I have been so depressed and dejected due to our bed bug infestation. To be honest, calling it an infestation is a bit extreme if you only care about our specific apartment, but when you consider the building as a whole, I think it's probably a fair assessment. Thank god we haven't suffered too much. Johnny and I are now sleeping on the sleeper sofa in the living room to avoid the creepy crawlers. Jim is stubbornly sleeping in the bedroom still - hey, more power to him.
Anyway, my point is that I am slowly beginning to feel better about this whole thing. I think sleeping in the living room has helped for a few reasons:
1. I am no longer *as* paranoid that every single thing I feel on my skin is a bed bug preparing to bite.
2. I am not *quite* as exhausted because it is easier for me to sleep. There's no guarantee they won't move into the living room, or that they haven't already, but it's easier for me to feel safe for the time being.
3. I'm not getting as many new bites these days. They say there can be a delay up to 9 days (!!!) before a bite becomes itchy. So I don't know if my reduction in bites is due to the LR, or just coincidence. Either way, I'll take it!
We also have scheduled to have the exterminator come out next week for our first round of treatment. This weekend's gonna be fun as we bag up all our belongings. Sigh.
I found a program the other day that offers an MBA in sustainable food businesses. I am SO interested. I am putting my intentions out there - I am going to dedicate some time to making it happen.
Also, my non-sustainable business seems to be picking up a bit ... almost no bites until the past few weeks. This week, two potential clients have taken steps to make it happen. Fingers crossed!
Once I've paid off most of my debt, I can begin work on my new business in earnest - sustainable food practices. I envision a cottage with an organic produce garden. Folks come to me to learn how to sustainably grow and preserve their own food. I don't think I want to be in the business of providing sustainably grown and preserved food (I don't *think*), but I do want to teach others how to do it.
Also - I saw a retreat center for sale the other day and then noticed it again today in possibly the same magazine. I am very drawn to this estate, although I cannot afford to buy it and can't imagine what I'd do with it if I owned it since my man is a city boy, through and through. Still ... I think I will look into it. We'll see what the universe provides. :)
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Things that go BITE in the night
Egad. So far, since little Johnny has joined us on this big blue planet, we have had a lot of cockroaches and mice in our apartment. I can't stand them! This summer's been great - no mice and very few cockroaches, I'm sorry, water bugs. However ... last week, we gradually became aware of a bed bug infestation in our building.
First, I had some bites, which I assumed were mosquito bites. Then, I kept getting more bites. At 25 bites, I did some research and saw pictures of bed bug bites that looked an awful lot like the bites on my shoulders.
The next day, we came home to find our next door neighbor's apartment being swept for bed bugs. Hmm... we called the management company first thing in the morning, and they said they'd give our number to an inspector.
Now, it doesn't help that throughout the week, Jim made it obvious that he didn't believe we had the bugs. Easy for him to say when he has no bites! I mention this here because there's a chance he was given more information than he relayed to me, in an attempt to keep me from worrying. Of course that's silly because I feel much better when I *KNOW* what I'm dealing with, rather than pure speculation! It was a rough week in relationship-land.
So we wait a couple days for this inspector to call us, and Jim calls our management company each day to let them know we're serious. I am furious during this time because I worry that every day wasted is an opportunity for a bed bug to lay eggs in my room. Yuck!
Finally, Friday we give in and call our own inspector. Only problem is, they need our dog to be out of the apartment because they're bringing a canine inspector. I call the super to see if he will take her for a walk. I don't even get that far because as soon as I tell him we've called someone to look for bed bugs, he tells me not to waste my money - the building has an inspector on call, and there is a known issue in our wing of the building, concentrated in the apartments directly above us. Yippee! He tells me he'll call management and make sure they lean on the inspector to call. They call Jim within the hour to make an appointment for Monday morning (today). Sometimes you gotta call in the big guns.
Over the weekend, I forget my key and a neighbor (from a different wing of the building) lets me in. While we walk through the lobby, she informs me that she has seen a bed bug in her apartment. "Don't be fooled," she says, "they are everywhere in this building. It's an infestation." Oh goody.
When I get into the apartment, Jim tells me he ran into one of our neighbors ... we call her Angry Debbie because she is always up in arms about something. She told him that management is keeping secrets from us - bed bugs are throughout the building and they're trying to pretend it isn't a problem, etc. She is a piece of work, but I'm not sure how far off she is this time.
Inspectors came this morning. No bed bugs in the living room or little Johnny's room (although I must say it was a rather cursory inspection). There are, however, bed bugs on our box spring and I was able to see them with my own two eyes. I guess that would upset some people, but I was glad. I was afraid they wouldn't see them and then we wouldn't do the cleanup necessary to get rid of them and/or the building wouldn't pay for it.
I've been wanting to move out of here for so long now and I am really frustrated that it has taken so long and that we didn't just cut our losses last summer. Oh well, maybe I will remember this in the future and that will be my silver lining.
First, I had some bites, which I assumed were mosquito bites. Then, I kept getting more bites. At 25 bites, I did some research and saw pictures of bed bug bites that looked an awful lot like the bites on my shoulders.
The next day, we came home to find our next door neighbor's apartment being swept for bed bugs. Hmm... we called the management company first thing in the morning, and they said they'd give our number to an inspector.
Now, it doesn't help that throughout the week, Jim made it obvious that he didn't believe we had the bugs. Easy for him to say when he has no bites! I mention this here because there's a chance he was given more information than he relayed to me, in an attempt to keep me from worrying. Of course that's silly because I feel much better when I *KNOW* what I'm dealing with, rather than pure speculation! It was a rough week in relationship-land.
So we wait a couple days for this inspector to call us, and Jim calls our management company each day to let them know we're serious. I am furious during this time because I worry that every day wasted is an opportunity for a bed bug to lay eggs in my room. Yuck!
Finally, Friday we give in and call our own inspector. Only problem is, they need our dog to be out of the apartment because they're bringing a canine inspector. I call the super to see if he will take her for a walk. I don't even get that far because as soon as I tell him we've called someone to look for bed bugs, he tells me not to waste my money - the building has an inspector on call, and there is a known issue in our wing of the building, concentrated in the apartments directly above us. Yippee! He tells me he'll call management and make sure they lean on the inspector to call. They call Jim within the hour to make an appointment for Monday morning (today). Sometimes you gotta call in the big guns.
Over the weekend, I forget my key and a neighbor (from a different wing of the building) lets me in. While we walk through the lobby, she informs me that she has seen a bed bug in her apartment. "Don't be fooled," she says, "they are everywhere in this building. It's an infestation." Oh goody.
When I get into the apartment, Jim tells me he ran into one of our neighbors ... we call her Angry Debbie because she is always up in arms about something. She told him that management is keeping secrets from us - bed bugs are throughout the building and they're trying to pretend it isn't a problem, etc. She is a piece of work, but I'm not sure how far off she is this time.
Inspectors came this morning. No bed bugs in the living room or little Johnny's room (although I must say it was a rather cursory inspection). There are, however, bed bugs on our box spring and I was able to see them with my own two eyes. I guess that would upset some people, but I was glad. I was afraid they wouldn't see them and then we wouldn't do the cleanup necessary to get rid of them and/or the building wouldn't pay for it.
I've been wanting to move out of here for so long now and I am really frustrated that it has taken so long and that we didn't just cut our losses last summer. Oh well, maybe I will remember this in the future and that will be my silver lining.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Depression and Its Ilk
It's been so long since I've written. During this time, I have swung like a pendulum between immensely happy and incredibly depressed. Several months ago, I found myself wandering aimlessly through a Barnes and Noble thinking, "I'll never be happy again, I've forgotten how." A week or so later, I was so content I thought the whole thing was behind me - permanently. Alas, it was not to be so.
The day after I returned from an out of town visit with friends, Jim told me that he had seen a psychiatrist and was going to begin taking antidepressants the next day. He has suffered from depression for years (quite possibly all of his adult life), but has resisted taking medication for it. I suspect that my own emotional roller coaster since Johnny was born has affected him more than I realized. I used to provide a lot of emotional support and I have not been capable of providing all that he needs in a long time.
Anyway, I was concerned because so many people I know have had difficulty coming off of antidepressants. The night he told me, I couldn't sleep. I spent hours pouring over the information that came with the medication and doing online research. The next day, I was exhausted.
Jim started the medication at half a dose, with a plan to visit his doctor and then increase to a full dose after one week. He experienced a few of the minor side effects - being tired, mild headaches, intense dreams, etc. From my perspective, not much changed aside from him falling asleep earlier than normal. However, within 24 hours of taking the full dose, there was a noticeable difference.
I should note that when Jim is in a good state of mind, he is quite funny. It had been a long time since Jim was so jovial. The changes I saw in him after starting with the full dose of antidepressants made clear to me that I had no idea how depressed he'd been. It seemed he was feeling much better. That's the good news.
The bad news is that Jim's sense of humor can be very cutting. I spent several weeks worrying that I could not withstand Jim on this medication. He was constantly teasing me and replying flippantly to straightforward questions. Nearly everything I said to him was met with a sarcastic reply. I was beside myself.
I began this period feeling a bit sideswiped with the news that he would be taking this medication. Now, dealing with his good spirits was eating away at me. A couple times I told him I needed to spend a day alone because I was feeling "sensitive". Eventually, I let Jim know that this was too much for me.
Fortunately, he seems to have stabilized a bit and doesn't strike me as being so manic all the time. I'm not sure how much of that is the natural process of the body adjusting to the medication and how much is a conscious effort on his part to reign in the sharp wit. Whichever it is, I appreciate it!
This whole process has opened my eyes quite a bit. Because I still struggle with depression from time to time, I am in a position to understand a bit better how he must have felt when he was depressed and I was "normal." I certainly don't wish him any ill will, but there are times when his optimism is incredibly annoying in the face of my doomsday concerns. How he put up with my insufferable positive thinking I'll never know.
I've also learned that I had built up some expectations regarding his depression. So many times during his first month on the meds, circumstances led me to dread waking up in the morning, knowing I would have to interact with a miserable husband. And yet ... it never happened. We could have an argument, bad news could arrive, Johnny could have an awful night - and in the morning Jim was always fine. Tired, perhaps, but fine. His emotions were still there, but he was able to recover from them in a way that I considered normal before I met him.
His positive outlook has continued and doesn't seem so spectacular to me anymore. Just yesterday it occurred to me that I no longer expect him to be angry with me when something negative happens. Of course he was rarely angry with me, but that's how it felt when he went into a depressed funk.
It's safe to say I still have some concerns - what happens if he has to stop taking the pills for some reason? What happens if he travels and forgets them? I can imagine any number of situations - however unlikely - during which he could have massive withdrawal symptoms. But all in all, it seems this has been a positive experiment thus far.
The only remaining negative from my perspective is that I still don't feel 100% myself. I'm not sure if that's because I'm still working on it, or if I have fundamentally changed since becoming a mom. Only time will tell.
The day after I returned from an out of town visit with friends, Jim told me that he had seen a psychiatrist and was going to begin taking antidepressants the next day. He has suffered from depression for years (quite possibly all of his adult life), but has resisted taking medication for it. I suspect that my own emotional roller coaster since Johnny was born has affected him more than I realized. I used to provide a lot of emotional support and I have not been capable of providing all that he needs in a long time.
Anyway, I was concerned because so many people I know have had difficulty coming off of antidepressants. The night he told me, I couldn't sleep. I spent hours pouring over the information that came with the medication and doing online research. The next day, I was exhausted.
Jim started the medication at half a dose, with a plan to visit his doctor and then increase to a full dose after one week. He experienced a few of the minor side effects - being tired, mild headaches, intense dreams, etc. From my perspective, not much changed aside from him falling asleep earlier than normal. However, within 24 hours of taking the full dose, there was a noticeable difference.
I should note that when Jim is in a good state of mind, he is quite funny. It had been a long time since Jim was so jovial. The changes I saw in him after starting with the full dose of antidepressants made clear to me that I had no idea how depressed he'd been. It seemed he was feeling much better. That's the good news.
The bad news is that Jim's sense of humor can be very cutting. I spent several weeks worrying that I could not withstand Jim on this medication. He was constantly teasing me and replying flippantly to straightforward questions. Nearly everything I said to him was met with a sarcastic reply. I was beside myself.
I began this period feeling a bit sideswiped with the news that he would be taking this medication. Now, dealing with his good spirits was eating away at me. A couple times I told him I needed to spend a day alone because I was feeling "sensitive". Eventually, I let Jim know that this was too much for me.
Fortunately, he seems to have stabilized a bit and doesn't strike me as being so manic all the time. I'm not sure how much of that is the natural process of the body adjusting to the medication and how much is a conscious effort on his part to reign in the sharp wit. Whichever it is, I appreciate it!
This whole process has opened my eyes quite a bit. Because I still struggle with depression from time to time, I am in a position to understand a bit better how he must have felt when he was depressed and I was "normal." I certainly don't wish him any ill will, but there are times when his optimism is incredibly annoying in the face of my doomsday concerns. How he put up with my insufferable positive thinking I'll never know.
I've also learned that I had built up some expectations regarding his depression. So many times during his first month on the meds, circumstances led me to dread waking up in the morning, knowing I would have to interact with a miserable husband. And yet ... it never happened. We could have an argument, bad news could arrive, Johnny could have an awful night - and in the morning Jim was always fine. Tired, perhaps, but fine. His emotions were still there, but he was able to recover from them in a way that I considered normal before I met him.
His positive outlook has continued and doesn't seem so spectacular to me anymore. Just yesterday it occurred to me that I no longer expect him to be angry with me when something negative happens. Of course he was rarely angry with me, but that's how it felt when he went into a depressed funk.
It's safe to say I still have some concerns - what happens if he has to stop taking the pills for some reason? What happens if he travels and forgets them? I can imagine any number of situations - however unlikely - during which he could have massive withdrawal symptoms. But all in all, it seems this has been a positive experiment thus far.
The only remaining negative from my perspective is that I still don't feel 100% myself. I'm not sure if that's because I'm still working on it, or if I have fundamentally changed since becoming a mom. Only time will tell.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Should I Start Faking It?
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, sex is different after you've had a child. I'm not talking about post-delivery *physical* issues (having had a C-section, I never had the pleasure of dealing with that). I'm talking about the desire, or lack thereof, for a physical relationship after giving birth.
After Johnny was born, my desire for sex seriously tanked. I think it was around the third or fourth month that I first craved sex again, but it, sadly, turned out to be a one-off occasion. I guess it's easily explained - my hormones are still all over the place (see my PMS post), I'm not getting good, comfortable sleep (*you* try getting a good night's sleep with a 25 lb baby tossing and turning against your side!), and my need for physical affection is met with a surplus from the young one.
Most of my nights and a good portion of each day are spent touching, holding, nursing, nuzzling, changing, and playing with Johnny. When I do have a chance to put him down, I look forward to not touching anyone! Of course, the problem is that my husband is *not* getting this level of physical attention and he has needs. Compared to my baby, my husband (with his rough chin, stinky breath and lack of concern for tender nipples) isn't too appealing right now.
I really don't know what to do. I never wanted to be a manipulative woman who fakes sexual interest in order to keep a man around. I had disdain for such women and their weakness - who *needs* a man, anyway? I thought if you have to fake it, maybe that's not the right man for you. Sigh.
I guess it's easy to have such a strong opinion before you find yourself in a situation wondering how you can act convincingly interested. I LOVE my husband - this is not the problem. The problem is that I just don't have much interest in sex right now. And as time goes on, his needs are growing while my desire is flat lined. Here's hoping one of us experiences a change and soon!
After Johnny was born, my desire for sex seriously tanked. I think it was around the third or fourth month that I first craved sex again, but it, sadly, turned out to be a one-off occasion. I guess it's easily explained - my hormones are still all over the place (see my PMS post), I'm not getting good, comfortable sleep (*you* try getting a good night's sleep with a 25 lb baby tossing and turning against your side!), and my need for physical affection is met with a surplus from the young one.
Most of my nights and a good portion of each day are spent touching, holding, nursing, nuzzling, changing, and playing with Johnny. When I do have a chance to put him down, I look forward to not touching anyone! Of course, the problem is that my husband is *not* getting this level of physical attention and he has needs. Compared to my baby, my husband (with his rough chin, stinky breath and lack of concern for tender nipples) isn't too appealing right now.
I really don't know what to do. I never wanted to be a manipulative woman who fakes sexual interest in order to keep a man around. I had disdain for such women and their weakness - who *needs* a man, anyway? I thought if you have to fake it, maybe that's not the right man for you. Sigh.
I guess it's easy to have such a strong opinion before you find yourself in a situation wondering how you can act convincingly interested. I LOVE my husband - this is not the problem. The problem is that I just don't have much interest in sex right now. And as time goes on, his needs are growing while my desire is flat lined. Here's hoping one of us experiences a change and soon!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind
Post-baby, it is hard to imagine having a spotless mind. It is something I find myself aspiring to, but I'm not holding my breath. There are now so many things that must remain in the forethought of my mind that I often have difficulty remembering to do things like go to the bathroom or take a shower.
Mind you, I wasn't great at remembering these things before I had a child, so my close associates might think I'm exaggerating when I say this is incredibly stressful. After all, I managed to be quite successful before little Johnny came along. However, there are slight, but meaningful, differences between my pre- and post- baby brain functions.
Before I had Johnny, I had a busy career. I worked roughly 60-80 hours a week, most of them after noon. I tended to waste away my mornings checking email, getting food, having a smoke (or three), getting coffee, and generally relaxing into my day. Around noon, I would realize the day was quickly passing me by and I'd get serious. Phone calls, emails, database look ups and entries, meetings, project plans, etc, etc, etc. Around 6 or 7 in the evening, I'd start thinking about going home. Around 8, I'd walk out the door, laptop over my shoulder. On a good day, that would be it - I'd head home or grab something to eat or hang out with my (then) boyfriend (now he's my hubby), maybe hang out at the neighborhood cafe, walk the dog, read a book, talk on the phone to a girlfriend. On a bad day, I might swing by a fast food place to pick up dinner, then I'd go home and log back in - sometimes working until 2, 3, 4 in the morning.
Now ... I work about 8 or 9 hours a week and I meet with my mommy friends for 2-5 hours each week, depending on everyone's availability. I spend time reading email and looking at facebook. I make dinner for the family, cook and puree all of Johnny's food, try to make sure I at least say hi to the dog each day. I still spend time on the phone with a girlfriend, but mostly that is split into 5 or 10 minute calls scattered throughout the week. I am still busy and still have many things to get done. When I have the child, it's understandable - I can't very well sit down to 8 straight hours of work because Johnny needs feeding, changing, and attention - babies actually do require interaction and when they don't get it, they demand it in the form of babbling, then crying, then outright screaming. It's impossible (for me, anyway) to concentrate on anything while my son screams. Someone else's kid, sure ... but not so much with my own.
So then I look at the days when I have childcare lined up ... thus far, I haven't left Johnny with someone else for more than about 6 hours (beside my mother who lives on the other side of the country, so that's rare). Nonetheless, one might think I could then dedicate myself to at least 5 or 6 hours worth of work. Not so. I just don't seem capable of concentrating that long anymore. If I work on something for two hours straight, I am aware of the time spent in a way I never used to be. Even when I go into my client's office, use his computer (so no access to email or facebook), etc ... I still know I'm spending time working on his stuff.
I don't know why this happens. Even when I am working on a project that is for me - one that will hopefully bring in money - I don't seem capable of digging in and getting it done. Is this because I have "mommy-brain"? I've heard the other mommies refer to it and it is mentioned in a handful of the baby books I've seen. What benefit could this possibly have, biologically speaking? I guess maybe you just get used to functioning in interrupt mode and a few hours of relief don't really bring you back to "normal" thinking.
Maybe there is a post-partum concentration switch that gets shoved into the off position while you are dealing with a baby. In other words, it doesn't matter what you're doing or who it benefits - you can't concentrate on any task longer than a few minutes, maybe half an hour if you're lucky - because you must constantly be on alert to meet your baby's needs. You can't concentrate so much that you can no longer hear or identify your child's cry from across the room, down the hall, etc. Your baby could be in danger, might need feeding, or may just need a good, solid hug to create new neural connections.
I really hope that this passes as Johnny grows up. I want to have some semblance of my life back, and to me, that means working ... being productive, helpful, successful. I love my son to pieces and want to do everything I can to help him thrive in this world. I don't think I'm selfish to want to thrive in my own way too.
Mind you, I wasn't great at remembering these things before I had a child, so my close associates might think I'm exaggerating when I say this is incredibly stressful. After all, I managed to be quite successful before little Johnny came along. However, there are slight, but meaningful, differences between my pre- and post- baby brain functions.
Before I had Johnny, I had a busy career. I worked roughly 60-80 hours a week, most of them after noon. I tended to waste away my mornings checking email, getting food, having a smoke (or three), getting coffee, and generally relaxing into my day. Around noon, I would realize the day was quickly passing me by and I'd get serious. Phone calls, emails, database look ups and entries, meetings, project plans, etc, etc, etc. Around 6 or 7 in the evening, I'd start thinking about going home. Around 8, I'd walk out the door, laptop over my shoulder. On a good day, that would be it - I'd head home or grab something to eat or hang out with my (then) boyfriend (now he's my hubby), maybe hang out at the neighborhood cafe, walk the dog, read a book, talk on the phone to a girlfriend. On a bad day, I might swing by a fast food place to pick up dinner, then I'd go home and log back in - sometimes working until 2, 3, 4 in the morning.
Now ... I work about 8 or 9 hours a week and I meet with my mommy friends for 2-5 hours each week, depending on everyone's availability. I spend time reading email and looking at facebook. I make dinner for the family, cook and puree all of Johnny's food, try to make sure I at least say hi to the dog each day. I still spend time on the phone with a girlfriend, but mostly that is split into 5 or 10 minute calls scattered throughout the week. I am still busy and still have many things to get done. When I have the child, it's understandable - I can't very well sit down to 8 straight hours of work because Johnny needs feeding, changing, and attention - babies actually do require interaction and when they don't get it, they demand it in the form of babbling, then crying, then outright screaming. It's impossible (for me, anyway) to concentrate on anything while my son screams. Someone else's kid, sure ... but not so much with my own.
So then I look at the days when I have childcare lined up ... thus far, I haven't left Johnny with someone else for more than about 6 hours (beside my mother who lives on the other side of the country, so that's rare). Nonetheless, one might think I could then dedicate myself to at least 5 or 6 hours worth of work. Not so. I just don't seem capable of concentrating that long anymore. If I work on something for two hours straight, I am aware of the time spent in a way I never used to be. Even when I go into my client's office, use his computer (so no access to email or facebook), etc ... I still know I'm spending time working on his stuff.
I don't know why this happens. Even when I am working on a project that is for me - one that will hopefully bring in money - I don't seem capable of digging in and getting it done. Is this because I have "mommy-brain"? I've heard the other mommies refer to it and it is mentioned in a handful of the baby books I've seen. What benefit could this possibly have, biologically speaking? I guess maybe you just get used to functioning in interrupt mode and a few hours of relief don't really bring you back to "normal" thinking.
Maybe there is a post-partum concentration switch that gets shoved into the off position while you are dealing with a baby. In other words, it doesn't matter what you're doing or who it benefits - you can't concentrate on any task longer than a few minutes, maybe half an hour if you're lucky - because you must constantly be on alert to meet your baby's needs. You can't concentrate so much that you can no longer hear or identify your child's cry from across the room, down the hall, etc. Your baby could be in danger, might need feeding, or may just need a good, solid hug to create new neural connections.
I really hope that this passes as Johnny grows up. I want to have some semblance of my life back, and to me, that means working ... being productive, helpful, successful. I love my son to pieces and want to do everything I can to help him thrive in this world. I don't think I'm selfish to want to thrive in my own way too.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Sitting In a Pool of Blood
Ok, that may be an exaggeration, but it is definitely what I felt like Saturday morning. Let me backup and explain.
Postpartum PMS can be - and is for me - a dizzying ordeal. A few weeks ago, I had a few days where I just couldn't remember anything. My hubby walked the dog, took off her leash and sat down next to me on the couch ... at which point I turned to him and asked, "Have you walked the dog yet?" Um, helloooo! After a couple days of this type of brain (in)activity, we looked at each other and wondered if we had just forgotten what this was like, or if postpartum PMS was really much worse. Talking to some of my mommy friends, I hear this is a common phenomenon. Woo-hoo!
Fast forward a month, and I *finally* started my period - three weeks later than I expected, which caused some anxiety in itself. So I started Thursday afternoon and was pretty much fine until Friday night. I was in the bedroom with Johnny, nursing him to sleep as usual. Jim was in the living room, playing xbox games with his friends (online - they weren't visiting). I started to really resent that I always get stuck getting the boy to sleep while he does his own thing at night. I mean just about every night! I didn't think much of it until I looked back in retrospect, but I do remember thinking maybe this was a hormonal, period thing.
Anyway, Johnny didn't sleep well all night - tossing and turning, nursing constantly, or so it felt. I was exhausted when we all woke up in the morning and just couldn't stop crying. Jim took Johnny to change him and get him into his clothes while I laid in bed, crying. Finally I struggled out of bed and decided to make breakfast. Jim said he could pick something up since I seemed to be a bit of a mess, but I insisted that cooking would help me feel better, and it did. For a while.
One of the problems with having your period while you are still nursing is that you can't really walk away from everything and sequester yourself for a day or two ... which is what I normally try to do when I have my period. Instead, you are still in near-constant contact with this little being that takes its very nourishment from your body. Combine this with sleep deprivation, and it's really a recipe for disaster, as we found out.
Earlier in the week, we had decided to start sleep training Johnny this weekend. Jim was to move his crib back into his room and we were going to follow the baby whisperer to get the boy to sleep.
Obviously I was in no state to deal with sleep training a baby, but I didn't think to cancel or postpone the event. At one point, I was sitting on the couch, thinking, "I feel like I'm sitting in a pool of blood."
When it was time for his first nap, I swooped him up in my arms and plopped him into his crib. I didn't bother with trying to dim the room, play a soft lullaby, or soothe him. It's no surprise that Johnny didn't settle down. I followed the directions for about half an hour, then asked Jim to take a turn. I was already crying.
Finally it was time for Johnny to eat his solid lunch, so we took a break. At some point, Jim suggested I lie down, so I took a quick nap, then laid in bed feeling lethargic and unable (unwilling?) to think too much about anything.
After my nap, Jim tried to put Johnny down to sleep, but he wasn't having it. I could hear the boy crying his head off and eventually it sounded like he was screaming. I thought Jim was just leaving him in the crib to cry instead of following the procedures, so I finally got up to check - I couldn't take it anymore.
Jim had the boy up to his shoulder, but Jim was facing away from me so I couldn't silently offer to take over. Instead, Johnny saw me and started screaming louder. sigh. I ended up in the living room with my hands over my ears, tears streaming down my face. Ultimately, Jim and I had an argument that ended with me grabbing the baby out of his arms and yelling, "fuck you!" ... then *running* down the hall to our bedroom and slamming the door behind me.
The morals of this story are:
Postpartum PMS can be - and is for me - a dizzying ordeal. A few weeks ago, I had a few days where I just couldn't remember anything. My hubby walked the dog, took off her leash and sat down next to me on the couch ... at which point I turned to him and asked, "Have you walked the dog yet?" Um, helloooo! After a couple days of this type of brain (in)activity, we looked at each other and wondered if we had just forgotten what this was like, or if postpartum PMS was really much worse. Talking to some of my mommy friends, I hear this is a common phenomenon. Woo-hoo!
Fast forward a month, and I *finally* started my period - three weeks later than I expected, which caused some anxiety in itself. So I started Thursday afternoon and was pretty much fine until Friday night. I was in the bedroom with Johnny, nursing him to sleep as usual. Jim was in the living room, playing xbox games with his friends (online - they weren't visiting). I started to really resent that I always get stuck getting the boy to sleep while he does his own thing at night. I mean just about every night! I didn't think much of it until I looked back in retrospect, but I do remember thinking maybe this was a hormonal, period thing.
Anyway, Johnny didn't sleep well all night - tossing and turning, nursing constantly, or so it felt. I was exhausted when we all woke up in the morning and just couldn't stop crying. Jim took Johnny to change him and get him into his clothes while I laid in bed, crying. Finally I struggled out of bed and decided to make breakfast. Jim said he could pick something up since I seemed to be a bit of a mess, but I insisted that cooking would help me feel better, and it did. For a while.
One of the problems with having your period while you are still nursing is that you can't really walk away from everything and sequester yourself for a day or two ... which is what I normally try to do when I have my period. Instead, you are still in near-constant contact with this little being that takes its very nourishment from your body. Combine this with sleep deprivation, and it's really a recipe for disaster, as we found out.
Earlier in the week, we had decided to start sleep training Johnny this weekend. Jim was to move his crib back into his room and we were going to follow the baby whisperer to get the boy to sleep.
Obviously I was in no state to deal with sleep training a baby, but I didn't think to cancel or postpone the event. At one point, I was sitting on the couch, thinking, "I feel like I'm sitting in a pool of blood."
When it was time for his first nap, I swooped him up in my arms and plopped him into his crib. I didn't bother with trying to dim the room, play a soft lullaby, or soothe him. It's no surprise that Johnny didn't settle down. I followed the directions for about half an hour, then asked Jim to take a turn. I was already crying.
Finally it was time for Johnny to eat his solid lunch, so we took a break. At some point, Jim suggested I lie down, so I took a quick nap, then laid in bed feeling lethargic and unable (unwilling?) to think too much about anything.
After my nap, Jim tried to put Johnny down to sleep, but he wasn't having it. I could hear the boy crying his head off and eventually it sounded like he was screaming. I thought Jim was just leaving him in the crib to cry instead of following the procedures, so I finally got up to check - I couldn't take it anymore.
Jim had the boy up to his shoulder, but Jim was facing away from me so I couldn't silently offer to take over. Instead, Johnny saw me and started screaming louder. sigh. I ended up in the living room with my hands over my ears, tears streaming down my face. Ultimately, Jim and I had an argument that ended with me grabbing the baby out of his arms and yelling, "fuck you!" ... then *running* down the hall to our bedroom and slamming the door behind me.
The morals of this story are:
- Don't sleep train when you have your period for only the second time since you've given birth. Hopefully the period situation will get better, but for now it's a dicey time.
- When you do decide to sleep train, make sure you have your plan mapped out and that you follow it.
- SHARE that plan with your partner! The more communication you do before you start, the less likely you are to have wild misunderstandings during the process.
- With some of these methods, it is important for you to be able to communicate without the baby knowing it's going on. In our case, life would have been easier if Jim was standing facing the door - I could have indicated to him and the boy would not have seen me.
Monday, January 12, 2009
I've Got Dreams to Remember
Over the past month, I've had a handful of disturbing dreams. I can't remember all of them, but here are three that I can't seem to shake.
Dream one: the dream begins as I am learning that my husband has died. It dawns on me that I will have to start dating again and all I can think is, but I don't want to!! I finally decide to relax and just see what happens. Maybe some day I'll be interested again.
The next night, I dream of my best friend from grammar school telling me she knows someone she thinks I should date. I tell her I'm happily married to Jim, but she says I should at least meet him to see what I think. Cut to a scene of Jim and me in a big, old-school convertible ... a long, 70s-style rectangular car. We're floating through the streets of Rome (at least it looked like Rome - white stone buildings everywhere, roundabouts with white stone fountains in their centers). Did I say floating? Yes - all the roads have become flowing rivers. We're having a lovely time, but I'm mentally wringing my hands because I don't want to tell him that I'm supposed to be dating someone else.
A few weeks later - just three nights ago - I dreamt that Jim and I were having sex. To me, it felt warm and cozy and a little sleepy, as if we'd woken up in the middle of the night and couldn't resist each other. A few seconds into the dream, Jim pulls away from me - angry - and demands to know what I want him to do ... as if he believes I am unhappy with our lovemaking. Confused, I assure him that I'm happy with what we are doing. Convinced our relationship is ending, I tell Johnny that Mommy and Daddy just want different things, but everything will be ok.
When I woke up from that last one, Jim was getting ready for work. When he saw that I was awake, he climbed back into bed fully clothed and wrapped his arm around me. I asked what was wrong, and he mumbled, "depressed," into my ear. I chose not to tell him about my latest dream.
Dream one: the dream begins as I am learning that my husband has died. It dawns on me that I will have to start dating again and all I can think is, but I don't want to!! I finally decide to relax and just see what happens. Maybe some day I'll be interested again.
The next night, I dream of my best friend from grammar school telling me she knows someone she thinks I should date. I tell her I'm happily married to Jim, but she says I should at least meet him to see what I think. Cut to a scene of Jim and me in a big, old-school convertible ... a long, 70s-style rectangular car. We're floating through the streets of Rome (at least it looked like Rome - white stone buildings everywhere, roundabouts with white stone fountains in their centers). Did I say floating? Yes - all the roads have become flowing rivers. We're having a lovely time, but I'm mentally wringing my hands because I don't want to tell him that I'm supposed to be dating someone else.
A few weeks later - just three nights ago - I dreamt that Jim and I were having sex. To me, it felt warm and cozy and a little sleepy, as if we'd woken up in the middle of the night and couldn't resist each other. A few seconds into the dream, Jim pulls away from me - angry - and demands to know what I want him to do ... as if he believes I am unhappy with our lovemaking. Confused, I assure him that I'm happy with what we are doing. Convinced our relationship is ending, I tell Johnny that Mommy and Daddy just want different things, but everything will be ok.
When I woke up from that last one, Jim was getting ready for work. When he saw that I was awake, he climbed back into bed fully clothed and wrapped his arm around me. I asked what was wrong, and he mumbled, "depressed," into my ear. I chose not to tell him about my latest dream.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
