We had a very busy and exciting weekend. The new closet is finished! "New" implies that there was something closet-like there before, which there wasn't. Matthew basically tore down/converted an old kitchen into the floor plan for our master bathroom and walk-in closet. The bathroom is not finished yet (the tiling and painting are done, but the toilet and vanity aren't yet installed...or even selected) but the plywood wall between the bedroom and the new space was finally ready to come down on Saturday, so that we could move our clothing from the piles of boxes and makeshift shelves in our bedroom and guestroom into the lovely carpeted closet, with bright white shelves painted last weekend by Matthew and Henry. It is glorious to see everything neatly folded and hung in its place and have that chaos out of our bedroom. Plus, I can now easily get to the washer and dryer. Prior to the start of the renovation project, I always was in charge of laundry, and although its not a task I relish, I like doing it my own way and not having to ask Matthew to deal with it. So now I can get all Dean's spit-up drenched clothes and bibs washed whenever I want. Ah, the little things that make one happy.
Once the clothing and shoes were moved into the new space, we had room in other areas of the house to rearrange other stuff, so yesterday we tackled reorganizing the guest room and the walk-in pantry (which basically serves as our only other closet). We also culled a lot of clothes and household items, which I am planning to drive over to Covenant House this afternoon to donate. And now I have space in the guest room to store some of Henry's toys -- it's been really hard on him having to wait until the baby as awake to get his things out of his room, so now he'll have stash on hand and the space in which to play with it. There are still more boxes than I care to count, filled mostly with books, and stacks of decorative items and wall hangings jumbled in corners, but those will have to wait until we can redo the guest room.
One of the wonderful things about getting all this done this weekend is that I won't be distracted by it when I start working from home next week. Yes, materrnity leave is about to be over. I have mixed feelings about it. When I ask myself if I would rather be a full time stay-at-home Mom than work part-time, the answer is (somewhat surprisingly) No. I really like my job (most of the time) and the sense of competence it gaves me in an area outside domestic life. On the other hand, if I ask myself if I am really ready to go back to work NOW, the answer is also No. But since I'm not sure I could ever say for sure that I am ready, and given the answer to the first question, I think I have to just jump back in as planned.
I think it will be emotionally difficult working from home this next month. It's an arrangement I negotiated in order to have more flexibility to nurse Dean (he still eats seven times a day) and I'll go back to the office on a regular basis the following month. I think it's a good plan, but it will be challenging not being the one caring for him during the day. We've developed such a nice little routine. He usually (which is a relative term, defined as "for the last five days") sleeps until between 7:30 and 8:30 (I know, amazing) and then I feed him and play with him on his mat (he just discovered his hands and loves to bat at things), then I move him to the baby papasan and let him listen to its horrible music and watch me while I clean the kitchen. Then we go into the bedroom for his massage. Then, if the weather is nice, we sit on the front porch and watch the neighbors pass by and the mockingbird parents flit around, guarding their babies. Then it's time for his nap. On a good day (like today) he'll sleep for an hour and half or more, so I can clean the rest of the house, brush my teeth and basically make myself presentable, and catch up on e-mails and household business. Then he's awake again and we spend the rest of the day doing pretty much the same stuff, usually going for a walk with Henry once he's home from school.
I was mostly motivated to get him sleeping through the night early by the need to control the migraines, but the other benefit (beside the sheer pleasure of sleeping seven or eight hours in a row) is that it has given me the chance to enjoy this time. Rather than merely surviving, which is how the first ten weeks felt, for the past few weeks I've been able to feel like a human being, to find humor and joy in the day, and to delight in him. And I've been able to accomplish a lot of other personal goals, like visiting my grandfather in Baton Rouge and friends I haven't seen in a while, getting things around the house organized, and even catching up on some reading. I know things will get more complicated once I am working again. But I am going to try very hard to maintain some of this sense of calm, the appreciation for the gentle unfolding of each day, the grace to recognize (especially in the witching hour of the evening, when Dean is crankier and Henry's energy leaves me breathless) that this is a temporary time of my life, one to cherish and have the patience to enjoy, knowing that falling into bed exhausted at the end of each day because of energy spent caring for my boys is really more of a gift than anything else.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Good Things
It's amazing the difference a week or two can make in the life of a newborn...and his mother. Dean is now the happy, adaptable, adorable baby his big brother was at this age. And...drum roll, please...he has started sleeping through the night. I was going to put that in caps, but I thought it might be tempting fate. Even writing it at all makes me want to knock on all available wood. But for the past week he has slept from his 11:00 pm feeding straight through to six or seven a.m. I feel like a new human being! And although we've been making a concerted effort to keep him on his regular eat-play-nap schedule, his nighttime sleep habits seem immune to the activities of the day -- we dragged him to French Quarter Festival two days in a row, followed by a trip yesterday to a birthday party in Madisonville for Henry's friends, and he still got a good night's sleep. I am so relieved.
And -- more knocking on wood -- I have not had a migraine since I started taking the Zoloft. That's almost three weeks now. I guess my brain really needed the seratonin bath. I still stand by my decision not to take anti-depressants during the pregnancy, but I do wonder what difference it would have made in the migraine frequency and intensity. Oh, well, no regrets, just so happy to be pain-free again for the first time in months.
\
My friend Rachel just gave me a t-shirt that says "Motherhood is not for sissies" and I have been wearing it proudly. It's funny -- motherhood (and parenting) is so commonplace, it is so easy to take for granted what a difficult job it is. And yet I can think of nothing more challenging. Being a parent requires use of all your faculties, all your virtues, and the suppression of ever-so-many vices. Taking care of Henry and Dean these past few months has really stretched my emotional capacities. I haven't been writing about Henry much on here, but I really should, he is undergoing a transformation almost as dramatic as Dean's. A few weeks ago I signed him up for an acting class for preschoolers. Not for the reasons one might guess -- I really don't care if he develops any skill or passion for it -- but just because it seemed like a good way to channel his energies and give him the creative outlet I'm not sure he's getting at school. I was a little worried about how he would adjust -- except for school, we've never dropped him off at any activity before. And my fears were justified -- the first day, when Matthew brought him, he clung to Matthew's legs and would not separate under any circumstances. Matthew and I had to convene once they returned and figure out how to handle it. Certainly we didn't want to force him to do something he hated, and I didn't want to traumatize him with separation anxiety. But we felt confident that he could do it, that he could get over his fears and that he would actually like the class once he got used to it. And we wanted him to have that confidence in himself, too. If we had let him quit, we thought it might make him think he couldn't handle new situations. So I spent a good deal of time talking to him about the class, and about how sure I was that he could do it. He maintained that he couldn't, and that he would not participate, but he did agree that he would try it again the next week. And I thought that was a good start. So the next week I brought him. The whole car trip he kept saying he didn't think he could do it, and I calmly repeated that I thought he could. We did a quick goodbye at the class and I waited to see if the teacher would call if he melted down irretrievably. But it didn't happen. And when his daddy picked him up an hour later, he was actually excited, and very very proud of himself. He's now learning lines to be the "ant" in the play, and the teacher says he's doing great. So score one for Henry.
Henry is so bright and articulate and emotionally in tune with others that our next big challenge is figuring out a balance of adult-time and kid-time. He wants to be a part of all our conversations, constantly asking what we're talking about and even chiming in with, "That's right" and "I know" even when he's NOT being included in the dialogue and has no clue what we're discussing. On one hand, this is kind of cute and I know he comes by it naturally -- Matthew and I have both been told we were more comfortable with adults than with other kids when we were his age. But on the other hand, it can be annoying and seems to verge on inappropriate. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but he has to learn boundaries. His interest in adult things is combined with a quickly developing sense of entitlement that is DEFINITELY not appropriate, and which we are working earnestly to curb. But overall it indicates to me that he is really growing up, really learning to express his own desires and interests, and at this point I am mostly grateful that this maturity allows him to delight in Dean and be incredibly understanding and helpful, rather than resentful or competitive. I hope they are always as happy with each other -- no one can get a smile from Dean as quickly as Henry.
Life seems to be getting into a rhythm and I am feeling so happy about my beautiful boys and my lovely city. There is no place like New Orleans in spring, especially during festival season. The sunshine, the birdsong, the brass bands, the crawfish...it's hard not to appreciate all the good things on a warm day in April.
And -- more knocking on wood -- I have not had a migraine since I started taking the Zoloft. That's almost three weeks now. I guess my brain really needed the seratonin bath. I still stand by my decision not to take anti-depressants during the pregnancy, but I do wonder what difference it would have made in the migraine frequency and intensity. Oh, well, no regrets, just so happy to be pain-free again for the first time in months.
\
My friend Rachel just gave me a t-shirt that says "Motherhood is not for sissies" and I have been wearing it proudly. It's funny -- motherhood (and parenting) is so commonplace, it is so easy to take for granted what a difficult job it is. And yet I can think of nothing more challenging. Being a parent requires use of all your faculties, all your virtues, and the suppression of ever-so-many vices. Taking care of Henry and Dean these past few months has really stretched my emotional capacities. I haven't been writing about Henry much on here, but I really should, he is undergoing a transformation almost as dramatic as Dean's. A few weeks ago I signed him up for an acting class for preschoolers. Not for the reasons one might guess -- I really don't care if he develops any skill or passion for it -- but just because it seemed like a good way to channel his energies and give him the creative outlet I'm not sure he's getting at school. I was a little worried about how he would adjust -- except for school, we've never dropped him off at any activity before. And my fears were justified -- the first day, when Matthew brought him, he clung to Matthew's legs and would not separate under any circumstances. Matthew and I had to convene once they returned and figure out how to handle it. Certainly we didn't want to force him to do something he hated, and I didn't want to traumatize him with separation anxiety. But we felt confident that he could do it, that he could get over his fears and that he would actually like the class once he got used to it. And we wanted him to have that confidence in himself, too. If we had let him quit, we thought it might make him think he couldn't handle new situations. So I spent a good deal of time talking to him about the class, and about how sure I was that he could do it. He maintained that he couldn't, and that he would not participate, but he did agree that he would try it again the next week. And I thought that was a good start. So the next week I brought him. The whole car trip he kept saying he didn't think he could do it, and I calmly repeated that I thought he could. We did a quick goodbye at the class and I waited to see if the teacher would call if he melted down irretrievably. But it didn't happen. And when his daddy picked him up an hour later, he was actually excited, and very very proud of himself. He's now learning lines to be the "ant" in the play, and the teacher says he's doing great. So score one for Henry.
Henry is so bright and articulate and emotionally in tune with others that our next big challenge is figuring out a balance of adult-time and kid-time. He wants to be a part of all our conversations, constantly asking what we're talking about and even chiming in with, "That's right" and "I know" even when he's NOT being included in the dialogue and has no clue what we're discussing. On one hand, this is kind of cute and I know he comes by it naturally -- Matthew and I have both been told we were more comfortable with adults than with other kids when we were his age. But on the other hand, it can be annoying and seems to verge on inappropriate. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but he has to learn boundaries. His interest in adult things is combined with a quickly developing sense of entitlement that is DEFINITELY not appropriate, and which we are working earnestly to curb. But overall it indicates to me that he is really growing up, really learning to express his own desires and interests, and at this point I am mostly grateful that this maturity allows him to delight in Dean and be incredibly understanding and helpful, rather than resentful or competitive. I hope they are always as happy with each other -- no one can get a smile from Dean as quickly as Henry.
Life seems to be getting into a rhythm and I am feeling so happy about my beautiful boys and my lovely city. There is no place like New Orleans in spring, especially during festival season. The sunshine, the birdsong, the brass bands, the crawfish...it's hard not to appreciate all the good things on a warm day in April.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Settling In
It's been about ten days since I started the Zoloft, and I am feeling better. I still don't feel as happy as I believe I have cause to feel, but I am no longer crying every day and everything just basically feels surmountable, where before it felt impossible. I also haven't had a migraine since I started taking it -- and that has gone a long way toward making me feel more in control of my daily life and outlook.
Dean is just delightful these days, smiling and generally becoming more "settled." I remember that happening with Henry at this stage -- in the space of a couple of weeks, he went from being a baby I described in my diary as "never happy" to being content and comfortable in our routines. Dean is proving to be pretty adaptable and easygoing, as our frequent hiking in the Smokies suggested he would be. Yesterday we took him to the Hornets game, along with Henry and Bob, and he just sat there, taking it all in, nursing when it was time, and then sleeping blissfully through the screaming as the Hornets whupped the Mavericks. Then we drove across the lake for a casual Easter dinner with Matthew's parents and left Henry there for the night. It was nice to be the parents to just one child for an evening, though the disrupted schedule yesterday had Dean waking up a lot more last night. At least when he was fussing we didn't have to usual worry of him waking up Henry in the next bed.
Today Dean and I took our first stroller walk (up to now, I've been taking him around the neighborhood in the Bjorn). He wasn't too happy with the arrangement at first, but once we started moving the bumps and breezes lulled him to sleep. The only problem (and I realize that for parents whose newborn never sleeps, this hardly seems like a problem) was that he feel asleep two hours before his next scheduled feeding. I knew he would not sleep straight through that stretch, and sure enough he woke up and resisted going back to sleep. I had to make a decision -- let him get up cranky and thinking he was due a meal, or have our first "cry it out" session. He was clearly tired and in need of more snoozing, so I decided to let him cry. It was really tough, and I'm not sure I'll continue with it, but with me standing next to him shushing and offering the pacifier, he eventually did tire himself out and drift off and has now been sleeping for a good half hour. There are so many decisions like that, all day long, never knowing for sure if you're making the "right" call. I've learned to just go on instinct and try to be consistent, and remember that there's nothing that can't be undone. It also helps that I have a happy and healthy four-year old grinning at me half the time, a testament that I at least managed to "get it right" once before and have a good chance of doing so again.
Dean is just delightful these days, smiling and generally becoming more "settled." I remember that happening with Henry at this stage -- in the space of a couple of weeks, he went from being a baby I described in my diary as "never happy" to being content and comfortable in our routines. Dean is proving to be pretty adaptable and easygoing, as our frequent hiking in the Smokies suggested he would be. Yesterday we took him to the Hornets game, along with Henry and Bob, and he just sat there, taking it all in, nursing when it was time, and then sleeping blissfully through the screaming as the Hornets whupped the Mavericks. Then we drove across the lake for a casual Easter dinner with Matthew's parents and left Henry there for the night. It was nice to be the parents to just one child for an evening, though the disrupted schedule yesterday had Dean waking up a lot more last night. At least when he was fussing we didn't have to usual worry of him waking up Henry in the next bed.
Today Dean and I took our first stroller walk (up to now, I've been taking him around the neighborhood in the Bjorn). He wasn't too happy with the arrangement at first, but once we started moving the bumps and breezes lulled him to sleep. The only problem (and I realize that for parents whose newborn never sleeps, this hardly seems like a problem) was that he feel asleep two hours before his next scheduled feeding. I knew he would not sleep straight through that stretch, and sure enough he woke up and resisted going back to sleep. I had to make a decision -- let him get up cranky and thinking he was due a meal, or have our first "cry it out" session. He was clearly tired and in need of more snoozing, so I decided to let him cry. It was really tough, and I'm not sure I'll continue with it, but with me standing next to him shushing and offering the pacifier, he eventually did tire himself out and drift off and has now been sleeping for a good half hour. There are so many decisions like that, all day long, never knowing for sure if you're making the "right" call. I've learned to just go on instinct and try to be consistent, and remember that there's nothing that can't be undone. It also helps that I have a happy and healthy four-year old grinning at me half the time, a testament that I at least managed to "get it right" once before and have a good chance of doing so again.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Getting There
I've been on hiatus, for both practical and emotional reasons. On the practical level, we've been BUSY. After Rach and Phil left, we hopped in the car for a two day drive to the Smokies, stopping at Rock City and Lookout Mountain along the way. We were at the cabin for a week and then made the 12 hour drive home (normally ten and a half, but nursing a newborn slows you down a bit) in one day. One VERY long day.
Then we had a lovely but busy rest of the week and a wonderful weekend, going to the Algiers Riverfest and having our friends Allison and Christian and their new baby boy, Pascal, over for the fest and some impromptu crawfish ettoufee. Today is the first day I've had a moment to sit down with the computer for more than two minutes (tho Dean probably senses this and is about to wake from his mid-morning nap).
There were some cherished memories made in the Smokies. Although I spent the first twenty-four hours sick with food poisoning (bad red beans and rice from a Popeyes on the way up) and had to deal with a couple of migraines while I was there, we managed to hike with the boys almost every day (Laurel Falls, Gatlinburg Trail, a trail I can't remember off the Roaring Fork motor tour, and our annual favorite, the Little River trail). Henry just loved it, especially running ahead of us and hiding behind trees so he could jump out and "surprise" us. Bob came with us and was Henry's favorite scare victim (she was a really good sport, sounding believably surprised even on the tenth "Boo!"). I loved thinking about how much fun it will be when Dean is older and we can all go on real hikes together, to some of the ones Matthew and I loved doing when we lived in Tennessee -- Andrew's Bald comes to mind -- and camping along the river in summer.
Our friends Jason and Ellen were with us for most of the week, and Ellen treated us to a fabulous home cooked meal every single night. This made life so much easier, as Matthew and Bob were available to help with Henry and Dean. Dean started really "waking up" out of his newborn phase during the week, smiling and cooing more often, and he was really a pretty easy baby most of the time, falling asleep in the Bjorn as we toted him around the mountains. He also likes being in the car seat -- Henry hated it and screamed almost our whole trip when we made this trek with him when hewas two months old -- but Dean usually fell asleep within five minutes of a drive and would only cry when he was hungry. But, boy, did he cry then. We had to stop a couple of times in really remote places just so I could make sure he was not going to choke to death while screeching.
Perhaps my favorite memory of the trip was when Henry learned to ice skate. I had tears in my eyes, I was so proud of him. It was a little like watching your child learn to walk, except accelerated -- he went from hanging on to the rail for dear life to scooting around the ice on his own in barely over an hour. Matthew was a very patient teacher while I had Dean on my chest and video recorded the experience for posterity. I was so impressed with the way Henry kept getting up and trying again after each time he fell, big irrepressible grin on his face each time. It seemed like he was experiencing pure joy, just loving the challenge, the novelty, and laughing every time he collapsed between his Daddy's legs.
But I can't pretend that everything over the past few weeks has been sweetness and light. The truth is I have been dealing with some serious depression for about a month now. I feel like it started before my sister came for her visit but really revealed its depth when she left. I spent the three or four days afterward crying at the drop of a hat, all day long. Perhaps what disturbed me most was the fact that I realized I was sometimes going a whole day without really talking to Dean or interacting with him. I changed his diapers, nursed him, rocked him to sleep, but I was too tired and depressed to muster a smile or chat for him. And I realized this was maybe more than a brief dip in my mood when Henry saw me crying -- when I told him that Mommy was just having a bad day and would feel better soon, he said, 'Yes, but then you always get sad again and that worries me." Matthew was worried, too, and I started to think that I should get some help. I talked with a couple of close mom friends who told me about their own experiences with post partum depression and what they described really seemed to match what I was feeling. One friend, whose judgment and good sense I trust almost more than anyone else in the world, told me that when she finally went on an anti-depressant when her last child was born, she wished she had done it with her first two, because he was the first child whose infancy she enjoyed. I was concerned about taking drugs while breastfeeding, but my OB assured me it would be fine. And the fact is that if I relied on my own internal resources to get through this, which I've always done in the past, it could be half of Dean's little life before the depression lifts, and I have to weigh the impact on his emotional development against any riskk the medication could pose to him. Considering everything, I decided it would be best to go on Zoloft for a while.
I'm still very ambivalent about it. I haven't taken medication to deal with depression in thirteen years. It sort of feels like a cop out, especially since I feel confident that once I can get some regular sleep under my belt and Dean gets through the fourth trimester, a lot of this sadness and despair will evaporate. I mean, doesn't everyone with a newborn get worn out and depressed at some point? Should we really be medicating a natural, and temporary, state of mind? On the other hand, I did read that 75% of women who experience depression during pregnancy will also have post-partum depression, and there is no question I was very depressed during the pregnancy. So maybe my emotional synapses got into a bit of a rut -- if this medication will help me get on a new path sooner, so that I can be to newborn Dean the engaged, present mother I was to Henry at this age, I believe it's the right thing to do.
I have felt better over this past week. I'm not sure how much of it is the Zoloft, how much is the renewed confidence I got from a visit with the biofeedback therapist who helped so much during the pregnancy, and how much is the simple fact that Dean is getting easier to handle and more endearing every day. I marvel at his delicate beauty, sweet temperament, and especially the heart-stopping smiles he gives to Henry. The migraines have also been better the past few days, so I'm sure that's helping, too. If Dean can just start sleeping regularly through the night (a feat he has managed once, so I am keeping my fingers crossed we'll be there soon), I feel I can finally enjoy all the sweetness in my life right now.
Then we had a lovely but busy rest of the week and a wonderful weekend, going to the Algiers Riverfest and having our friends Allison and Christian and their new baby boy, Pascal, over for the fest and some impromptu crawfish ettoufee. Today is the first day I've had a moment to sit down with the computer for more than two minutes (tho Dean probably senses this and is about to wake from his mid-morning nap).
There were some cherished memories made in the Smokies. Although I spent the first twenty-four hours sick with food poisoning (bad red beans and rice from a Popeyes on the way up) and had to deal with a couple of migraines while I was there, we managed to hike with the boys almost every day (Laurel Falls, Gatlinburg Trail, a trail I can't remember off the Roaring Fork motor tour, and our annual favorite, the Little River trail). Henry just loved it, especially running ahead of us and hiding behind trees so he could jump out and "surprise" us. Bob came with us and was Henry's favorite scare victim (she was a really good sport, sounding believably surprised even on the tenth "Boo!"). I loved thinking about how much fun it will be when Dean is older and we can all go on real hikes together, to some of the ones Matthew and I loved doing when we lived in Tennessee -- Andrew's Bald comes to mind -- and camping along the river in summer.
Our friends Jason and Ellen were with us for most of the week, and Ellen treated us to a fabulous home cooked meal every single night. This made life so much easier, as Matthew and Bob were available to help with Henry and Dean. Dean started really "waking up" out of his newborn phase during the week, smiling and cooing more often, and he was really a pretty easy baby most of the time, falling asleep in the Bjorn as we toted him around the mountains. He also likes being in the car seat -- Henry hated it and screamed almost our whole trip when we made this trek with him when hewas two months old -- but Dean usually fell asleep within five minutes of a drive and would only cry when he was hungry. But, boy, did he cry then. We had to stop a couple of times in really remote places just so I could make sure he was not going to choke to death while screeching.
Perhaps my favorite memory of the trip was when Henry learned to ice skate. I had tears in my eyes, I was so proud of him. It was a little like watching your child learn to walk, except accelerated -- he went from hanging on to the rail for dear life to scooting around the ice on his own in barely over an hour. Matthew was a very patient teacher while I had Dean on my chest and video recorded the experience for posterity. I was so impressed with the way Henry kept getting up and trying again after each time he fell, big irrepressible grin on his face each time. It seemed like he was experiencing pure joy, just loving the challenge, the novelty, and laughing every time he collapsed between his Daddy's legs.
But I can't pretend that everything over the past few weeks has been sweetness and light. The truth is I have been dealing with some serious depression for about a month now. I feel like it started before my sister came for her visit but really revealed its depth when she left. I spent the three or four days afterward crying at the drop of a hat, all day long. Perhaps what disturbed me most was the fact that I realized I was sometimes going a whole day without really talking to Dean or interacting with him. I changed his diapers, nursed him, rocked him to sleep, but I was too tired and depressed to muster a smile or chat for him. And I realized this was maybe more than a brief dip in my mood when Henry saw me crying -- when I told him that Mommy was just having a bad day and would feel better soon, he said, 'Yes, but then you always get sad again and that worries me." Matthew was worried, too, and I started to think that I should get some help. I talked with a couple of close mom friends who told me about their own experiences with post partum depression and what they described really seemed to match what I was feeling. One friend, whose judgment and good sense I trust almost more than anyone else in the world, told me that when she finally went on an anti-depressant when her last child was born, she wished she had done it with her first two, because he was the first child whose infancy she enjoyed. I was concerned about taking drugs while breastfeeding, but my OB assured me it would be fine. And the fact is that if I relied on my own internal resources to get through this, which I've always done in the past, it could be half of Dean's little life before the depression lifts, and I have to weigh the impact on his emotional development against any riskk the medication could pose to him. Considering everything, I decided it would be best to go on Zoloft for a while.
I'm still very ambivalent about it. I haven't taken medication to deal with depression in thirteen years. It sort of feels like a cop out, especially since I feel confident that once I can get some regular sleep under my belt and Dean gets through the fourth trimester, a lot of this sadness and despair will evaporate. I mean, doesn't everyone with a newborn get worn out and depressed at some point? Should we really be medicating a natural, and temporary, state of mind? On the other hand, I did read that 75% of women who experience depression during pregnancy will also have post-partum depression, and there is no question I was very depressed during the pregnancy. So maybe my emotional synapses got into a bit of a rut -- if this medication will help me get on a new path sooner, so that I can be to newborn Dean the engaged, present mother I was to Henry at this age, I believe it's the right thing to do.
I have felt better over this past week. I'm not sure how much of it is the Zoloft, how much is the renewed confidence I got from a visit with the biofeedback therapist who helped so much during the pregnancy, and how much is the simple fact that Dean is getting easier to handle and more endearing every day. I marvel at his delicate beauty, sweet temperament, and especially the heart-stopping smiles he gives to Henry. The migraines have also been better the past few days, so I'm sure that's helping, too. If Dean can just start sleeping regularly through the night (a feat he has managed once, so I am keeping my fingers crossed we'll be there soon), I feel I can finally enjoy all the sweetness in my life right now.
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