Pulling downward.

Going round and round.

Hiding inward.

Spinning through mud.

I want out of my head.

It’s the only place that is safe.

People need me.

I wrap my arms around myself.

I reach out.

Afraid anyone will reach back.

Spinning through mud.

Tonight I was crawling it out on the treadmill.  I got 1.4 miles logged.  Part way through that, while I was helping Patrice go potty, a tweet came through about logging 10 miles of exercise this week in honor of a little boy who will not get to celebrate his 10th birthday with his mama this coming Tuesday.

Another great reason to get moving.  Here goes…

Please hug your little ones tighter, check out Jana’s blog, and consider joining me as I do #10ForCharlie.

And here she is begging for nail polish and pretty dresses, E-mailing friends and helping me at every turn.

She is a very observant, self-possessed little girl.  But every once and a while she surprises me.  Yesterday was one of those.

I got a call from school right after drop off that her eye was bloodshot, puffy and painful.  I went and got her.  Dropped her off at home with daddy and ran with Patrice to speech therapy, which we were doing at the school just in case Caitlyn had pink eye.  Turns out my Caitlyn cried when I left with Patrice.

She told me herself later in the day when she ran out to the car when I was going to the grocery store, “daddy said I could go.”  She had told him it was because she didn’t want to listen to Patrice cry, but she told me, “I miss you when you are gone.”

As we drove to the store, I said, “I love being with you.  Before I know it, you are going to be grown up, you’ll go to college, get married and have a family of your own.”  To which she said, “You will always be my family.”  It was mama’s turn to cry.

Today was the Mother’s Day brunch at school.  My Caitlyn ran right over to me.  She also visited with her friends.  She was a joy to watch.

So I was a little shocked when she started SOBBING when it was time for me to leave.  She cried so hard and so much that she soaked the shoulder of my shirt.  I wanted to gather her up and bring her home so badly.  I even asked her several times if her eye hurt, knowing I would take it as an out to whisk my baby away if she said yes.  But her honest little self said, no it didn’t hurt.  So I left her there.

Now I ponder, can a heart break and be thrilled?  My heart was breaking leaving her there.  I always love having her with me, and especially when she obviously wants me so much.  And at the same time, I was thrilled that she wants her mama so much.  I know she can take on the world.  But she is very grounded with us.  I love that.  I love she is connected and desirous of her family.  I honestly wish I was a strong enough, smart enough mama to be able to home school.

For now, I take each day at a time and count the moments, especially today, until I can go get my girl.

And do you see that acrostic poem she made for me (below)?  See the letter R?  I better get my butt in gear so I can qualify again…5k training anyone?

made what she thought was a funny joke yesterday. She said we were having a fourth baby (we’re not). Then started laughing hysterically. Then she said, “you know why it’s funny? I say it because of your fat.”

I hurt like a big dog. Too bad it is true. Really true. I have a lot of weight to lose. And somehow I have to lose how much her comment hurt.

Have your kids said something really hurtful? How did you get over it?

And yesterday there was this when we were participating in a fundraising walk.

I remember when Caitlyn was born being overjoyed, then two days later, sobbing as the nurse tried to take my blood pressure and temperature.  Hubby had left to shower and freshen up.  I was alone with our girl for the first time.  You know, as alone as you can be in a hospital.  And I was totally overwhelmed with fear and dread.  How would I be able to take care of her?  How would I know what she needed?  How would I know if she was eating enough?  Bless that nurse, she spent quite a bit of time with me reassuring me, going over the feeding cues, those things that came to be second nature to me, but at the time, wow!

It wasn’t quite as bad with Sue.  I had done this newborn thing just 15 months before.  I knew a little more of my mothering style.  I was a little more comfortable in my mommy skin.  But there were still these unexplained tears.  The moments that boggled my mind.

Right on cue, the baby blues hit when Patrice was born too.  Then I got a week where I felt good.  All felt right in my world.  I had three amazing girls.  That was an awesome week!  I remember it and can almost feel it even now, 2 and 1/2 years later.  What came after was what can only be described as a descent into hell.

I developed postpartum depression and anxiety.  With anxiety being the biggest demon.  Thankfully I was happy with my mommy skills.  I never had any doubt I could do what was needed for my girls.  If anything I overdid.  We went to the park.  We went to the library.  We went to the zoo.  We went non-stop.  At first it felt kind of good, making up for lost time with my older girls for the stuff I couldn’t do with them in my last weeks of pregnancy.  But then it got sinister.  I cried more.  And my activity got frantic.  I was tired, but couldn’t sleep.  I would watch Patrice sleep and was so jealous.  So jealous.  I mean, who has a newborn and insomnia?  Talk about irony.

I went to my beloved midwife.  We started me on zoloft.  We thought maybe it helped a little bit, so we upped the dose.  That did not help…that began a spiral that ended with me at my midwife’s office begging her to take my girls home and just love them.  She did the best thing…she called my hubby…and made arrangements for me to be hospitalized to make sure I was safe and medication could be addressed.  I spent 24 hours in the hospital…it was hard, really hard.  When I got out, my midwife continued to help by finding me a psychiatrist who would treat me while supporting my decision to nurse my baby.

It’s been a hard road.  My youngest is now 2 and a 1/2.  It’s been a long journey since my girl was born, but we are all healthy and well.  I have a team of people who love and support me and help keep us that way.

If you are new mom, a mom many times over, and adoptive mom or a dad, struggling after the addition to your family, seek help.  Do it for yourself and for your loved ones.  You’ll be glad you did.

If you need immediate help, please call the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273-TALK (8225)

If you are looking for pregnancy or postpartum support and local resources, please call or e-mail us:

Call PSI Warmline (English and Spanish) 1-800-944-4PPD (4773)

Email  support@postpartum.net

Depression doesn’t always look like it ought.  It doesn’t always present a sad face.  It doesn’t always bring tears.  It can’t always be seen outwardly.

Depression can’t always be talked away.  It is good to hear, “you are worth it.”  ”You are valuable.” But honestly, the depression might not be telling you that you are not those things.  It might just  be there.

Depression might be the shroud hanging around you.  It might just be this feeling of needing to be somewhere safe, with or without suicidal thoughts.  It might be a fear that has you looking around every corner for the weight of darkness you won’t be able to shake.

Depression doesn’t look the same for everyone.  It doesn’t look the same every time it descends.  It doesn’t provide a road map for how to escape.  It doesn’t just shake off.

Depression doesn’t play fair.

I worry about the day those associations end.

I also make quick connections and get too attached.

Take my midwife. I adore her. She’s been instrumental in bringing our three girls into this world. She helped me when no one would after Patrice was born. But I highly doubt she cares about me as much as I care about her.

It makes me feel desperate and unworthy. I’ve always struggled with friendships.

How do I guide my girls to strong, healthy relationships?

How do you help your kids learn how to build friendships?

On a national level, Annette Funicello, Margaret Thatcher, those attacked by cowards at the Boston Marathon, George Beverly Shea, and on a personal level, a long-time bus driver from my growing up years and a long-time coworker from my previous job.

And this stirs up feelings of loss from my dad’s death almost 9 years ago.  My sister posted a picture on facebook of our dad with her kids.  It came up in my timeline today.  I saw his amazing eyes amidst all his bushy hair and my heart stopped.  And honestly, it doesn’t feel like it has restarted.

I see you in my dreams daddy

My dad died just after I got engaged to my husband.  He didn’t see my wedding, he hasn’t met any of my girls.  I have talked about him some.  He’s known as my dead dad.  Every time we make a chocolate cake, my dad’s favorite, Sue asks if it’s for my dead dad.  I tell her no, except on a few special days, but I think from now on, the answer will be yes.

Here’s our latest creation daddy.

My aunt, my dad’s sister, once reminded me, the best tribute to my dad, and what he would want me to do, would be to live my life, and I have, but today, I pause, for him and for the many who have died recently and for those who loved them.  May your memories bring you peace and healing.

It turned out ok.  At first, I wasn’t sure if it might be my third pinterest flop of the week, but the girls worked on their technique and got some pretty designs.  They voted we keep our “stamps” to play with again.  That is about as good as it gets, right?  Maybe next time we will try with stamp pads.  As soon as I figure out a cheap place to get some of those…