postpartum depression - struggling daily

Faking it until I make it. Some day I will feel like the mom I'm supposed to be, instead of hiding from the screaming children or crying along with them. Some day, it won't be so overwhelming to look around my house that appears to have been hit by some kind of tornado of dirty dishes, trash, and clothes. Someday, I'll be able to find everything I need because it will be in the spot I put it. No idea when this day will come, but until then I'm doing everything in my power to keep going. I push myself to get out of bed, make bottles, hold babies, change diapers. I push myself to fake smiles for my fiance and my oldest, try to hide my tears. I want nothing more than to curl up in a ball and break down sobbing. I don't want to eat, I don't want to do anything. I'm pushing myself harder than I ever have had to in my life because there are little people depending on me. And if they weren't, who knows where I would be or what I would be doing.

Some days, I need a break. An extended vacation of being alone, totally alone, to sleep or eat too much food or just be the freak alone. I love my babies, I love them so much that they are the only thing keeping me going most days. Today, the past few days, have been hell for me. Up and down and all around - a tilt-a-whirl of wanting to run far away and never look back, overwhelmed with how much I love the children, how much I love my fiance for sticking by me. But I also have hated myself, and many minutes that fill up my day. I get angry and frustrated, just like anyone else. I want to throw things and scream and cry. I just want to be alone. But having three kids so close in age, there is no such thing as getting a babysitter more than maybe once a week, for a few hours of disc golf. I am so thankful to my MIL for that.

This post is so negative and rambley. I can barely think straight. PPD is a bitch, and I'm so tired of dealing with it. Medication seems to help for a little while, but makes me into a zombie. I don't have time for therapy (I have three children and no sitter). I want to be a better mom, a better wife, a better person, but there is so much frustration and rage and sadness built up inside of me that I don't know what to do. One good thing happens, and five bad things happen after. Own our own home, our own vehicle, have groceries in the cabinet... Then a month later our vehicle blows up and who knows what we are going to do. I can't afford child care, so working outside of home doesn't seem to be an option. Even if it were, my PPD and anxiety makes it hard to be away from the babies I wish sometimes to escape.

I am lost. I have no idea what to do to make my situation better. They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result each time. I feel stuck in this cycle. I wish I knew how to be a better mother, a better wife, a better person. But until then, I fight through every minute of every day to make it until bedtime. Each morning, I push myself to answering the cries of my children. I don't want them to look back and think, "God, Mom was such a bitch. She was so mean, so uncaring, so unloving." I want them to remember the good times, that I loved them with all my heart. But showing that love is so difficult when I can barely keep my head above water.

It's happening again. I'm not sure how or why or when, but it's hitting me like a freight train. My PPD is coming back with a a fiery vengence and I have no idea what to do to stop it. The crying never ends, between three babies. I have one crawling and biting all over me, tipping things over and trying to eat things off the floor. Jonathan has pooped twice today, Harrison has as well, and Michaela is simply sitting in her bouncy seat staring at me like the crazy woman I am. I had to double my pills today, which are still doing nothing. I want to throw things, pull my hair out, scream and cry just like the babies do. It's not fair - it's not fair to them, to have a such a mother that falls apart constantly and battles every day to climb out of bed. I have nightmares about terrible things happening to them because I'm not paying good enough attention, because I have to take breathers because otherwise I will lose my cool. I just can't stand it, alone all day in this house with three tiny people that NEED NEED NEED. When do I get a break? When do I get something that I need? I know that being a parent means giving up your entire identity to make sure these tiny people turn into well-adjusted, productive members of society, but would it hurt them to cry for fifteen minutes while I sneak a cigarette because I can't do it anymore? Will it permanently damage my son to be stuck in his play pen for a half hour, watching Barney, while I sob into my pillow in my bedroom?

I love my children. They mean everything to me. But I am losing my sanity, I am losing who I am as a person, and each day is getting harder and harder to will myself to get out of bed. I have no idea what to do - I'm on medication, I'm on cannibis. I have no choice but to do what I'm doing, I just wish I had any kind of idea how to do so with grace and happiness. I just want to love my life, I want to love what I do all day long, I want my kids to remember me smiling and happy and fun. Not barely able to get off the couch or hiding away in my bedroom while Netflix babysits. I want help. But I have no idea where to even begin.

my beautiful oldest boy, harrison daniel

 Today was the first time the Ryan family ventured out into the world, all five of us, to play some disc golf. It's a beautiful day, a perfect 65-70 degrees, and the course at Portage Lake, Michigan, was perfect. Lots of shade, which was perfect for the kids considering my mom brain totally forgot the sunscreen! Fortunately, the twins were in the double stroller and we kept Harry mostly in the shade. Goose and I did not fair as well, and are both pretty much lobsters at this point. That's what we get for going twice in a row and forgetting sunscreen both times!

I am getting so much better. It feels like I learn a tremendous amount every time we go out discing. I have been trying to throw side arm, and it's working for me! I like to drive with forearm and put the same way, but on the midway throwing sidearm seems to be working for me! I even had a hole on par, which is a first for me. Watch out, maybe you'll see me go pro on the Youtube videos :p #discgolfgirls here I come!

It felt so great to get out, all of us together. Usually we have a sitter when we go discing, as we like to do the full 18 holes and that would simply be too much on the littler members of our family. Ever since our Jeep caught on fire and was totaled, we haven't had a stroller - we were lucky enough to have an extra carseat that Harry is almost grown out that wasn't in the vehicle when it went up in flames. We have three infant seats and no bases, but we are very blessed that no one was hurt and we still at least have the seats that can be buckled in. We also lost a lot of other important things in that fire we will never get back, and I think all of our spirits have been suffering over it. Yes, we have a great rental, but it's not the same. The Jeep was the first vehicle we owned outright, and it felt so good to be able to say that! We'll find another vehicle, hopefully one with less miles and one that runs better, but I will always remember and love our Jeep.

So, some of you might have noticed as well that I dyed my hair purple. What do you think? I absolutely love it. I feel like Prince would be proud of me <3

Twinning: The Dark Side

Currently, as I’m typing this, Jonathan David is screaming his lungs out and is completely inconsolable. On top of that, I have bleach on my head as I’m trying to color my hair purple. Harrison is walking around sucking on a pouch of baby food. Michaela, as usual, is being a sweet little princess and hanging out in her bouncer seat watching Barney. She’s beginning to fuss though, because Jonathan is, and that’s one of the most frustrating parts of parenting twins. One starts, and the other is not far behind. They poop on the same schedule, feed on the same schedule, sleep on the same schedule. They are so alike in so many ways that it’s truly mystifying. You expect that twins will have some similarities, but considering mine are fraternal boy/girl, I didn’t expect them to be quite so similar.

My days are filled with endless amounts of crying and screaming. Mainly from JD, who I suspect has colic. He cries and cries and screams for no reason whatsoever. He likes to lay on his back, flat as a board - the kid has serious abs of steel - and wails until I’m afraid the authorities will be notified. Nothing helps him - he just ate a six ounce bottle, so I know that he can’t be hungry. He burped, he pooped, and I held him as much as I could until I could no longer stand the shrill screaming in my ears. There is only so much that I can do, while managing to take care of two other children. I was never an advocate for cry it out until I met my twins. They are only four months, but I’m beginning to ease into the process. Otherwise, I would lose my mind - or lose it even more. I’ve literally tried everything with this usually sweet boy - white noise machine, warm bath, switching to cooler/warmer outfits depending on the weather. Gas drops, gripe water, gentle-ease formula. Breastmilk. He’s just a crier, and I’m getting used to it. Almost insensitive to it. That’s what happens when you have three screaming babies at one time. Sometimes, I just have to lock myself in my bedroom and pretend momentarily that I am a single woman without any children and that my biggest worry is what to wear or what to do with my free time. It’s a nice fantasy, while it lasts, which isn’t very long.

Do I have mommy guilt? Of course I do. When the twins were newborns I wanted very little to do with them because I couldn’t enjoy them. All they did was scream and cry and considering the three hours of sleep I was getting at a time, it just wasn’t enjoyable to me. The sweetest moments were when everyone was sleeping and I could stare at their adorable little faces, all peaceful with sleep. Watching their eyelids flutter as they dreamed. But while it as has gotten better, and the fog of depression has lifted, it doesn’t make dealing with three screaming children under two years old any easier.

My attention is constantly divided. I feel guilty that Harrison gets the majority of it, but he’s also a naughty boy that likes to get into everything and I have to make sure that he’s safe. If the babies are strapped into their bouncer/swing/rocker, even if they are screaming bloody murder, I know at least that they are safe and sound. They can’t escape yet (thank you Jesus). I can leave them to cry for a few moments while I gather my sanity, take a few deep breaths, maybe even smoke a cigarette if things are really bad. Sometimes, both are starving. Have you ever tried to feed two newborn/infants at one time? Let me tell you, it’s not easy or comfortable and when it comes time to burp, I’m in for trouble. Usually I’m covered in spit up. It’s so FUN.

Currently, as I type, I have one child (Harrison) engrossed in Barney whilst the other two scream and purple hair dye on my head. I can’t get anything done around the house, let alone for myself, even when I try. I know that being a mother means that you come last, your needs and wants and hopes and dreams all go right out the window when you have babies and they become your number one focus. But for goodness’ sake, I am only 26 years old and I want to dye my hair! Is that really so much to ask?!

Someday, I will look back at these moments and laugh and be sad that my kids aren’t so small and needy anymore. They will reach a point where I’m no longer cool, and I’m no longer interesting. And while I do cherish these sweet moments of babyhood, I can’t wait until I can pee on my own, for the day that I can take a bath without someone barging in the bathroom and climbing in, clothes and all. I can’t wait until I have a moment of privacy, without anyone else around, to simply relax and reflect and work on the novel I’m writing.

Side note: Is it #bedtime yet?

Twinning: Keeping the Magic Alive

There is nothing more romantic than your partner at three AM, rolling over to toss an arm around your body. Maybe you expect a snuggle, some warm and tender embrace that leads to passionate, wild lovemaking. However, the squawking from the baby monitor registers in your ears, and you realize this is not the tender moment you were anticipating. The sexy whisper, “Come on, honey,” is a stinky morning breath grumble, “I did it last time.” If they are ever in need of authentic zombies for the Walking Dead, newborn mom and dads are the perfect candidate. Especially those that have newborn twins.

My partner and I had only been together for a little over a year when the twins were born. Of course, we were overjoyed and high on adrenaline. We were rocking parenthood the first four days. We even made a jaunt to Target with all three babies, and it was awesome. I’m not sure anyone could have done a better job! However, the next day when we took our son for a jaundice checkup, I was feeling weak, sore, and was burning up. We quickly discovered through an ultrasound that I had left over product in my uterus, and was rushed to emergency surgery. I think, for my partner who stayed the night home alone with two five day old babies, it was a real eye opener. Not having a partner to help taking care of them, plus our almost one year old? Thankfully everything is fine now, but I think that was the first step in building our relationship post-babies.

I pointed out in another article how babies change things: and it’s insanely, uncomfortably true. In every aspect of your life. Nothing can prepare you for just how much it changes. Relationships, with your own parents, siblings, friends, and significant other. How you think about the world around you. The love I feel for my parents is so much deeper, and I appreciate them so much more, knowing what it’s like to have a child (or children) of my own. My siblings are the aunts and uncles that shape my kids, the ones they look up to for guidance and advice like I did growing up, only in a more respected form. Their cousins will be their best friends, like mine were. And they will always love their Daddy - just like I always will. I never understood why couples fought so hard to stay together until I had kids with someone that I was in love with. The idea of separating from him, of disrupting my children’s life like that, makes my heart ache.

We have our bad patches, just like everyone does. Goose and I argue over the dumbest things, like who left the milk out or who was the last to get up with a baby, or do the dishes, whatever. These are everyday spats that are over as quickly as they started. But sometimes, we have our blow ups - and they aren’t pretty. I’m not an innocent party - probably, I might be the instigator - and sometimes we say things that we shouldn’t. We are only human, and it’s natural to let our emotions get the best of us. But no matter how badly we fight, serious or not, there is one thing I am certain of every moment of every fight, and the feeling only intensifies as we apologize and make up.

I love this man.

No matter how much we fight, or how our views differ on so many things. I have many faults - including falling asleep hours before Goose is even thinking about going to bed. I’m oversensitive to some of his jokes. He does things that drive me crazy, too! Especially leaving dishes out :p But at the end of the day, good or bad, I get to sleep beside someone that makes me laugh like no one else, that tells me daily how beautiful I am, how lucky he is to have me, and how proud he is to be my man. I get breakfast in bed, back rubs, and naps when I need them. I have a future husband that takes great care of our children, who loves talking and playing with them and voluntarily changes diapers. He is patient with me, and willing to work on his own imperfections. We are learning to communicate and think like a team. We are beginning to really realize that this is forever, and that means we are never going to be apart.

I think it’s important to work to share interests and hobbies with your partner, be it disc golf or Netflix binges or Black Ops 3. It’s important to respect their wishes, to make sure you’re doing everything you can to make your partner feel secure and comfortable with you. Social media is a huge part of our lives and navigating the relationship world with a Facebook or Twitter can be difficult; it is important to be respectful and loving when discussing your relationship publicly. The whole world doesn’t need to know your dirty laundry, and you don’t need to show cracks or vulnerability in your relationship, either. That can invite someone in, which will only cause heartache down the road. It’s important to remember that how you represent yourself to the world as well, in person and online. If you’re walking around like a respectable woman, not flirting and smiling at every attractive man you pass, you aren’t going to invite trouble into the relationship either.

Focus on yourself, and your partner. Figure out how you can better help your partner be successful in life. Build them up, show them love and affection, remind them how much you mean to them. A man always wants to feel that he is the man, that he’s got it going on. From a deep fryer at McDonald’s to a millionaire actor - every man needs that boost of confidence, they deserve to hear how much they mean to you and how important they are to the world. Boosting his mood will help improve your life daily. Try it for a week and tell me it doesn’t improve things! :)

And, without getting too graphic or inappropriate, it is important to keep your partner happy in the bedroom. It’s the closest bond two people can share, a physical manifestation of your love for one another. Love making is what keeps two people in love, it’s as important as everything else in this article. Perhaps the most important thing in this article because it combines just about everything into one moment of happiness and love.

Make sure you love your partner. Make sure you treat your partner with respect, dignity, and kindness. Be a shoulder to lean on, be a hand to hold, be their safe place, their home. Love is a two way street, and if you’re unsatisfied with where you are heading, sometimes it’s important to realize that you may not be pulling your weight. And that is OK, it’s totally normal! As long as you’re willing to swallow your pride and start changing your ways. Babies change how relationships work, and it can go one of two ways - it can make you stronger, or break you apart. As for Goose and I, we are choosing to make it stronger. Through thick and thin, we are determined to make this work. One day at a time. And for that, I love him infinitely more.

Twinning Part 2 - My Pregnancy and Labor Story

I found out that I was pregnant with my second baby (or what I thought would be my second baby) on Mother’s Day in 2015. My son had only turned three months old a week or two ago, but I was still thrilled. I loved being a mom to Harry, and I wanted to fill my life with being a mom. Nothing is more fulfilling than being a mother, than having a tiny human rely completely on you to take as great of care of them as you can. To see their little faces peering up into your’s, those chubby little fists curling around your fingers to stay as close and connected as possible. Babies are magic, pure magic, and I look forward to someday having even more. Hopefully, not in such quick succession - I would be happy to wait at least three or four years between these pregnancies. Because lets be very straight - having twins freaking ruined my body.

And not in the gaining weight part - I have stretch marks on my ankles from how swollen I was. It took two months to be able to sleep in a bed again, postpartum, because it hurt so much between my hips as everything in my body is trying to get back to normal. I also have stretchmarks from my crotch to my boobs - I have no idea how my soon to be hubby sleeps with me, let alone still finds me attractive! But I guess that’s what being in love with someone you are truly meant to be with is all about.

My first ultrasound was around the twelve week mark. I had to go alone, due to conflicting work schedules, and as I laid on the table chatting with the friendly technician, I talked about how excited I was to have two so close in age. They will never remember a time without each other, and considering that my siblings are all so much older than me, I was excited about this. I always wanted to have a sibling close in my age, but my oldest sister is 19 years older than me, and the youngest is 5 years older though we were not raised in the same household. I was a product of my dad’s final marriage, his final kid. I think they realized they’d reached perfection and gave up after me :) I was telling the tech all of this, and how I was geeked for my tax return, being able to claim two newborns. That was when the woman started laughing at me. “Oh, you’ll get a big tax return all right,” she said as she turned the screen to face me. At first, I had no idea what I was looking at. It resembled an owl, with two circular eyes peering out at me.

“This is baby A, and this is baby B. You’re having twins,” she said cheerfully, as though it was the most exciting news on the planet.

“You have to be shitting me,” I responded, before promptly exploding into tears, mixed with laughter and a sense of dread so heavy that I felt like I was going to throw up. And it wasn’t morning sickness related. I was in shock when I left the office with my pictures of both embryos in hand. The first thing I did was go straight to my fiance’s house, where we both were so shocked and scared and excited that we didn’t really know what to say. We were both in agreement that we were hoping for one boy and one girl, and that way we would complete our family.

The next nine months were hectic. I was exhausted and sick, taking care of a growing baby while simultaneously growing two in my belly. I was a planet from very early on, and only grew faster and bigger from that day forward. I lived in sweat pants and my yogas were quickly turned into maternity pants by flipping the band up to cover my stomach. I went into prelabor a few times in the second and third trimester. I was terrified that something was going to happen to my babies, and I was taken off work in the early 30 week mark of my pregnancy. I had to take medicine to stop contractions. I couldn’t sleep anyway but upright with my feet propped up and my arms above my head. It seemed that baby B, who turned out to be my son Jonathan, was up in my ribs transverse. Michaela, twin A, was very low and enjoyed hiccuping on my cervix daily. It felt like Creed and Rocky were going at it in my belly, and it felt amazing and painful all at the same time. By the time I hit thirty-two weeks, I was visiting the hospital once a week to make sure that everything was ok - it seemed like I was going into labor constantly, and I was terrified that my water was going to break while I was home alone with Harrison, or something horrific was going to happen and I would lose the babies. The anxiety I felt, carrying two babies at once, was more than I can handle. But I did it, I perservered. And at thirty-seven weeks and four days, I was induced.

It took forever, as it had during my non-stress-tests that I had once a week starting at thirty-four weeks, trying to find both heartbeats. They had me double-strapped with monitors and wires, and it took two hours for the babies heartbeats to be found and stay consistently on the monitors. Once the pitocin started, I progressed quickly. I got an epidural, and things seemed to slow down. I had visitors in and out all day long, but my wonderful fiance was by my side throughout the entire thing. Feeding me ice chips, stroking my hair, doing whatever he could to cheer me up. The thing that hurt worse than the contractions rolling through my body was the catheter, which I finally demanded be removed. Shortly after, they were rolling me down the hall to the OR where I would deliver my sweet little twins. I was terrified - the sterile white room, the flock of nurses checking machines, wheeling things around, transfering me to a narrow table where my legs were put into stirrups. It was nothing like my first labor and birth with Harry, where my sisters held my legs and Goose cut the chord. The most wonderful sound was the shriek of my baby girl coming out, though she was quickly whisked away to the baby warmer where nurses hovered and wiped her down.

My doctor (Dr. Garland Scott, if you’re in Jackson, Michigan, is a fantastic doctor and I cannot speak highly enough about him!) tried to manually turn Jonathan around in my uterus, which is about as painful and awkward as it sounds. But Jonathan made his appearance into this world fee first, ready to go. We were disappointed with Goose not being able to cut cords, as he had for Harrison, but it all happened so quickly and I was so out of it that I don’t really remember. Even being in the hospital and trying to nurse was difficult. I couldn’t could to the bathroom, it hurt to sit on the little stool in the shower, and I had a flood of visitors coming to see me. It was overwhelming, but I wanted to share our special moments with the people that would love and cherish  my babies as much as I do. It might not work for everyone, but I was happy to see my family after such an ordeal.

Labor was difficult. Birth was difficult. I had to push two five pound babies out of my vagina in less than five minutes apart. I had second degree tears, I was miserable. And, less than a week later, I had to have an emergency surgery to get the left over product out of my uterus. I was slowly sinking into postpartum depression, which only escalated from there. It was complicated, it was a disorganized mess. But I am endlessly thankful for the support of my in-laws, who took us in without question and were more than happy to help with my recovery. It was nothing like this with  my first, and I was so scared the entire time. But once I held those sweet babies in my arms, gazing down into their innocent faces, I was in love. They were so sweet - they loved to snuggle, they held hands, they slept so peacefully. They were the perfect little humans to come into my life, as God intended. They say he doesn’t give you more than you can handle, and I’m slowly learning the truth behind that statement. Through medication and being honest and asking for help, things slowly got better.

Moving into our own home didn’t help at first. I felt like I was losing my mind at first, when my fiance would go off to work and leave me alone with three babies to take care of. I know it sounds kind of wimpy, but it was extremely hard work. Endless diaper changes, bottles to wash and fill and wash and fill. Laundry that I can’t manage to keep up on. But my babies have always been loved, cherished, and come first before anything else. Even when I was at my lowest, my most exhausted, I still woke up to take care of them. Or stayed away for days at a time to take care of them.

Having babies period isn’t an easy task. The pregnancy that was so hard on my body, the labor of pushing out two babies, then being sent home to figure out how to make it all work. I wish I had someone to tell me what to expect, someone to give me advice and to help. My family was very supportive, but its simply something I had to learn on my own. Things are beginning to look up - I manage to keep my house clean, dishes done, laundry is a constant work in progress, but my kids are clean, well dressed, and happy. And at the end of the end of the day when I’m laying beside my fiance, there is a certain amount of calm that settles over me and makes it all so, so, worth it. I wouldn’t have my life any other way.