Crazy? I Was Crazy Once.

A year has passed since Beulah was born. As I reflect on my time as a mother, one thought comes to mind; I was CRAZY!! I haven't talked about my PPD (postpartum depression) here since I confessed my need for medication. It has been a process. There have been ups and downs. But, I want to praise the LORD today that I am Zoloft free!!

When Andy married me, I think he thought he had it easy. No one, including me, could tell a difference in my moods when I had PMS. I never had cramps. My periods were light and short, and I was always bubbly and positive. All that changed the day Beulah was born. We have several ways of referring to the period of time (Beulah's first 8-10 months) that PPD ruled. Andy is a good and sweet husband and kindly refers to it as the time when I was in a "fog". I just say, "I was crazy!"

When I was in the fog, I didn't realize how crazy I was. I thought everyone else was crazy. But, coming out of it and looking back, I see that I was, in fact...crazy!

This weekend on our way home from Atlanta, we decided to stop at the outlet mall in Commerce for a while. We had a great time walking around with Mike & Ria, wandering in and out of shops, and enjoying the beautiful weather. Beulah took a short nap on Andy in the Baby Bjorn, I fed her in the car, and Ria & I played peek-a-boo and other games with her on the way home. At one point she started to get fussy, and I didn't know what she needed. I felt myself get the tiniest bit anxious, and then I remembered. I remembered what I was like before...when I was crazy. I played the whole scenario in my head and allowed myself to image what my reaction would have been like if I were still in my fog.

My PPD manifested itself in several different ways; ways that mimic a combination of other disorders. The most overt manifestation was my obsession with numbers. The hospital asks you to keep records of food intake and diaper output while you're in the hospital. Pediatricians don't require you to continue record keeping once released, but I did anyway. That was one early clue that something was wrong. But, it seemed right to me. While I couldn't control HER and I couldn't force her to eat or go to the bathroom, I could control the numbers on the paper.

I have always been a slave to the clock, but when my PPD was at it's worst, I could not deviate from my self-imposed schedule even one minute or the anxiety would take over and that would lead to anger. I also obsessed about the amount of food she took in. As you may remember, I kept a rented hospital scale at our house for a month or longer. I weighed Beulah (naked, no-less) before and after every breast feeding, and whatever she didn't get from me, I supplemented with formula. I was terrified about not knowing how much she took in while nursing, and I did not trust my instincts. But, I trusted the numbers. And, poor Andy, if he made a bottle and didn't put in perfectly level scoops of formula, he was going to hear about it. It was even worse if he was pouring breast-milk into a bottle and didn't get every last drop of that "liquid gold" into the bottle she would drink! Poor guy couldn't do anything right in my eyes during that time. (More on that later.)

I also had to put Beulah down for naps on time or I would implode. If I needed to go out for any reason during the day, I would get every single little thing we might need while we were out ready while she was asleep, and when she woke up it was go time. If she woke up before I was finished getting ready...well, how many times can I say "anxiety" in one post? If we were out and it was getting close to time for her to go back down, the anxiety would start to rise, I would start rushing, Beulah would start to sense my anxiety and start fussing, then we would just feed off each other creating this vicious cycle. (I managed to get "anxiety" in that sentence two more times! Woo hoo!) It was all about the clock. And, again, I refer to him as "poor Andy", but if he made the slightest sound within Beulah's ear shot while she was sleeping, he saw my eyes turn red with anger.

The Zoloft definitely helped. I could feel myself start to relax a few short days after I started taking it. My doctor wisely recommended that I stay on the medication during the holidays, as they tend to be stressful. So, in January I started to wean. A lot of my old symptoms resurfaced in January. In February, the symptoms were present during ovulation when the hormones shift drastically. In March, the symptoms continued to decrease, and now in April I am starting to feel like my old self again. Praise the LORD!!

I have so much joy every day now. Being Beulah's mom is more than I could ever ask or imagine. Andy and I look at each other everyday and shake our heads in amazement at how happy she is and how blessed we are to be her parents. Andy's mom described it best, we've gone from "Rags to riches!" That's exactly how we feel.

I still try to keep to a schedule, but most of the time I'm WAY more laid back if things aren't going as planned. I'm still obsessed with her cleanliness. For some reason I can't stand the thought of her clothes getting stained or ruined, so I can be pretty controlling during feedings. I tell myself it doesn't matter and I shouldn't be that way, but it doesn't change. And, I'm still trying to figure out how to cope when I'm cooking and she's hanging on my legs. That's the one time I get really anxious. I think it's because cooking is so time sensitive and I can't always just stop and tend to her when there's food on the stove.

In my fog, I felt justified in all of my thoughts and actions. I couldn't imagine feeling any different. I thought everyone else should feel exactly like I did, and I got angry when they didn't. I would tell Andy through tears that I just wanted somebody else to care as much as I did and to understand how important all this was. He and my mom got the brunt of it. They are saints in my eyes. I seemed to control myself better around Andy's mom, but I wasn't hiding anything. She saw it and was a huge help too, as was Andy's sister. Others would come just to sit with me and keep me company, encourage me, or help out if I needed it. I thank God so much for putting people around me to help ground me.

I'm sure I haven't even begun to see all the damage that was done during that time. I know that my controlling behavior effected Andy's confidence as a dad. It made him gun-shy to try anything. He was afraid that I would reprimand him for not doing things like I thought they should be done. But, thankfully, our LORD is in the healing business, and He has started the healing process already. I try to give Andy freedom to become the dad that God wants him to be. I try to stand back and let him find his own ways of interacting with Beulah and his own ways of accomplishing the tasks related to her care. That's not always easy, but it is necessary. It's not just women who go through PPD. Men go through it too. If you know a man going through PPD with his wife, encourage him. Send him a link to this so that he can see there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I thank God for His grace in healing our family. It gives me hope that we could do this again if He chooses to bless us with another child!

Spiritually Speaking

It's always been easy for me to have faith. Because of the profound way my life changed when I accepted the LORD, I've always believed God could do anything. Did I believe I could get pregnant after six years of infertility and one prayer? Sure! That's no problem for Him. But, lately I've found myself sounding a lot like David in Psalm 22, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent."

Day after day I watch my baby cry out in pain. Her little body has such painful gas that (so far) no prayer, chiropractor, doctor, or medicine has helped. Suddenly, my sweet smiling baby will scream out, and at times nothing and no one can comfort her. There are days when she's in so much pain that we can't get her to eat or sleep. On those days, all we can do to calm her is walk around the house carrying her for hours or take her outside. On my better days, I have so much compassion and love for her that I could walk forever just to comfort her. But after days of this or nights of her waking up every other hour, I get tired, my spirit (and body) gets weak, and I just get angry.

Since she was born, pretty much every thought in my head has been a prayer on her behalf. "God I know you love her more than I do, but as the one you've entrusted to care for this angel, I ask you to heal your child...help her to pass this gas...help her to poop...help her to sleep...give her peace...have mercy on this innocent child..." Sometimes He answers with haste, other times--silence. And, sometimes I will thank Him for something that IS going right, but immediately afterwards the opposite happens. Those days when I'm worn out and He's silent, that's when Andy comes home to a crying baby and a crying, angry wife. But, at the end of my rope, I still feel like Peter when Jesus asked His disciples if they wanted to leave after hearing a difficult teaching (John 6). Peter said, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We believe and know that you are the Holy One of God." There is nowhere else to turn; no one else who can help.

Because so many of my thoughts are prayers of desperation, I am fully ready to praise Him for any good, but fully ready to blame Him for any bad. I'm angry because I know He can wipe this away with a word, but He hasn't. I have never found myself in this place before. My thinking: it's fine if He doesn't answer prayers on my behalf. I can handle that. But, to refrain from answering prayers on behalf of an innocent child? Now, that's injustice! Immediately following those thoughts are prayers for forgiveness. I tell Him that I'm so sorry for thinking that way. I confess that I'm a lousy Christian and ask Him to renew my mind and give me peace through this trial. I speak back to Him His words from Isaiah 55:9, "Your ways are higher than my ways, and your thoughts are higher than my thoughts" (see also Job 38-42).

I wonder if my spirit would be so weak if I were getting enough sleep. When I'm physically exhausted, my spirit is broken. This is also hard because I'm an extrovert. But, it's easier to stay home alone because I never know when her gas is going to cause her to scream. I miss the social interaction that I used to thrive on. I don't invite people over because I get so anxious when she starts screaming, and it makes me uncomfortable to be around people. I haven't even been to the grocery store one time since she's been born because I don't want to have to leave a cart full of groceries in the middle of the store. Besides that, when her gas is really bad, if we try to feed her (breast or bottle), it looks like we're torturing her. She arches her back and screams and chokes. Who wants to do that out in public and invite looks or comments from those nearby? And, everybody wants to hold the baby, But she cries if she's not held in ways that makes her comfortable. So, my skin crawls when someone asks to hold her because I know what's going to happen. Then, when I take her and hold her in a way that I've learned makes her comfortable, she stops crying. Because of this, I've had a couple of people say that she's spoiled! And, I can't leave her in the church nursery like this. I can't expect every person in there to know "the hold" that comforts her, or to give all their attention to her when there's so many other kids to care for. So, pretty much every Sunday I go to church and end up sitting in the bathroom with her the whole time.

Now, I realize this all sounds pretty dramatic. I mean, on a scale of 0-10 (0 = a perfectly easy baby, 9 = a baby with a terminal illness, 10 = no baby) Beulah is a 1. I mean, it's only gas, right? She won't even remember this when she's older. How could some gas tear a family apart? That just sounds silly! But, I'm here to tell you--it can. I don't talk about it much because unless you've been there, you don't understand. It's like my cousin said after watching Beulah for an hour one day, "I thought you were exaggerating!" I think a lot of people think I'm exaggerating. But after spending a week with me and seeing what I go through on a daily basis, my mom has offered to come stay with me for a week every month until Beulah outgrows this.

The first time I took a car ride alone with Beulah, she was in her car seat in the back screaming her precious head off. It was the first time I didn't rush to her to meet her need. I couldn't. She started making the most pitiful, heartbroken sounds. It was killing me. I tried talking to her and telling her that everything was OK. I said, "I love you, baby. I know it doesn't look like it right now because I'm not rushing to meet your need, but I promise I love you! When we get there I'll hug you and love on you." In that moment I realized, I'm in the car seat and God is driving the car. He responded, "I love you, Michelle. I know it doesn't look like it right now because I'm not rushing to meet your need, but I promise I love you! When it's time, I'll answer your prayers." My mom got a similar message from God when she asked Him to heal Beulah. He said to her, "What if I don't want to? I have a reason for this. Just trust me."

I've tried to figure out the reason. For a while we thought it might be a spiritual attack. God got glory for Beulah's miraculous conception. What better way to steal His glory than to tear us apart after she's born? Or, maybe it's a test of faith. Will I still trust Him if my child is in pain (for more on this see Redemption Day, #2)? That could be the reason. But, last night I think He gave me my answer. God said, "You're going to spend her whole life angry at Me if you keep praying/expecting things to be perfect. This is a fallen world. She's going to experience pain and heartache. Get used to it and learn how to deal with it." Then, I realized that I've been praying all wrong. I mean, this could be so much worse than it is (see the scale from 0-10 above). Instead of asking Him to right every wrong, I need to be focusing on the bigger picture. Instead of getting angry, I need to make myself vulnerable, lay down at His feet, and trust that He has our family's best interest at heart (Jeremiah 29:11). I should be asking Him for the grace to handle what comes my way in a manner that brings glory to Him. "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference."

I'm thankful to have a new direction for my prayers and excited to see how God's going to grow us and use this for His glory. I've been embarrassed to talk about our struggles before now. Aren't new parents supposed to be nothing but happy? I had heard of colicky babies, but had never talked to anybody who had one. My pride wouldn't let me admit that Beulah was a difficult baby. No one wants to think their baby has a problem. And, it seemed like everyone else could handle their babies. What's wrong with me? I must not be as strong as them. But, as I've started to open up about it, I'm amazed at how many people have been through similar hardships with their infants. When I opened up to some friends about it, I told them that I felt silly being so defeated by this. One friend who had a difficult baby pulled me aside and said, "It's hard. It's OK to admit that it's hard. Just because it's not a terminal illness doesn't mean it's not hard." Thanks, Courtney. I needed that.

If you had a difficult baby, open up and reach out to new parents. Hopefully someone will be encouraged by your transparency.