So it’s true. . .

I do have post-partum depression (PPD). After yesterday’s crying episodes and horrid mood swings, I decided to make a doctor appt pronto. So after work today I went to see my friendly Physician Assistant. She’s sweet, and I like her. The doctor is great, but he’s a man and I kinda didn’t wanna talk about this with him. I’d rather her.

So I printed off some PPD assessments, and I filled them out. I figured it would give her a better idea of the situation without me having to say it. Just in case anyone who might need them, you can find them here and here (this one opens a PDF file, but it is the one my PA said they use to diagnose PPD in their office).

So I have it. Letting it go for months wasn’t the best idea, but we’ve got Prozac and hopefully that will balance out my seratonin levels. We’ll see. I’m not a big one for medicines, but if it stops the scary “Suicide will end all of this” thoughts, then I’m game. I would never hurt my child or my husband. I love them dearly and I know they love me dearly. I know that if I were to hurt myself it would irreparably hurt them, so we deal. Medicine here I come.

On other notes, I was quite proud of myself. I was able to tell my sister that she upset me last night. She was like, “I didn’t intend to. . .” I told her I knew that, but I still cried for hours. Between her neurotic behaviors and my depression, we are quite the pair.

I miss having good friends around me. I had so many good friends in Manhattan, and I just don’t have that here. I’m not even sure I’m going to find it here. The people are just different–very rednecked, back-country, coal-country. That’s not a bad thing. I grew up here, so that’s a part of me. But I also got out and saw the world. I realize that there’s alot more to life than spotting deer with flashlights on a Friday night, or cow-tipping on Saturdays.  Now the trick is to find like-minded people with similar schedules to me. It’s hard.

But it’s looking up. Or at least I think so. If nothing else, Aunt Flo should be leaving soon which will make life a lot easier.

Life is grand. . .

Yesterday and today were grand. Getting out of the house for a few hours of work can definitely clear the mind and help me refocus. I love that Doodlebug misses me when I leave her in the nursery, but loves to play with the other kids and teachers there. It’s really nice for her to interact with someone other than me, or Dear Husband.

Yet today got hard. Screaming nearly constantly for a while. Fever. Constant runny nose. She’s either a little sick or she’s cracking teeth. It’s hard, because she only wants to be held–all day long. It’s amazing the things I can accomplish while holding her. Who knew I could heave a log into the wood burning furnace with a child on my hip?

Tomorrow we see a doctor to talk about post partum depression. We’ll see what she has to say about it. Just today there was an AP article talking about how first time moms have a higher risk of depression related illnesses. It’s astounding how many have had to be hospitalized within 20 days of childbirth. The signs of PPD are:

In particular, Sit said, women who’ve had past depression are at increased risk. Symptoms to watch for include: a loss of interest in the baby or in other once-pleasurable activities; feeling down or depressed; changes in sleep patterns; thoughts of wanting to die; new onset of anxiety or thoughts of wanting to harm one’s self or others.

“Be ready to seek treatment sooner rather than later,” Sit advised, adding there are both medical and non-medical options for the treatment of psychiatric disorders, and there are medications thought to be safe for breast-feeding mothers.

I’m not a big advocate for medicine in general because I think much of our society is way over medicated, but if there is something that will help me balance out these mood swings and still nurse Doodlebug, I’m game. Hopefully tomorrow will be the second step on the road to recovery.

Sunday should be a day of rest, no?

I wake up to my daughter, Doodlebug, trying to find my nipple. She’s pawing at my shirt, trying to get her early morning meal. My husband awakes, jumps out of bed like a Tigger in motion. He’s on his way to an early Bishopric meeting. I’m left to care for Doodlebug.

Church starts at 9:30, and I barely make it. I only went out of obligation–I told my secretary I would print out the forms she needed today. After stopping two times due to Doodebug’s bloody-murder screaming, I pull into the driveway. Life doesn’t end when she doesn’t have a toy, but she sure thinks it does.

We’re sitting in church, trying to worship. During the first song, Dear Husband leans over and informs me that our friends (a family of 5) will be coming to dinner tonight. We didn’t plan on this. Heck, I didn’t even go grocery shopping this week, since Doodlebug was screaming then too. We’ve got the obligatory LDS food storage, well, at least 2 or 3 months of it, but I couldn’t figure out what to make to appease my husband’s food issues and our friends uber-picky kids.

Stress is building, but I’m trying to feel the Spirit. I’m trying to enjoy the experience of church. The past few months it’s been hard though. I’m a newlywed, new mom, new Relief Society President in a small ward with a whole lot of perfect people. Or at least everyone thinks everyone else is perfect.

Maybe that’s why no one calls or visits– it’s the risk of showing that you’re not perfect, and well, we can’t have that, can we?

I lost it today in church though. After numerous complaints about new visiting teaching assignments, and the destruction of 4 hours of my work on a board I made to help the sisters, I’d had it. What happened to going to church to worship? How can you worship when you have all of this chaos, commotion and crap going on? I know my thoughts were nothing godlike at that moment.

So I retreated to the car to bawl. And bawl I did. For two hours. I left church early, told my sister (my counselor) to excuse me because “I wasn’t feeling well.”

I wonder how many others weren’t feeling well today.