Happy Birthday, IZ!

On February 9th, Isaac turned ONE.

Man, we LOVE this kid!!!!!

(good thing our resident cake maker, Kodi, helped me frost and decorate the cake, otherwise that dino would have looked extict by the time I was done with it!)

postpartum anger, anxiety, depression....whatever you want to call it.

*I realize I never posted this.  I write it back in February, I think.  Deep breath....and publish.

I was thinking about Whitney Houston today, her death being the subject of many news articles as of late.  She would go on stage, beautiful, belt out a strong, beautiful melody.  Then she would go home and get high.  She would put on a brave face for the crowd and then go behind the curtain and suffer.  I know we all do this.  We put on our smiles in public and go home and cry.  Alone.

I have wanted to write this down for a long time.  It's been going through my head a lot lately.  A family member recently started sharing her story with infertility, and although, it is in no way in comparison to my story, it's given me a little courage to write about it.  It's a true story and hopefully, though me writing it, I can help someone out there.  I know that there were happy moments during this time, but the sad part is, we remember the bad a whole lot easier.

After 9 months of pure hell (keeping it real), I had the best birthing experience ever and a wonderful little boy.  So wonderful, in fact, that he was the only person on this earth that was perfect.  That was worthy of my love and attention.  I would wake up, pull him into bed with me, nurse him, coddle him, love him, and only him.  Outside of this little world I created between Isaac and I, there were two kids and a husband who were, unfortunately, around.  And they wanted to be fed, and loved, and hugged, and kissed.  But they weren't part of my little world, and that made me angry.  Very angry.  This husband would take care of the two kids.  Feed them, clothe them, get them off to school.  He would cook and clean.  Then I would come out of my bedroom and yell at them.  Yell at everything they were doing wrong.  Yell at their existence.  Then the annoying husband would try to get off to work, after getting the kids settled in front of the TV, where they would stay the rest of the evening.  Then I would come out of my world just long enough to yell at the kids to go to bed.  I was evil.  I was rude.  Then I would go back to bed with my sweet little, perfect baby.

I would get out of the house on the days that I put clothes on and got out of bed.  The kids got a lot of happy meals during that time.  A lot of treats, and a lot of toys.  I bought a lot of clothes, and a lot of food.  I poured my guilt into buying things for me and my kids.  We took dinner to Paul at work a lot, always fast food.  I drove and drove and drove with the kids in the car.  Anything to get out of the house at night.

I was avoiding going back to church and taking the "6 weeks off" as the doctor suggested.  But then I got word of a special lesson.  It peaked my curiosity and I found myself at church, about 6 weeks after having Isaac.  The lesson was on depression.  There were 4 (I think) brave, amazing ladies, who told their stories of depression.  They ranged in severity, but all hit me in the heart.  I went home and did nothing.  About a month later, there was a follow up lesson.  I remember coming out of if feeling alone.  It was weird, I was surrounded by women who had gone through the very same thing I was going through at the same time and I felt alone.

I was not alone, however.  I started sending my kids to neighbors houses to play for hours on end.  These wonderful friends/neighbors were my angels.  They were protecting my children and they didn't even know it.  They were feeding them and loving them.  All while Isaac and I sat in bed, oblivious to the world around us.  I will be forever grateful for my wonderful friends who helped me during this time.

Three days after the second meeting at church I was at a friends house with the kids.  She was on maternity leave from her teaching job, so it was a treat to see her during the day.  Her baby started crying.  I looked at her, expecting her to go pick him up, but she looked at me, smiled, and said, "It's the Zoloft."  We talked about her postpartum anxiety and mine.  It was in that conversation that I knew what I had to do.  The very next morning, I called the doctor and got in the very next day.  I cried and cried for about an hour to that sweet, patient doctor.  We decided that it was best that I go on some medication.  Along with the medication, she recommended therapy.

I put the therapy part off, however, this same friend called me about group therapy sessions for postpartum depression that were going on at the county health building.  Strength in numbers, we started going to them together.     The therapy, along with the medication, I started feeling human again.  The walls within my little world started to thin, and crumble.  I saw my children.  I saw my husband.  Really saw them.  I remember looking into Ellie's eyes and thinking, "I LOVE YOU!!".  I was happy, my kids were happy, my husband was happy.  And my baby was a screaming banchie, and I was a sweaty mess.  I asked for a Priesthood blessing from Paul and my dad at our family reunion because it was so bad and making me a wreck.  These were side affects from the medicine, until my friend discovered it was because of the time of day that I took my happy pill.  I changed from taking them in the morning to at night.  Once we cleared that up, happy baby was back, and I'd only sweat in my sleep.

The therapy sessions were something I looked forward to every week, and was something I missed a lot when they were over.  I learned a lot about myself and a lot about other women.  I learned to apologize to my children, because even though they might not remember the situations that took place while I was "mean" mom, they would remember the look that I had on my face.  And they did.  Now aware of my surroundings, it hurt my heart to see them flinch, ready for a scream-fest, when they were disobedient.  I adopted an extremely laid back, discipline-free, reward only, parenting style, I think to make up for the months of horrible treatment that my kids had to go through.  I felt guilty.  Extremely guilty.  I apologized and apologized and apologized.  I hugged and kissed and hugged and kissed and loved, loved, loved.

I think Isaac was about four months old when I finally got help.  At ten months, I went from feeling normal on medication, to feeling like everything in my life was out of control again.  I knew that side affects from the meds could be depression (funny that meds for depression can have side affects such as depression), and felt that it was time to go of Zoloft.

It's been two months off meds now.  Two pretty good months.  Two months of the real me.  The cranky, happy, creative, crazy, lazy me.

Forgetful Me

We've had a busy summer so far.  I will have to play catch up in a while, but I have been getting promptings lately while reading my scriptures/the ensign/during church to write down my history, to write down my testimony of Christ, and to journal my kids lives so that they can read this later and remember. I have a horrible memory when it comes to some (most) things that are important.  Dallin asked me the other day if he had done something that I had forgotten about (and already I have forgotten what it was) and then went on telling me about the time he did ______ (fill in the blank).  I then remembered that I had written about said experience in this blog.  In that small moment, I was reminded how important it is for me to write things down.  And not worry about grammar, or run on sentences, or witty words.  I just need to write so that we can all remember this fun, hard, crazy, rewarding life.

Isaac's one, the park, etc.

Dallin had white ribbon week at school (internet safety).  One day he was supposed to dress up as someone else.  He chose his dad, the food scientist.

 We walked to the park on a somewhat warmer day and Paul had fun taking a bunch of pictures.

 This kiwi eating baby is ONE now!

 I found him in the hallway, among a pile of laundry, with a bag of cereal that he had stolen from the pantry.  Sneaky, sneaky.  And hungry.

 We had funny "bunning" Ellie's hair (and taking pictures of the dirty, dirty mirror :).  The next morning, we took them all out and Ellie hated it, so we pulled her hair up in a pony tail.

 I call this boy the "One step wonder".  For about a week now, he will take one step and then fall down.  He's getting so close to walking.  (Update:  A few hours after I wrote this he took three steps.)

Dallin loves the rock climbing wall and is really good at it! 

nothin much goin on

not a lot going on around here except the day to day

 ellie goes to preschool, (free) ballet, and a weekly library class and makes lots of funny faces.  she loves to help mom in the kitchen as her sous chef "when she plays restaurant" and has the best laugh on the planet

 Isaac gets into everything and loves to explore.  He also poops A LOT and is his mom's side kick, shadow, growth....whatever you want to call it.  He is a happy kid, however, and has the best laugh on the planet.

Dallin is in first grade, and takes piano lessons.  He is in 4h once a week after school right now in the Lego class (surprise, surprise).  He loves to stay up late with mom and help her with her "chores" aka- kid-free time.  (D- Mom, why do you get to stay up late?  M- To do chores.  D- I'll help because I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!) He is a GREAT big brother. He has the best laugh on the planet.

We already talked about this little boy, but here he is again.  He adores Dallin and Ellie.  They adore him and can get some great belly laughs out of him.  The best on the planet.

Oh.....Isaac:

stands on two feet

waves

says hi, mom, dad

meows, barks, dino growls

bites

plays peek-a-boo

patty cake

puts his shirt on top of his head (trying to put it on ;)

pulls at his shirt while mom points out clothes in closet

great dancer

gives the best hugs and kisses (if he doesn't end up biting you)

loves to eat people food, just about anything

LOVES to drink his baba and play with his hair
has 8 teeth

head nuzzles
loves to look at books
can find Mom anywhere in the house

Dallin and the Mayor

 I yoinked these pictures off of Dallin's school website.  Mayor Anderson has a grandson in Dallin's class.  After his visit, Dallin came home concerned that we needed to vote for the principal.  I was so confused as to what he was talking about because I didn't know the mayor had come.  :)

(Dallin is in the back row on the left)

Caption:  The Mayor of Spanish Fork visited Ms. DiRaimo's first grade class on November 8, 2011.  They were learning about the community of Spanish Fork, and he came and talked to them about what a mayor does.

allergy

Isaac got strep throat.  After 5 days on amoxicillin, he went from this cute, slobbery/snotty face...

 to this red, puffy, splotchy face (and whole body)
Dallin looked at him that morning and commented that he didn't look like the same baby.

 We were pleasantly surprised that our pediatricians office was open on a Sunday morning.  The doctor said that it could take even 9 days on amox to show signs that he's allergic (I promise we didn't neglect a rash for 5 days).  He's back to his old self, thank goodness.  He'd been sick for two weeks before he got Strep, with a cold.  The medicine cleared them both up.

 He's found the toilet water, as well.  We have to keep the bathroom doors shut.  He was happily splashing until he saw me and wanted to be picked up

he cheered up quickly when he found his most favorite this to do...get into cupboards.