I'm On A Broat

Any other Steve Brule fans out there? (John C. Riley is a genius).


We took my parents out on a sail boat while they were here.  It was the one and only gorgeous day and it was lucky too, because it was their last day visiting.  Brixton was less than interested in basically everything, which was fine with me.  I had visions of him rolling off the ship into the water, partly mom-fear, partly mom-anxiety terror thoughts.  

I never thought I'd live in Chicago. I was never interested in Chicago, didn't want to visit.  I still scratch my head that we live here.  It's a beautiful place though.  A beautiful city with a huge aqua blue lake next to it.  A lake that's so big, if I squint my eyes a little bit I can pretend it's an ocean and that I'm in California again, except this time California is on the east coast, since the sun is rising the opposite way that I'm used to over the water.  

I'm oddly proud and awed that I came from growing up in a little mountain town, population 27000, to moving to a city with over 3 million people.  

I'll always have a little mountain town in me though, no matter where I live.  And that's a good thing. 

Parents Unleashed

(Yes, he is that ridiculously handsome.)

One bonus of grandparents coming to visit: built in babysitters that are compelled to let their child and her spouse out of the house for a night based on senseless guilt from living too far away.

We aren't the types to capitalize on that though.

*snort*

We were OUT OF THERE.

We took the train to the Loop, walked to our hotel, grabbed a drink on the rooftop, and then hailed a cab all fancy style to a restaurant that didn't have highchairs.

I ate a meal without cutting parts of it into little pieces and we didn't even have to clean the floor up before we left. 

Then we went to the 96th floor of a tall building for dessert, where we discovered I don't do well with heights when I broke into tears and we pushed the elevator's down button again.

That kind of ruined the happy happy fun fun mood, since I got all sad.

Then we decided to order hot fudge sundaes from room service.

Room service was closed though.

So we watched TV in bed.

Except Brendan fell asleep while I read a magazine.

So pretty much it was like every other night.

But then.

I woke up.  At 8.  And I didn't have to give anyone a bottle.

Brendan brought me oatmeal and a huge latte.

I stayed in bed until 10, purely because I could and it was warm in there.

Then we went shopping at Zara (kids!) and topshop.

Then we walked too far and I rubbed half the skin off my pinky toe all for the sake of wearing big girl shoes in heels.

Brendan rolled his eyes and said something about "sensible shoes" like I'm 75 or something.

Hey, at least I'm not wearing a shirt that has a picture of a spear and then a fish on it.

Well, he didn't wear that shirt, but he owns one like that.

Then we got tasty Mexican soup.

And I couldn't wait anymore: I HAD to hug my baby.

 

Mama wore her fancy face for our night out.

I also wore a real live dress (short) with heels (high)!

This ain't no Applebee's.

I guess we could have gone to a club or something, but honestly I was just as happy to lay in bed and read.  Plus then we would have been that creepy older couple at the club.  You know what I'm talking about.  I remember being 22, 23, seeing "older" folks out and about and thinking, "What are they doing? They're old" 

Ha ha, young Kelley.  Ha ha.

The Big One

We had one heck of a blowout party here the other day.

Not really.  It was just a little thing.

Brixton had a literal blowout earlier in the day, and then puked on my mom so we dis-invited his one and only party friend.  

Brendan also informed me that my cupcakes looked like a dog pooped on them. Something about the swirl.

I'll be darned, he's right.

Woof.

 I rigged up this birthday banner.  Thanks Pinterest!  I got 13 5x7 photos of Brixton throughout the first year of his life, cut out some little cardstock party hats, and tadow!

Bonus** I used the photos as thank you cards, writing the thank you on the back.  With the party hats.  So far, a big hit.

I'm pretty sure that we could have given him a few balloons and some gift wrap and that would have qualified as BEST DAY EVER!

He did take to his little train that arrived all the way from Australia. Cheers!

And then, the highlight.  Birthday cupcake.

Hmmm..Brixton no know this food.  Brixton squish. Brixton like squish.

 Brixton destroy happy happy cupcake.  Brixton happy. Cupcake sad.

Brixton taste.  Brixton have thought: this is gooooooood. Brixton want more!!

Brixton eat fast.  Brixton make mouth big.

Brixton have sugar high!  So high!  Smiles!! 

 Cupcake good for Brixton hair!  Why mommy scream no to Brixton?  Bad mommy yell. Brixton make happy on head.

Brixton feel sick.

Brixton ashamed.  What Brixton do?

It was a quiet first birthday, but a good one!

Baby Bike

 Despite my best efforts to convince Brendan that Brix was too young for buzzing around on busy Chicago streets in a bike trailer, I lost.


It doesn't help that Brendan works for a bike company, so he's surrounded by all things bike at a discount, so Brixton is geared up until the time he's about 10.  


This was their first outing together.  I admit that I stood at the window and cried a little bit (in utter terror) when they pedaled away.


Until I noticed something: I was alone.  In my house.  ALONE.


For 30 solid minutes.  It was heaven.  


Brendan's been asking lately how long I think Brix can hold out in the trailer.  We've decided that 2 hours is the threshold.  TWO HOURS!  And that doesn't include picnic time/park play/breaks!

I don't know why I didn't see the beauty of the bike trailer before, but my eyes have been opened.  And it's a shame, really, because I don't have a bike so I can't go with them.

Darn.

Take your time guys!  Have fun! 

Aquarium With Oma and Grandpa

 My parents were here for 10 glorious days.  10 days that meant someone else was feeding, bathing, changing, watching, playing with or otherwise occupying my baby.  

Hence the glorious part.

 Brixton is surrendering to Oma here and her yogurt. "Okay, lady, whatever you say."  What was I doing?  Taking pictures and eating my lunch while it was still hot.  

Glorious.

 We saw the jellyfish.  It would be nice to have a tank of them.  They are so relaxing to watch.  And you don't have to walk them.

Relaxing.

 

 Why bother buying something at the overpriced gift shop when you can just plop your kid down and take a picture?  Works for me.   

It's amazing to me how much more interested he was in everything than the last time we visited, which was just two months ago.

 

  

The Sears/Willis Tower, shrouded in a foggy blanket.

In an effort to immortalize themselves as grandparents and leave a lasting legacy, my parents invested in some puppets.  They use them on Skype to talk to Brixton.  He's been a little unsure about them, so they brought them out for a visit.  

He's still unsure about them.  

And I'm a little unsure about my parent's sanity.

Just kidding, it's cute.  (Shhhh..it's weird).  

 

A Year With Depression: My Journey with PostPartum Anxiety and Depression

As the title says, I've been struggling with depression and anxiety this past year.  Lately, it hasn't been much of a struggle as it has been more of a win for depression.  Like most things, I'm not sure why this is, as despite my best efforts, it seems to be getting worse.  

Historically, I've always struggled a bit with anxiety and depression, so after Brixton was born, I was vigilant to watch out for signs of postpartum depression.  So I watched.  But I didn't see any.  When I looked at the list of symptoms, I didn't see myself.  Yes, I was crying A LOT, I was very emotional and sentimental, but I felt happy.  I was getting enough sleep. I loved my new role as a mom and I didn't feel 'depressed.'

Still..something was off, but I couldn't quite but my finger on it.

It came to light in October after I stopped pumping.  I was on the phone with one of my besties in California when things got serious.  I admitted to her that I wasn't feeling right.  I had been having panic attacks, calling Brendan in the middle of the night sobbing and unable to get my words out, so overcome with fear that I felt paralyzed.  I had horrible thoughts of someone breaking into our home and hurting or killing me.  I can't count how many hours I laid awake, listening to what I was certain was a shadowy figure with a glinting knife coming to stab me.  

I was afraid of simple things like going out on walks on windy days, for fear that a tree branch would fall on me.  At the gym I would suddenly have an overwhelmingly chilling feeling that someone was walking up behind me with a gun and they were going to shoot me in the head.

Most disturbingly, I was having thoughts about me being dead.  Specifically, hanging from the cords you use to pull the blinds up.  I wasn't thinking about hanging myself, it wasn't a suicidal thing, it was more that I would "see" myself hanging there.

I told my friend this, even though as I told her I was afraid of what it all meant.  Was I crazy?  A bad mom?  She let me know this wasn't normal, even after having a baby.  I started investigating, because I still wasn't fitting into the mold of having postpartum depression.  

I did some research and found that a small percent of women get postpartum anxiety.  Did you know this?  I sure didn't.  Some of the hallmarks of postpartum anxiety are: extreme anxiety, panic attacks, and intrusive thoughts (thoughts that just randomly pop in your head for no reason, like seeing yourself hanging from a cord).  Some women experience thoughts about all the things that could harm their baby, including themselves.  This is different than wanting or planning to harm your baby, this is realizing all the ways you can harm your baby (like dropping them).  I did not experience this. 
I thought I might be on track to figuring out what was wrong with me, but I didn't do anything about it.  We were busy.  Life went on its merry way.  The holidays were coming.

The anxiety was still with me even though it had a name now and I knew I wasn't crazy, but on top of it I was developing good old plain depression.  In December I would just sit on the couch blankly staring.  I was tired all the time.  I just felt sad. I would shower once a week. The word depression is the perfect description of the condition, I felt like something was literally weighing down on me, affecting my ability to do things.  

After about a month, Brendan had had enough. He insisted I get some help, because he didn't know what to do for me.  And we were fighting.  All the time.  Anxiety doesn't just manifest itself as worry, it also turns into irritability, anger, rage.  I wasn't taking that out on Brixton, so Brendan was the easiest target.  That wasn't making anything easier for anyone and it just added to the stress, anxiety, and depression I was already feeling.

I started seeing a doctor in December.  As it goes, she wanted to put me on medication immediately upon my first visit.  I hate that.  I don't mind medication, but why the rush?  Especially since I wasn't suicidal or asking for it.  It bothers me that they never ask about eating and exercise habits either.  Those things factor in big time when it has to do with your mood and brain chemistry.  The fact I had had a baby 7 months prior didn't seem to matter (which makes no sense to me at all).

I declined the drugs.  

Around this time I stopped eating sugar and I was exercising a lot.  I felt really good and my mood improved (and I lost 5 lbs!) Brendan noticed a big change. 

A month went by.  I met with the doctor a few times, still refusing drugs until there was an official diagnosis.  After some testing (ink blots and about 400 questions--kind of fun, really, and very interesting) I was diagnosed with major depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I agreed to take a very minimal dose of anti-depressants, which seemed to initially help me even more. But then I started eating sugar again and stopped exercising, which made me feel worse again (and I gained back 4 lbs...boo).  


So here I am.  Still struggling with this, knowing that if I cut out sugar and start exercising that I'll feel heaps better, but feeling so unmotivated and low that I am having a hard time starting.  


I wish I had known more about postpartum anxiety and had been able to see what was happening to me in those early months.  I felt so out of control, so afraid and overwhelmed.  Plus, it's not easy to tell people you thinking about yourself hanging from a cord without sounding like it's a cry for help.  Maybe I would have gotten help sooner and could have avoided some of this.  


I didn't really want to share this on my blog, which is why I'm writing about it 6 months after it started.  It's kind of an overshare in my opinion, but part of me doesn't mind being honest about this.  There's no shame in it and someone out there might need help.  

If that's you, if you are experiencing depression or anxiety, please know you aren't alone.  There is help available to you. 
I only encourage you to look at all aspects of your life, including diet and exercise to see if those things can be improved before popping a pill.  

When things get too tough, when I feel overwhelmed and just want to curl up in a ball and go to sleep for 100 years, I just think of this:

and it's enough to get me through..and he doesn't come in pill form.

Brixton: One Year Old

We had a birthday bash around here yesterday y'all. 

Okay, not really, because the birthday king was sick.  But, not too sick for a cupcake.  Or gifts.  Or balloons.  Nothing really turned out like I planned though.  Can you relate?

My parents are here.  I don't think I've washed a dish since they've arrived.  And my diaper changing stats have gone down about 50% as well.  

I have LOTS of posts planned.  Probably too many reflections on having a 1 year old, but bear with me.  It's my time.  My turn.  

Now my little guy is playing with his balloons and his new choo-choo from Australia.  

More fun to come!