirt, mirror streak free and so on. I exhaust myself in one room with the little details. So imagine looking at my kitchen, bedroom, living room and Jaalyn’s room with my eyes and inclination to be absorbed with minute details and imagine how long it’ll take me to get everything together. And OMG, you haven’t seen the closets… and the attic… and…

*sigh*

Man I’m feeling discouraged all over again. Where to begin? The house? Or within myself?

Then again why even bother?



Guess that's reason enough.

I actually wrote this earlier this morning and since then the day has steadily gone downhill. I don't think I've ever felt as bad as I did today. I mean so low that it actually frightened me. I even scared baby daddy. But, this evening after yet another rough time something amusing brought a small smile to my face. Jaalyn is in my room now, talking incessantly, playing doctor with her little plastic doll babies. Since she's been in here I have witnessed the following:

1. When she first came in she had a doll in one hand and a syringe in the other. The syringe was inserted in the doll's, um, vagina. My God she gave her a pussy shot. I'm so demented that this alone nearly sent me into hysterics.

2. As if the shot weren't enough, Jaalyn left the room and came back later explaining that she put the doll on the potty for 100 minutes because "she really, really needed to go to the bathroom".

3. After removing said doll from said potty she was carefully examined by Dr. Jaalyn. Dr. Jaalyn says the patient's heart isn't beating and that means she's really sick. The patient's mommy (me) wonders if she should inform the doctor what a non-beating heart really means...

4. Now I've been told that since I'm the only mommy in the hospital I'll be taking all of the babies home and caring for them. Gee, I feel so lucky. Really.

5. I've been subjected to an examination that shows I'm exactly nine pounds tall and I've been given a paper stating I get to keep the baby. For my trip home from the hospital I've been given the baby, a blanket, a potty and a bottle. And if the baby seems sick I can bring her back for another shot. I can't imagine where the needle will go this time around.

Wait, the baby is sick once more and just got a needle in the mouth. I love it.

And I love her...