Anxiety Girl

This is part three of a three part series about my experiences with the aftermath of pregnancy. Here are part one and part two if you'd like to go back to the beginning.  If you find stuff like this unsettling, come back some other time when I'm talking about something else, OK? OK!
------

"Insane people are always sure that they are fine. It is only the sane people who are willing to admit that they are crazy" - Nora Ephron

I'm sitting in my basement, with my headphones on, blasting some tunes and drinking some red wine.  All that's missing is the bong and the lava lamp.  Lenny is sleep training. Again. She slept through the night at 3 months old.  In her own crib.  10 months later, something has gone wrong.  We've backslid.  Partly because of teething, partly because she's so damn cuddly and partly because it was easier just to let her fall asleep on the couch.  The Robeau is upstairs with her right now, letting her cry it out.  I assume.  Seriously, I can't hear a thing. The fact is, when she is in the kind of distress she's in right now, just listening to her cry the way she does throws me into, well, a bit of a state.  I have a visceral reaction to it.  It's physical.  Just knowing that I can solve all her problems by picking her up?  Well, just try to stop me.  My heart won't listen to my head telling me this is for the best and for everyone's own good, especially Lenny's.  

Mommy wants to fix it.  And when she can't?  Cue the panic attack.

The panic attacks started when she was a newborn.  I felt so at ease, so happy with my life that I had no clue I was even having panic attacks.  Denial, party of one.  My inner monologue went something like this:

"That's weird, I wonder why my face is numb?  Maybe I had too much coffee..."

or

"Huh, my throat's closing over and I'm having trouble breathing.  I hope I haven't developed an allergy to eggs."

and

"Everyone has nightmares like that when they're sleep deprived.  No biggie."

and my personal favourite

"HOLY SHIT, WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!!!"

If you Google Image "anxiety" you'd think that all women who experience anxiety (postpartum or otherwise) spend a lot of time furrowing their perfectly maintained brows, or biting their perfectly manicured fingers.  The internet wants you to think that this is what anxiety looks like:

That's not what my anxiety looked like.  Mine was a little more like this:

When I was feeling more cheerful it was a little more along these lines:

Festive, huh?

Eventually, after a couple of months of sleepless nights, crying fits at the same time every night, numb face (seriously, what is that about?) and thinking that every time The Robeau went out for a loaf of bread or some milk I'd never see him again (I'd be like one of those women before the credits on Law & Order, left only to rock my crying baby and tell the sympathetic cops that I didn't know anything), after all this I admitted that something was indeed up and maybe, just maybe I wasn't allergic to eggs.

I got myself a shrink, who was, by the way, disturbingly attractive.  Seriously, the woman was like a cross between Natalie Portman and Giada De Laurentiis.  It's hard telling your problems to Giada Portman and her giant diamond ring and tiny cashmere sweater, especially when you don't really know what your problems are. But I guess I'm pretty typical after all and after a few sessions and a little Ativan to help with the numb face we started to realize what was going on with me. A nice case of postpartum anxiety / post traumatic stress disorder (on account of what went on when Lenny was born) and an existing case of PMDD. What's PMDD, you ask?  Basically, PMS on steroids.  It's real, kids.  It's real and I've got it. Some girls have all the luck (3 - 8% of us, to be exact).

I had a bit of an epiphany about PTSD one day listening to the John Legend / Roots cover of the Bill Withers tune I Can't Write Left Handed.  This guy gets shot in the shoulder in Vietnam, and he thinks he's going to die. I had a C-section, a procedure they perform so often it's like getting a teeth cleaning and I think I'm going to die...and my whole family is going to die.  Did I mention, "HOLY SHIT, WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!"?  

Once we figured out what the problems were and started working towards managing all of these crazy hormone imbalances I started feeling a lot better. I feel a LOT better.  I feel better.

But every once in a while a simple task like sleep training the baby sends me pretty close to the edge again. So I have to take my numb face down to the basement with a bottle of Shiraz and my headphones.  I still can't write left handed.  But I'm working on it.

Some Facts About Breastfeeding

This is part two of a three part series about my experiences with the aftermath of pregnancy. If you find stuff like this unsettling, come back some other time when I'm talking about something else, OK? OK!

The care we received when I was pregnant and when Lenny was born from the midwives, nurses and doctors at Toronto East General Hospital was exceptional. They did their job. It wasn't an easy one, and in the end she was safe and healthy and really, that's all that matters. Except that's only partly true. Because in order for me to do my job and be a good mother to her, I was going to need a little help from them. The mother matters too. Unfortunately, everything that happened to me during my postpartum stay at the hospital would indicate that these health care professionals (with the exception of my wonderful midwives) thought of me as little more than a pair of walking boobs. Modern day health care practitioners in a "breastfeeding friendly" hospital are, in a lot of ways like a lecherous boss in a Benny Hill Sketch.

I'm pretty sure I heard this every time they wheeled in the breast pump.

Fact

When you have a c-section, which is major surgery that involves cutting through eight layers of muscle in your abdomen, it's going to hurt. When you're in that kind of pain, you're going to need some serious pain killers. I've got friends who have given birth via c-section in other Toronto hospitals who were given narcotics to help them through the pain. If they were being brave, the hospital would allow them to then downgrade to Tylenol 3. Since I was in a "breastfeeding friendly" establishment I was offered my choice of Regular Strength Tylenol or Regular Strength Tylenol. I should point out that Regular Strength Tylenol won't even help me when I've got a headache, so you can imagine how effective it was after major abdominal surgery. If I took anything stronger, I was told, there was a risk it would travel through my breast milk and poison the baby. That's right, stronger drugs would travel through my breast milk that wasn't coming in and poison my baby who refused to latch on. Just a thought, but if that really is the case, don't you think someone should mention it to all the other hospitals in town handing out the good stuff like it's Smarties?

Fact

They refuse to feed your baby any formula until they've tried breastfeeding for at least 24 hours. Lenny got nothing to eat until they realized she was straight up refusing to breastfeed on day two. At that point we had to feed her formula from a tiny plastic cup (the kind used to dispense pills) to avoid "nipple confusion". From that point on, every time we attempted to breastfeed, she tried to sip from my nipple like it was a cup. I had the song Ball of Confusion stuck in my head for weeks. "Nipple Confusion...that's what her world is to-day, hey, hey!!!"

Fact

Seeing this from my vantage point of my (really uncomfortable) hospital bed was little to no comfort.

Why is that baby on the left only a head?  Whyyyyyyy?

Fact

Sometimes, the people who are supposed to be there to help you, will act like pre-programmed breastfeeding friendly robots.

Me: Is it OK that she just spit up like that?
Nurse: Skin to skin contact is really important.

Him: Am I swaddling her correctly?
Nurse: How's it going with the breastfeeding?

Doctor: If there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know.
Me: I need stronger pain killers.
Doctor: Would you like me to make an appointment with the Lactation Consultant?

Fact

The Lactation Consultant was about as helpful as a bag of wet socks.

Fact

When you go home and spend all kinds of time hooked up to the electronic breast pump, trying desperately to squeeze that precious colostrum out of your swollen breasts while watching Quantum of Solace, you will realize just how truly bizarre your new life is.

Fact

Everybody and his brother feel that it is acceptable in today's society to ask a new mother if she is breastfeeding. Strangers on the street, cashiers at the grocery store, a random woman next to me in the gyno's office (when I didn't have the baby with me)! Note to everybody: It's none of your god damn business.

Fact

If you are unable or unwilling to breastfeed, you will catch hell from your friendly neighbourhood lactivist. I've given this some serious thought. I've tried to put myself in their shoes. They are passionate about children and health and aren't they just trying to help? Yes, I've given it lots of thought and it is my personal opinion that they are narrow minded and full of shit. Be gone, breastfeeding nazi. No. Soup. For. You.

Fact

If your baby refuses to latch on but can still smell her food through your skin, being around you will frustrate her. The day you realize that you and your milky smelling breasts are making your baby cry you will ask her father to return the electronic breast pump to the drug store, buy a case of formula and never look back.

Fact

I knew this was the right decision, but I still couldn't watch as he took the breast pump out the front door. I felt so guilty and like such a failure, it was as if he was taking any chance I had of being a good mother right out the door with that breast pump.  I only got through it by averting my eyes and singing a chorus of "Nipple Confusion" to my angry, hungry baby.

Fact

Formula feeding was always presented to me as a worst case scenario. But you know what? It has worked out great for us. Lenny is thriving. She has never been sick and we had no problem bonding without the aid of the breast, thankyouverymuch. I have had more freedom than a breastfeeding mom and her dad has had the opportunity to get more involved that he would have otherwise, especially in those difficult early days.

Formula feeding isn't the end of the world. And that's a fact.

A Children's Treasury of Weird Ass Postpartum Symptoms

This is part one of a three part series about my experiences with the aftermath of pregnancy.  If you find stuff like this unsettling, come back some other time when I'm talking about something else, OK? OK!

I had a baby and a bunch of my hair fell out.  All over the house.  Everywhere.  Many, many, months later, it all started to go grow back.  So, now?  Now I have weird, fly away baby bangs framing my face.  While this is a small price to pay for the joys of parenthood and it goes without saying I'd do it all over again if I had to, it's still kind of...gross.  Don't worry though, there's PLENTY of gross to go around...

My head wasn't the only thing losing hair

There was, in the first couple of months after the birth, a lot of short, dark hair that was presumably left behind by the baby ummm...evacuating itself from my lady bits.  It's weird peeing hair, you guys.  Make no mistake.  This went on for what felt like forever.  How hairy was she in there?  Do all fetuses look like little thumb-sucking yetis?  Why doesn't that shit show up on the ultrasound?

While we're talking about peeing...

There is something very freeing about not having to pee every second like you did when you were pregnant. The thing is, for several weeks after the birth, instead of a normal peeing experience it kind of felt like I had a trap door down there.  A giant trap door that would slam shut once I was done peeing.  It was...roomy down there.  The kicker?  I HAD A C SECTION.  What happens to your lady bits if a baby actually comes out of them?  I shudder at the thought.

Control Freak

You know those Whoopi Goldberg ads about peeing your pants?  Let's just say, she ain't lying.

Shoe shopping isn't fun any more

My size 10 feet have spread and are now wide size 10 feet. Tragic.

A word about the boobs

Breastfeeding was a challenge and never really happened (just assume that's cause I'm heartless, careless and lazy - send your hate mail NOW).  Once I stopped producing foodstuffs, my breasts took on the consistency of bean bags.  Remember those little bean bags that they always made you toss around in elementary school gym class?  Now that I'm thinking about it, elementary school gym class was the last time I had to live through a series of events as unthinkable, uncomfortable and as seemingly random as being postpartum.

The Groban Effect

I used to have a visceral reaction to certain things in our pop culture.  I knew, when I was four months postpartum, sitting in a Starbucks practically in tears over the sheer beauty of a Josh Groban Christmas song that I had been changed forever.  I watch a lot of Food Network and E! now.  Crime dramas (I'm looking at you Law & Order SVU!) are a thing of the past.  The news often makes me yell.  Like, out loud.

Hot Flashes

I sweat a lot more than I used to.  I hope I get some sweat-free years between the hormonal rages of being postpartum and the hormonal rages of menopause.

Just when you think you're out...

When I was a FULL TEN MONTHS POSTPARTUM as in, I'm actually planning my baby's first birthday party, I came down with a postpartum hormone related skin infection.  Allow me to say that again.  A skin infection. See?  I told you there was plenty of gross to go around.  I'm currently on antibiotics and considering wearing oven mitts all day to keep myself from scratching the skin clean off my body.

If you think all this sounds like fun stay tuned for parts two and three where I'll fill you in on bizarre hospital practices and the weird ass things that happened to my brain!  Really.