Cycle Day 62...

and waiting for a call back from the doctor.

All the times in my life I would have KILLED to go this long without a period, and when does it happen? Oh yeah. WHEN I NEED IT. You can't get pregnant if your ute is broken. You can't NOT TRY if you need to get doctors involved to jumpstart your ovaries. Cycle #2, lasting January, February, AND March... and 2 boxes of (negative) OPKs. How many posts ago was it, where I declared I would NOT be buying OPKs?

Oops.

But who can fault me with a broken ute? I need to know what is going on in there! I didn't break down and get them until I was in the CD30's, at least.

I have a bad feeling there will not be any 'not trying' for much longer. I hate that it will always be something we have to work at, because my body can't figure out what it is supposed to do!

Okay, ending my pity party - slash - whine fest. I know women who have to fight wars with their body to have children, I am nowhere near their vicinity. I just have to go uphill.

Napping in the crib success!

The man has suddenly decided that he doesn't want to be touched in his sleep. Like mother, like son! I can't sleep with anyone touching me. The crib it is! He's been sleeping in his crib and putting himself to sleep for over 3 months now, but he had been napping in our bed. But not any more! Now he naps in his crib like a big boy. And my snuggles are slowly disappearing.... My little man is growing up! I'm not sure I like this... :D

But on the plus side, it is much easier to keep the house clean when I have nap time to myself!

I love this weather!

Getting out of the house this week has been AWESOME! Cole and I have gone to the outlets on both Monday and Tuesday. Now today, my car is in the shop, getting a last minute fix to increase the trade in value (we might get a new car tonight.. we've been looking for quite a while now) I think we will go for a walk downtown. There is this adorable little baby boutique that I've been meaning to get to. I've only been there once, while I was still pregnant. That's where I got his Aden and Anais blankets! :D

I think getting out has been good for me. I've always tried to get in a little exercise every day, but being outside lets me exercise for hours without even noticing! I decided last week I would become a mall walker like the old people LOL, but then this week has been so nice, I don't want to be inside a mall! But on rainy days, the mall it will be. Rainy like later this week :D I feel better and it has only been 2 days!

I am going to be a size 6 again. Watch out! :D Maybe even a ::gasp:: 4!

Cole is still a hearbeat away from crawling. He pulls himself along the floor, he gets himself into a sitting position, then back down into a crawling position, onto his feet with his butt up in the air LOL... he has all the pieces, has for almost 2 months now - but just doesn't have the pieces in order! He is quite the daredevil too. We went swimming, he tried to dive into the water. He will dive out of your arms, trying to get to anything! I am gonna be in big trouble when he starts walking! I always laughed at the kid leashes, but um... I now see the point. I have the visions of Cole running like a madman.

On that note, I have to get up and get dressed now. The man is napping (in his crib!) so now is my time to prepare myself for our daily outing!

Continued

I actually felt fabulous for a few days after that post, so I've decided to continue it.

I can't imagine loving my son any more than I do. It's almost painful. But there are times when I feel like I can't be bothered. Like I just need to be ME again for 10 minutes, and not mommy. But the guilt of being me interrupts that time, and though I may not be responsible for him at that moment, I'm still Mommy. It's my new identity that I can't seperate from Megan. I think that stems back with the pregnancy, and how the PPD began.

Pregnant was my identity. It was who I was for 9 months. It was my world, and it took over my being. I didn't want to be that girl, the one that being pregnant was 'it' for her, that had nothing else to talk about, but it was all-consuming. And well, let's face it. I was a SAHW, being pregnant was the only thing I had going on. It was my entire identity, I was creating a life. And then he was born. And he was FANTASTIC. But then, what was I? It was like I was done, I was over with. What purpose was *I* now? He didn't need ME specifically anymore. He could survive without ME. Anyone could care for him.

And there was suddenly the MOST. EMPTY. FEELING. I have ever experienced.

I was alone in my body again. It was like the miscarriage all over again, but completely losing myself as well. And out of desperation, I wanted to be pregnant again. RIGHT THEN. I had a 6 week old baby, I was barely functioning in the world, and I wanted to bring another baby in on top of it. Actually, I don't think I really thought about the logistics of another child, I just wanted my PURPOSE back. But instead, I had to find a new identity.

Well, that, and happy pills.

Now I'm Momma. I'm not disposable. Yes, he can *survive* without me, but no one cares for him like I do. No one knows his routine inside and out, no one knows what every cry means, no one else knows the difference between the 'tired' whimper and the 'I need some lovin' whimper. Not even Daddy. No one else can out him to sleep without a bottle. No one else can even get him to nap unless he is at the point of exhaustion.

But, it's still a struggle. I don't want to be on my medication anymore. I do think a lot of my worry and insecurity is just part of being me. I've always had it, it's just more severe now. But, I continue to take it because there are the bad days. The days when I want to run away. The days that I want someone else to take care of him just so I don't have to be responsible for him - or have the guilt if I am not. But, I know that no one else takes care of him like I do. No one else has the magic momma touch.

I stress about everything, and I don't have to. I have a great life. I have the life I always dreamed of. I have an amazing husband, a beautiful child, a house, and we can afford for me to stay home. That's kind of rare in this generation. I am like the ultimate 1950s housewife, because I chose to be. I always wanted to be a mom at home with the kids. Now I have everything I always wanted - and I struggle. In the beginning, most of the responsibility fell on Chris. I physically could not get out of bed with the baby in the middle of the night. I could not wake myself up enough to move my body. There are still nights like that, but not for the same reason. I would count down the minutes until Chris would get home, and the minute he walked in, he was on baby duty. And it would continue until the minute he left for work. My PPD was rough on him as well. I had a fabulous husband who would come home, take care of the baby, do the dishes after dinner, get up with him in the middle of the night... and I hated him. HATED him. I'm talking, thinking about a divorce daily. And leaving Cole with him. Why? I don't know. Maybe that day it was because he left his shoes in the foyer. He didn't put the burp cloth in the hamper. He left his pajamas in the bathroom. He didn't clean one out of 20 dishes properly. The minute I saw any of that, I was filled with RAGE. I literally would envision smashing things into his head. I HATED him.

I still know he gets a raw deal. I am still hard on him, I know it. I try not to be, and I try to always think about what I say before I say it. It doesn't always work, however. I am so lucky with him though. I know how much he loves me. I know that he understands a lot of this, and I know he cuts me a lot of slack and lets it roll off his back. I don't want to be the stereotypical 'I have the best husband' mushy gushy here, but he is amazing, and I am lucky that he is so forgiving of my snapping judgements. I'll say things some times, then walk away and think 5 minutes later, "Wow, that was crazy bitchy of me..." and sometimes, I'm too stubborn to apologize. Or too embarassed that I did it, so I just ignore it. I shouldn't. I know it. But in that moment... it's easier.

I stress about money, not because I have to. Not because it's tight. Because I now spend more than I EVER have before. My child is more expensive than most. I know I mentioned this in the other post, but it's something that consumes me. A part of my OCD is about money. I fear going broke. In reality, I don't have to stress like this. We wouldn't try for another child if we couldn't afford it. I'm not bragging. We aren't rich by any means. We live in a Low cost of living area, Chris bought the house almost 15 years ago so we have a low mortgage payment, and we drive VW cars LOL. I have a coupon addiction just because I won't pass up free money. That helps calm me. :D

In case you couldn't tell, today is a good day. The sun is shining, it's fairly warm, Cole and I are going to the outlets and the mall when he gets up from his nap, and we will be getting out for some shopping and exercise! Momma needs to find end tables for the living room. Days like this, I live for. I make it through the bad days because I know there will be days like this. Days where I look at my child sleeping next to me, and I'm so overwhelmed with love and adoration, I don't know whether to scream, cry, or just smother him in kisses. A day that I want to wake him up because he's been napping for over an hour, and I miss him. A day where just looking at that sweet sleeping face and those long, dark eyelashes bring such a smile to my face, that I can't IMAGINE what the rest of my life will be like with him, and all the things he will do as he grows. I can't wait for the sleepy eyeballs to make an appearance, to focus in on Mommy's face, and then a big smile to appear as he reaches for me and tries to sit straight up to grab my face. It's those moments that keep me going. It's moments like that that make me get through the bad days, because a day like this will be right on the other side.

And that is motherhood.

Letting it all out...

I don't know where to begin.

I have been a bad blogger. There are so many things swirling around in my head that as I sit down to get them out, it's so overwhelming and I give up. Most of them are depressing, I'm not gonna lie. There is so much shit to deal with, so many things I haven't admitted here, so many things I don't want people to know.

So I am going to admit it. I have postpartum depression. I was diagnosed 3 months ago, been bouncing around medications and dosages, and I still don't have it right, but it's close enough. I still have bad days however. Let me assure you, Cole isn't in danger. There is a distinct difference between PPD and postpartum psychosis. I had an inkling I would, since the OCD developed during pregnancy.

This is part of the reason I can't leave Cole. I once forced myself to go to the post office without him when he was about 4 months old. That was the last time I did it. I have major anxieties, which means I have walked away from almost everyone. If you weren't the one calling me, we weren't talking. I don't call anyone. The phone scares the beejebus out of me. What do I say? What are they *really* thinking about me while I'm talking? Are they just pretending to like me? And not only do I not call, I don't really pick up either. I fear driving. I fear going somewhere new. I don't even eat at new restaurants if I haven't been there before. I don't talk to strangers, and if I know I have to in a situation, I make Chris go with me. I have developed this HUGE insecurity about being liked and not being judged.

Another part is the anger. If I think you are judging me, I am angry. I've always had a temper. Now the fuse is shorter than ever. My family has never been a support system for me, and now I don't even want to be bothered with the shit they present. I stay away from them as much as humanly possible because I can't add their drama onto my plate. I have pretty severe OCD from the PPD. I can't stand mess. If I knew anyone that wanted my dogs, they would be gone in an instant because dogs are dirty (but I can't drop them off somewhere, I love them). I vacuum every day. I cannot have dishes in my sink. Nothing can be on my floor. I even went out and bought bookcases for Cole's toys downstairs because EVERY THING MUST HAVE ITS PLACE. I budget like you wouldn't believe.

On top of it all is that I don't have a support system. Of course I have Chris and some friends, but I don't want to burden people with this. I know it's my own issues and I don't want to make them anyone else's. In turn, I find myself practically becoming a hermit. My house is safe. Inside my house, I am myself. There is nothing to worry about (as long as it's clean...) and locked away from the outside world.

In case you couldn't tell, today is a bad day.

I want to leave the house, but I don't want to spend money. We need a new car. I need 4 doors. Cole has been growing through a size a month, and $50 a week in formula. I am so afraid of going broke. I am one pound under pre-pregnancy weight but 2 sizes up. I gained 30 pounds in the year it took to conceive Cole. I hate the way my body looks. I don't want to feel that way. I am afraid of having a daughter because of my body image issues. I can fake it really well, but your own child will see right through that. I want to have another child before Cole can remember a mom with postpartum depression. I don't want him to remember being in the house all the time. Another reason I hate my body, I'll be lucky to get 1 period by the time people have 2. I don't get chances to get pregnant every month. It's all a guessing game for timing. I don't want to have to TTC again. My body failed me with the miscarriage. My body failed my with Cole and cholestasis. My body is failing to even give me a legitimate chance of having another. My body has a 90% chance of failing my again in the next pregnancy with repeat cholestasis.

I try to remind myself every day of the bright side. If I hadn't miscarried, I wouldn't have Cole. If I didn't have cholestasis, I would have had a c-section, he would have been too big. My liver held my numbers down long enough to make it to 38 weeks, he could have been a preemie. My stretch marks are from creating my perfect son. My body gave life. I made him. And most days, just telling myself that is enough.

But some days, it's not. And those are the days I stay in the house, and lock all of that out.

There is much more swirling through my head, but the man has awoken from his morning nap...