It has been far too long since I have posted anything. I have missed blogging but I was in too difficult a place to even begin to think about adding one more thing to what needed done in a day.
Postpartum depression hit me harder than I had even imagined it would. I had to go on a higher dosage of medication for my Bipolar in order to help slightly. Even then, it only helped mildly. Every day I would get up and go through the motions of "being Mom." During the first few months with Popeye, Fuss turned into one of the worst children I have ever seen, but only to me. Hubby was still working nights and bedtime turned into a 2-hour scream-fest from Fuss. Nothing worked. Nothing helped. And no one understood.
In mid-January Hubby started working day shift for the first time since Fuss was almost a year old. She doesn't remember having Daddy home with her except on nights off, so this was a HUGE change for her to have him home every night. It only helped a little though. At least we were then able to split bedtime routine (story by Daddy, song by Mommy) and care for Popeye a little bit. It still didn't help. I just kept sinking deeper into a pit I felt I would never be able to claw my way out of.
I went into rages. I would cry daily, sometimes multiple times a day. I called those I thought could help only to hear, "You should have had them closer/farther apart" or "I told you it would be hard." No one listened. It seemed the only person there for me was Hubby. Goodness knows how he managed to survive me during the past 6 months! I was barely able to do it myself. I HATED myself. I hated that I couldn't care for my kids the way I wanted to. I even hated my children. There were so many nights I cried myself to sleep wondering why I had even decided to have kids in the first place. I kept pushing on thinking that I would make it through somehow. Hubby never failed me. He stood by me more than I ever deserved, supported me, loved me through it all.
I finally decided to see a professional counselor after Fuss spent one day unusually tearful. She was crying and whining over everything. That night at bedtime (I was a little clearer than I had been in a long time after an increase in my meds that was still small enough I could continue to breastfeed), I asked her what was wrong with her. She said, "I don't like it when you're a mean Mommy. I'm afraid of you." I'm afraid...of you. The words echoed in my head and I broke down. I promised her that I would work on me and try to be a better Mommy and that I was sorry.
That's what finally brings me out of that pit and toward the light, so to speak. My daughter saved me and I started seeing a counselor. Some days the counselling goes really well and others we get distracted talking about his kids or random nonsense, but it has been enough to start turning things around. And just in the last month, it's like something clicked for Fuss and she changed. She has been SO much better recently. She was always wonderful with Popeye and never had an issue with him, but her defiance towards us was ridiculous. Now that I seem to be doing better, I think she is starting to turn around too.
No one knows just how desperately I wanted my babies. But no one knows just how desperately hard it was trying to hold on to me and keep my own head above water. Hubby is the only one who can come close to understanding because he's been there through it all. I hope my honesty here will be able to help someone else. I'm always willing to lend an "ear" whenever needed. I am just thankful Fuss felt secure enough in our bond that she was able to talk to me.
If you've read this far, I thank you for sticking around. I intend to get back on all those reviews that I had lined up in December and January and, hopefully, get a couple of giveaways going as well. :)
